Suddenly, Love

44

THE PAINS ATTACK ERNST AGAIN, BUT HE PERSISTS AND writes every day. After supper he invites Irena to the table and reads to her what he has written. Several times she is about to ask how a little boy grasped so much and in such great detail. Ernst divines her thoughts and says, “I loved my grandparents. It was a hidden love, and I wasn’t aware of it until I started writing.”

“So the purpose of writing is to rescue things from oblivion?” Irena wonders.

“So it appears.”

“What else do we have within us that we don’t know about?”

“Who knows?”

Irena rereads Leyb Rochman’s The Pit and the Trap. Rochman, his wife, Esther, his sister-in-law, Zippora, and his brother-in-law, Ephraim, spent the war together in hiding. They were subjected to every fear that one can experience. Rochman wrote in detail about all of it.

Once a week the tall doctor comes, examines Ernst, and adds one or two prescriptions. Ernst usually doesn’t ask how much time he has left to live. This time he asks. The doctor loses himself in thought for a moment and then says, “Why are you asking?”

“I’m in the middle of important work,” Ernst replies.

Uncharacteristically, Ernst reveals to the doctor that for years he had tried to write, but the writing didn’t come out well. During the past year, he finally found a tunnel to the spiritual treasures that had been buried within him.

“Thank God,” says the doctor, in a way that doesn’t seem appropriate for a doctor.

“I’m in the midst of mining,” says Ernst. “I need more time.”

Ernst’s voice has taken on a strange quality, as though he were asking the doctor for a reprieve. The doctor, a bit embarrassed by his request, says, “You’ll surely manage. ‘If you will it, it is no dream.’ Who said that?” The doctor tries to remember.

The doctor’s equivocal words fill Ernst with new strength, and he writes all morning without taking a break.

Tranquility does not always reign in the Carpathians. Sometimes sudden storms arise from the heart of the forest. In their great rush, they uproot groves of trees, tear the roofs off houses, trample fields of grain and orchards, and kill peaceful animals. Worse than these are the tempests of the soul. A peasant returns from his work, certain for some reason that his wife has betrayed him. Without asking or investigating, he brandishes an ax and kills her. The news travels like lightning. Women and children freeze in fear, but not the murderer. He sits on a bench in the middle of his yard, the red ax in his hand, like a satiated beast of prey.

The priest, the medic, and two policemen are immediately summoned. The killer is asked if he committed the murder, and he nods. The policemen handcuff him, he gets up and begins walking, and they follow him. I did not witness the murder, but I saw the killer, his yard, and the people who stood at the fence of his house and watched with amazement what was happening.

I am shaken, but Grandfather and Grandmother don’t talk about that horror. They are immersed in preparations for Yom Kippur. Grandfather is getting ready to go from house to house and ask forgiveness, and I am to accompany him. Grandfather also intends to ask forgiveness of a non-Jew named Nikolai, who had worked for him for many years. A year ago a horse kicked him, and since then his health has been poor. Grandfather compensated him for the injury and continues to pay him half his salary. The peasant acknowledges this generosity and greets Grandfather warmly. Grandfather tells him that in two days it will be Yom Kippur and that it is important for people to accept the yoke of God without reservation. The peasant agrees with him and says, “Without God, life isn’t life.” They speak and are silent by turns. Grandfather eventually says, “If I’ve harmed you, Nikolai, pardon me.” The peasant bows his head and says, “You haven’t injured me, sir, not in word and not in deed, and may God judge us all for the best.”

Grandfather goes from house to house. His fellow Jews are standing in their doorways, tall and sturdy, and dressed in long smocks. Grandfather approaches each of them and asks for forgiveness. They invoke the name of God and forgive one another, asking for redemption for all the Jewish people.

Grandfather skips one of the houses, the one belonging to Gumborovitz. Gumborovitz’s great-grandfather had been taken in by the deceptions of the apostate Jakob Frank. He converted to Christianity and spread slander against the Jews. Since then the Jews have been careful not to be in the presence of his descendants. I saw Gumborovitz once and was very impressed: he was a tall old man with hair that hung down his shoulders and back. He was walking along the path in silence and with measured steps. Suddenly he stopped and turned his head. I felt his sharp gaze fix upon me and froze.

On the day before Yom Kippur Grandfather doesn’t leave the house. He sits in his chair, either lost in thought or reading a book. Three times a day he opens the shutter and stands in prayer, facing heaven. The sky is clear. From time to time a white cloud passes by. Not only do people prepare for the Day of Judgment; the animals do, too, and the trees.

A few hours before the beginning of Yom Kippur, a drunken peasant enters the yard and begins to sing and curse. Grandfather goes out to him and says something. The peasant is stunned by what Grandfather has said and asks some confused questions. Grandfather takes the trouble to explain things to him, and in the end he sends him on his way.

On the eve of Yom Kippur we are commanded to eat. Grandmother prepares dishes of vegetables and fruit. In Grandfather’s house they don’t eat a lot, nor do they rush, but the walk to the synagogue is quick. “We’re walking along the same path that my grandfather and my great-grandfather walked on,” Grandfather says. On Yom Kippur eve Grandfather mentions them and speaks in their names.