Until the Dawn's Light

19

AS BLANCA WAS returning home toward evening, from a distance she saw a man standing in front of her door and knocking on it. First it seemed to her that it was Karl, the church beadle, who used to make the rounds before the holidays, soliciting contributions for the church. When she drew nearer, he looked to her like Dachs, her father’s former partner. But when she was only a few feet away from her house, she saw in amazement that it was her father.

“Papa!” she called out loud.

“I came back,” said her father. A frightened and perplexed look had hardened on his long, narrow face.

“What’s the matter?” Something of his frozen voice clung to her.

“I missed home,” he said, smiling.

Now she saw: he was thin, and his posture was stooped. It was as if he had left his earthly existence in Himmelburg and had brought here only his trembling soul.

Blanca hugged him and gathered him to her heart. “How good it is that you’ve come back,” she said.

“I didn’t know what to do,” said her father, covering his mouth with his right hand.

“Let’s go to My Corner.”

“We’ll sit in your house. Why go so far?” he said, as though seeking cover.

“Everything is neglected in the house. And there isn’t anybody in My Corner at this hour.”

They set off for the center of town and Blanca did most of the talking, telling him about everything that had happened to her since the morning. Her father wasn’t distracted. He listened attentively, as though she were telling him secrets. When they reached the center of town, it was already three o’clock. The sun flooded the shop windows with cool light. Her father raised his eyes, as though looking away from a terrible dream, and said, “I’m so glad I came back. It’s good to return to your native city.”

Blanca was alarmed by that sentence.

“I have no special sentiments for this city,” she said. “There are more important things than the city you live in.”

“What are they?” He surprised her.

“A good feeling, for example,” she said, and she was pleased that she hadn’t been tripped up in an idle statement.

“True, the evening light is always joyful,” he said, pausing, as though he weren’t sure of what he’d said.

“I feel no sentiments for this city. I would gladly travel to another place.”

“Where?” he asked with his old curiosity.

“To Vienna, for example.”

“I,” he said, returning to his former ways, “find our city very pleasant.”

This was not the ill and confused father whom Blanca and Adolf had put into the old age home but, rather, the father from her childhood. He had always dreamed. Her mother loved him because he was a dreamer, and when he failed — he mainly failed — she would support him with her fragile body and envelop him with soft speech, with good food, with a new coat that she had bought him. Or she would take him out for a long walk. She was his great admirer, and she believed in his hidden talents, which would someday be discovered.

“So, where shall we sit, Papa?”

This time her father preferred Amnon & Tamar to My Corner. They sat in the place where they always sat, near the window, across from the acacia tree, whose leaves had fallen, revealing its sturdy trunk. They ordered coffee and cheesecake, and the waiter, who had known them for many years, said, “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you, sir. How are you?”

“Everything’s as it should be.”

“Thank God,” said the waiter, withdrawing to the counter.

Blanca’s father didn’t say a single word about Himmelburg. He spoke about a few efforts he had made in the past to extricate himself from the difficulty of earning a living. Once he had even gone to Vienna, where he had been offered the management of a small bookstore. The offer fell through because the salary they offered him would barely cover his rent. Her mother was prepared to do any kind of work to pull him out of that swamp, but her father wouldn’t agree, and the idea was shelved.

He went on for a bit, and Blanca said, “Let’s take a walk in the direction of the station.”

“I don’t want to go back to Himmelburg. That place depresses me.”

“Where will we sleep?” Blanca spoke in the plural.

“I,” he said in a voice that froze her, “am returning to my home.”

“Papa.”

“What’s the matter?”

“We don’t have a home. We sold the house. Don’t you remember?”

“We sold our house?”

“Yes, Papa. We had debts.”

“I don’t want to go back to Himmelburg. That dark place depresses me.” He spoke the way he had sometimes spoken when her mother was alive.

“I’d invite you to stay with us, but my house, Papa, is completely full. Adolf’s sister and her three children live with us,” she lied.

“Don’t you have a bed for me?”

“Everything is dirty, crowded, and noisy.” She spoke hurriedly.

“I don’t know what to do,” he said, cracking his knuckles.

“Let’s take a walk. Don’t you want to take a walk?”

Now she tried to entertain him, to distract him and lead him indirectly back to the railway station. Amazingly, she managed. She told him that after Adolf’s sister left the house and returned to her own home, she intended to enroll in a course in bookkeeping.

“But you wanted to study at the university, didn’t you?”

“Later, Papa.”

“And what does Adolf say?”

“He’s very encouraging.”

“I’m glad. Your happiness is very precious to me. I never managed to accomplish anything.”

Now he spoke about himself again, about his partner, Dachs, and about his classmates who were weak students and became successful industrialists.

“How can you explain that, Papa?”

“Abstract thought isn’t good for commerce.” Again he surprised her with a clear and accurate insight.

“And what’s needed for success?”

“A certain kind of coarseness of mind.”

Now she was alarmed by the clarity of his thought.

They reached the station on time. Blanca had intended to join him, to stay overnight in Himmelburg and return the following day, but her father said quietly, in his customary tone of voice, “Why displace yourself at night? Sleep in your own bed, and come to visit me tomorrow.”

“Still, I want to join you.”

“There’s no need, dear.”

Now he no longer tarried but walked up the steps into the railroad car and sat at the window. The car was empty, and Blanca managed to see him in profile. Then the train began to move, and Blanca waved good-bye with both hands.

Surprisingly, her father opened the window and called out, “Thank you very much, Blanca. It was a wonderful day.”

The train quickly moved off into the distance, and Blanca’s face flooded with tears.