Until the Dawn's Light

21

AT THE POLICE STATION Blanca learned that the two patrolmen who had been summoned to the Jewish old age home that morning went out right away, gathered testimony, and submitted a report.

“Didn’t they search anymore?” Blanca asked.

“Where are we to look for him, madam?” the officer in charge said. A sharp laugh, like that of someone who had seen reversals in his life, burst from his thick lips.

“I’m sorry,” said Blanca.

“If we knew where he was, we would go out and get him. We have a total of three policemen in this town. Two of them patrol, and one sits here. We relieve one another every few hours. In this town, for our sins, there are quite a few thefts.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Blanca said, and she really didn’t. Her head felt like a void, as though all the thoughts in it had been uprooted, leaving only the walls.

Seeing her helplessness, the policeman looked at the report that lay before him and said, “I see that your father was in Heimland yesterday. What was he doing in Heimland?”

“He came to visit me. He missed the town,” Blanca answered hurriedly, glad that the words left her mouth in that order.

“And when did he return to Himmelburg?”

“On the last train,” she said, hoping that would be an end to the questions.

“And who accompanied him to the train?”

“I did,” Blanca said with a feeling of relief.

“Old people usually don’t like to go back at night,” the policeman remarked in a matter-of-fact way.

“True.”

“So why did he return at night?”

“He wanted to return.”

“I understand,” he said.

“I offered to accompany him, but he said he wanted to go back alone.”

“Was he in a bad mood during the past few days?”

“He was a little depressed in the old age home,” Blanca said, sensing that the policeman was starting to rummage through her private life.

Indeed, he didn’t let up.

“He’s fifty-three years old, I see. What’s a fifty-three-year-old man doing in an old age home?”

“He had no home. He had to sell his house.”

“And why didn’t he live with you?” It was an arrow fired directly at her forehead.

“My husband absolutely opposed it,” Blanca said, the words sticking in her throat.

“Is your father sick?”

“No.”

“So why did your husband refuse to keep him in your home?”

Blanca burst into tears.

The policeman stopped his questioning.

“I didn’t have the strength to stand up to him,” she muttered.

“There’s nothing to worry about,” he said, now trying to console her. “Every day people disappear and then reappear the following day. That’s how the world works. How long has he been living in the old age home?”

“Three weeks, no more.”

“Every month somebody runs away from there, usually new residents. But don’t worry, they come back. They have no choice. The cold at night forces them to come back.”

“A lot of people run away from the old age home?” For a moment she tried to meld her voice into his.

“Quite a few. They also run away from the Catholic old age home.”

“And you look for them?” She forgot that she had already asked this.

“How is it possible to look for them?” he replied. “After all, this is a far-flung region, with groves, forests, swamps, and whatnot. If someone wants to run away, the hand of the law won’t touch him. We don’t even find murderers, unless they give themselves up voluntarily.”

“I didn’t know.”

“That’s how it is in this region. I don’t know whether it’s different in other places.”

“What can I do, sir? What do you advise me to do now?”

“Not to do anything. That’s my advice.”

“And he’ll come back?”

“He will certainly come back. He went out wearing his street clothing, it says in the report, which means that he can survive for three nights. My advice: go home and wait for him to come back.” His rough face was filled with a simple humanity, as though he weren’t a policeman, but someone in whom much wisdom of life was stored up.

“He’ll come back, sir?”

“I’m sure he’ll come back,” he said, and rose to his feet.

“My heartfelt thanks,” she said, and bowed her head.

Blanca didn’t immediately realize what the policeman had done to her. Only later, as she sat in a tavern downing drink after drink, did she understand that this stranger, without the superior airs of a judge, had laid her shame before her eyes and made her see that her father had fled because she hadn’t taken him into her home and he didn’t want to live in the old age home. That sharp insight burned her eyes, and she closed them. But the pain kept spreading. In vain she tried to dull it with cognac. But every sip merely heightened her awareness, and her pain.