Until the Dawn's Light

28

THE HOSPITAL’S SITUATION worsened, and most of the patients were sent home. Blanca was among the last to go. Adolf didn’t greet her gladly and expressed his consternation about her appearance. During the past few weeks she had, indeed, recovered, but her knees were weak and her legs felt unsteady. But she made all his meals on time anyway. Adolf no longer slapped her face, but he still preached to her and criticized the way she roasted meat. Every word that came from his mouth struck her temples, and the fear that had receded throbbed within her once again.

The last few days had been very difficult for Dr. Nussbaum. The maintenance workers, who hadn’t received their salaries, first gathered in the courtyard and then went up to the top floor and overturned tables and cabinets. Dr. Nussbaum pleaded with them to stop.

“Why are you being hard on the patients?” he asked. But his words were in vain.

Dr. Nussbaum had been struggling with the Ministry of Health and the local authorities for years, as well as soliciting donations from wealthy people and persuading the workers to be patient. Usually he had managed to do the impossible. Now he stood in the hospital entrance and with shame escorted out those who were leaving it.

“Come see me soon,” he said to Blanca. She had intended to go to him on Friday, but then she remembered that on Sunday Adolf’s parents and his brothers and sisters would be coming, and there were no refreshments in the house. She immediately rushed to the butcher, and on Sunday at noon she served everyone at the table dumplings filled with meat and sauerkraut. When her mother-in-law asked how she felt, Blanca answered, “Much better.” At the end of the day, her head was spinning and she could barely drag herself to bed.

The next day, when Adolf came home his face was dark and angry. Blanca hurriedly served his meal, and he ate without complaining. Suddenly, without warning, he raised his voice and shouted, “Where are the pickled cucumbers?”

“I didn’t manage to make them yet,” Blanca answered promptly. Adolf rose to his feet, walked over to her, and slapped her. This time the slap wasn’t hard, and she didn’t fall down, but the words that he had kept in during the weeks that she hadn’t been there poured out of him in a frightening torrent.

“All the doctors are Jews. All the illnesses are Jewish, and the lawyers who defend the doctors are Jews. You shouldn’t learn from them. You have to be at home, not there. You get sicker in the hospital. A normal person doesn’t go to the hospital unless they’re amputating his leg. The Jews fill up the hospitals.”

Blanca didn’t open her mouth. In the past, every time she replied, his fury would increase, his face would turn a saffron color, and he would raise his huge, hairy arms. Almost without realizing it, Blanca covered her belly with her hands and hoped for mercy. But Adolf’s mercy wasn’t aroused.

Before Blanca was discharged, Dr. Nussbaum had written Adolf a letter summoning him to his office.

“You must know that we cared for your wife for three weeks,” he said, “to heal the wounds that you inflicted with your own hands. You’re supposed to speak to a woman, not beat her like an animal.” Adolf was about to reply, but seeing the doctor’s angry eyes, he kept his mouth shut. But when he came home, he didn’t hold his tongue: “The Jews won’t give me instructions about when to sleep with my wife.” Blanca was afraid that he would pour his rage out on her, but, fortunately, he hurried off to the tavern that evening, and when he came home, he fell into bed.

Blanca, despite everything, grew stronger. She worked in the house and the garden. Adolf continued to pick on her, but he was careful not to hit her. Her mother-in-law would come to visit her, advising her about what to cook for Adolf and how.

“Adolf likes a hot meal at night,” she would say. “He’s like his father, a hot meal calms him down, and it should be a roast, with potatoes and sauerkraut. Sometimes it would be good to make him squash stuffed with chopped meat.”

Thus the days passed. The sun was apparently good for Blanca, and her face became tan. After two hours of work in the garden, she would make herself a cup of coffee. Her thoughts grew narrower, and all her senses were now given over to the baby in her womb. Sometimes, in the middle of the day, she would suddenly be attacked by a feeling of dread, and she would remember Himmelburg. She would start to get dressed, but fear would paralyze her legs again, and she would stay bound to her place.

One morning Blanca overcame her fears and took the first train to Himmelburg. Since her last visit, the old age home had changed beyond recognition. The director had passed away, and Theresa had been appointed temporarily in her place. Theresa came out to greet Blanca and hugged her, and she immediately began telling her about her trials and the troubles of the home. In Blanca’s father’s bed there now slept a man whose sightless eyes were sunk deeply in their sockets; an involuntary smile fluttered on his lips. Theresa served Blanca a bowl of soup and asked her whether she had been to Blumenthal yet. Blanca told her that she had been in the hospital for the past month, and that upon going home she had found a neglected house and an angry husband.

“You still must go to Blumenthal. The old age home there is roomy and rich, and they’ll greet you with open arms.”

“And who’ll take care of the baby?” Blanca wondered.

“A housekeeper. She’ll give your husband some of her favors, and he’ll be quieter and won’t hit you as much. Your husband needs a beast of the field.”

“How do you know that?” Blanca’s eyes widened in surprise, as though Theresa had discovered a hidden secret.

“From my body, my dear. First my father beat me, then my husband. If you love life, you’ll run away from there while your soul is still in you. If you don’t, you’ll be worn out and sick by the age of thirty. Spare yourself and get away from your house.”

“I’m afraid.”

“You mustn’t be afraid. You have to say to yourself, ‘There are more important things than fear, and I’ll go to Blumenthal no matter what.’ ”

“Thank you, Theresa.”

“Why thank me? We’re sisters in suffering.”