Until the Dawn's Light

35

THE MONTHS PASSED. Otto was already crawling, and Blanca reconciled herself to her painful body and clouded life. Sometimes she would remember earlier times, and they seemed hidden to her, as though they were part of the life of another woman. Even the town, where she knew every corner, now seemed to belong to the church.

Every Sunday she went to mass. The family made a point of attending on Sundays and holidays. There Adolf was also surrounded by friends, embracing them, chatting with them, laughing. Blanca never missed confession. She would kneel and say, “I didn’t want to see my mother’s death, and I fled from the house. Afterward I abandoned my father in the cemetery. I’m a sinner and worthy of death.” The priest listened and asked no questions.

Once, however, he commented, “Our Lord Jesus has already atoned.”

“But my sin is unbearable.”

“Pray. Prayer will drive away your bad thoughts.”

“It’s hard for me to pray, Father.”

Sundays were the hardest day of the week: in the morning in church and afterward, the gathering in her house. Those parties brought together many of Adolf’s friends as well as his relatives, and they became merrier and dizzier from week to week. Blanca would serve the guests and chat with her mother-in-law. Her mother-in-law had suffered a lot in her life, but she didn’t complain.

“Man is born to labor,” she would repeat, “and let him make no reproaches to his fellow.” It was clear that this saying wasn’t hers. Still, it sounded as if it was.

Adolf knew no mercy now, either. For every mistake or forgetfulness she would pay, but sometimes he would also hit her for no reason, the way you beat an animal.

“You’re not a woman,” he would say. “You’re a monster. You’re like your father, like your grandma.”

“Don’t hit me,” she would beg, but that only increased his anger. In the end she would lie on the floor, absorbing the blows without reacting.

If it weren’t for Otto, for the look in his round eyes, she would have gone to the river and leaped into the water. But Otto would rescue her and draw her out of despair. He would wake up, open his eyes, and call out, “Mama,” and immediately all the clouds scattered and fled.

More than once, after a night of searing pain, Blanca was about to say, I want to go out to work and help support the household. All the women work, and I want to work, too. But she was afraid to say it, lest Adolf agree. Otto was now her life and her support. She took him everywhere with her. When she worked in the kitchen, she placed the cradle next to her, and when she worked in the garden, she would take the cradle outside. Blanca spoke to him and told him stories, and when he laughed, she laughed with him.

Adolf was completely given over to his comrades. Over the past few months his face had grown fleshier and had become flushed, like the face of a drunkard. He resembled his father more and more: the same drunken look, the same arrogance. He spent most of his wages in the tavern, and he gave Blanca only a few coins, over which he also got angry. Blanca was frugal, and she made their meals with everything that the garden produced. Sometimes she couldn’t afford milk. Her body bled and hurt, but she was afraid to say, I’m going out to work. Once, the pain was so great that she said, “You’re driving me out of this world.”

“What are you talking about?” he said, and headed out the door, as though she were nothing but a ghost.

In the end, it was Adolf himself who declared, “You have to go out to work.”

“How?” She was stunned.

“All the women work. My mother works, too.”

“And who’ll take care of Otto?”

“We’ll bring a woman in from the country.”

At first she deluded herself into believing that it was just a passing thought, but when he kept pressing her, she understood that he wouldn’t let up. A new fear possessed her. I’ll run away, she said to herself, but she knew she didn’t have the strength to go far: Adolf’s huge hand would reach her. Once he said to her, “I never miss a thing. I know all your intrigues.”

The next morning, after Adolf went to work, she prepared some sandwiches, dressed Otto, and they set out for Blumenthal. The old age home in Blumenthal was different from the one in Himmelburg. The building was spacious, and around it was a well-tended garden. The director of the place asked for information about Blanca’s life, and she told her.

“And who will take care of your child?”

“A country woman.”

“We’re very strict here about lateness and absence.”

“I’m orderly.”

“So, you’ll start in a week, on Tuesday at eleven o’clock. I’m writing it in my journal.”

When Adolf came home from work, she announced to him that she had found a temporary job in the old age home in Blumenthal. Without looking her in the eye, he said, “Fine. We have to find a woman from the country.” Later he asked when she would be starting her job, and Blanca told him.

It was a week of rain, fear, and great weakness. At night she begged, “Don’t press so hard on me. I can’t breathe.” Those pleas just increased his fury. But for some reason he didn’t hit her. Toward the end of the week she said, “Otto, I’m going out to work. I have no choice. What can I do?”

Blanca washed, ironed, and prepared clothing and bedding. The dread she felt at the thought of being forced to part from Otto in a few days clung to her body like a cloak of fire. Again she saw her mother’s prolonged, slow death. During the last months of her life, her mother had struggled to get up every morning and tidy the house. Her father would try to help her, but his assistance wasn’t effective. Her mother would say, “Erwin, why don’t you sit down and tell me something.”

“What should I tell you?”

“What you want to tell me.”

She tried to be especially pleasant to him, to renew the old hopes, and she managed to do so. Blanca’s father was elevated by his wife’s optimistic mood, and he began to make plans again. Her mother knew in her heart that the plans would lead to nothing, but she listened to everything he said. She knew that in a little while he wouldn’t have an attentive ear. In the last months of her life, her love had been soft and merciful. At the time, Blanca hadn’t grasped the wonder of it. Now it was as if the light of their faces shone again.