Until the Dawn's Light

52

THE FOLLOWING DAY the landlady came, and Blanca paid her rent, adding an extra banknote. The landlady brought a present for Otto: a vest that she herself knitted. Blanca hugged her and promised to write. Their bags were already packed, and the landlady stood in the doorway and followed them with her eyes until they reached the station.

Before long they were on their way. Otto was pleased. The sight of the tall trees and the lakes excited him, and he didn’t stop expressing amazement. Blanca was saddened. The fear that had died down during the past weeks pounded at her once more. She wasn’t afraid of her own death, but she was afraid for Otto. Since he had asked, “Why won’t you tell me what’s written in the notebook?” it seemed to her that he knew her secret. Again she tried to distract him, but this time the words failed her. During the weeks they’d spent near the water, he had grown and become tan, and his vocabulary was richer. On their last walk he had asked how birds fly without falling. Blanca, who had once studied the physics of bird flight in school, had forgotten the answer. She was flustered and finally raised her hands, saying, “I can’t remember a thing.”

How much those days near the river had changed her, Blanca did not yet know. But she had become stronger, and some of her essence had found its way into Otto. She was certain that little of Adolf remained in him and that she would be able to wipe out whatever was still there. She had noticed that he used expressions like “it may be assumed” and “nevertheless.” And sometimes, when his mind was not at ease, he would say, “It’s hard for me to believe.” All of those expressions were hers. Adolf had never used them. She was more and more certain that in the fullness of time, Otto would change completely and would indeed be like her mother’s brother, whose name he bore.

“Uncle Otto, whom you’re named after, was an excellent student at the university.”

“What happened to him?”

“He died.” She didn’t conceal it now.

“And we’ll meet him in the world of sleep?”

“Correct.”

Several times Otto had asked about death, and Blanca had avoided answering in detail. Once she said, “Death is a long sleep.” Otto accepted her words and didn’t bother her about the matter again.

Meanwhile, they pushed on, changing trains, and if they saw a pleasant village, they would stop there, rent a room or a house, bathe, rest, and set out again the next day.

After they had left the flat plains and proceeded up the mountains, Otto slept a lot. When he awoke, Blanca would tell him about the marvels of the east, about her friend Sonia, and about the Carpathians. Otto asked many questions, and Blanca described everything she knew at length and everything her imagination had embroidered.

“And we won’t go to church anymore?”

“No.”

Once she scolded him for asking about church and said, “The churches are crude, and our feet won’t enter them.” But about the little wooden synagogues, which she had encountered in Martin Buber’s book, she told him a great deal. For some reason Otto pictured the Jews of the Carpathians in his imagination as hardworking dwarfs. Blanca corrected him and said, “They’re the same height as everyone else. Maybe a little shorter, but not dwarfs by any means.”

“Why did they look like dwarfs to me?”

“That’s my fault. I didn’t describe them properly.”

They traveled farther and farther. What was left of the summer still gilded the landscape here and there. Though the grain had been harvested, apples ripened in orchards, and on the slopes the plum trees bent under the weight of their fruit. Blanca had a great desire to get off at one of the deserted stations and absorb some of the silence, but when she saw how pleased Otto was in his sleep, she gave up the idea.

Suddenly Otto woke up and said, “I’m afraid.”

“Of what, dear?”

“I fell into a deep pit.”

“It just seems that way to you. It was a dream. The train is moving along very nicely. We’ve already gone quite a distance, and in a little while we’ll reach the station. At the station we’ll buy fruit and lemonade.”

Blanca suddenly knew that her life in this world would be very short and that she had to take care of Otto. During the weeks that they had spent in the house near the Dessel River, thoughts of death disturbed her. Now she sensed that the danger was once more at hand. And she wasn’t mistaken: there, in the small station in the town of Schlossberg, Blanca saw the notice hanging on the wall.

“Wanted throughout the empire,” it read, “a woman named Blanca Hammer, who brutally murdered her husband, Adolf Hammer. The woman, of average height, thin, with dark gray eyes, ran away with her son, Otto. Anyone who has seen her or knows of her whereabouts is requested to inform the nearest police station immediately. The emperor’s police will be grateful to him for his good citizenship. We are commanded to extirpate evil from among us.”

Blanca’s face darkened. That which her heart had told her was written on the wall.

“Give Mama your hand,” she said to Otto. “We’re leaving for the east immediately.”

“Is it far from here?”

“No.”

“Can we ride a boat on the river?”

“Certainly.”

“And are there small horses?”

“I suppose so.”

“Why are you in a hurry, Mama?”

“I’m not in a hurry, dear.”

Good God, Blanca said to herself. Otto doesn’t know what’s in store for his mother. They hang murderers two hours before sunrise, in the dark, without ceremony and without mercy.