Until the Dawn's Light

53

ONCE AGAIN THE trains bore them from place to place. At the larger villages, the train would stop, take on masses of peasants, and rush off. From the train windows Blanca saw the WANTED posters on the walls, and she was sure that her life was in greater and greater danger with every passing hour.

“Otto.”

“What?”

“You have to be strong.”

“I am strong.”

Blanca knew that the moment they caught her she would be separated from Otto. They would send him back to his aunts, and they would try her and send her to the gallows. His aunts would drill into him, morning, noon, and night, that his mother was a murderer and that his memory of her must be erased. Otto would refuse to believe them at first, but in time he would be convinced. The police would read the notebooks. They would present them as evidence at the trial, they would eventually be buried in an archive, and no one would remember her anymore. Suddenly she felt sad for herself and for her life, which had gone awry.

“When you grow up, don’t forget the notebooks. I’m leaving them in your backpack,” Blanca said, knowing there was no logic to her words.

Otto raised his eyes and said, “I’ll read them as soon as I’m big.”

Blanca kissed his forehead. “I’m very proud of you,” she said.

They arrived in Czernowitz. Blanca had planned to look for a kindergarten for Otto, but she immediately realized that their name would betray him. Not only that, Czernowitz was a big city, and gendarmes swarmed over every corner. Better to go farther, to a more modest place.

The posters stood out on the walls. She had never before seen her name in such big printed letters, and she was momentarily filled with a fear that was mingled with a malicious pleasure. Everybody’s looking for me, she thought, and I’m here, in the very heart of the city, next to police headquarters.

Now she remembered that she had heard about Czernowitz for the first time from her mother. As a little girl, Blanca’s mother had passed through Czernowitz with her family on her way from Galicia to Austria. The city had been etched in her mother’s memory because of the splendid stores and the cafés known for their fine strawberry tortes. Blanca wanted very much to spend at least an hour in the place where her mother had walked, to stroll with Otto along Herrengasse, which was famous for its charm, but her fear was stronger than her desire.

“We won’t visit this busy city,” she said to Otto, and they quickly boarded a train for the provinces.

“What’s your name, dear?” They were alone in the car, and Blanca surprised Otto with this question as soon as the train departed.

“Otto Hammer. Why are you asking?”

“That’s a mistake. That was your name when you were little. Now that you’re big, you’ll have a grown-up name.”

“When will I get the new name?”

“Right away. I’ll tell you your new name right away: Otto Guttmann. Do you hear?”

“Will that be my new name?” Otto asked, smiling.

“Yes. You have reached the age of four and a quarter. When a child reaches the age of four and a quarter, his mother gives him a new name, and he immediately forgets his old name. What’s your name, dear?”

“My name is Otto Guttmann.”

“Correct. You have to practice saying it to yourself from now on: My name is Otto Guttmann. Everything that used to be is as if it never was.”

The end of the summer was brightly colored, and more than once Blanca said to herself, We’ll get off here, we’ll burrow into the thick shrubs and live in nature. But every time she grabbed Otto’s hand to get off, she was deterred. At one station she yielded to temptation, and they did get out. Except for a small kiosk and a few drunkards gathered around it, there was nothing. They drank lemonade, bought a basket of plums, and without delay boarded the next train.

Otto slept, and Blanca was glad of it. It seemed to her that as long as he was asleep, she was protected. The trains in this region were slow and neglected. More than once the train stopped and stood in place for an hour or two. The conductors got off and sat by the kiosk, drinking lemonade and smoking with pleasure, as though time meant nothing. But in fact, that relaxation frightened Blanca. It was as though the tiger were about to leap out of the thicket. While the train was speeding along, Otto’s sleep was pure and quiet. But when the train stopped and the conductors got off, Otto’s face filled with curiosity, and he started to pester her with questions. So that he would stop asking, Blanca told him stories. At first she had wanted to tell him a little about what she had written in the notebook, but she understood right away that Otto might get confused and mix up Adolf’s family with hers. It would be better for his life to begin, for the moment, alongside the Dessel River and on the trains, and no earlier.

“Otto,” she said.

“What, Mama?”

“Don’t worry. The train will start moving soon.”

“I’m not worried.”

“Then why does your face look worried?”

“I remembered the banks of the Dessel.”

“That’s a marvelous place, and we have to remember it forever. What do you see now?”

“The red fish.”

“True, the water was very clear, and we could see the fish, but the plants were also beautiful. Everything was beautiful. So why are you worried?”

“Will we go back there?”

“One day, I suppose.”

“I’d like to go back there.”

In her heart she was glad that the new sights were gradually adhering to his soul and that she wouldn’t have to fool him or lie.

“Otto,” she said.

“What, Mama?”

“Will you forgive me?”

“For what?”

“For all the crimes that I committed.”

“What are crimes?”

“Don’t you know?”

“No.”