She does not try to wrench free from the grip of the Jew. She speaks without looking at him.
“The dogs are already David’s. He gave them the Jew, so the dogs belong to him now.”
Her voice is low and sleepy. She has the same blank stare as does David.
Abahn returns from the other room. She sees him. She speaks to him:
“I want the dogs of the Jew for David to go into the forest.”
Abahn pauses in front of her and the Jew. He regards them both without responding.
“You brought these dogs with you and now they want to kill you. They want to get these dogs out of Staadt.”
She pulls free from the Jew’s embrace. She rises.
“You should give them to David before you die. If you give them to David they will live. You understand?”
She regards David.
“David will keep them safe from Gringo. He’ll take them into the forest. They’ll live.”
She falls silent. Then starts speaking again:
“A kennel in the forest — he’ll sell puppies, neither seen nor found out by anyone, secret dogs — he’ll leave the mason work behind, goodbye to Gringo.”
The Jew raises his head, he looks at her. He is listening with great attention. She begins to smile. There is a little spit on the corner of his lips. She addresses him:
“Maybe you don’t understand? The dogs should be David’s.”
She waits. The Jew is still looking at her. He says:
“The dogs are David’s. I’m giving them to him.”
Sabana recoils. They look at one another.
“You will tell Gringo,” says Abahn. “Write, ‘The Jew has left his dogs to David.’”
The Jew rises, goes to the table and takes a blank sheet of paper, writes.
He finishes writing. He says:
“They will be happy.”
She does not answer. Unmoving, she listens to them. She is regarding them.
“You have to explain to Gringo,” says Abahn. “Tell him that David wanted the dogs of the Jew.”
Slowly she turns back to the darkened park, stands there, gazing out. She says:
“Gringo won’t listen. He won’t read.”
It seems they do not understand.
“You have to tell him that David’s desire was stronger than life, stronger than death,” says the Jew.
“It was a desire Gringo could not see,” says Abahn, “but you saw it, Sabana. That David is a hunter. That he had the desire. That he should let David take the dogs.”
“Because that name: David,” says the Jew, “is the name of a hunter.”
She says:
“These dogs are forbidden in Staadt. I found out.”
They do not answer. They seem not to have heard. They seem to have forgotten Sabana. They talk among themselves.
“Dogs by the million,” says the Jew.
Something breaks in the Jew’s voice. What suddenly entered his voice?
“Jew dogs,” says Abahn.
“Useless,” says the Jew.
“Blameless,” says Abahn.
“Happy,” says the Jew.
Silence.
The sound of crying. They turn.
Sabana is crying.
Silence.
She says:
“I want the gas chamber. I want to die.”
She cries out.
“Get me out of here. I want to leave.”
They do not answer her.
•
“Which forest?” asks Abahn.
Tears fall from Sabina’s eyes. She thinks on it.
“The forest.”
“You don’t know what’s beyond here,” says Abahn. “Where is the forest?”
She searches her thoughts.
“Where, I don’t know. We have to talk about it.”
“The wild forest,” says the Jew.
“Yes,” she says, pausing. “Where is it?”
“Deep within Staadt,” says the Jew.
She isn’t crying anymore. She looks at the Jews once more. Her gaze has become somber again, somber and blue.
“The forest is in David’s mind as well,” says the Jew.
She looks over at him slumbering.
“In David’s head,” she says.
They fall silent.
“You are in the forest,” says the Jew. “You are in the head of David.”
“Far away,” says Abahn. “You see something.”
She searches for a long time.
“I don’t see another David,” she says. “I see a Jew.”
“There are Jews in the forest,” says Abahn.
A sob, sudden, brief, stifled, all at once.
“They know it, just like David.”
“You know it for David,” says the Jew.
She is silent. For a long while she looks at the bare walls of the house of the Jew.
“The forest is in the house of the Jew,” she says.
“Yes.”
“In the body of the Jew, in his dogs,” says Abahn.
Sabana’s gaze unfocuses.
“In Prague, in the fields of the dead.”
“Yes, like that. Prague is also Staadt,” says Abahn.
“And the fields of the dead are in the house of the Jew.”
“Yes.”
“In an adjoining forest.”
“In the forest,” says the Jew.
•
They are all silent, separate from one another.
She is listening to the noise of Staadt. Everything is quiet.
She listens again, this time her eyes closed.
“You said something?” she asks the Jew.
“No.”
“I heard. Someone speak.”
He doesn’t answer. She speaks to Abahn: “Someone said: treason. The treason of Jews.”
“No,” says the Jew. “No one said anything.”
“Nobody spoke,” says Abahn.
Suddenly a cacophony of barking from the dogs outside.
“In the barking of dogs I hear voices,” says Sabana.
The dogs fall silent.
“They’re quiet now,” says the Jew.
“Listen,” says Abahn. “No one is talking, there’s no noise.”
She listens: all is quiet.
“There was no betrayal by Jews,” says Abahn. “There is the betrayal of Gringo. David gave up the Jew in order to have his dogs. But once he has the dogs, he’ll give up Gringo. He’ll say: Adieu cement, adieu Gringo.”
Sabana turns toward Abahn, meets his eyes and smiles.
“At the risk of overanalyzing David, it’s true that in the end you can count on saying adieu to Gringo,” she says. “And then we will find the forest of the Jews?”
“Yes,” says Abahn.
The dogs of the Jew growl, low and soft.
“It’s Diane, she’s dreaming,” says the Jew.
Sabana once again remembers the park beyond. She points out at the invisible expanse beyond them in the dark, through the panes of glass in the door. She says:
“You said don’t be afraid. But of what?”
“Of happiness,” says the Jew.
“Of hunger,” says Abahn.
David opens his eyes. The dogs are still growling. His eyes linger open.
“The word woke him up,” says Abahn.
“Dogs,” says Sabana.
“Hunger,” says the Jew.
The dogs fall silent. They wait. The eyes of David flutter half-open, then suddenly close again. His breath evens out.
She gestures at him, says:
“And for this, you prefer hunger?”
“He prefers nothing, he prefers hunger.”
“It’s for that that they kill him.”
“Yes.”
Sabana gestures at David without looking at him. “For that, I prefer death.”
“No,” says the Jew.
They stand apart from one another. Each one alone. Each one looking at David, who is sleeping in the light.
“When they sleep,” says Abahn.
Sabana looks away from David. She turns back to the darkened park.
“He is young still?” asks Abahn.
“Yes, young,” says the Jew.
“When he isn’t sleeping, he is a killer-ape,” says Abahn.
“A stonemason,” says the Jew. “A member of the Party.”