“Where have you been working until now?” Blanca asked.
“In the village.”
“Weren’t you happy there?”
“The men molested me,” she said, and her smile revealed her large teeth.
“Here things will be quiet for you,” Blanca said distractedly. Then she ran out of words. “Kirtzl,” she said.
“What?”
“It’s hard for me to part from Otto.”
“Don’t be emotional,” Kirtzl said. “It isn’t good to be emotional. Life is rotten.”
Blanca couldn’t sleep that night. Evil visions horrified her, and she sat in the dark kitchen, awaiting the morning. The night was long, and she knew clearly that without Otto, her life would be even more abject. The statue of the crucified Jesus that hung above the altar in the church appeared before her. But for some reason his face was strong and angry.
Before going to work, Adolf reminded her that she had to come home on Saturday afternoon to prepare the house for Sunday. Blanca was groggy, but still she ironed his shirts and arranged the cupboards. Finally she fell to her knees and begged Otto not to cry.
Kirtzl arrived at eight, and Blanca rushed out to catch the morning train. On the way, she met a former classmate. Andi was a simple, reliable girl whom Blanca had thought about now and then. Now, when she met her, she could say only, “Excuse me, I’m running to catch a train.”
Andi, astonished by her sudden appearance, called loudly after her, “God preserve you.”
Blanca got to the station at the last minute, bought a ticket right away, and boarded the train. The buffet car was empty, and she ordered a brandy. During her pregnancy and for some time afterward, Blanca hadn’t drunk. Now she felt a strong thirst for a drink. The first shot of brandy blurred her, and she saw the statue of Jesus again. His face had changed once again: now it didn’t seem angry, but determined, as if he were about to detach himself from the nails and take revenge against his tormenters.
Then her head emptied. The blur thickened, and a dull pain took hold of her scalp, spreading across her temples and down to the nape of her neck.
“Do you have a damp cloth?” she asked the waitress who was serving in the buffet. “My head is splitting with pain.”
The waitress handed her a cloth.
“Here,” she said softly. “This will make you feel better.”
Hearing her soft words, Blanca burst into tears.
“What’s the matter, dear?”
“I left my son behind, and I miss him.”
“I understand you very well. I also left my two little girls behind and went out to work.”
“How can you stand it?”
“It’s very hard for me. Every day I dull my longing with cognac. It’s been three years now.”
The damp cloth made Blanca feel better, and she sank into a pressured, choking sleep, but in the midst of it she heard a clear voice.
“Blanca, you mustn’t despair. There is a God in heaven, and He watches over you. You have to do what God tells you to do. Your suffering is not in vain. Your life has a purpose.” It was Theresa’s voice, coming from a distance; not a soft voice, but a very endearing one in its simplicity. Blanca opened her eyes. The train was close to Blumenthal. She pulled herself together and rose to her feet.
37
BLANCA QUICKLY LEARNED how different the old age home in Blumenthal was from the one in Himmelburg. In Blumenthal there were regular times for rising in the morning and for lights-out, the meals were served on time, there was a rest period from two to four in the afternoon, and visitors were permitted only on Tuesdays. The director of the home was strict with the residents, and if they disobeyed her instructions, she scolded them out loud and sometimes punished them.
Upon arriving, Blanca was sent to clean the rooms and make the beds. Then she went down to help in the kitchen. In the kitchen she met Sonia and quickly made friends with her. Sonia had been born in Sarajevo. Her mother was Jewish and her father was Croatian. From her childhood, Sonia had been attracted to Jews. Her father wasn’t pleased by that inclination, but Sonia was so enchanted by Jewish people that at an early age she left her home in order to live among them.
“What attracts you to the Jews?” Blanca asked her.
“I don’t know. My mother never talked with me about being Jewish, but I’ve been interested in them since my girlhood. I would stand for hours next to the synagogue and listen to the prayers. Are you Jewish?”
“I was,” said Blanca, embarrassed by the direct question.
“Why did you convert?”
“I got married,” said Blanca, without explaining.
In the evening the director summoned Blanca to her office and explained the conditions of service.
“You work for six days,” she said, “and you go home on Saturday afternoon. Anyone who is absent without an excuse or is negligent will be fired on the spot. You’ll share a room with Sonia, and there will be a special announcement regarding night shifts. By the way, my name is Elsa Stahl, and you may call me Elsa.” Her look was blue and cold, and it was evident that she was a strict woman who wouldn’t hesitate to punish.
Sonia was three years older than Blanca. She had finished high school in Serbia and begun to study to be a pharmacist, but she had lost interest in her studies and abandoned them. Since then she had been wandering. She’d already been to Vienna, and now she was here, saving money so she could travel to Galicia.
“What attracts you to Galicia?”
“The old-time Jews.”
When Sonia spoke about the old-time Jews, her eyes widened and a spark gleamed in them.
“When I was in the hospital,” Blanca said, “my friend brought me a book of stories about the Ba’al Shem Tov.”
“I never heard of him,” said Sonia.
“It’s a book about the Jewish faith.”
“Marvelous!” Sonia cried.
Sonia was an enthusiastic woman, bold and extravagant. She didn’t hide her thoughts. The residents liked her, but the director was suspicious of her. Once she had proclaimed to one of the janitors, “What difference does it make that my mother is Jewish? I’m proud of it.”
“You mustn’t talk that way,” one of the residents commented.
“Why not?”
“Because being Jewish isn’t something to be proud of.”
“But I am proud,” said Sonia.
After a few days of depression and humiliation, Blanca felt her strength returning to her, and sensations throbbed within her once again.
“I’ve been married for more than two years, and I have a son named Otto,” Blanca told Sonia.
“And your husband?”
“He works in the district dairy.”
Sonia told her about the old age home and its residents, and about Elsa, who treated the old people cruelly. The old people were afraid to complain. Every time a delegation came from Vienna to check on the conditions of the old age homes in the provinces and they asked the old people about the place, they answered as one: everything is fine, everything is decent.
Blanca still didn’t understand everything that was being told to her. She still was overcome with fatigue.
“I don’t know what’s the matter with me anymore,” she said, as she fell asleep.
In the middle of the night Blanca awoke, terrified.
“What’s the matter?” Sonia asked.
“I’m frightened.”
“Of what?”
“I saw Otto near a deep pit, and I couldn’t save him.”
38
FROM THEN ON, Otto never faded from Blanca’s view. She heard his voice in every corner, and on every floor she saw him crawling to her.