“And no one promised to come?”
“Not a single one. You have to know, sir, that the deceased woman was hard. Every day she would stand at the entrance to the synagogue and denounce the converts to Christianity. They didn’t like her in the town, and it’s no wonder that nobody is coming to her funeral.”
“Strange,” said the head of the burial society, and he went outside.
Later, a few old men and women gathered and stood around the dead woman. One of the old men complained about their having left her on the floor. The head of the burial society explained the reason for that to the old man, but the old man wouldn’t agree with him and argued that a Christian burial was dignified. They didn’t leave the corpse on the floor. The Jews had contempt for their dead.
Then the funeral procession left for the cemetery. The old men apologized and said, “We can’t walk that far,” and they went home. The men from the burial society bore the coffin, followed by Brandstock, the woman who had cleansed the body, and Blanca. The woman who had cleansed the body uttered broken syllables along the way. They sounded like suppressed complaints. She sighed and finally kept silent. Blanca staggered after them, surprised that everyone else was walking with robust steps and she alone was trailing behind.
The cemetery was empty, and its open gate showed that it had been days since anyone had visited it. Seeing the neglect, Brandstock raised his voice and said, “The Jews also neglect the cemetery, and they won’t be forgiven for that in the world of truth. In the world of truth, there’s no favoritism. They’ll all be punished, believe me.”
The men from the burial society didn’t listen to him but started to dig the grave right away. Blanca observed the men who were digging. They weren’t the same men who had arranged her mother’s funeral. They were younger. Their faces expressed effort and concentration, and it was evident that they were doing their work faithfully.
After the grave was dug and the coffin was placed in it, the men from the burial society began to recite prayers. They prayed loudly, emphasizing the words. After the prayers, Blanca approached them and thanked them.
“There’s no need to thank us,” said the head of the burial society.
Blanca then left the cemetery hurriedly so she could catch the noon train. She ran with determination and reached the station within a few minutes. In the buffet car she had two drinks and sat next to the window. Now, with clarity, she saw the morning’s chain of events.
Kirtzl had appeared at eight o’clock, and Blanca had handed Otto to her. Otto had refused to part with her and shouted, “Mama, Mama!” Blanca had sat down and said, “Dear, I’m not going far. I’ll come back very soon. Don’t worry.” Her voice seemed to soothe him, and he stopped crying. Afterward she had slipped out of the house without saying good-bye to him. At first she had stood at the door and listened. Not hearing the sound of crying, she had set out, but after taking a few steps she heard crying again and was about to go back. Then, out of the fog, Brandstock had appeared and told her the sad news.
“Otto!” she said out loud, downing another glass of spirits. “Your mother just saw Grandma Carole to her final rest. Grandma Carole was a woman of principle, and she wounded me more than once, but I can’t be angry with her now. Unlike me, she was loyal to the faith of her ancestors and defended it with her body. I wanted to tell you that, so that no secret will divide us. Now you have to know everything, and indeed I will tell you everything. You will be with me wherever I go, my dear.” Hardly had the words left her mouth when dizziness took hold of her head and shook her. Blanca put her hands over her face and leaned against the wall of the train. She had almost arrived at Blumenthal when she realized that it was already five o’clock, and Elsa would certainly be furious. Anxiety drew her out of the dizziness, and she grasped the railing and stepped down cautiously from the train.
42
BLANCA REACHED THE old age home in Blumenthal at six o’clock. It was already dark. Elsa stood at the entrance to the corridor, and when she saw Blanca, she thundered, “I don’t want to see you here!”
Blanca just stood there, motionless. “Grandma Carole died, and there was no one to attend her funeral. Forgive me.”
“And who will take care of these people?” Elsa pointed to the inmates lying in the rooms.
“What could I do?” Blanca replied, her arms upraised.
“You could have come here on time.” Elsa continued to hammer at her.
One of the veteran workers dared to approach Elsa and said, “Forgive her.”
“How can I forgive her?” Elsa addressed the woman angrily.
“Blanca is devoted to the old people, and she doesn’t avoid any task.”
“She was late by six full hours. That’s an unforgivable sin,” Elsa said, and went into her office, leaving Blanca standing outside. Two women who lived in the home and had witnessed the unpleasant scene entered the office and said, “Forgive her.”
That last request was apparently effective. Elsa came out and announced, “This time I’m forgiving you, but I won’t do it again. From now on, you’re on probation.”
Blanca went back to work. She prepared the tables for supper and served meals to the bedridden residents. This was her home now, and she was glad to be in the company of the old people. Some of them were tall and thin, and imbued with an old-fashioned nobility. They observed more than they spoke, with the sharpness of people who had lived fully in the world for many years and seen what they’d seen. Their expressions were clear, quiet, and merciful. In contrast to them were the irritable ones who never stopped complaining about the sons and daughters who had converted and abandoned them. Day and night they rummaged through everything that had happened to them during their lives, casting blame and raising the ghosts of long-departed men and women. Everyone at the home knew everything about them. Because they talked about it so much, their pain was discolored, and all one saw was bitterness and misery.
Blanca was glad to be working and helping people who needed her assistance, and the events of that long and painful day began to fade. One of the bedridden women asked her about Grandma Carole, and Blanca told her.
While the last meals were being served to the people in beds, Elsa burst into the dining room. This time she vented her fury on Fritz, the plumber. That tall, sturdy man didn’t seem surprised. Without raising his head, he asked, “What’s the matter?” The question heightened her rage. Fritz didn’t respond. He just moved to the side, as though he had met up with a mad dog. Fritz was a lazy, drowsy man who did only what was necessary. Elsa had sworn more than once that she would fire him, but she hadn’t carried out her intention. Fritz was strong, and he helped everyone. He picked sick people up in his arms and carried them to the infirmary or the toilet. He loaded onto his back furniture, valises, sacks of flour, and whatever else needed carrying. He was no longer young, but his strength had not waned. When Elsa would explode, he would stop what he was doing, and after she wore herself out with shouting, he would go back to his room, lie down on the bed, and doze off.
That night Blanca told Sonia about Grandma Carole’s death. Sonia asked for details, and Blanca said simply, “Grandma Carole was not a woman of this world. It was hard to get near her, because she was like a pillar of fire.”
“What do you mean, Blanca?” Sonia tried to understand.
“She defended the faith of her ancestors with her body.”
“Did you ever speak with her?”
“I couldn’t speak with her. How could I speak with her?”
“I’ve never met Jews like that.”
Blanca noticed that Sonia’s body didn’t suit her face. Her body was sturdy like a peasant woman’s, but her face was long and thin, and when she paid close attention to something, it appeared even narrower.