“Yes, Papa. We had debts.”
“I don’t want to go back to Himmelburg. That dark place depresses me.” He spoke the way he had sometimes spoken when her mother was alive.
“I’d invite you to stay with us, but my house, Papa, is completely full. Adolf’s sister and her three children live with us,” she lied.
“Don’t you have a bed for me?”
“Everything is dirty, crowded, and noisy.” She spoke hurriedly.
“I don’t know what to do,” he said, cracking his knuckles.
“Let’s take a walk. Don’t you want to take a walk?”
Now she tried to entertain him, to distract him and lead him indirectly back to the railway station. Amazingly, she managed. She told him that after Adolf’s sister left the house and returned to her own home, she intended to enroll in a course in bookkeeping.
“But you wanted to study at the university, didn’t you?”
“Later, Papa.”
“And what does Adolf say?”
“He’s very encouraging.”
“I’m glad. Your happiness is very precious to me. I never managed to accomplish anything.”
Now he spoke about himself again, about his partner, Dachs, and about his classmates who were weak students and became successful industrialists.
“How can you explain that, Papa?”
“Abstract thought isn’t good for commerce.” Again he surprised her with a clear and accurate insight.
“And what’s needed for success?”
“A certain kind of coarseness of mind.”
Now she was alarmed by the clarity of his thought.
They reached the station on time. Blanca had intended to join him, to stay overnight in Himmelburg and return the following day, but her father said quietly, in his customary tone of voice, “Why displace yourself at night? Sleep in your own bed, and come to visit me tomorrow.”
“Still, I want to join you.”
“There’s no need, dear.”
Now he no longer tarried but walked up the steps into the railroad car and sat at the window. The car was empty, and Blanca managed to see him in profile. Then the train began to move, and Blanca waved good-bye with both hands.
Surprisingly, her father opened the window and called out, “Thank you very much, Blanca. It was a wonderful day.”
The train quickly moved off into the distance, and Blanca’s face flooded with tears.
20
THE NEXT MORNING, the postman woke Blanca and handed her a telegram.
“Your father disappeared last night,” it read. “Police and citizens searching for him. Come at once.” At first it seemed as though the old postman had risen up out of her nightmares, but she saw her error immediately. He was Richard, the postman she had known since her childhood. At one time he delivered the mail in the center of town. Later he was transferred to the outlying areas.
“Papa’s disappeared,” Blanca said, hardly knowing what she was saying.
The postman’s jaw dropped. “Where was he?” he asked.
“He was here. I accompanied him to the Himmelburg train. He was pleased. We had spent time together downtown.”
“Why did he go to Himmelburg?”
“He’s living in the old age home.”
“All kinds of strange things happen in old age homes,” said the elderly man. He closed his bag and stood where he was.
“What can I do?” Blanca asked distractedly. Now she saw her father’s face clearly in the train window. Before getting on the train, he had spoken quietly and cogently, as though he understood that there was no way out and that he had to go back.
It was ten o’clock, and a pure autumn sun stood in the sky.
“Blanca,” said the postman in a fatherly voice. “Get dressed. The train leaves in an hour.”
“Yes,” she said, as though he had woken her up again.
“People don’t get lost.” He used a peasant proverb to calm her fears and then went on his way.
Blanca dressed quickly and hurried to the station. There was no one there, and the young conductor made a joke at her expense. He heaped compliments on her and then casually mentioned that he had seen Adolf in the bar at the training center the day before.
“How is he?” Blanca asked.
“Don’t worry. There are plenty of girls there.”
For the first time in her life, she felt disgust.
There was no commotion in the old age home. It was twelve thirty, and the inmates were lying in bed. Her father’s bed was unmade, and it was evident to Blanca as she approached that many hands had disturbed it.
“What happened?” she asked.
“Last night your father disappeared,” said the man in the neighboring bed, and he sat up.
“Where did he disappear to?”
“I don’t know,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders.
“Strange,” she said, and she knew that wasn’t the appropriate word.
“Are they unkind to the inmates here?” she asked.
“No, never,” said the old man, smiling. He quickly added, “We don’t bother anyone, and no one bothers us.”
From the director, Blanca learned that her father’s footprints led to the nearby grove. The janitor and two cleaning women immediately went out to look for him. The police had arrived, and they, too, were looking. The weather was fair, and that would help them locate him. The director sounded satisfied, as if she had succeeded in doing what was necessary at that time.
“Do a lot of people go to the woods?” Blanca asked cautiously.
“Not many, but every year one or two of the inmates disappear. In the end we find them.” She tried to soothe Blanca.
“I’ll go and have a look myself,” Blanca said, and she went out into the rear courtyard. The broad, empty courtyard was illuminated by a dull noon light. The gate was open, and it seemed as if it had been that way for years. It was decorated with metal ornaments and had evidently known better days.
No one was to be seen in the nearby grove. There was just a cold, motionless silence. The idea that her father had left his bed at night and gone out into these woods began to seem more concrete to her. Now she remembered that he would occasionally get angry, and harsh words would escape from his mouth. Usually it was because of something connected to the store, the source of his torments. Once, in a terrible moment of anger, he came up close to his partner, Dachs, and shouted, “Monster!” But his greatest hatred was for Grandma Carole. She was the thorn in his flesh. Because of Blanca’s grandmother, he didn’t even go to synagogue on Yom Kippur. He attended funerals bareheaded, and he signed a petition demanding the closing of the kosher butcher because Jewish ritual slaughter was cruel. This soft-spoken, courteous man, whom everyone liked, would be filled with fury every time anyone mentioned Grandma Carole’s name. Once he had gone too far. “All my misfortunes have befallen me because of her,” he said. Now his angry face was turned toward his daughter. Blanca returned to the old age home.
The old people gathered around her and asked whether there was any news. Blanca told them she was considering going to the police and asking them to deploy as many men as possible in the area. The nights were cold, and her father wasn’t dressed properly. The old people agreed with her.
Meanwhile, lunch was being served, and Blanca was offered a bowl of soup. She sipped the hot liquid and told everyone about the mailman who had awakened her that morning. She recounted this dispassionately, as though what had happened to her was only a nightmare. Now that it had passed, she could tell others about it.
The old people stared at her. “What can we do?” they asked.
“I won’t give the police any respite.” Blanca spoke in a voice not her own.
The kitchen worker brought her a second course as well. Now most of the old people were sitting in the dining room, eating and drinking from ornate ceramic mugs that didn’t look as though they belonged to the place. Blanca repeated that she intended to go to the police, ask for an interview with the chief inspector, and explain the urgency of the matter to him. The nights were cold and dark, and a person who had lost his way was liable to fall into a pit. One of the old men made a dismissive gesture with his hand and looked at her skeptically, as if to say, They won’t do a thing, I know.