The conversation with Sonia unexpectedly clarified something for Blanca: her mother’s religious beliefs. For years Blanca had been sure that her mother, like her father, was distant from her tribe and its beliefs. Only now did she grasp clearly that her mother had kept a hidden connection with the faith of her ancestors. She refrained from showing her feelings only because of her husband, whom she loved. Once, when Blanca’s father was complaining about the store, about his partner, and about the debts into which he had sunk, her mother said, “There is a God in heaven, and He watches over all of His creatures.” Upon hearing those words, her father buried his face in his hands.
“Where did you get that strange belief?” he asked.
“It’s my faith,” she said, without raising her voice.
“That was your ancestors’ belief, not yours.” Blanca’s father tried to correct her.
“Mine, too, if I may.”
Hearing her last words, Blanca’s father raised his head and said, “I don’t believe what I’m hearing.”
Blanca’s mother responded to that with a restrained smile, and the conversation ceased.
“Soon I’ll be leaving Austria to the Austrians and traveling to the Carpathians,” Sonia said.
“What will I do without you?”
“I’m sure you’ll get there, too.”
“I don’t see how.”
“I already see you there.”
Thus the days passed. During breaks between shifts, Blanca would tell Otto what she was thinking. She was sure not only that Otto could hear her from afar, but also that he could understand her. Once one of the residents approached her and asked in surprise, “Blanca, are you praying? I didn’t know you were so religious.”
“I’m not praying. I was just mumbling something, apparently. Sorry.”
There was an extremely aged woman named Tsirl in the home. Like Blanca’s mother, she had been born in Zelishtshik and remembered Ida Beck’s family and its ancestry, and she told Blanca that Ida was a descendant of the legendary Rabbi Nachman of Horodenka. Just the mention of his name brought blessings.
“I didn’t know,” said Blanca.
“It was no accident that my daughter hospitalized me in this place, and no accident that you came to work here. There is a reason for everything, my child.”
“What was so special about that rabbi?”
“He wasn’t a rabbi, dear. He was Rabbi Nachman of Horodenka.”
“Do you remember Grandma Carole?”
“Certainly I remember her. She was many years younger than I.”
“She passed away yesterday.”
“May her memory be blessed. In the world of truth, they will receive her well,” she said, and closed her eyes.
Tsirl dozed most of the day, but when she opened her eyes, her gaze was clear and she remembered everything very well.
The next day she told Blanca, “It’s hard for me to die in a foreign place. If I were in Zelishtshik, I would have been gathered to my ancestors long ago. This alien place is delaying death, and a person lives a long life for no purpose.”
43
THE WINTER WAS long and harsh, and Blanca would return home leaden and dejected. Kirtzl had taken over the house. The cheap perfume that she used filled the rooms and smothered them. On every wall she had hung an icon. It was clear: Kirtzl was no longer Blanca’s helper; she did Adolf’s bidding. With every passing week, Otto was more and more neglected. His rear end was chapped, and an unpleasant odor wafted from him.
It was now Kirtzl’s house, not Blanca’s. Sometimes Kirtzl would ask her, “How is it there?” to emphasize that Blanca belonged to the old age home in Blumenthal and not to this house. Blanca suffered but didn’t complain. In Otto’s company she was full of joy and contentment. She would wash him and rub his sores with salve, and then she would sit with him and show him the big letters in the children’s book she had received as a gift from one of the residents of the home. When Otto would cry, Blanca would promise that the day was not far off when she would no longer go out to work.
Adolf’s behavior became more brutal. In the past, when he took her wages he would leave her with money for the train fare and a little pocket change. Now he gave her only her train fare, and he would always say the same thing: “They’re exploiting you and not paying you properly.”
“What can I do?” She would stand before him as though paralyzed.
“Demand more.”
Otto would awaken at night and burst into tears, and Blanca would rush over to soothe him. One Sunday she secretly brought him to Dr. Nussbaum. Dr. Nussbaum quickly determined that the child was neglected. Blanca told him she was working away from home and saw Otto only on weekends.
Dr. Nussbaum had changed a lot since Blanca last saw him. The battle he was waging against the municipality and against the health authorities in Vienna had left its mark on his face. His fingers trembled. There was now some hope that the gates of the hospital would soon be opened, but not all its departments. Meanwhile he continued treating patients in his home and courtyard, and if he was summoned at night, he didn’t refuse.
“How is Celia?” Blanca asked.
“She’s in seclusion. That is her path now. What can I do?” When he spoke about his daughter, the physician’s authority evaporated from his face.
The Sunday parties continued as usual. Blanca would do the cooking on Saturday night, rise early for church, and then quickly prepare herself to receive guests. She was anxious because her in-laws spoke about Otto as a weak-bodied child, doubting that he would be able to meet the demands of life. To strengthen him Blanca fed him chopped liver that she brought from the old age home.
“Otto must be strong,” she said. “Here you have to be strong. You have to eat a lot and stand powerfully on your own two feet. Grandpa Erwin and Grandma Ida would have taken care of you differently, but they’re no longer with us. What can I do? Don’t cry. People who cry are weak. And you’re not weak. You’re as strong as a lion cub, and no one will dare to touch you.”
Adolf would return home late at night half drunk and shout, “Why’s he crying? Shut him up!” His threatening voice was very frightening, and Otto would quiet down. Adolf would then collapse on the bed and fall asleep.
Blanca’s anxieties no longer gave her rest. She worked many night shifts, and in return Elsa would free her for a few hours during the day. She would rush to catch the noon train and come back by the evening train. Once Adolf caught her and said, “What are you doing here in the middle of the week?”
“I came to see Otto.”
“What for?”
Otto’s features, as though in spite, became more delicate. A quiet intelligence glowed in his eyes. It was as if he understood that the people surrounding him were putting him to a hard test. When Blanca appeared, he would stretch out his arms, hug her around the neck, and cling to her. Blanca kept promising him that his suffering would not last long, that soon they would set out on a long journey. In the few hours that she was with him every week, she taught him new words. Otto would look at her lips and try to imitate the sounds.
Parting from Otto on Monday mornings was agonizing. If it weren’t for the two shots of brandy that Blanca had in the buffet car, the pain would have been constant. But by the time she returned to the old age home, the pain, roused from its slumber, would torture her again. Finally, though, her work wiped that pain away, too. After a day of labor, she would lay her head on the pillow, her thoughts scattered to the winds.