Meanwhile, Sonia also got into trouble. One of the janitors informed on her for making soup for two old people in the middle of the night. Sonia confessed, and Elsa decided to adopt a new method of punishment: to deduct from her wages. Sonia responded with fury and threatened to complain to the old age home’s board of trustees. Upon hearing her threats, Elsa dismissed her on the spot.
The residents repeatedly asked Elsa to forgive her, but Elsa stuck to her guns.
“If everybody in the old age home does whatever he feels like,” she said, “anarchy will reign here, not order.” “Order”—that was the ideal for whose sake she tormented both the workers and the residents. She never tired of proclaiming, “There will be order here. This is not some Jewish market.”
True, the old age home didn’t look Jewish from close up. The old people didn’t sit in the lobby or in front of the entrance to the building. Flowers and houseplants were placed in every corner. In that matter, as in others, there were disagreements among the residents. Some of them claimed that Elsa had turned the place into a grim Protestant temple, or into a prison where they punished old people for being old. Others argued that strict discipline was better than Jewish commotion. Elsa was strong in her resolve to dismiss Sonia, but in the end, because of the residents’ pleas, she forgave her. She informed her that from now on she was working there on probation. Any infraction, even a small one, would result in her immediate dismissal. Elsa used to punish the residents in similar fashion. For example, anyone who didn’t dress neatly or who neglected to tidy the area around his bed wasn’t taken on the weekly excursion to the river.
“We’re Jews, not Germans,” one of the residents stated, daring to raise his voice.
“Order is the honor of life,” replied Elsa. “Without order, there is no honor. Jews are negligent about order and discipline, and that’s to their discredit.”
“To hell with discipline.”
“Not here.”
Despite everything, there were little pleasures. When the tale-bearing janitors were soundly asleep, Blanca and Sonia would take out the pot of compote and serve anyone who was hungry.
44
THUS PASSED THE WINTER. In the spring Sonia got into another fight with Elsa and she was fired, just as Elsa had threatened. Sonia stuck to her guns and didn’t mince words.
“This isn’t a home for people,” she said, “it’s a prison. I’m going to walk through the streets of Blumenthal and tell everyone that there’s a jail in the middle of their city where they torture old people.” Before she left, she addressed the residents.
“People are born in the image of God,” she said, “and they have to preserve His image.” She was about to say more, but the two janitors took hold of her and dragged her outside. Even after she was outside, she didn’t hold her tongue.
“A jailer, not a woman!” she shouted. “That’s what she is.”
In the evening Blanca sneaked out to the Lilac Café, where she used to sit between shifts. Sonia was waiting for her. It was the Sonia she knew so well, but somehow different. A storm raged in her eyes, and every gesture throbbed with anger. Sonia told Blanca that she intended to leave for Galicia on the very next train. She spoke about Galicia with fervor, like someone speaking about his beloved native city.
They sipped brandy and drank coffee, and Sonia talked about outer freedom and inner freedom, and about the obligation to destroy institutions like Elsa’s old age home, to set the tormented old people free. Blanca was alarmed. Sonia’s face was firm with the resolve of believers who had removed all fear from their hearts. Blanca tried to get her to delay her departure, but Sonia said that Austria was a prison and that she must reach Kolomyja as soon as possible to purify herself from this contamination.
They sat for a while in silence, and then Blanca saw Sonia to the railroad station. The station was dark and enveloped in a damp fog. The train soon arrived, and Sonia said, “Blanca, you also have to free yourself from the bonds that they put on your hands and feet, and go forth from bondage to freedom, to the place where your ancestors worshipped God.” Fire burned in her face, but her words were serene, rising from a tranquil heart. The train rushed away, and for quite a while Blanca stood where she was in silence. It was hard for her to drag her feet back to the old age home and start the long night shift.
Now the days proceeded heavily, as though stuck in heavy batter. Week after week Blanca would take the train home, sometimes two or three times a week. The nights became a journey of longing for freedom, but with no way out. Kirtzl entrenched herself in the house. Her limbs broadened, and an animal-like satisfaction filled her face. When Blanca asked her why Otto’s skin was so chapped, she answered, “You worry too much. I raised three children, and they’re alive and healthy. Your worries won’t bring him health.”
Adolf would grab Blanca’s wages from her hands and ignore her. She noticed that he also ignored Otto, as though he were a bastard and not his son. Otto grew taller, but his body didn’t fill out. His scrawniness was evident in his exposed ribs and in his face, which became long and thin.
“He has no appetite,” said Kirtzl.
Sometimes in church Adolf would remember Blanca’s presence and stand next to her. In the flat shoes she wore now, she came to just below his shoulder. If he wanted to crush her, he could do it with one shove.
Why am I so frightened? she kept asking herself. She drank more and more. Drinking filled her with waves of warmth, but not with words. How strange, she thought as she spoke to Sonia in her mind. There are no words in my mouth. Once I knew how to talk, how to express things in detail and with precision, but now, when I stand next to Adolf, my tongue cleaves to the roof of my mouth and I can’t think of a single sentence with which to answer him.
A change was also taking place in her body. She had already observed that now, when she picked up heavy things, the burden didn’t hurt her. And during that imaginary conversation with Sonia she noticed something else: an arm motion, a reaching upward that didn’t seem to come from within her own body, a gesture that Grandma Carole used to make while she stood at the entrance to the synagogue.
Blanca said to Otto, “Don’t be afraid. I’ll watch over you with all my soul and all my might.” Hearing her voice, Otto opened his eyes wide and laughed, but Blanca was dejected, and in her dejection she began to sob.
On the train one Monday morning Blanca had a few drinks, and she returned to the old age home in a blur. Elsa smelled it on her right away.
“What you do outside isn’t my business,” she said, “but you can’t come here reeking of alcohol. I don’t intend to reprimand you again.”
“I’ll try,” Blanca replied in the tones of a maidservant.
“I’m not talking about trying,” said Elsa.
Now, too, Blanca felt the muteness that blocked her mouth. She rushed to her room, changed clothes, and without delay went to clean the stairs.
The alcohol that Blanca had drunk in the buffet car seeped into her and strengthened her. After cleaning the stairs, she made the beds and mopped the floor. She did all the chores without thinking, and at the end of the day she reported to the dining room and brought trays to those who were eating. The strength of youth, such as she had not even felt in high school, flowed in her arms. One of the old people observed her and said, “What’s happened to you, Blanca?”
“Nothing. Why are you asking, sir?”
“You look different today.”
She soon learned how right the man was. On laundry day she found a diamond ring in one of the smocks. In the past, whenever she had found anything valuable, she quickly returned it to its owner. This time she looked at the ring for a moment and then slipped it into her pocket. After finishing the laundry she thrust the ring into a cleft in the wall.