said Tzili apologetically.
“You need milk, I said.” The woman was no longer young. Her face was haggard and there was a kind of fury in the set of her mouth.
“I’ll see to it,” said Tzili, in order to appease the woman’s wrath.
“Do it straightaway. A pregnant woman needs milk. It’s as necessary to her as the air she breathes, and you sit here doing nothing.”
Tzili said no more. When she did not respond, the woman grew angry and said: “A woman should look after her body. A woman is not an insect. And by the way, where’s the bastard who did this to you?”
“His name is Mark,” said Tzili softly.
“In that case, let him take care of it.”
“He’s not here.”
“Where is he?”
Tzili sat looking at her without resentment. No one interfered. They were sitting sunk into themselves. The woman turned away and went to sit on the riverbank.
That night cool spring winds blew, bringing with them shadows from the mountains. Quiet shadows that clung soundlessly to the trees but that nevertheless caused a commotion. At first people tried to chase them away as if they were birds, but for some reason the shadows clung to the trees and refused to go.
And as if to spite them, the night was very bright, and they could see the shadows clearly, breathing fearfully.
“Go away, leave us alone!” The shouts arose from every side. And when the shadows refused to go, people began to beat them.
The shadows did not react. Their stubborn resistance infuriated the people and they cast off all restraint.
All night long the battle lasted. Bodies and shadows fought each other in silence, violently. The only sound was the thud of their blows.
When day broke the shadows fled.
The survivors were not happy. A kind of sadness darkened their daylight hours. Tzili did not stir from her corner. She too was affected by the sadness. Now she understood what she had not understood before: everything was gone, gone forever. She would remain alone, alone forever. Even the fetus inside her, because it was inside her, would be as lonely as she. No one would ever ask again: “Where were you and what happened to you?” And if someone did ask, she would not reply. She loved Mark now more than ever, but she loved his wife and children too.
The woman who had grown angry with her before on account of the milk now sat wrapped up in herself. A kind of tenderness shone from her eyes, as if she were, not a woman who had lost herself and all she possessed, but a woman with children, whose love for her children was too much for her to bear.
27
S PRING WAS NOW at its height, its light was everywhere. Some of the people could not bear the silence and left. The rest sat on the ground and played cards. The old madness, buried for years, broke out: cards and gambling. All at once they shook off their damp, rotting rags and put on carefree expressions, laughing and teasing each other. Tzili did not yet know that a new way of life was unconsciously coming into being here.
The holiday atmosphere reminded Tzili of her parents. When she was still small they had spent their summer vacations in a pension on the banks of the Danube. Her parents were short of money, but they had spared no effort in order to be in the company, if only for two weeks, of speakers of correct German. As if to spite them, however, most of the people there spoke Yiddish. This annoyed her father greatly, and he said: “You can’t get away from them. They creep in everywhere.” Afterwardhe fell ill, and they stayed at home and spent their money on doctors and medicine.
No one spoke of the war anymore. The card games devoured their time. A few of them went to buy supplies, but as soon as they got back they joined enthusiastically in the game. Every now and then someone would remember to say: “What will become of us?” But the question was not serious. It was only part of the game. “What’s wrong with staying right here? We’ve got plenty of coffee, cigarettes—we
“You need milk, I said.” The woman was no longer young. Her face was haggard and there was a kind of fury in the set of her mouth.
“I’ll see to it,” said Tzili, in order to appease the woman’s wrath.
“Do it straightaway. A pregnant woman needs milk. It’s as necessary to her as the air she breathes, and you sit here doing nothing.”
Tzili said no more. When she did not respond, the woman grew angry and said: “A woman should look after her body. A woman is not an insect. And by the way, where’s the bastard who did this to you?”
“His name is Mark,” said Tzili softly.
“In that case, let him take care of it.”
“He’s not here.”
“Where is he?”
Tzili sat looking at her without resentment. No one interfered. They were sitting sunk into themselves. The woman turned away and went to sit on the riverbank.
That night cool spring winds blew, bringing with them shadows from the mountains. Quiet shadows that clung soundlessly to the trees but that nevertheless caused a commotion. At first people tried to chase them away as if they were birds, but for some reason the shadows clung to the trees and refused to go.
And as if to spite them, the night was very bright, and they could see the shadows clearly, breathing fearfully.
“Go away, leave us alone!” The shouts arose from every side. And when the shadows refused to go, people began to beat them.
The shadows did not react. Their stubborn resistance infuriated the people and they cast off all restraint.
All night long the battle lasted. Bodies and shadows fought each other in silence, violently. The only sound was the thud of their blows.
When day broke the shadows fled.
The survivors were not happy. A kind of sadness darkened their daylight hours. Tzili did not stir from her corner. She too was affected by the sadness. Now she understood what she had not understood before: everything was gone, gone forever. She would remain alone, alone forever. Even the fetus inside her, because it was inside her, would be as lonely as she. No one would ever ask again: “Where were you and what happened to you?” And if someone did ask, she would not reply. She loved Mark now more than ever, but she loved his wife and children too.
The woman who had grown angry with her before on account of the milk now sat wrapped up in herself. A kind of tenderness shone from her eyes, as if she were, not a woman who had lost herself and all she possessed, but a woman with children, whose love for her children was too much for her to bear.
27
S PRING WAS NOW at its height, its light was everywhere. Some of the people could not bear the silence and left. The rest sat on the ground and played cards. The old madness, buried for years, broke out: cards and gambling. All at once they shook off their damp, rotting rags and put on carefree expressions, laughing and teasing each other. Tzili did not yet know that a new way of life was unconsciously coming into being here.
The holiday atmosphere reminded Tzili of her parents. When she was still small they had spent their summer vacations in a pension on the banks of the Danube. Her parents were short of money, but they had spared no effort in order to be in the company, if only for two weeks, of speakers of correct German. As if to spite them, however, most of the people there spoke Yiddish. This annoyed her father greatly, and he said: “You can’t get away from them. They creep in everywhere.” Afterwardhe fell ill, and they stayed at home and spent their money on doctors and medicine.
No one spoke of the war anymore. The card games devoured their time. A few of them went to buy supplies, but as soon as they got back they joined enthusiastically in the game. Every now and then someone would remember to say: “What will become of us?” But the question was not serious. It was only part of the game. “What’s wrong with staying right here? We’ve got plenty of coffee, cigarettes—we
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