CHAPTER

30

On Yom Kippur he went down and, to his surprise, found the square deserted. The stores were shuttered, and only a few horses were tethered outside. A cold wind blew between the naked trees. From the tiny synagogue, lit by candles, came a low hum. Had he entered, they would have been glad to see him. As he stood there, he remembered his mother, as he hadn’t for many days: young, her face full of life. He was pressed to her breast and wrapped in her arms. A customer had tried to amuse him, but he had been afraid of him. Shrinking, he gripped his mother and curled up in her big wool sweater. The sweet fragrance of wool mixed with the scent of soap surrounded him with intoxicating pleasure.

From where he stood he could see the house on the hill. The day before, Gloria had prepared the dining room with care, reminding him of Yom Kippur at home. Again, he said to himself: Gloria remembers more than I do. Life in our house had penetrated into her, yet it left no impression on me. Gloria, he wanted to ask, are you religious? Do you understand the meaning of what you’re doing, or is it just habit? But he changed his mind. Gloria’s acts were so modest, and the words he thought to utter were so pompous and vulgar. After she had tidied up the kitchen, she spread a white cloth over the table.

But he could not restrain his tongue. “Do you believe in God?” asked Karl.

This time she wasn’t flustered and answered, “I believe in God.”

“In the God of the Jews?”

“I left my house when I was very young because things were very bad. Your father and mother gave me shelter, clothing, and bread to eat. I love the Jewish holidays because they’re quiet.”

“You didn’t answer my question, Gloria.”

“What was your question?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, laughing.

Later, they sat in silence. Karl didn’t smoke or drink, and he fell asleep very early. He slept all morning. In the afternoon, he got up and dressed and immediately hurried down to town. On the way he felt a threat in the air, but he dismissed the feeling and continued. He wanted to reach Rosow in time to see the people walking to synagogue. He had forgotten that at this hour, close to the concluding service, not even little children go out. When he reached Rosow he saw with his own eyes: no one. A cold emptiness blew in every corner.

While standing in the empty square, he noticed two young peasants near the tavern throwing stones. First it seemed they were throwing at a target. But when Karl drew close he saw that they were aiming at windows.

“Why are you breaking windows?” he asked as he approached them.

“The Jews closed the tavern and there’s nothing to drink.”

“You should know,” Karl addressed them quietly, “that this is a very sacred holiday for them.”

“To hell with their holidays. People have to drink.”

“It’s a holiday of spiritual accounting,” said Karl, strangely.

“What’s he talking about?” the young peasant asked his friend, who was shorter.

“About having respect,” answered Karl.

“We shit on your respect.”

“I suggest you not use foul language.”

“I piss on this place.”

“Young man, that’s indecent language.”

“I piss on you.”

Now he had no choice but to do what he always did when confronted with bullies. He grappled with the first and then with the second, shaking them and throwing them to the ground. They were thunderstruck, their legs waved in the air, and they begged for mercy.

“You’re not getting away from here until you apologize to the Jews.”

“We apologize,” they mumbled together.

“Not like that. I want to hear you ask forgiveness of the Jews of Rosow for desecrating their holiday.”

They repeated what he said, word for word. In the end, he let them go and they ran for their lives.

When he returned home, it was already night. Gloria was sitting at the table and waiting for him. The holy day was inside her. Her face was pale from the fast and a weak light glowed in her eyes.

“A blessed year, Karl,” she said, coming toward him. Later, he told her about the incident in the square. Gloria listened and said nothing. In her heart, she knew that the peasants wouldn’t easily forgive an insult like that. She prepared a full meal and they sat and ate. She wanted to tell Karl something about her father, but a fear that had dwelled in her since childhood rose up and choked her. The words never escaped her mouth.