39

That night I dreamed I was traveling on a train. The train moved slowly and paused at small stations. I remembered those stations from my childhood. They were made of gray wood. A thin barrenness woven from gray threads covered them. Not even the locomotive, breathing with great force, could tear that barrenness from the stations. The passengers on the platform were few. They were wearing long, thick garments, which made them look short. The stationmaster wore a red hat. He stood at some distance from the locomotive, rubbing his hands together. Then, with the sweep of a flag, he sent the train on its way.

Once again, I was in a green, mountainous landscape dotted with horses, colts, and cows. I was very moved, because in a short time I would be in the city of my birth, at my home, with its broad garden that extended across the front and the back.

One of the passengers turned to me. “Where are you going?” he asked.

The question upset me, but I didn’t conceal the truth from him.

“I’m going home.”

“Where is your home?”

I told him.

He looked at me with great wonder.

“I’m from this region,” he said, “but the place—at least, the way you pronounce it—is unknown to me.”

I repeated the name of my neighborhood, which was on the outskirts of the city.

“Perhaps it isn’t widely known,” I quickly added.

“It’s known, very well known,” he replied. “You’re getting overwrought.” He changed his tone of voice.

“‘Overwrought’ isn’t the appropriate word. I haven’t yet found the correct words for what I am feeling.” I spoke in a burst that surprised me.

He agreed with me. “We all lack words when it comes to speaking about ourselves.”

“I’m glad you understand me,” I said.

“What’s your family name, if I may ask?”

I told him.

He raised his head in surprise and said, “I know your family, my young friend, maybe better than you do.” He recited the names of my great-grandfather, my grandfather, my father, and my uncles and aunts. “Your father is an impressive man. He’s an author. Before the war, we used to see each other and talk about literature and philosophy. The war cut me off from most of my friends. I’m a solitary man. As the Jews say, as solitary as a stone.”

“Are you a Jew, sir?” I dared to ask.

He apparently expected that question and answered with a smile.

“One-quarter Jew, to be mathematical. The Christian in me saved me from death. Now the quarter-Jew in me lies mired in depression. I hid him so well that he shrank. I’m sorry for him. But what could I do? Even that quarter endangered me.”

I was pleased to be with him, and I wanted to say, You talk like a Jew, like my father and like my uncles. He caught what I wanted to say to him and said, “There are things that can’t be uprooted. To tell you the truth, without that quarter-Jew in me, my life wouldn’t be worth living.”

I looked closely at him. He was about fifty, and he was wearing a checked suit with a matching tie, and gold-framed glasses. My uncle Isidor used to wear a suit exactly like that. His appearance was always elegant, and women were attracted to him.

“Did you know my uncle Isidor?” I asked.

“Certainly I knew him. Who didn’t? He was handsome and intelligent, and conversation with him nourished the Jew in me. Here everything is barren, and since the Jews departed, the wasteland has spread; it infests every corner. I mourn their disappearance every day. I also remember you, my friend. You were an observant boy. You’re like your mother. Your mother was the most sensitive of women. She didn’t talk a lot, but what came out of her mouth penetrated the heart. Why are you going home? What do you want to find there?”

“Everyone.”

He bowed his head and said, “My young friend, I don’t know what to tell you. The war devastated us. Everything has changed, changed for the worse. Without Jews, life has no meaning, and it’s ugly.”

“What do you advise me to do?” I asked him in great despair.

“Don’t tarry here for too long. This land devours its inhabitants. A country that didn’t know how to protect its Jews is a country without God. If I were in your place, I would take the first train out of here.”

“And not go home?”

“Only for a short glance, and no more. I, in any case, was glad to see you. You brought life to my soul. I regret that I have to get off here. This is my place in this wasteland. Take care of yourself, my friend. I don’t know if God will bring us together again.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. I’m not worthy of thanks. I didn’t help my brothers in their hour of sorrow. If I had gone with them, my life would have been different, believe me.”

I tried to detain him. “Don’t get off,” I said.

He must have sensed my helplessness.

“I would gladly accompany you,” he replied, “but I must go to the doctor. I’m struggling with two serious illnesses. I don’t know whether the doctor will be able to help me. I don’t trust the local doctors. I doubt they can even be veterinarians.”

The word “veterinarians” struck me as funny, and I laughed.

“Don’t laugh, my friend. I spoke cautiously so as not to make things hard for you. My situation is worse than the way I described it.”

The train slowed down, and I was afraid to be left alone.

“God knows where this train will take me,” I said.

“Don’t be afraid. The next stop is the Pine Tree neighborhood; may it be remembered for good. Your house is about two hundred meters from the station.”

“That’s exactly the place I’m meaning to get to.”

“Don’t be afraid,” he said, already standing on the platform. “Someone like you, who’s been through the seven levels of hell, won’t be scared by a little goblin.”

When I heard those clear words, I woke up.