Free All Whom I Have Loved by Aharon Appelfeld

them. I passed the tavern and thought of Father. Now I often saw Father in my dreams. In a dream his silence is more tangible. A black flame flickers in his eyes and his lips are pursed. Once I asked him in a dream why he doesn't speak. He looked at me with his black eyes and said, “That's how it is.” He often said that.
    The gate and the front door of the hospital were open, and it was easy to enter. The main corridor was empty, and so was the corridor that led off it. At the end of the corridors there were steps, and I went up them.
    “Who are you looking for?” a man in orange overalls addressed me.
    “I'm looking for Halina,” I replied immediately.
    “Go to the information counter,” he said, and turned away.
    The information counter, it turned out, was right alongside me. The man there glanced at me and asked, “Who are you, son?”
    I told him.
    “Halina has had two operations, and we have to pray for her recovery.”
    “When can I see her?”
    “When the Almighty will open her eyes.”
    It was eleven o'clock, but I was in no hurry to return home. The man's answers sounded unclear but not without hope, perhaps because he had mentioned God. I passed the orphanage and remembered what Halina had said to me about the place. Then I stopped at the home of Princess Josephina, which is surrounded by a large garden and has a high iron gate in front. Halina had told me a lot about the princess, who was related to the royal family and was now living there by herself. At each step I could hear Halina, even by the trees at the post office. Next to the post office she once told me, “Only letters leave here, never people. People get stuck here forever.”
    At the chapel next to the post office I saw a woman kneeling and praying, and for a moment I told myself that I would also kneel and pray for Halina's recovery. But it was a long line and the people who were waiting did not look nice.
    I didn't return home until one o'clock. I did not touch the sandwiches that Mother had left. The empty house seemed to me like a body without a soul. Halina had taught me that a person's soul is in the middle of his chest, but you can't see it because it's pure spirit. When a man dies, his soul ascends to heaven and merges with Jesus. One mustn't be afraid of death because death is light and not darkness. That's what Halina taught me.
    Mother returned late and brought me a gift: a cotton shirt and gym shoes. I should have thanked her and been happy, but I was angry with her and with her red lips. Whenever she left the house she put lipstick on her lips and reeked of perfume.
    I burrowed into the bed and covered my head with the blankets.
    “Aren't you going to eat dinner?” Mother asked in an affected tone of voice.
    “I'm very tired,” I said, and closed my eyes.
    I knew that at midnight, after she had graded the notebooks, she would get dressed and leave the house. This certainty did not hurt me now—my hatred was stronger than the pain, and it drugged my sleep.

22
    Mother leaves every morning, and I stay home alone. Without Halina, the house is cold and gloomy, and I leave it as soon as I can. First I cross the main street and then I immediately turn into the alley that leads to the municipal hospital. Sometimes I forget about Halina and roam aimlessly, but when I reach the street where the hospital is and see the neglect there and the homeless lying under the awning, I quickly climb the steps, go up to the information counter, and ask how Halina is. It doesn't take long to hear the answer: “May God have mercy.”
    When I hear the voice of the man at the desk, I imagine that the doctors who have looked after Halina until now have taken off their white coats, put on priestly robes, and are now kneeling by her bed every hour in prayer. Once in the corridor I saw a peasant couple sitting on the bench. I was sure that they were Halina's mother and stepfather, but it turned out that I was wrong. The woman had come to see the