The Walnut Tree by Martha Blum

Author:Martha Blum
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: epub, ebook, QuarkXPress
ISBN: 9781550507911
Publisher: Coteau Books

Süssel – Mother Courage

I see Felix often. How few we are now! Bucharest, 1944. Such a small band of wanderers. I see him often, his weathered, crenelated face like the ploughed ground. But his heart is light, assured of woman’s love – mother’s, mine, Bunin’s. Her icon in his possession, it will never leave him. Hidden, skin-close, he’ll touch it from time to time, unbeliever that he is. What strange creatures we are; head and heart so far apart, never meeting. God, where? he always wonders, yet he holds it, touches it, senses with his skin a hallowed mother’s presence.

War is still raging. Bandits everywhere, uniformed, armed with sticks. Ragged partisans to some presumed cause or simple vandals, smirks on their faces. Scum has risen, new fortunes are made. Vodka, army goods, the wonder drug penicillin stolen, resold for enormous profit to either side, German or Russian. Such a frenzy for the last spoils. Battlefronts are undefined, foes and friends indistinguishable, loyalties in flux. Small bands of wanderers we are. “Mother Courage” everyone, pushing the cart with her children, guessing from the gut which way to go. And often, a single wanderer, just a soul, an island, with no ferry.

She was sitting on a milestone, beside the road. I saw her sitting there, her black travelling bag beside her and her black Russian coat thrown across it, an island. Golden-red flame of her hair in my dreams, her smell of Houbigant. Passing a woman of the nouveau-riche Romanian class, the perfume triggers recognition: My mother. She was on the road. Left. Black old coat and the bag beside her. I have to hurry.

I took the last gold coin from its hiding place in Father’s overcoat and I went out into that world of derelicts, black marketeers, alcohol-runners, to the money changers, barbers, who always have the latest currency of whoever was last to conquer the territory. A new class, surfacing in the turbulence, the nocturnal criminals who keep things running, always know someone who knows someone who can do the job. I changed my father’s gold coin – a Napoléon – and hired two men with a truck. And went north between the lines, in this western style covered wagon, without mufflers. Looking out for waylayers, modern pirates, the hungry, the desperate, we drove all night on dark, wooded paths, avoiding the road. The truck heaved with every rock, lurched with every pothole. The two men knew their ditches and announced the hazards merrily. Just wait for the hole. Another drink of vodka from the same bottle, the three of us in a gallows mood. I went into the back of the truck, fell into heavy sleep, flat on my stomach, and opened my eyes in front of grandfather’s house.

Such is the honour code of the underground that they took my money and drove me north. No questions asked, no rape, no abuse, just sharing of vodka. In the jungle economy, the laws of economics work well. The word is given and the bargain fulfilled.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.