To the Edge of Sorrow by Aharon Appelfeld

To the Edge of Sorrow by Aharon Appelfeld

Author:Aharon Appelfeld [Appelfeld, Aharon]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Published: 2020-01-14T00:00:00+00:00


* * *

—

WHEN ISIDOR’S PRAYERS fell silent, it was nearly one o’clock in the morning. We knew the squads were still an hour away from the target. At two o’clock, according to our information, the train was supposed to pass by, and if the explosives went off as expected, the locomotive and carriages would be derailed, the guards would run away in all directions, and our squads would open fire and pursue the fleeing soldiers.

We stood at the entrance to the bunkers, listening for the sound of the explosion, but it was delayed. At 2:05 a huge blast was heard, and we knew that Kamil’s meticulous preparations had been accurate, as always.

We remained silent. We were familiar with raids and skirmishes, but we had never before undertaken a military operation. Twelve fighters are too few for a mission like this, even if they are well trained. I could see Maxie and Danzig, with the explosives on their backs, and the other fighters swallowed up into the darkness. I was distressed as I envisioned them going down into the abyss; I felt that we had abandoned them.

Isidor asked if the operation was dangerous. I didn’t know what to tell him, so I said, “The fighters are well trained.”

Isidor walks among us like an enigma. He prays, but we have not heard such prayer before; it is Isidor’s alone. He seems bound to it on many levels. Outwardly he resembles us; were it not for his nightly praying, we wouldn’t have believed him capable of it.

For a moment, I wanted to ask him if he practices for the nighttime prayers, but I quickly realized this was a foolish question. Isidor sensed what I was about to ask and said, “The minute I close my eyes and open my mouth, prayer rises within me. Grandpa taught me the letters and the words, but the melodies filled me up without my knowing they were inside me.”

“What is prayer, my friend?” I wasn’t sure why I asked him in quite that way.

“Desire,” he said, and a little smile crossed his lips.



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