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home and they were laughing about Klein and Weiss, he said to her, almost casually, “How would you like to be my wife?”
    “Me?” Blanca said.
    “You.”
    “You’re joking.”
    “I don’t joke about such things.”
    “It’s only that it’s a surprise for me.”
    “I’m a Christian, and Christians don’t joke about such things.”
    It was a simple trap, and she was caught in it. Later she would say to herself,
How was I trapped? How did I fail to see? What blinded me so? After all, I was a person who stood on her own two feet, someone with an awareness of the world
. But that evening she was drunk with happiness, so drunk that she didn’t dare tell her secret even to her beloved mother. It was not until the next morning that she revealed her engagement to her mother, who caught her breath, hugged Blanca, and burst into tears.

10
    BLANCA WANTED TO TELL Otto everything, to describe in detail the insults she had borne over the years, what she had done to herself and to others, and how blind she had been. It was important to her now for no detail to get lost, so that when the time came, Otto would know the course of events in full. Every night she sat down and wrote. First she was particular about the order of events, but time made a fool of her, and everything got mixed up together.
No matter,
she said to herself,
Otto will understand by himself what came first and what came afterward
.
The main thing is that no detail should be unknown to him.
    Sometimes a bad dream would disturb Otto’s sleep, and he would awaken in a panic.
    “It’s nothing, dear, dreams speak hollow words.” She hugged him tightly.
    “I dreamed about Papa,” he told her.
    “And what happened?”
    “It was very frightening.”
    “There’s nothing to be afraid of, dear. Would you like something hot?”
    “What are you doing, Mama?”
    “I’m writing.”
    “What are you writing?”
    “Memories.”
    “What are memories?”
    “Everything that was and will never be again.”
    “I’ll write someday, too.”
    “Certainly.”
    Otto grew and changed. The memory of the house was gradually erased from his mind, and he sank into daydreams and into his games. Blanca didn’t interfere. The thought that time was short, and that she had to leave Otto a detailed account, drove her to the writing table night after night. But the order of their days remained unaffected. Until sunset they would tarry by the water, and in the evening they would go out for a walk along the riverbank. After the walk, Otto would sink down on the mat and fall asleep, and Blanca would fall upon her notebook and write until after midnight.
    Sometimes an image from distant childhood would intrude, and it was crystal clear. At first she would ignore it, saying to herself,
I have to be faithful to order, to write only what touches upon this affair
. In time she ceased that, realizing that distant memories also belonged in her account. Memories of Grandpa and Grandma and her uncle Salo.
    She concluded a long chapter with the words “I did what I did, and I am prepared to submit to justice for it.”

11
    IT WAS FIVE MONTHS after her marriage, and Blanca, in the city where she was born, had no one close to her. Everyone appeared to have conspired to ignore her. Grandma Carole stood at the entrance to the synagogue every day and cursed the converts. Her closed face, withered from the sun, was now even more threatening. Blanca would make her purchases in the market hurriedly and then escape. Adolf would return from the dairy late, irritable, demanding his meal right away. If the meal didn’t suit him, he would say, “It’s tasteless. You have to learn how to cook a meal.”
    After he slapped her face, she seldom left the house, taking care only to purchase what was needed and to heat the bathwater. Every week a postcard came from the mountains, reminding her that she had a father and a sick mother. In the morning, when she was alone, she would remember that less than a