Abahn Sabana David Read Free

talks, is quiet some more, talks again.
    â€œHe didn’t know where to go when he came here. He came here because he didn’t have anywhere else to go. He’s been here for a few days already, waiting for us. The merchants were also looking to get rid of him, as you see.”
    â€œYes.”
    She looks at Abahn for a long time.
    â€œAnd you?”
    â€œI came to Staadt now, tonight.”
    â€œBy chance?”
    â€œNo.”
    Silence. She is still focused on him.
    â€œYou’re alone as well?”
    â€œYes. With the Jews.”
    He smiles. She does not return his smile. It is almost as if she doesn’t see it. She says:
    â€œThis house is being confiscated by the merchants, the park, too. Not because of the dogs; we don’t know what will happen to them. They find it hard to adjust to a new master. We don’t know what to do with them.”
    â€œMaybe. Did the Jew have anything to say about it?”
    â€œNot yet.”
    He looks at her more intensely.
    â€œDid you ask him that question?”
    â€œWhich one?”
    â€œAbout what is going to happen to the dogs?”
    She turns toward the dark park.
    â€œMaybe later,” she says, “later in the night.”
    David shifts in his chair. He opens his eyes.
    Then falls asleep again. Abahn says:
    â€œDavid wakes up when we talk about the dogs?”
    â€œYes. You guessed it.”
    The same slowness creeps into their voices. He asks:
    â€œWhy did you let me in? For what?”
    She says quickly:
    â€œYou came in.”
    â€œWhy did you speak to me?”
    â€œYou spoke to me.”
    Abruptly his glare flares, then subsides.
    â€œYou’re not afraid of anything,” he says. “Nothing.”
    Silence. He regards her slim form, erect, alert. Her half-lidded stare. She listens out the window: the dogs are barking.
    Far, in the direction she listens, that of the setting sun, the dogs are barking. Muted but numerous.
    The barking ceases. He asks:
    â€œAre you afraid now?”
    â€œNot as much.”
    â€œYou’re not afraid for yourself?”
    â€œNo.” She pauses, considers. “Not fear.”
    He waits. She is thinking. She finds what she wants to say:
    â€œIt’s to be suffered.”
    â€œBadly?”
    She considers again:
    â€œNo. In full.”
    They fall silent.
    â€¢
    S he gets up. She walks toward David. She gestures toward Abahn. She speaks in a low tone. “They know each other a little, David and the Jew.”
    She is listening to the sounds of Staadt outside.
    â€œI think they are still coming.”
    She turns in the direction of the frost-covered road, pauses.
    â€œYou said they knew David a little?”
    â€œYes. Some people knew him. David may have forgotten, but they knew him.” She pauses again. He says nothing. She turns to him.
    â€œWhat did you say?”
    â€œNothing.”
    They look at one another.
    He asks:
    â€œWho are you?”
    She focuses on him, his intense gaze, interrogating.
    â€œI don’t know,” she says.
    His stare bores into her.
    â€œI mean to him—who are you to him?”
    She shrugs. She does not know anymore.
    â€œAre you his wife?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œAre you his mother?”
    She does not answer. She is thinking.
    â€œYou’re not his mother?”
    â€œHe wishes I were his mother.”
    â€œYou don’t want that?”
    â€œNo.”
    The Jew raises his head. She sees him. For a long while she looks at him. Then she goes to sit down next to him again. She is quiet the whole time. Then she speaks to him in even tones:
    â€œYou wrote. You talked with people. You didn’t work.”
    She is talking to Abahn.
    â€œHe walked in the streets, the avenues, night and day. He went to see the shipyards. From time to time he went to the cafes to talk with people.”
    â€œHe spoke to them?”
    â€œYes, he asked them many questions.”
    â€œAnd David