Threads and Flames (10 page)

In the Registry Hall, on the second floor of the main building, Raisa recognized some of her fellow passengers, although Zusa was not among them. They were sitting or standing in groups of about thirty, across the hall from a row of desks. Each desk was staffed by two or three men, only one of whom enjoyed the luxury of being seated. Individual immigrants stood attentively before the desks, with the occasional exception of a mother carrying her infant or toddler. As Raisa staggered along, struggling with Brina and the bags, the black-clad woman from the ferry came striding up to give her a hand.

“Poor girl, you look ready to drop,” she said, scooping up Brina in a competent, no-nonsense-now manner. “Show that man your papers. I'm certain you must belong with our group, but you'd better have him tell you where to go so it's done properly. You don't want to step on anyone's toes here. They don't have any qualms about rejecting troublemakers.” With that, she carried Brina back to the small mass of passengers waiting against one of the walls.

The woman in black was correct: Raisa and Brina did belong with her group. The old man and his middle-aged daughter were there, as well. By the time Raisa joined them, Brina was no longer crying or thrashing around. Raisa guessed that the bulge in her cheek must be a piece of hard candy that someone had produced to quiet her down. When she saw Raisa, she smiled and cuddled up to her willingly.

“Thank heaven,” Raisa said, dropping her bags so she could sit on a bench and hold Brina in her lap. “I thought she'd never want to have anything to do with me again.”

“Children forget,” the bony woman in black said. “Sometimes. It was the eye examination that upset her, wasn't it?”

“I can't blame her,” Raisa replied. “It upset
me.
”

“You'd have been a lot more upset if the doctor found any hint of trachoma. That disease can leave you blind, and it's awfully contagious. It's a guaranteed ticket back to Europe, not just a matter for quarantine.” She looked Raisa and Brina over. “Be glad you've got no worries about deportation or quarantine, my dears.”

“How do you know that?” Raisa asked.

“You'd be marked if you did. Haven't you noticed some people going into the private medical examination rooms with letters chalked on their clothing? If the doctors spot any abnormality—if they even suspect it—they use a code to mark you and who knows whether or not you'll be let in or sent packing!”

“That's what happened to my sister-in-law,” the old man's daughter put in. “She came over about five years ago with her family, but the doctor didn't like how her heart sounded, so he put a letter on her and they sent her back, all alone. Her husband and children stayed, and it didn't take that no-good five months before he sent word he was divorcing her to marry someone else, just because he couldn't manage the little ones! If you ask me, he's the one who had a bad heart.”

“At least we know we're not going to be sent back now,” Raisa said, playing with Brina's golden curls.

“Mmmm.” The black-clad woman pursed her lips. “
Probably
not.”

“What do you mean, ‘
probably
not'?” Raisa's fleeting feeling of hopefulness vanished.

“Well, you've still got to be interviewed by one of the registry clerks,” the woman said. “That's what we're waiting for now. My son told me all about it. They'll want to make sure that you have some money and a way to make a living. They don't want to admit people who've come to this country just to become a financial burden on society.”

“Money and ...” Raisa felt panic rising in her chest. “But I don't have a job! What am I going to do?”

“Now, now, don't carry on like that,” the woman said. “I think that question is one that's aimed mostly at the men. Girls like you only have to be able to assure the clerk that you know someone already living here who'll look out for you. There are too many vultures waiting to pounce on unaccompanied young women. I even heard that not too long ago, those creatures had agents working right here, in this very building, finding single girls to kidnap and sell as—never mind. It's sordid, and nothing a decent girl should hear about. All you need to know is that everything is much better now. The authorities here will take proper care of you, and whatever they decide will be in your best interest.”

“I hope so,” Raisa said, though she didn't put a lot of faith in that.

She kept Brina happy by telling her every fairy tale she could remember; she was starting all over again, hoping the child wouldn't notice, when her name was called from one of the desks.
They mustn't see that I'm afraid,
she thought as she picked up her bags once more.
They might think I'm hiding something. That won't do.
“Come with me, Brina,” she said, straightening her shoulders and walking across the room.

The man seated at the desk stuck out his hand for her documents. While he reviewed them, the other Ellis Island employee began speaking to her in German. She shook her head and let him know she spoke Yiddish. He frowned, but the man who held her documents smiled.

“This will make my job much simpler, miss,” he said. “We can speak directly to one another. I see that you're in good health, as is your”—he glanced at Brina, who had a hard grip on Raisa's skirt—“little sister?”

“Cousin, sir,” Raisa said.

“Ah! I see. What a pretty child. She looks hungry.”

“She—we're all right.”

“But you could be better.” The clerk spoke a few unintelligible words to his assistant, who left the desk at a speedy pace. “Now, just a few questions and we can get you on your way.”

The clerk had spoken the truth. He asked his questions, listened to Raisa's answers with a sympathetic ear, and ended the interview by wishing her a happy reunion with her older sister. “You'll want to go to the currency exchange counter next, over that way.” He pointed with his pen. “You'll need nothing but dollars from here on. Once you're done there, be sure to take the stairs to the left since you're headed for New York City. They'll take you to the correct ferry. The ones to the right are for the people bound for railway stations, and the center stairs, you don't want them. They're for detainees.”

Raisa thanked the clerk profusely. She grabbed her luggage, told Brina to take hold of her skirt again, and was about to rush on when the assistant came back with a brown paper bag in his hand. “A little something to welcome you,” the clerk said, then returned his attention to the papers on the desk.

It was impossible for Raisa to carry the paper sack in addition to the traveling bags, but Brina was eager to help. She held the brown bag proudly with both hands and still managed to stay close to Raisa. The small remainder of their time on Ellis Island went as the friendly clerk had said: Raisa got the coins out of her hem and exchanged them for American money. While the transaction was being processed she overheard another Jewish immigrant muttering about being short-changed.

Even if it's true and the exchange clerk is cheating us, what can we do about it?
she thought, gathering up the new, foreign currency. There wasn't a lot, but she still took a little extra time to get out needle and thread in order to sew all but a little of her money back into the bottom of her skirt. While she stitched, Brina peeked into the brown paper bag. Her ecstatic cry took Raisa by surprise, though not half as much as when she held open the bag to show the sandwiches, crackers, and prunes piled inside. The ferry to New York City could wait; the girls gobbled their first decent meal of the day, but not before Raisa said a blessing for the food and also for the good heart of the immigration clerk who had provided it.

The ferry ride from Ellis Island to one of the piers at the foot of Manhattan was much more pleasant on a full stomach. Raisa took Brina as far forward as they could go so that the little girl could have a good view of the approaching shore. The trip also gave them both a fresh look at the great statue in the harbor. Sunlight played over the sculpted folds of the majestic woman's gown. Shading her eyes, Raisa saw that the great lady carried what looked like a book in the hand that wasn't holding the torch, and she wondered what marvelous secrets such a book might hold if it were real.

Seagulls swooped and screeched as the ferry docked. Raisa and Brina stepped off the gangplank into the rush and clatter of the seaport. The stench of dead fish, jostling people, burning fuel, and rotting garbage was unbelievable. Raisa shifted her hold on the bags in order to grab Brina's hand and hold it with grim, unrelenting determination. One look at the crowded docks and the bustling streets beyond and she knew she couldn't feel safe allowing the child to cling to her skirt. The danger of Brina losing her grip and being swept away was too real.

There seemed to be a bizarre magic in the air of the city. As soon as the passengers disembarked from the ferry and set foot on land they became charged with an uncanny energy, a force that sharpened their senses and added sudden speed to their feet. They began to walk faster and faster with every step, until some of them were surging forward at a rate just short of an outright run. Some of them rushed from the ferry into the arms of people who had been waiting on the dockside for uncounted hours. Others barreled right past the happily reunited couples, families, and friends and plunged into the streets as if they were taking a well-known road home. Only a few, including Raisa and Brina, stepped away from the ferry as cautiously as if walking over thin ice, then stopped in the nebulous territory that lay between the waterfront and the heart of the city.

There were plenty of people and not one friendly face. A few passersby elbowed her aside, in too much of a hurry to care about anything except their own business. They snarled as they bumped into her, foreign words that could have been either a grudging apology or a command for her to get out of the way.

Raisa did her best to hold her ground.
We shouldn't go too far from the ferry,
she thought.
Zusa will be on the next one, I know it! Or maybe the one after that. This is the best place to meet her again, except . . . except . . .
Her assurance began to dwindle, beaten back by the noise and commotion around her.
Except what if she
doesn't
come? What if she hasn't passed the medical examination? What if there was something wrong with the answers she gave the officials? What if they simply
forgot
to call her name today and no one takes care of her until tomorrow?

As she stood there, her fears and doubts multiplying wildly, a small, timorous sound from Brina snapped her out of her worried thoughts. The child's eyes were filled with fear, and her tiny body shivered as she pressed herself against Raisa's side.

Raisa forced herself to smile. “What's the matter, Brina?” she said cheerfully. “Still hungry? Don't fret; there'll be plenty to eat once we get to my sister's house. You're going to love Henda, and I know she'll love you. We'll go soon, I promise.” She took a deep, steadying breath. “
Soon,
but first—first we're going to wait for the next ferry. We have to see if Zusa's on it, all right?” The child nodded. “That's a good girl. We can't just give up on our friend. Don't worry, we won't wait forever. You need to eat. If Zusa's not on the next ferry, we'll go straight to Henda's.”
God willing, I'll find our way there without Zusa's help,
she thought uneasily. “Hold on to the big bag for me and don't let go. I need to get out her address.” She squatted beside the larger traveling bag, opened it, and began rummaging through her clothes. “Here it is!” She waved the paper victoriously. “Now all we need to do is—”

She stopped speaking. Something had caught her eye, the sight of a girl with a long braid of shining black hair. Raisa thought she recognized the girl's flowered shawl, as well. She'd last seen it in the early hours of that very morning. “Luciana?” she called out hopefully.
Maybe she's seen Zusa, or knows what's happened to her,
she thought. The girl was standing on a corner just a block off, talking with an old woman and two men, but if she was Luciana, she was too far away to hear her name over the tumult of the streets.

“I
think
that's her,” Raisa said, tucking Henda's address safely away once more before picking up the bags. “Come on, Brina!” She grabbed the child's hand and walked as fast as she could, crying, “Luciana! Luciana! It's me!”

They were halfway down the block when the black-haired girl heard them and turned her head. “Raisa?” Luciana's beautiful face lit up with the joy of recognition.

The face of the old woman and the two rough-looking men with her were not so pleased to see Raisa and Brina come running up to greet the Italian girl. She spoke a few tense words to the men, who hustled Luciana off the street, deep into a narrow space between two buildings.

Vultures!
The black-clad woman's words of warning struck Raisa like a lightning bolt. She almost tripped over her friend's abandoned valise as she plunged after the old woman, the men, and Luciana without a second thought. Partway into the alley, the old woman turned to face her, blocking her way, shouting, waving her hands, making it clear that Raisa wasn't welcome and should leave. In the dark, stinking space, the men flanking Luciana glared threats at Raisa. Brina yelped and cowered. She began to tug at Raisa's skirt, trying to make her come away from the scary men.

Raisa didn't move. She felt the blood leaving her face, but she stood her ground in spite of the fear freezing her bones. She had no idea what these people must have said or done to have gotten their hands on Luciana, no idea how to stop them now. She knew only that she had to do something, or her friend would be lost.