Touched by Fire (5 page)
Authors: Irene N.Watts
Mama says, “We must study these questions and how to answer them. Kolya will help us. How good it is that Papa prepares us for what is to happen.”
Yuri fidgets. “Come on, Mama, please keep reading.”
“
With God’s help, we were passed through, allowed to pick up our luggage and climb onto the ferry. Boris had an address, given to him in England by a landsman who had an uncle in America. That is how we came to Ludlow Street. We share a room in a six-storey house called a tenement building. We board here, getting a morning and an evening meal. For lunch, a nickel buys milk and a slice of cake or maybe a sandwich and a sour pickle. Many families live here and almost all take boarders. Some sleep in shifts on two chairs in the kitchen
.
“
The very first morning in America, our landlady told us about a job market, quite close to us, where people who need a worker or those looking for work can find what
they need. Boris was a peddler in Minsk, and this is how he will start again – peddle anything he can get. Cooking utensils, old clothes, whatever he finds. Already he has discovered where the garment factories and shops are, many of them near us. He says he can pick up cloth remnants and ribbon and sell those. All he needs to do is to hire a pushcart. Even better, he thinks if he goes door-to-door and asks to buy secondhand goods, he can sell them again in the market. This is a man with many ideas
.
“
On my first day, I counted my money, and after I had paid a month’s lodging, there was enough left to rent a sewing machine. Boris and I looked at each other – we both had the same idea. I will sew shirts, caps, aprons, work pants, and Boris will sell them as fast as I can make them. We agreed to split the profits and shook hands on the deal. But everything takes time, and so I stood in the market on Hester Street and waited to see what I could pick up. A laborer on the wharfs, I am not, but when a man said he was looking for a presser in a factory, parttime to start, I said I could do it. A presser, so what is so hard? To stand and press the clothes and iron the suits and coats, it pays nine dollars a week. I look at the way the pants are finished – I would not sell them to my enemy, if I had one. If the boss asks me, I will show him what I can do. But I do not want to take a person’s job away. Some immigrants straight off the boat – greenhorns,
they are called – say they are garment workers. They do not know one end of a needle from the other. Nothing is what they know! It is a disgrace! I will not be a greenhorn for long. And what do you think, Sara? We have a new name. At Ellis Island, the inspector could not understand when I told him Markowitz and wrote down Markov. It sounds fine to me, an American name. I hope you do not mind
.
“
They say that this year, 1908, is a bad year on the Lower East Side, a depression. What depression? I have work; every place you look, there are butchers, bakers, fish straight from the sea – fresh, salted, smoked. Stalls are loaded with any fruit you can imagine. Children are fed. The streets maybe are not paved with gold, but what an abundance of everything there is, beyond our dreams. I like it. I am glad to be here and to work for your arrival. I pray it will not be long. And what life is in the streets! Lights blaze night and day, and an elevated train takes you wherever you need to go. No one looks at you as if you have no right to be here
.
“
Never in my life have I written so much. Now it is almost time for Shabbat. We are all Jews in this house, some not so observant, I think. But this is how it is in America, first comes the need to make a living. I, too, will do what must be done, which is to become someone better than I was before. We are all equal in the sight of
the law – that is the blessing of America. It is the dream we have worked for
.
“
Do not expect long letters from me in the future. I must work to bring you all here. From time to time, I will let you know how things are. Write and tell me any little thing, everything, about the whole family. Learn as much English as you can. It will help, though Yiddish is spoken by almost every person I meet
.
“
Even without all of you here, I look forward to the lighting of the candles on Friday night, to the prayers spoken, a braided loaf on the table, memories shared over the years. You are in my thoughts
.
“
Your loving husband, father, and son-in-law
,
“
Samuel Markov
”
Mama says, “I have never received a letter from your papa before. So we have a new name, well, it is not the first time I have had to change mine!” She folds the letter carefully and puts it in the wooden box where she keeps family papers and treasures. After today, there will never be a Shabbat when I will not see Papa’s eyes in the candlelight and hear the words he wrote to us.
Zayde says quietly, “It is, I think, a country for the young, for those who want to start again.” He and Bubbe go to their room. Mama tucks Devora into her cradle, though she has almost outgrown it. Yuri and I are left alone in the kitchen.
I ask him, “Don’t you want to go to America too, now that Papa has told us so much about it? I can hardly wait.” I wish my little brother, just once, would agree.
He scowls at me. “I want to stay here, with Zayde and Bubbe, with my friends. This is a good place. Yesterday, Mikhail and I went to the stables with his father, and we watched him repair a broken window. Mikhail and I helped him, then we were allowed to sweep the floor. I like the smell of horses. A man was grooming a horse – a big black one, whose owner is in the cavalry. One day I could be a captain in the kaiser’s cavalry. I don’t want to move again, to have to make new friends. I liked Russia, I like Berlin. No one asks me what I want to do. Papa says he likes it in America, but I like it here. He doesn’t need me in his Golden Land, and it’s not fair to make me move countries again. Soon I’ll be ten years old. I know I will never change my mind. I’m going to stay!” Yuri rushes out of the room.
Yuri can’t mean Papa doesn’t need him. He needs us all, not just to help make a good life but because he loves us.
But Yuri is a boy, who must obey his parents. When Papa sends the tickets, Yuri will not have a choice.
7ANOTHER PARTING
I
t is almost two years since Papa left for America. He has missed so much. Devora is not the baby he remembers – she will soon be two. She is walking well and talks and talks, though we do not always understand her. We show her Papa’s picture, and she says his name, but when she sees Kolya, she shouts, “Papa,” and holds out her arms to him. Mama tries to explain that this is not her papa, but she is too little to understand. We all spoil her – she is such a good-natured little girl. If only she would not get sick so often. Bubbe says she will outgrow being delicate, but when Devora, Yuri, and Mikhail caught measles a few months ago, the boys were better in three weeks. Our poor little Devora has never really recovered her strength. Mama had to send for the doctor, twice. It must be a dangerous illness for Mama to do that. The doctor’s visits are expensive!
He said, “The child needs fresh air, fresh milk, cream, oranges, grapes, and nourishing soups to build up her strength. I will call again in a week or two, Frau Markowitz.”
Mama sits in the kitchen, her head in her hands. “Fresh air, what does he want – I should send the child out in the snow? She eats what we eat, good soups and stews. Who can afford to buy fruit in winter? This is not America.” Mama is worn out from staying up half the night sewing. Frau Goldschmidt pays her so little. If only Papa were here.
My brother comes in, his cheeks glowing from the cold. He takes two oranges from his coat pockets and places them on the table in front of Mama. Beaming with pride, Yuri says, “These oranges are for Devora.”
Mama looks at him strangely, almost as if she has not seen him before. She touches the skin of the oranges, picks one up, inhales the scent, and quickly puts it down again.
“Where did the oranges come from, Yuri?” Mama says.
Does she suspect something?
Mikhail and Yuri are quick on their feet. A stall owner might not notice the absence of two oranges. The boys would not think of it as stealing, but as what the doctor said Devora needs.
“I earned the money for them, Mama,” Yuri says. “Mikhail and I go to the stables sometimes to help out. I refilled the water troughs, swept up, and Mikhail cleaned the windows. I paid for the oranges out of my share of the money. How do you think I got them – that I stole them?”
“Come here, Yuri,” Mama says and kisses him on both cheeks. “Your papa would be proud of you. Just wait till we get to America, Miriam. Your brother is going to be a big businessman. Thank you, Yuri. What a fine gift you have brought for your sister.”
Gradually, Devora improves. She eats a little more, but at night I listen to her wheezing in her sleep, and no amount of goose fat rubbed on her chest makes any difference. Bubbe says she will get better when the weather improves and outgrow her colds and coughs. I hope it is true.
One afternoon in late January, just before Devora’s second birthday and two days before my fourteenth, a letter arrives from America. The envelope is fat; it must be a long letter. Papa does not write often, but even when he does, he has not much news. He works, he saves, he misses us – it’s all he ever says. Last time Papa wrote, he said he was glad that Zayde had taught him to mend shoes because, even during the strike of the garment workers, when he stayed away from the factory, he was kept busy repairing boots and shoes.
Mama opens the envelope and gives a little scream. “The tickets – he has sent three tickets! Quick, Miriam, run and ask Zayde to come here.” There is a clatter at the stove, where Bubbe has dropped the soup ladle. I pick it up and wipe it. My grandmother sits at the table, her eyes glued to
the envelope. Devora climbs up on her knee. Yuri and Zayde hurry in. I hold my breath in anticipation. Mama waves the tickets in the air, more excited than I have ever seen her.
“Listen,” she says, “Papa writes he has rented an apartment for us in a tenement building, five floors tall but not a skyscraper. That is good, is it not, Zayde? It is on Clinton Street. He writes there is a little park quite near, where Devora can play. Imagine, such a good father that he should think of that. There are four rooms – two bedrooms, a kitchen/living room, and a front room – space enough for us all. Yuri, you will sleep in the kitchen, the baby with us, and Miriam in her own little bedroom. He writes there are four apartments on each floor and two toilets and a water faucet in each hallway. And there is gas lighting. Well, candlelight I did not expect in America!” She laughs a little. “With all of us there and working, Papa writes it will be no time at all before we can send for Zayde and Bubbe. Maybe we take in a boarder. After all, with four rooms, there is space enough. How much room does one family need to start with? Papa writes that the rooms are very small – small, big, what does it matter, as long as we are all together again?”
“When do you leave, Sara?” Bubbe asks.
Mama holds the tickets up to the light. “We sail from Hamburg on February 17 and arrive on March 1. The ship is called SS
Amerika
. Don’t you think that is a good omen?”
My grandmother tightens her arms around the baby. She warns, “It will be stormy and cold at this time of year at sea. You must bring warm clothes, a good shawl. We do not have much time to get you all ready.”
In the excitement, I had forgotten that the tickets are only for Mama and Yuri and me. Devora does not need her own ticket yet, but Bubbe and Zayde have to wait a little while longer before there is enough money for them to join us.
Mama reassures her. “The sea air will be good for Devora. The doctor advised fresh air – isn’t that so,
Mamele?
The Hamburg America Line is one of the best. Papa writes the SS
Amerika
was built in 1905, so it is only five years old – almost new. It will not be as bad in steerage as it was in the older ships.”
Yuri’s face shows nothing of what he is thinking. He asks, “Can I go and tell Mikhail, please, and give him the stamps from the envelope for his collection?”
Mama hesitates, wanting us all around her on this momentous occasion. “Here, take them,” she finally says, “but if you go outdoors, wear your coat and scarf and come home in an hour. Zayde has errands for you.”
Yuri runs off with a quick thanks. He is only happy out of the house, it seems.
Mama sighs, shaking her head despairingly. “What do we do with him, Father? He has become like a stranger,” she says.
Bubbe says nothing. She takes Devora out for her nap.
Zayde pats Mama’s shoulder. “Let the boy go,” he says. “Yuri needs to spend time with Mikhail, to get accustomed to the idea of separation. He will come to accept the situation. I am happy for you, Sara, and for the children, but we will miss you.” He goes back to his boots.
I take the opportunity to speak to Mama. “Mama, may I ask you something? When we are in America, maybe I can work in a shop, in a factory, or a department store. Did you know that Macy’s is one of the biggest stores in the world? I have heard all about it from girls in school. In America, there will be opportunities to learn new things and to meet other girls my age. What do you think, Mama?”