Mrs. Kaputnik's Pool Hall and Matzo Ball Emporium

by Rona Arato

  “I hope we find him soon.” Shoshi studied the wind-whipped ocean. The ship swayed, and they struggled to keep their balance.

  Moshe grabbed Shoshi’s hand. Carefully, they made their way along the deck, poking their noses into doorways, peering around corners, even lifting the covers on the lifeboats. No Snigger. They walked into a large room and gasped.

  “I’ve never seen anything like this,” said Shoshi. The room had plush red carpets, a grand staircase with carved wooden handrails, and an enormous ball of glittering lights was suspended from the ceiling. They crossed the room, weaving between round tables set with crisp white linen, crystal glassware, and gleaming silver. Through a door at the end of the sprawling room, they entered a kitchen, where a dozen cooks were busy chopping vegetables, stirring the contents of steaming pots, and rolling out dough.

  Shoshi looked around the room. Three enormous stoves were covered with gleaming iron pots. Long counters groaned under oval platters piled with roasted meats, potatoes, and vegetables, and the yeasty aroma of freshly baked bread perfumed the air. The sight of so much food after a diet of bland soup, salami, and hard bread made her mouth water and her knees go weak.

  “Hey! What are you ragamuffins doing in my clean kitchen?” shouted a man in a tall white hat and starched apron.

  The man spoke in English. Shoshi listened carefully to understand him. He glared at them, twirling the end of his thin mustache around his finger. The other cooks stopped what they were doing and stared.

  “How did you get in here?” snarled the man. “You are not allowed out of the steerage compartment.” He grabbed a carving knife and waved it in their faces.

  “We are lost,” said Shoshi.

  “LOST!” He ran his thumb along the knife’s edge. “I think you are here to steal my food.”

  “What did he say?” Moshe asked his sister.

  “He thinks we want to steal his food,” she whispered.

  “He sounds like Mrs. Finklestein.”

  “Oh, no, sir,” Shoshi said in halting English. “We are very lost. We were looking for our–”

  Moshe cut her off. “–For our mother.”

  “I am busy preparing a meal for important people, and I do not want to be disturbed by the likes of you,” the man said to Moshe and Shoshi. “Go back where you belong, or I will call the captain to lock you up in the ship’s jail.”

  “Let’s go.” Moshe grabbed his sister’s hand and yanked her into the hallway. “Where do we go now?”

  “Down is good. All the best folks are down in the boiler room. Step ye here and see.”

  “Who is that?” asked Shoshi.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Hee, hee, hee.”

  The kids spun around and found themselves face-to-face with a short stocky man in a blue-and-white striped shirt, dark-blue pants that belled out at the bottom, and a soiled white sailor’s cap. A wide grin split the copper beard covering the lower half of his face. He leaned against the wall, muscled arms folded across his chest.

  “Ye wouldn’t, by any chance, be lookin’ for a green animal about yea big?” said the man.

  “We were just taking a walk,” said Shoshi.

  “Yes. A walk,” said Moshe.

  “Aye, ’tis a pity, then. Because it is just such an animal that I’ve hidden in me boiler room, and I fear the poor thing is hungerin’ to see its owners. ’Tis droppin’ these.” He held up a green scale. “Like he is hopeful that someone will find them and fetch ’im.”

  Shoshi and Moshe exchanged glances.

  “So, if it’s not yer animal that I’m hidin’ in me place, I’ll just be gittin’ back to see if the poor thing is needin’ some food or other creature comforts.”

  “Wait,” Shoshi yelled. “Please, take us with you.”

  He turned and cocked an eyebrow. “And why would ye be wantin’ that? If it t’aint yer animal, that is?” He crooked his finger.

  Silently, they followed him down a stairwell to the bottom of the ship. The air had become hotter. They followed the man down a narrow passageway and into a room where four men, who were dressed in the same striped shirt and dark-blue pants, shoveled loads of shiny black coal into the bellies of four glowing furnaces. The men stopped, turned, and stared, their eyes white dots in soot-blackened faces.

  “Hey, Salty, your guest is getting restless,” said a stout man.

  Snigger was huddled beside a boiler, his breath lighting up the steamy air. As Shoshi ran forward, the dragon roared a fiery greeting, quivering with excitement as his tail clanked against the side of the boiler.

  “Snig, snig, snigger.” He hiccupped and rubbed his head against Shoshi’s skirt.

  “How long has he been here?” Moshe asked.

  “Well, Salty found him racing through the halls. Didn’t ya, Salty?” said the man.

  “That I did.” Salty wiped his brow with his sleeve. “Saw the rumpus about the sausages, and then this monster ’ere, ’e comes chargin’ down the stairs like a cannon ball. Well, I tells meself, this can only mean trouble. Them fancy folks won’t stand for anythin’ rufflin’ their fine feathers. So I figure I’d better keep ’im down with us. What’s a little more smoke in this stinkin’ hole, huh, boys?”

  The men nodded and laughed.

  “Well, it certainly is hot down here,” said Shoshi, brushing limp red curls off her forehead.

  “I’m Moshe, and this is my sister, Shoshi.” Moshe held out his hand. “Is your name really Salty?”

  “On this ship it is.”

  “What about off the ship?” Shoshi asked.

  Salty’s face darkened. “Off the ship, I don’t have a name.” He turned back to his crew. “What’re ye lookin’ at? Think this crate’ll run itself? Back to work with ye.” To the children, he said, “Bring that monster and come with me.” He led Moshe, Shoshi, and Snigger to the back of the room. Salty and the kids sat around a small metal table. Snigger curled up on Shoshi’s lap, while she rubbed his head.

  “How come you two speak English?”

  “We had a tutor back in Vrod, our village. Mama paid him to teach us all English before we left for America.”

  “Smart woman, yer mama.” Salty pointed at Snigger. “This thing is a dragon, ain’t it? Saw a picture of one in a book once. Ne’er seen the real thing before, though.”

  “Moshe got him from a peddler that he met in the forest near our home,” said Shoshi.

  The man scratched his head. “Forests are full o’ dragon eggs. Come in with the Mongols from China, they did, and been there for hundreds o’ years. Most o’ them ne’er hatch. Lucky yours did – or maybe not.”

  “How do you know all that?” Shoshi asked Salty.

  Salty scratched his beard. “Been around. ’Ere, there, everywhere. You’ll never get ’im through immigration. Officers on Ellis Island are tough. Yer gonna need a plan, that’s fer sure.”

  Moshe and Shoshi had thought they could put him in a basket and carry him ashore as baggage. But that was before Snigger started growing. It was one thing to hide a baby animal, but it was quite another to deal with a rapidly growing, fire-breathing dragon. It would take more than wishes to sneak him into the Goldene Medina.

  They still had two days before the ship docked in New York. They decided it was best to keep Snigger down in the boiler room with Salty. “Down ’ere,” he said, “Snigger will be just one more over heated boiler pumping out hot air.” He laughed at his own joke. Shoshi and Moshe smiled reluctantly. They hated to leave Snigger “down below,” but it was just until the ship docked.

  CHAPTER 5

  America at Last

  The whistle blast jolted Shoshi from a deep sleep. Her mother and brother were already out of bed and dressed for the day. Excited voices in different languages filled the steerage compartment.

  Shoshi sat up and peered through the damp shirts and stockings dangling from the upper bunk. “What’s going on? Why is everyone so excited?”

  Her mother pulled down the dry
ing clothes. “Get dressed,” she said, handing Shoshi a pair of stockings. “We’re almost in America. Get up! Such a lazy bones. Because of you, we will be the last people on deck.” She pulled her leather purse out of her skirt and snapped it open. The last of the Cossacks’ coins gleamed. She sighed with satisfaction. The money would start them off in America.

  Shoshi pulled on the stockings, shivering as the damp cloth crawled over her skin. She slipped into her dress, wrapped a shawl around her shoulders, tied her hair back with a kerchief, and pulled on her boots. By the time she reached the deck, the ship was passing a small island with a giant statue of a woman holding a torch high over her head. She recognized the Statue of Liberty from the postcard the man had given them in Hamburg. Tear-streaked faces turned to it, as people pointed, shouted, and laughed.

  Ferryboats chugged between the New York shore and an island that was dominated by a large red brick building. “That must be Ellis Island, where we go through immigration,” said Moshe.

  As she faced New York Harbor, Shoshi saw people on its dock carrying bundles from the ships to wagons that were waiting to take the goods into the city. She thought of the man who had given them the postcard. Did he carry such bundles on his journeys to and from America? She wondered if each package had beautiful fabrics or strange food from distant lands. There were so many wondrous experiences ahead in America that she could hardly wait to get off the ship. Soon, they would find Papa and be a family again – Mama, Papa, Moshe, herself, and … Snigger? Her insides curled up like a fist. “Moshe, we haven’t seen Salty for two days. We have to get Snigger off the ship and through Ellis Island.”

  Their mother appeared, her face flushed. “So what are you two up to now? Where is that monster of yours?”

  “How much time do we have before we leave the ship?” asked Shoshi.

  “Four hours. The first-and second-class passengers get off first. Then it’s our turn.”

  Mrs. Finklestein appeared at Mrs. Kapustin’s elbow. “You, in America? HA!”

  “We will be drinking tea in America while you are still fighting with the authorities to let you in,” said Mrs. Kapustin.

  “God should help thieves? HA!” Mrs. Finklestein spat. “HA!”

  “Don’t you worry about us, Mrs. Finklestein.” Mrs. Kapustin waved her fist under the other woman’s nose. “My family will get into America. I only hope we see you there as well.”

  Shoshi and Moshe left the two women and walked to the far side of the deck. Shoshi smiled slyly at her brother. “Moshe, I know how we are going to smuggle Snigger into America.”

  As he listened to her plan, Moshe’s expression changed from annoyance to excitement. “I hate to admit it, but at times, you can be very smart – for a girl.”

  “Girl, schmurl,” Shoshi snapped. “Come. We’re wasting time. Let’s find Salty and Snigger.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Ellis Island

  Shoshi shivered as needles of icy spray stung her cheeks. The ferry that had taken them from New York Harbor across the Hudson River to Ellis Island was little more than an open barge. The wind whistled across its deck and cut through her clothes like a knife. “I hope they let us off soon,” she said through chattering teeth. “Where is Salty?”

  “He said that he’d find us. We’re next,” Moshe said.

  “I heard that once you’re in that building, they put hooks into your eyes,” said a boy who was standing next to Moshe.

  “Hooks? For what?”

  “To see if you have a disease.”

  Moshe was about to ask what disease, when a guard ordered everyone off the ferry.

  The passengers lugged their baggage and shuffled forward in a line that stretched from the boat into the building. Inside, each person was given a numbered tag. “What is this?” Mrs. Kapustin asked, as the officer pinned one to her clothing.

  “It is an identification tag,” he said.

  Although Mrs. Kapustin could speak some English, it was hard for her to understand the guard’s rapid American accent, so Shoshi translated his words as much as she could.

  “He thinks we don’t know who we are?” Mrs. Kapustin said to her daughter.

  “Already you are causing trouble?” Mrs. Finklestein called out.

  “Do whatever the guards tell you,” Mrs. Kapustin instructed her children. “Don’t make them notice us.”

  Shoshi clutched her amber necklace. She hoped Papa was right and that it would bring good luck.

  They entered a room where they were told to leave their valises and bundles on shelves. They climbed a steep flight of stairs until they reached a long hall with tables on either side. A doctor stood behind each table and checked immigrants – looking inside their mouths, tapping their chests, and examining their skin for open sores. Anyone who coughed, wheezed, or sneezed was taken aside for further inspection. Shoshi breathed a sigh of relief to see that each doctor had a translator. Her mother would be fine. The room was filled with many voices speaking all at once in dozens of languages.

  “What did that boy on the boat tell you?” Shoshi asked her brother, while they waited their turn.

  “That the doctors will put needles in our eyes.”

  “Needles!” Shoshi cried. “No one is going to put a needle in my eye!”

  “Quiet,” her mother ordered. “Whatever they have to do, they will do, and whatever we have to do to get into America, we will do.”

  Shoshi sulked. She was tired from the long delay to get off the ship and the ferry ride, and now they had to wait to be inspected. Suddenly, she wanted to be back in Vrod, safe in her own home. But had they been safe? She remembered the Cossacks.

  The inspections continued. So far, the Kapustins had passed all the tests. They were healthy and had answered the inspector’s questions. They moved into another line and continued to wait.

  “Here it comes. The dreaded eye inspection,” said a man in front of them. Sure enough, a doctor was checking people in line with a curved needle that peeled back their eyelids.

  “They are looking for a disease called trachoma,” the man explained in Yiddish. “It is a terrible affliction that can cause blindness. It is very contagious, and if you have it, you cannot get into America.”

  “How do they know if you have it?” Moshe asked.

  “When they lift the lid, the underside is red. But there are other things that can keep you out, too,” he continued. “Like if they think you are crazy. Crazy people they don’t want in America.”

  Shoshi had noticed that some of the immigrants were marked with blue chalk; others had letters of the alphabet written on their cards.

  “Each letter is a disease,” said the man. “B is for back problems, Ct means trachoma, E is for eyes, and P means you have physical or mental problems.”

  “How do you know?” asked Shoshi.

  “My sister came here last year. She sent me a letter about it.”

  Shoshi shuddered. She hoped that her family would be spared the letters. If they didn’t get into America, they would never find Papa. And what would happen to Snigger? Which reminded her – where was he?

  It was her family’s turn for the eye exam. Shoshi clenched her fists, trying not to scream as the hook lifted first one eyelid, then the other. Then it was Moshe’s turn, and, finally, their mother’s. As the doctor waved them forward, Shoshi sighed with relief. Had her father passed the needle test? Of course, he had. So, where was he now?

  They were directed into the main section of the building called the Registry Room. An arched ceiling soared above their heads, and pale sunlight filtered through the many tall windows. The great hall was divided into lines and passages by metal railings that stretched the length of the room.

  To fill the time, Shoshi studied the people around her. On her right, a Gypsy family waited with stoic patience. The women wore long scarves tied babushka style under their chins or draped over their heads and across their shoulders. The men’s heads were bare, unlike orthodox Jewish men who kept thei
r heads covered at all times. Small girls in brightly colored dresses clutched their mothers’ skirts, while boys in embroidered jackets and baggy pants seemed overwhelmed by the dizzying crowd.

  On her left were two dark-skinned women, elegant in white long-sleeved dresses; bits of cloth twisted into elaborate hats were wrapped around their hair. Beside them, a weary mother in a bright checkered dress and matching babushka scolded her two daughters in rapid Russian. How could one country take in so many people? No one ever immigrated to Vrod. Except for the occasional rabbi or teacher, everyone who lived in Vrod was born there.

  Their line moved forward. Men in starched white collars and dark-blue jackets stood behind tall desks, interviewing each immigrant in turn. She heard questions translated into different languages by the assistants. At last, it was the Kapustins’ turn.

  “What is your family name?” the inspector asked. A young woman standing beside him was translating his question into Yiddish, when a commotion broke out in the next aisle.

  Mrs. Finklestein was at the front of her line. “Look, look,” she shouted. A man in a blue-and-white striped shirt pushed a wooden cart filled with coal through the aisles. The cart was so big, it kept bumping into people. Mrs. Finklestein grabbed the arm of the inspector. Her grip was so hard that his pen dripped black ink onto his white shirt.

  “Stop attacking me, you crazy woman,” he shouted. He turned to the translator. “Tell her to stand still and answer my questions.”

  Mrs. Finklestein jumped up and down. Her chest heaved, her wig flopped, and her big gold watch swung back and forth like a pendulum. “There is a monster,” she babbled. “There is a monster under the coal in that wagon.”

  “Hee, hee, hee.” The man’s laughter rang through the hall. Shoshi stood on her tiptoes. Salty rushed toward the door, but the cart bumped into a pillar and the top layer of coal spilled onto the floor.