Touched by Fire

by Irene N. Watts

  “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.

  7

  ANOTHER PARTING

  It 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 m
atter, 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?”

  “We will have to wait and see, Miriam. What do I think? You are only fourteen years old, with your whole life ahead of you, and now, a sea voyage across the Atlantic Ocean. We will take things one step at a time. First we must settle in our new country, become good citizens, and help Papa all we can. We need to make a proper home and earn enough to send for Bubbe and Zayde. You will be my right hand, and if that means cooking and cleaning and helping me with a bit of sewing the way you do now, that is what we will do.” Mama throws up her hands as if I have asked for the moon.

  “Yes, I understand. Mama, please listen. I want to tell you something else.…”

  “So speak, I am listening,” she says, but she is rereading Papa’s letter and only half paying attention.

  “Mama, Yuri does not want to go to America. He has said so over and over again.”

  “Miriam, Miriam, you worry too much. You think I don’t know how Yuri feels? I know, but when he makes new friends in America, he will come around. Yuri will be another pair of hands helping to earn money for the family. He will be proud to help his papa. He can do so many things – a bright boy like him. He will like to be useful, and we might be able to send him to an American school. He is not twelve yet. A boy needs to learn everything he can.”

  “Mama, Yuri wants to stay in Berlin awhile longer, to go on helping Zayde. Shoe making is a good trade, isn’t it?” I say.

  Mama looks horrified. “So what are you trying to tell me? That Yuri not come with us, when I have his ticket here? What do you think we have been working for? Are you crazy? Yuri comes with us!” Mama folds her letter, stowing it safely away with the tickets in her box. Our conversation is at an end.

  She hands me the pile of neatly pressed and folded garments. “Miriam, take these blouses I finished embroidering last night to Frau Goldschmidt,” she says. “Ask her to pay us up to date, please. You may tell her we sail for America in a few weeks.” I hate asking for money, even more than finishing buttonholes, but at least I can go out for a while.

  Mama says, “There, you think I keep you home too much. Look how responsible I think you are to trust you with an important errand.”

  A week later, Devora starts to cough and wheeze. Bubbe rubs her chest with goose grease, puts a cloth over her head, and makes her breathe in the steam from a basin of scalding water. Not one of Bubbe’s favorite remedies seems to help. My little sister refuses to eat. I soften white bread in warm milk, add a few raisins, and tempt her with thin slices of apple sprinkled with sugar, but she turns her head away after a few bites.

  Mama sends for the doctor again. Each time the money she has put away for our journey becomes a little less. The doctor looks at the baby, takes her temperature, listens to her chest. Mama tells him we sail in two weeks. Doctor Braun straightens up. I bring him a basin of warm water and a clean towel. When he finishes washing and drying his hands, he turns to Mama.

  “Frau Markowitz,” he says, “it is out of the question that this child can stand up to such a journey so soon. She needs building up – good food, rest, and quiet. There will be no fresh milk on board. Atlantic weather is rough, and overcrowded conditions can breed all kinds of illnesses. She may succumb to any of them in her present state. You face a journey of many days. I advise you, most strongly, to postpone your travel, and, if this is not possible, to leave the little girl with loving relatives. After all, the child has her grandparents to care for her.” He smiles at Bubbe.

  “But the tickets have been purchased.” Mama is agitated. “My husband has been working for two years to send for us.” She speaks fast in her anxiety, her voice shaky. Then she is silent, waiting for the doctor to reassure us.

  He considers, speaks, but it is not what we want to hear. “As your doctor, I can only advise you. You must do as you wish. Dear lady, supposing your little girl survives by some miracle, she still has to pass a strict medical inspection at Ellis Island. Children there have been hospitalized or sent back. Devora is a delicate little girl, but she will outgrow this condition if you allow her to. You will see, in a year or two, she will be much stronger. Here is a prescription for a tonic to increase her appetite. Good day.” I hand him his hat and open the door for him.

  What are we going to do?

  That night Mama, Zayde, and Bubbe talk for a long time. The next day, Mama says they have decided to accept the doctor’s advice. Devora will stay with my grandparents until we send for them. By then, my sister will be a year older and stronger, more able to endure the voyage. Yuri and I try to take it in. Mama is brave to heed the doctor. I can hardly bear to think of leaving my baby sister behind.

  Yuri says, “I am really sorry, Mama, but I have an idea. If I stay behind and go on helping Zayde as I always have, I will find time to play with Devora. I’ll make her laugh. When Papa sends the tickets, we can all come at the same time.

  “I am doing well in school, Mama, and Bubbe and Zayde and I will practice our English. I can help out more at the stables and earn money. I don’t need to go to America right now. I can wait.” He smiles innocently.

  Mama says, “No, Yuri, Papa and I want you to come now. Enough. No more of your ideas.”

  “Why won’t you ever listen to me, Mama?” Yuri shouts. “I want to stay here, I like it, I am happy. I am sick of hearing about the Golden Land. Please, let me stay in Berlin.”

  Mama shakes her head. “Be still, Yuri, you have said quite enough.”

  He looks at Zayde.

  “A boy must obey his parents, Yuri,” Zayde says.

  Yuri rushes out.

  “He will come around, you’ll see,” Bubbe says. “Yuri does not like change. He doesn’t mean it, Sara.”

  8


  YURI

  Mama and I have almost finished packing. We do not own very many valuables, but we divide them between us. I have wrapped one of our Sabbath candlesticks in a skirt inside an extra blanket, and Mama has the other one, concealed in the same way in one of her bundles.

  Bubbe says, “Who knows what kind of people you will be traveling with on the ship? Better to be cautious.”

  Mama kisses her cheek. “You are right, as always, Mamele. I don’t know how we will manage without you, even for a short time.”

  It is well into the afternoon before Mama and I have sewn our money inside our waistbands and skirt hems. There is not a great deal left because of the doctor’s many visits, but Mama says it will be enough until we find work.

  “We need to leave for Hamburg, so that we arrive in plenty of time to board the ship. There may be delays, and who knows for how long? Suppose we have to find lodgings overnight? I can imagine lengthy waits, with hundreds and hundreds of people leaving at the same time.”

  Mama thinks of everything. She says I worry, but from whom did I learn about worrying? I hear an anxious note in her voice as she asks where Yuri is. She brings in the samovar and pours our tea.

  “It’s getting dark. Where can that boy have got to? I told him to be home long before this. I don’t want a last-minute rush in the morning. We leave from Lehrter Station at 8:00 a.m., so we must be there well before the train leaves. Zayde says it is not a long journey to Hamburg – a little over four hours – and then the waiting begins to board the ship. We need to be prepared and ready early. This is no way to start out.”

  I think how selfish Yuri is being, worrying Mama in this way. It is hard enough for her having to leave Devora behind. Bubbe comes in, and Mama asks her if she has seen Yuri. Zayde warms his hands round the glass of tea that Bubbe pours for him.

  “I gave Yuri a piece of bread and butter because he said he had a long errand to run for you,” Bubbe tells Zayde. Her face is creased with anxiety.