Touched by Fire

by Irene N. Watts

  Mama says, “You must stop this nonsense, Yuri. It is not a game. It is your life, all our lives. Answer the doctor, I beg you, my son.”

  The doctor is tapping the table impatiently, with a pointer. She turns to him.

  “Sir,” Mama says, “Yuri is a normal intelligent boy, just shy and afraid.”

  The doctor ignores Mama’s protests.

  “He is rejected. Your son is defective. The boy will be sent back tomorrow. Arrangements will be made for his safe return. Next.”

  My brain cannot take in his words. Defective? Impossible! My brother has an answer for everything. He can recognize any military regiment just by looking at the buttons on the uniform.

  Mama slaps Yuri hard, once on each cheek. “Speak, you stubborn boy! Don’t do this,” she says.

  An officer pulls Mama away and points us to the door. I cannot see Yuri’s face, but the way he stands and his narrow bony shoulders are still those of a little boy. Perhaps he has earned the right to stay awhile longer. Perhaps I can make amends for giving his hiding place away.

  “Mama, please let him be. He can’t help it, he is so unhappy. Bubbe and Zayde will take care of him. He can come with them later.” Still Yuri does not move, but I think I see some of the stiffness go out of the shoulders he has held rigidly for so long. “I beg you, Mama, come now. We have to go. Look, our tickets are stamped – the ship will leave without us.” I pick up the basket of food and my things. Mama looks from Yuri to me, her face ashen. With tears rolling down her cheeks, she walks towards Yuri and takes his hand in hers. An awful thought comes to me. I have to hold myself back from throwing myself into my mother’s arms.

  “Miriam, you will have to go without me,” Mama says. “I cannot leave both Devora and Yuri without a mother. Tell Papa I will come later.” She turns to go.

  I stare at Mama. She is not coming! I cry out, “What about me, Mama? Don’t Papa and I matter? What of the tickets, wasted?”

  “I have no choice, Miriam,” Mama says. “You are a strong young woman; you will manage.” She stifles a sob. “Be well, my child. I will keep you in my prayers. Tell Sam I will come.” There is no more time to beg, to plead, and to tell her how much I need her.

  The officer opens the door and points to the line of people. He says the tender is waiting to take me to the ship. Mama and Yuri have disappeared. I almost wish that I had not passed, that I had gone back with them. Then the thought of Papa, who has worked and waited so long for us, makes me strong.

  I am going to America, to be with Papa again. Only, I wish, I wish, I was not so alone.

  10

  JOURNEY TO THE “GOLDEN LAND”

  An officer checks my ticket and points to a line of people that slowly winds its way out of the building. The tenders are waiting outside on the quay. I ask the woman in front of me, holding a child by each hand, if she knows what is happening.

  She looks me up and down and says, “What do you think, silly girl? We get on board, we sail, what else?” She turns back to her children. I feel foolish and ignorant.

  We reach one of the tenders that will take us to the ship. Officers count us and check our tickets again. I know I cannot be the only girl traveling alone, but if anyone asks me if I am by myself, I will burst into tears. I look for a seat and am told to hurry up and sit down. Never a smile or a “welcome aboard,” nothing to reassure us about the unknown.

  An arm beckons, a flash of scarlet. A voice calls out, “Over here, there is room beside me.” It is the girl who was ahead of us in the line earlier, the one wearing the red shawl. Thankfully I take my place beside her, put my bundle on my case, and rest my feet on top. The picnic basket is balanced on my lap. I notice a man in a white coat going up to passengers, telling them to roll up their sleeves. The children wail at the sight of a big needle.

  The girl says, “That’s the ship’s doctor. He is vaccinating us, so we do not spread disease on the ship. They are afraid of typhoid. We might have picked up anything from all those crowds. It’ll soon be over,” she says with a friendly smile. I thank her, but my thoughts are with Mama and Yuri. I won’t cry.

  Yuri has got what he wanted for now, but what is to become of him next time? Now that his name is on the list as rejected, will he even be admitted to America with the others? Mama will have to sort it out. I am too tired to worry anymore.

  It is good to sit down – we seem to have been standing and waiting for hours. The boat is full, and we set off. Another tender is behind us and another one after that. So many emigrants, all going to the Golden Land, and my stubborn brother, whom I love despite everything, is left behind. Worse, Mama has chosen to stay with him. How am I going to tell Papa? She will have to write to explain it to him, and, hopefully, the letter will reach America before I arrive.

  The girl beside me says, “My name is Rosina Brunetti. I am from Italy. I have been working for a well-to-do family in Hamburg for two years, since I was thirteen, looking after their three children and doing housework. This is where I learned to speak German. Now I have saved enough to go and live with my older brother. I have not met his wife yet. They married in America, but she is Italian, like us, so I am not worried. I will find work, pay for my keep, and send money home, and one day the rest of the family can join us. What about you? Where are your mother and the boy? Are they on the next tender?” she asks. I burst into tears.

  Rosina puts her hand on my arm. “Don’t cry, little one. Did they send them to quarantine?” I shake my head, unable to speak.

  “Many are returned – if they have the eye disease or sickness of the lungs. Sometimes they are kept in quarantine, until they are cured. They can try again later, you will see. Do you go to relatives?”

  I manage to answer her. “Yes, to my father. What will he say when he sees I am the only one coming, after he worked so hard to send us tickets?” Then I tell this kind Italian girl everything that has happened, about Devora and Yuri and the doctor’s words. I can hardly bear to repeat them.

  “Yuri is ‘defective,’ he said.” I explain Mama’s decision to return with Yuri to Berlin. When I speak about this, it seems cruel that Mama sent me to cross the ocean by myself. Does it mean she loves the others more than me? I know that’s not true. Mama had to choose, that’s all, and they are younger and need her most.

  I do not usually talk about family matters to strangers. There must be something about a journey that makes us want to confide secrets to people we hardly know. It was the same on the train to Hamburg, when Mama spoke so openly to the woman from Russia.

  Rosina is outraged on our behalf. “That doctor has no heart. What a cruel man to speak to you like this. Your poor mama could not let your little brother go back alone – impossible! She must have been worried and sad to leave her little daughter too. Tell me your name,” she says. I wipe my eyes.

  “My name is Miriam Markov. It used to be Markowitz, before they changed Papa’s name on Ellis Island,” I say, feeling a little better.

  “I am alone too, Miriam, so let us help each other on the journey, and then we will not be alone anymore, yes?” She holds out her hand and we shake, sealing our friendship.

  “My friends call me Rosie,” she says.

  “I like that,” I try it out. “Rosie … I am so glad we met.”

  Suddenly, Rosie starts to laugh. She says, “He is a smart boy, your brother, don’t you think, fooling the dottore?”

  I have to agree. “Yes, I’m quite proud of him.” Who but my brother would want to be sent back, when it is the dream of every Jew I’ve ever heard of to go to the Golden Land? Rosie smiles at me.

  It is time to stop feeling sorry for myself. Everything will turn out all right. I’m on my way to America! I’ll make Mama and Papa proud of me.

  “I am a year younger than you, Rosie, but that’s old enough to travel and find work in America. Now that we’ve met, I’m not scared anymore. I think we might even enjoy ourselves. It is a big adventure, isn’t it? Are you hungry? I have tea and bread a
nd …” I raise the lid of my basket and show Rosie the good things Bubbe packed for us. “Please help yourself.”

  She takes an apple, and I cut two thick slices of challah, one for each for us. Bubbe even wrapped up a knife. She has thought of everything.

  Rosie thanks me. “This is the Jewish bread, Miriam? I have never tried it before – it’s delicious. My mama and papa and three little brothers are still in Italy, in Napoli. Papa worked in a bakery all his life, since a small boy, but he got sick and was laid off. Who knows when they will be able to come to America. I will work hard and send money to help them.”

  The woman next to me rocks her baby, who hasn’t stopped crying since we left Hamburg. Someone says we will soon arrive in Cuxhaven, where we will board our ship. Rosie found out that the other passengers, from the second- and first-class cabins, come by train.

  The motion of the boat makes me sleepy, and I doze off until I hear those familiar words: “Hurry up.” Rosie shakes my shoulder. For a moment, I don’t know where I am. What does she want? I cannot have slept all the way to America. I look up at the huge ship towering over us and read the name on the side, SS Amerika.

  Officials herd us up a gangway and check our tickets and luggage. Then we are on board! An officer points us towards a twisting staircase that leads down to the lowest deck, where we will spend the next fourteen days. There is no time to look at anything. Rosie is behind me and warns me not to fall.

  The stairs are very narrow and seem to go down forever. I have trouble managing my belongings. People jostle, trying to calm excited or fretful children. Some women are sobbing because they have been separated from their husbands, sons, or fathers. I turn my head to look for Rosie, but now there are several women between us. I have lost sight of her. I drag my suitcase with one hand, my other holds the basket, and my bundle is somehow wedged under the same arm. I am in front of an impatient woman who deliberately pushes me.

  “I’m moving as fast as I can,” I say, turning my head to look at her. She is huge and wears numerous shawls over her bulky frame. I feel dizzy from trying to keep upright and prevent my possessions from slipping away from me.

  “Go on, you’re holding us all up,” she says, poking me with the corner of her case. She tries to get past me on the stairs. Why is she in such a hurry? The ship won’t leave till all the passengers are settled. I catch my heel on the slippery iron step, but even without a hand free to grip the railing, I manage to stumble on into the darkness without falling. Once down, it is like landing in a cold dark pit.

  A steward in a white coat stands at the bottom of the stairs, which I thought would never end. He points towards the long, narrow, dark corridor, which he calls an alleyway, to find our berths.

  I pause for a moment to catch my breath and wish I hadn’t, for the air is foul and damp, smelling of bodies, sweat, and fear. Mixed in are the odors of grease, wet wool, and oil. We are deep in the hold of the ship, close to the engines. Something runs over my foot. Is it a rat? Of course I’ve seen rats before, skittering over the cobbles in the Barn Quarter, beady eyes staring out from under pushcarts, but this close? Ugh, it is all I can do not to scream!

  The steward orders us to move along. I suppose the men’s cabins are at the other end of the ship. I’ve never been on a liner before and have no idea how things are arranged. I’ll make sure I find out, the way I always do. I’m not afraid of pogroms or fire here, but I need to know what to do if something bad happens. The first chance I get, I will go up on deck and find out where the lifeboats are.

  This is not the time to think about danger. Everyone on board has been saving and waiting for this moment. What is important is to remember how lucky I am to be going to my papa. As I walk past rows of little rooms like train compartments, peering through the narrow open doors of each one, I look for berths for Rosie and me. So far, they are already occupied by women and girls of every shape and size, speaking in Yiddish, Polish, German, Italian, and Russian. There seem to be four wooden tiers of bunks on each side and not much space in between. Wherever are we going to keep our luggage? The first ten cabins are already full or have only one empty bunk left. Rosie and I decided to try for two top berths, so that we’ll be more private. We’ll be the ones climbing over other passengers, not the other way around. I smile, thinking of the fat lady trying to climb up onto the narrow berth.

  I’m out of luck – the next three cabins are full too. I’ve just about given up hope of finding two upper berths, when I discover the next cabin is still unoccupied. Slipping on the greasy floor, I almost fall again in my eagerness to claim our berths.

  I throw my bundle on the top bunk and my shawl on the one opposite, to save it for Rosie. Then I hoist my suitcase and picnic basket up the little set of steps. I look down and see a woman settling her little girl on the bottom berth.

  At that moment, Rosie hurries in and leans against the bunk post. She is out of breath, as if she’s been running. For a moment, I wonder if we’re on the wrong ship or if something has happened for her to look so anxious. I realize that I already look on Rosie as a friend, the first girlfriend I’ve made since Malka disappeared.

  11

  STEERAGE

  “I tried to catch up with you, Miriam,” Rosie says, “but, every time, someone pushed between us! I was worried about losing you. You have got us top bunks – perfetto, how you say? Perfect! A window would be nice, but you can’t have everything.” She climbs up and surveys our new home, then starts to unpack. Others come in – two young women, sisters or friends, one pale with dark shadows under her eyes and her stomach bulging out under her shawl. She is brave to travel when she’s expecting a baby.

  The other woman helps her onto the bunk. “Rest, Anna,” she says. “I’m going to be right above you. I’ll unpack in a minute. Let me help you take off your boots. You’re supposed to keep your feet up. Don’t argue – you need to lie down for a while.” She’s bossy, so I’m sure they are sisters!

  Each bunk has a straw mattress covered in blue checked gingham, and the pillow is filled with seaweed. I smell it. This is the first scent of the sea I have experienced since coming aboard. There is a thin woolen blanket, but I brought an extra shawl and another blanket, in case it gets cold.

  The small cabin soon fills up. We introduce ourselves. We are going to be sharing this small windowless space for many days at sea, so we need to know a bit about each other. I hope we get along. I don’t expect everyone to be as nice as Rosie. We are so lucky to have found each other!

  I try to remember all the names. Fanny is the mother of little Essie, who is four. They share one bunk. She says she is meeting her husband in New York and that they have been separated for three years. She is from Danzig, and before that, from Bialystok.

  “I talk to Essie about her papa,” Fanny says. “She doesn’t really remember him, I’m afraid. He writes that he has been working in a butcher’s shop, on Hester Street. It is hard to picture these strange streets and the new life he leads,” she says.

  Anna tells us that she and her sister, Eva, are traveling with their husbands. They hope they will be able to meet on the boat, perhaps on deck. They are all garment workers and plan to find an apartment and work from there. They would have liked to have a family cabin, but it is cheaper for the men to travel dormitory-style. They have come from Vienna, Austria. There are so many nationalities on this one ship, yet America welcomes us all!

  The confidences start almost at once. As we unpack, we share our hopes. We are human beings with names, not numbers waiting in line to be called, counted, questioned, hurried on, or sent back. We are alike because we are emigrants, but different too, each with her own story.

  Two girls, looking a year or so older than Rosie, have just come in. They collapse with exhaustion, filling the floor space with their mounds of luggage. Now only one bunk is left. I doubt that it will stay empty for long. The ship is going to stop one more time, at Cherbourg, to take on more passengers.

  The girls brighten
up as they shed their belongings. “I’m Tanya,” one says, “and this is my cousin, Riva. We are not married yet,” she says with a giggle.

  Riva says, “We come from Grodno, Russia, and hope to find rich American husbands! My brother has found me a place as an assistant cook in a big private house, where he is a chauffeur. He has been in America for four years.”

  Tanya says, “I will be a nursemaid, with the same family. We will be on trial for three months. I have seven younger brothers and sisters, so I’ve got lots of experience.”

  We are busy trying to accommodate not only ourselves, but our luggage. For once, I’m glad I’m not very tall. It means there is room at the end of the bunk for my suitcase. Kolya’s feet would hang over the edge!

  Oh, how I miss everyone and wonder what they are doing at this moment. Are Mama and Yuri still on the train or waiting at the station to catch one in the morning? If Yuri had come with us, he would have had to sleep in a dormitory with the men, and Mama would have been worrying about him every single minute. Sometimes things do happen for the best. Who knows, in a year, with me helping to earn money and Devora older and stronger, we might all be together again.

  We try to squeeze our belongings under and on our bunks, leaving the passageway clear between the bunks. Once the single overhead bulb goes out, it would be easy to fall over anything left in the way.

  How lucky I am. There is a nail, hammered loosely in the wooden partition that separates our cabin from the one next door. I can hear every sound through the thin wall. I hang up my shawl and spare skirt. Rosie is desperately looking for a nail too, but hasn’t found one, so I offer to hang up her skirt over mine. I spread my shawl over my feet.