No Buts, Becky!

by Jos

  “So, how’s school? Are you still top in English?”

  “Yes,” she answered shyly. “Miss Bennet gives me lots of homework. She wants me to try for a scholarship next year.”

  “How’s Bubbe?”

  “She’s not coming to the public baths.”

  “Why not?” Papa sounded worried. “What’s wrong?”

  “She’s got pains in her legs again. I’ll help her as soon as I get back.”

  “What d’you think of this, Becky?” Papa asked, reaching behind his workbench and holding up a small carved shelf. “Best quality mahogany. I had a piece left over.”

  “It’s beautiful, Papa, thank you.” Becky beamed with pleasure. She stroked the wood and trailed her fingers along the fine fretwork patterns which decorated the edge. “It’ll be perfect for my Russian nesting dolls.”

  “It’ll look quite different when it’s French polished. There’s too much sawdust flying around in here for that. Moishe said he’ll do it for me.” He put the shelf back, took his tools from the rack and carefully stubbed out his cigarette butt with his foot.

  “Papa, I…I want to…”

  “Not now, not now,” he said hurriedly, “I’m too busy. I’ve got to get back to work.” He felt in his pocket and took out a penny. He pressed it in her hand and kissed the top of her head. “Everything will work out for the best, Becky,” he muttered. “But remember, don’t meddle in grown up affairs.”

  The cold wind whipped Becky’s skirt round her legs and tugged at her basket, but she hardly noticed. Papa had forgiven her for all the trouble last week. Why else would he make her such a beautiful shelf? She was so happy that she could have danced in the street. She ran all the way to the public baths and arrived out of breath, her cheeks glowing. Inside, the hot steamy atmosphere was drenched in a strong smell of disinfectant and carbolic soap. And what a noise! Doors banging, people shouting, children yelling, freshly scrubbed women and girls chatting to each other on their way out. Becky sat on a wooden bench and waited her turn for a bath. Mrs Levy, the bath attendant, looked hot and flustered. No wonder; it was her job to provide hot water for each bath. This was supplied from a tap outside each numbered cubicle. The bathers drove her mad.

  “Hot water in number four.”

  “More hot water in number eleven, please.”

  “Are you there, Mrs Levy? Hot water in number three.”

  “I’m freezing in here, Mrs Levy! Where are you? Hot water in number seventeen. Hurry up!”

  “I’m coming, I’m coming already!”Mrs Levy shouted above the noise. “Have a little mercy! I’ve only got one pair of hands, I can’t be everywhere at once,” she grumbled, mopping the sweat off her face.

  “Is your Bubbe not well again?” she asked Becky, as she lead the way into cubicle number nine. “Tell her I’ve got something for her arthritis.” She turned on the cold water with a tap key and cleaned the bath with a long-handled brush dipped in disinfectant.

  “Remember, your time’s up in half an hour,” Mrs Levy warned, as she took Becky’s money and closed the door behind her.

  Becky stood waiting until the hot water filled the bath, belching clouds of steam. She undressed, grabbed her soap and stepped into the bath. It was ages since she had had a bath all to herself. She wallowed and splashed happily, half listening to snatches of conversation that floated in and out of the cubicles.

  “Fanny can you hear me? D’you know my cousin Gittle told me that Abe Klein is wearing out his boot leather trying to fix up a good match for Sadie?”

  Becky sat bolt upright so fast that she almost lost her balance. The soap shot out of her hand and plopped into the water. She was sure Mrs Haffner’s name was Sadie. She sat very still, straining every muscle to listen to the rest of the gossip.

  “Well, I suppose she can afford to be picky. Her husband left her well provided and she makes a good living from the shop…”

  “Number six, more hot water, please.”

  Becky groaned with frustration. “Go on, go on, please go on. Don’t stop talking,” she whispered to herself. She waited for what seemed an age before she heard the women’s voices again.

  “Fanny, are you there?”

  “Yes, I’m here. What were you saying?”

  “I said, God help the man Sadie finally chooses. He’ll have to work like a donkey.”

  “I heard that her husband, God rest his soul, was very strict with the kids.”

  “Y’don’t say!”

  “Oh yes, it’s well known that he would lay into the boys with his belt.”

  “Well, it’s a different story now. Sadie spoils ‘em rotten, and they’ve got a bit wild. Gittle says the older girls work like slaves.” The voices were interrupted by a hammering on a door.

  “Hey! Can you hear me in number fifteen. Your time’s up,” Mrs Levy shouted.

  The gossips continued.

  “Sadie’s not much of a cook, y’know. I suppose she’s too busy in the shop. D’you know what Gittle told me?”

  Becky shivered. The bath water was getting cold. She didn’t dare ask for more hot water for fear of missing anything.

  “Gittle was invited to Shabbos dinner last week. You’ll never guess what she told me. She could hardly eat the cholent; the meat was as tough as old boot leather and the gravy was all dried up!”

  Just then, Mrs Levy banged on the door, making Becky jump.

  “Number nine, your time’s up!” she shouted. Then, without warning, the bath water drained away. It was as if an invisible hand had pulled out the plug. Becky had no choice but to rescue the slimy soap, dry herself quickly and get dressed.

  There was an icy wind outside. Becky wrapped her shawl closer round her neck and clutched at her headscarf. The lamplighter was busy with his long pole lighting the gas lamps, which cast little pools of light as he went down the street. Becky’s mind was reeling. What she had overheard in the public baths would change everything. Mrs Haffner is a bad cook. Papa won’t want to marry her now, Becky thought. He just couldn’t, not after all of her mama’s delicious meals. She must find a way of warning him, but how? Would he believe her? Would that really change his mind? There was no doubt about it. In spite of Papa’s warning, she was going to have to MEDDLE AGAIN!

  Flat 74 Rothschild Buildings,

  Brick Lane,

  Whitechapel,

  London.

  Thursday 19th November 1908

  Dear Mama,

  Very sad news; Mrs Reitzner’s baby died. Everyone said that she was a sickly little thing from the moment she was born. The neighbours are helping out by taking it in turns to have the children until Mrs R feels better. The two older girls were here yesterday. Bubbe gave me some clean rags so I cleaned them up a bit and then we played with your button box. It kept them quiet for ages!

  Now – for the Secrets Of My Heart. I’ve heard some very important gossip. Mrs H can’t make a decent cholent. I’ve got to tell Papa. If nothing else will change his mind, surely this will. Please tell God to be on my side.

  God bless you, Mama.

  Yours faithfully,

  Rebecca Feldman.

  Chapter 8

  “Becky, can we get some bagels?” Yossie asked when they came out of school. “I’m starving!”

  “You’re always starving. I’ve got no money.”

  “I have,” Yossie boasted.

  “We’ll have to be quick then, Bubbe’ll go mad if I’m not home soon. Come on, Mirrie.”

  Becky guided her brother carefully over the steaming horse dung, squashed cabbage leaves and rotting vegetables which littered the market place. The bagel woman was sitting on a wooden box in between two stalls. She wore an old patched coat tied with string, a moth-eaten grey shawl round her shoulders and a man’s flat cap on her head. Next to her was a large sack bulging with bagels.

  “Bagels, hot bagels!” the woman croaked. She grinned at the children, showing her bright pink gums, bare except for the one single tooth. She took Yossie’s money,
opened the sack and gave them six crisp, shiny bagels.

  The children ate ravenously.

  “Don’t eat so fast!” The bagel woman wagged a finger at them. “You’ll get indigestion.”

  “I can’t help it,” Becky spluttered with her mouth full. “They’re so good.”

  They walked along together, chewing happily. Then Becky stopped suddenly and looked at her brother.

  “Wait a minute,” she frowned. “I’ve just remembered. Bubbe didn’t have any change this morning, so where d’you get the money?”

  Yossie’s mouth was too full to speak.

  “From Papa?”

  He shook his head.

  “Did you find it?”

  Yossie swallowed. “No, I didn’t,” he protested.

  “You’re a sly one, Yossie Feldman. Stop stuffing your mouth will you, and tell me.”

  “You’ll only get mad, so I’m not telling.”

  “Mad? Me? Don’t be daft. I won’t, I promise.”

  Yossie looked at Mirrie. “You heard what she said.”

  He finished eating and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Sol Haffner gave me the money,” he said, looking nervously at his sister. “I didn’t ask him for it, honest. He just gave it to me.”

  “Sol Haffner? I don’t believe you. Sol Haffner?” She repeated. “That bully gave you two pennies? Is that the honest truth?”

  “Yeah.”

  “If I’d known that before, I’d’ve spat them out! Don’t you ever take money from him or any of that family again. D’you hear me?”

  “Oh leave him alone, Becky. What’re you getting mad at Yossie, for?” Mirrie asked. “He didn’t do anything wrong. Look, it’s getting late and I’ve got to get home and help Mama. Come on both of you and stop squabbling.”

  Becky was boiling with anger. How dare Sol Haffner try to bribe her brother! She was sure his mother had put him up to it. “Yossie’s too young to understand what’s going on, but I do,” she muttered.

  By the time she got to the bakers, it was packed with cholent customers. She could see Mirrie ahead of her waiting in line. Suddenly a voice called out behind her.

  “Becky Feldman, is that you? Hey! You! Becky Feldman!” Becky looked round. A young girl waved to her.

  “Can you hear me? I’ve got a message for your grandmother.”

  Becky blinked in surprise. It was Dora, the youngest of the Haffner girls. Before she could say anything, the girl shouted: “Mama, I mean Mrs Haffner, wants you all to come over for Shabbos dinner tomorrow. Don’t forget to tell your grandmother and your father.”

  Becky blushed scarlet. Why did Dora have to shout about it at the top of her voice? She didn’t know where to look. The gossips are going to love this, she thought bitterly. As soon as she handed the cholent over, she snatched the tag and rushed out of the shop. Mirrie was waiting for her.

  “Oh, I could just kill that Dora Haffner,” Becky raged, holding her hands up to her burning cheeks.

  “Why, what’s up? What d’you mean?” Mirrie asked.

  “She said we’ve got to go and eat cholent with Mrs Haffner tomorrow. Why did she have to tell everyone and show me up in front of all those people?”

  “Oh, don’t be so touchy, Becky,” Mirrie told her. “Look out, here she comes.” Dora stopped, looked down and shuffled her feet awkwardly.

  “We’re that busy at home, I didn’t have time to shlep round to your place,” she mumbled. “Then I saw you in the line. I…I…didn’t mean any harm. My mother’s expecting you all, see you tomorrow.”

  Becky glared at the girl. She couldn’t trust herself to speak.

  “Well, she sort of said she was sorry, didn’t she?” Mirrie asked.

  “I was so humiliated,” Becky blurted out. “I could have died of shame.”

  “What’s got into you, Becky? What are you getting so upset about?”

  Becky didn’t answer. They walked along in silence. Then suddenly, she stopped, pressed her back against a wall and folded her arms.

  “You don’t understand, Mirrie,” Becky felt the tears at the back of her throat. “You just don’t understand,” she repeated. “I’m in terrible trouble and I don’t know what to do.”

  “I’ll help you if I can, you know I will,” Mirrie said gently.

  “Promise you won’t tell a soul?”

  “Course not. I’m your friend, aren’t I?”

  Mirrie’s kind words seemed to unlock something deep inside her. All the worries that she had kept bottled up for so long came pouring out. She told Mirrie everything from the time when Bubbe suddenly announced that they should have a new mother, Abe Klein and Mrs Haffner, to the gossips in the public baths. When she had finished Becky felt that a heavy weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

  “It’s such a relief to talk to you, Mirrie. Now you know what I’m up against. Sol Haffner’s trying to shmooze Yossie. I’m sure his mother’s behind it. Why else would he give Yossie that money? Worst of all, we’ve got to go there tomorrow. You know why, don’t you?”

  “So you can all meet Mrs Haffner’s family?”

  “Yeah, she’ll go on and on about her wonderful children. It makes me feel sick just thinking about it.”

  “What does your father say?”

  “He won’t talk to me about it, he’s told me not to meddle in grown up things. That’s why it’s so hard to find out what’s going on.”

  “Well, tomorrow he’ll find out what he’s in for. If he marries Mrs Haffner he’ll suddenly find he has five more kids to care for!”

  “I won’t share my father with those Haffners, I won’t,” Becky said fiercely. She pretended to fiddle with the cholent tag in her pocket so Mirrie wouldn’t see her wet cheeks.

  “Hey, now just you wait a minute, Becky.”

  Becky wiped her eyes. “What?” she sniffed.

  “Well, I thought you said Mrs Haffner is supposed to be a bad cook! Didn’t you hear some gossip in the public baths yesterday?”

  Becky’s expression changed. “You’re right, yes,” she repeated slowly, “you’re right. How stupid of me to have forgotten that! I must be going crazy.” Her eyes grew wide and slowly her face lit up in a big smile.

  “I can’t wait to see Papa’s face tomorrow when he eats Mrs Herring’s rotten, dried up cholent. If anything’s going to change his mind, that will. He loves his food. D’you know, Mirrie, I feel better already.”

  “Good! Now you can forget about tomorrow, and think about the delicious dinner you’ll have tonight instead.”

  “Tonight? What’s so special about tonight?”

  “Mama’s a very good cook.”

  “Your mother? What are you talking about?”

  “Didn’t Bubbe tell you that Mama wants you to come and eat with us tonight?”

  “Tonight? Me? Really? Bubbe didn’t tell me, I expect she forgot.”

  “You were out when I asked her, but she said it would be alright. Will you come?”

  “Oh yes, thanks. I’ll wear the dress Hester gave me.”

  “That’s settled then. Come on, it’s cold standing here. Oh, that reminds me. You’ll have to bring something to sit on, ‘cos we haven’t got enough chairs!”

  They grinned at each other, linked arms and ran home.

  Becky could only see her head and neck in the small, cracked kitchen mirror. She smoothed down her hair and patted the new collar in place. She pinched her cheeks to get some colour into them like she’d seen Hester doing. She smiled at her reflection. I’m not being vain, she thought, but I think I look quite nice. She tried to get a better view of herself as she passed the shiny samovar, but it made her look a funny shape.

  “Good Shabbos, everyone. I’m going up to Mrs Lazarus’s now.” She tried not to sound too excited. Then she took a deep breath and announced: “Bubbe, Dora Haffner told me at the bakers today that her mother is expecting us all for dinner tomorrow.” Then, without waiting to see how the invitation was received, she grabbed a stool, opened the door and
closed it quietly behind her.

  Becky stood outside number 139 clutching her wooden stool. She wiped her boots against the back of her stockings, balancing first on one leg and then the other. When they looked clean enough, she tapped on the door.

  “Good Shabbos, Becky, how nice you look,” Mrs Lazarus smiled. “Come in, come in.” Becky, feeling a little nervous and shy, sat down next to Mirrie. Two young men were standing near the fire, talking and laughing. The taller one had flaming red hair and a beard to match.

  “Dov and Alex are family friends,” Mrs Lazarus explained. “They looked after us on the journey. We couldn’t have managed without them, especially as the boat was full of rogues and thieves.”

  “D’you know what Mama did?” Mirrie burst in.

  Becky shook her head.

  “She sewed all her savings into the lining of her coat and wore it all the time. She even slept in it!” Mirrie giggled. “One of the ladies I got to know told me that she’d sewn her money inside her corset! I know you’re funny about smells, Becky,” she went on, “but you just can’t imagine what a stench there was down below. We were packed in like sardines and everyone was seasick and…”

  “Spare us the details, Mirrie dear,” Mrs Lazarus interrupted quickly. “It’s dinner time and I’m sure our Shabbos guests are hungry.”

  Before the meal was served, Dov read the blessings, poured the wine, sprinkled salt on the challah and handed it round.

  “Have you ever seen Tower Bridge, Becky?” Alex asked, stabbing his fork into his food. Becky couldn’t help noticing that his carrots were almost the same colour as his hair and his beard!

  “No.”

  “Well we have,” he said, his eyes shining with excitement. “I still can’t believe it. The day we arrived in England there was such a thick fog we couldn’t see a thing. We could hear fog horns all around us, but we’d no idea where we were. Suddenly the fog lifted and there we were, sailing up the River Thames surrounded by all kinds of boats – passenger ships like ours, freighters, sailing boats, and rowing boats. Then I saw this gigantic bridge stretching right across the river. What a sight! D’you know what happened next?”