Portraits

by Cynthia Freeman

“You like her?”

  “She’s a nice girl.”

  “I know, you said that a number of times. But do you like her?”

  There was a long pause. “I…I…guess so.”

  “You guess so?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, then, since you’re not in love with her, I wouldn’t ask you to bring her to the picnic.”

  “What picnic?”

  “My lodge is having a picnic this Sunday and I think you would enjoy it. There will be other boys and girls. You’ll see, you’ll enjoy it.”

  I’ll die, Jacob thought.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  NO MATTER HOW HARD Jacob tried to make time stand still, Sunday came. He had been up since dawn, watching the sun rise. It held the promise of a glorious summer day. He washed his hair and shaved. The blond stubble had become more abundant in the last few weeks. After combing his hair, he held the comb up to his lip and looked at himself in a piece of broken mirror he had found in the rubble out in the backyard. With a mustache he could pass for eighteen, even nineteen. Maybe he should grow one. It would give him an air of distinction. Should he wear his suit? Was it right? He’d never been to a picnic. He decided to take the chance. If he was careful, nothing would happen to it.

  At nine o’clock sharp, he knocked on the Mendlebaums’ back door.

  It was opened by Lotte. Without a word, she turned and walked away.

  Awkwardly, Jacob went into the sittingroom and stood with his cap in his hand.

  “Good morning, Jacob, you look so handsome! Sit, sit. I have a few last-minute things to put in the basket,” Mrs. Mendlebaum said as she made her way to the kitchen.

  Soon there was another greeting.

  “Good morning, Jacob, it’s a lovely day for a picnic,” Mr. Mendlebaum said cheerfully. “You wouldn’t be too warm in that jacket?”

  “I don’t know. Shouldn’t I wear it?”

  “A sweater would be better. Wait, I’ll go get mine.”

  Mr. Mendlebaum was at least three sizes smaller than Jacob was, but he’d wear it if it killed him. Soon Mr. Mendlebaum handed the sweater to Jacob, and he struggled into it.

  Mr. Mendlebaum smiled. “Take it off, I thought it would fit. It happens to be a sweater my son sent to me for Chanukah, and it’s too big. I seem to shrink.”

  “You didn’t shrink, only Aaron seemed to think you are the same size you were when he had to look up to you. You must have looked very tall,” Mrs. Mendlebaum laughed. “Here, take one of the baskets and Jacob can take the other.”

  “No, Mrs. Mendlebaum, I can take both.”

  “Then you, Max, take the blankets and the pillows.”

  “Pillows we don’t need.”

  “Pillows we need. What if someone wants to take a nap?”

  “Pillows we need.” He nodded.

  “They’re here,” Lotte called out excitedly from the back porch.

  Within seconds they were climbing aboard the large horse-drawn wagon. The greetings were profuse. When Jacob was introduced he was embarrassed by the knowing smiles. Ah, Max Mendlebaum had made a shiddach, a match. This handsome young boychik had been embraced for his carving ability alone? Nonsense. Then the ladies’ heads turned to Lotte, who sat to the right of her grandmother as Jacob sat at the other end next to Mr. Mendlebaum.

  Soon the notions of romance were forgotten, and more pressing conversations of news and gossip began as the wagon bounded along the country road.

  Jacob sat rigidly, all too aware of Lotte, but the constant conversation distracted him and made time rush by so rapidly that before he knew it they had arrived at the campsite. The wagon came to a halt and everyone disembarked.

  Jacob had never seen anything quite so magnificent as the wooded area. He looked up and saw the trees silhouetted against the sheer blue sky. White clouds floated by. He accompanied the others to the clearing surrounded by a meadow and, putting down the baskets, he walked to the edge to look out into the distance. With a feeling of reverence he stood in the peace and tranquillity. Never had he known such a moment, but it ended all too quickly when he heard Lotte saying suddenly, “Bubeleh wants you to come and eat.” Without another word, she turned and walked away. He followed her.

  The excitement was thick in the air as everyone sat down at the long wooden benches. The tables were laden with food of all kinds. It was evident the women had been preparing for days, and each was more proud of her contribution than the next. There was an endless exchange of platters: chicken, corned beef, thin-sliced brisket, hard-boiled eggs, salads, bread, pickled beets, cucumbers, tomatoes, kosher dills, fresh fruit, a compote of dried apricots and pears, raisins, beer. Then the array of cakes: sponge cake, cookies, strudel, honey cakes, mandelbrot. The joy of eating, the sheer sensuous joy.

  Jacob had never seen such happiness and affection. It was as though they were all one big family. He could no longer resist acknowledging that there were mothers who loved their children, fathers who provided for their families, children who weren’t abandoned and left to survive on their own almost from the cradle. Suddenly, Jacob was seized with a feeling of loneliness and pain. Had he been so unworthy? His own mother had never loved him. If only his father had lived, maybe his life would have been…God, why was he thinking about that now? This was a picnic where everyone was so happy. But he wasn’t like the others. They belonged to someone, and he didn’t belong to anyone or anything. He was a stranger in their world.

  “So why aren’t you eating?” Mr. Mendlebaum asked.

  Jacob looked into the old man’s eyes, so kind, so trusting. Why couldn’t you have been mine, Jacob wanted to say to him.

  “What, you don’t like the food? Why aren’t you eating?” Mr. Mendlebaum repeated.

  “I’m full.”

  “From what are you full? You hardly ate anything. Here, drink some beer. L’chayim,” Mr. Mendlebaum said, lifting the glass.

  “L’chayim,” Jacob answered.

  “You’re having a good time?”

  “Oh, yes, a very good time.”

  “You see? I told you there’s nothing like a picnic. L’chayim, drink, it’s good beer. My friend Mr. Finkel makes it.”

  Jacob took a large swallow and soon he felt lightheaded, giddy.

  “To you, Mr. Mendlebaum. L’chayim,” he said, lifting the glass.

  “Thank you very much, mazel tov, but don’t drink too much. You won’t be able to play ball.”

  As the women were clearing the tables and putting the leftover food away, some of the men began to play pinochle. The little children played hide-and-seek. Couples strolled arm in arm into the woods. The big boys chose up sides for soccer. Jacob was asked to be goalie because he was the biggest. But being the biggest wasn’t the best. He had never played soccer, much less seen it played. At first he refused, then he was prodded by Mr. Mendlebaum.

  “You’ll play, you’ll learn. There’s nothing to it. Irving, explain to Jacob how simple it is.”

  After the rudiments and rules were explained, Jacob tried keeping up with the others. He got kicked in the shins. The ball landed on his head, staggering him for a long moment. But he would stay if it killed him; he wouldn’t let Mr. Mendlebaum down.

  After a half hour of grueling defeats, he began to get the hang of it. And suddenly he felt a rush of power. God, he loved it! He slam-banged the ball around, never letting anyone get the edge on him. He’d had no idea how marvelous the feeling of competition and winning was; he felt like a giant. When the game was finished he wanted to go on. The boys congratulated him. Would he join their team? Sure, why not? This was turning out to be a good day after all. He was making friends and, besides, when he played soccer he hadn’t thought of Lotte once. He loved the camaraderie of the boys as they all walked down to the lake to take a swim and wash off the perspiration. They jumped in with their underwear on. After the swim, they lay basking in the sun to dry off. Jacob lay looking up at the sky. From that position, the world looked quite beautiful.

  Now
the dwindling afternoon was beginning to leave its rendezvous in this meadow and move on to another place. Soon everyone was seated once again at the long wooden tables, and the platters of cheese, assorted smoked fish, herring and sour cream, the rolls and breads were being passed around. Mrs. Findelstein, with the pink cheeks and the perpetual smile, was pouring apple cider into the large mugs.

  This time, Jacob needed no prodding. He ate with relish and drank his cider. “L’chayim,” he said to Mr. Mendlebaum.

  Mr. Mendlebaum shook his head and winked. “L’chayim.”

  Now the festivities began in earnest. There were songs everyone knew except Jacob, but he clapped along. Then the boys and girls formed a circle and the folk dancing began to the accompaniment of a concertina. Jacob had never danced, but then he’d never played soccer before and he had never known what true laughter was, so he did what the others did. He bowed, the girl curtseyed. There were no partners and Jacob was very happy until he had to circle around Lotte. When she extended her hand, he refused to touch it. Angrily, she thought, this is really too much. It was rude, arrogant, infuriating. Why her grandparents liked him, she’d never know. She wanted to cry. Throwing back her hair, she moved on, glaring back at him.

  He wanted to die. He could no longer be this close to her, this aware of her. All day he’d tried not thinking about her, but now it was impossible. He left the dancing and walked to the lake. As Lotte saw him leave, her anger increased.

  She excused herself and went after him. Catching up, she called out, “I want to talk to you.” He stopped walking, but he couldn’t turn to face her. Angrily, she continued, “You’re the rudest, the most arrogant, ungrateful boy I have ever met. I want to know why you hate me so much. I never hurt you. In the beginning I tried being your friend. You humiliated me in front of the others by refusing my hand in a simple dance. Am I that dreadful?” He did not answer. Lotte insisted, “Well, am I? Say it.”

  He swung around and faced her. In the lengthening shadows she looked so beautiful and small and vulnerable. It took every bit of discipline not to grab her and hold her close, to make her almost a part of his own body. He swallowed hard and the muscles in his jaw tightened. His eyes became cold and his breathing labored. “Leave me alone. Do you hear what I say? I don’t want to have anything to do with you.”

  Shocked, she lifted her arm in a reflexive motion and started to slap Jacob in the face, but he caught her wrist and held it, glaring at her.

  “You’re hurting me,” she said finally, with tears in her eyes. “You’re a brute and a bully and I hate you. I hate you.”

  “I love you, you stupid girl, I love you.” He hadn’t meant to say it, but it had been said and now there was nothing that would change it. He released her wrist as she stood looking at him in utter disbelief and confusion. At last, she whispered, “You what?”

  “I love you. I didn’t want to, but I do.”

  “Then why have you been so mean to me?”

  “Because it was the only way I could stay away from you.”

  “I don’t understand you, Jacob. If you love me, why do you want to stay away from me?”

  “Because I thought wicked things.”

  “What wicked things? It’s not wicked to love someone, to want to kiss someone.”

  “It’s more than that. I want more than to kiss you. That’s how it is with men when they love.”

  Lotte had only a vague idea of what men and women actually did. But what she was feeling for Jacob was something she’d never felt before, so strong she wanted to be held tightly, to feel his arms encircle her, to have their mouths touch. Standing on her toes, she reached up and kissed Jacob. There was a moment of innocent embrace as Lotte’s lips met Jacob’s. Overpowering desire washed away his reluctance, and suddenly his responses were hungry and eager. He put his hand inside her blouse and felt the soft round breast, the small distended nipple. In spite of his building passion something down deep jolted him back from the brink from which there would be no return. My God, he had touched her, known her softness. He had violated a trust. This was Mr. Mendlebaum’s grandchild. With great difficulty, Jacob released Lotte. Looking into her eyes he said, “Come, Lotte, it’s wrong for us to be here together.”

  “You do love me, Jacob?”

  “Yes, but I’m ashamed of what I did. I hope you forgive me. I had promised myself I would never—”

  She put her finger up to his lips. “I’m not ashamed. I love you, Jacob.” …

  That night brought Jacob a great many decisions to be made. He wanted to marry Lotte but how could he? How could he provide a living, a home? He scarcely earned enough to provide for his own needs. If only his legacy hadn’t been taken away from him, his property, then he could have carried Lotte over the threshold of his zayde’s house, rightfully his house. But redeeming his property was as far beyond his reach as marrying Lotte was at this moment.

  By dawn, all the debates had come to an end. Now, he was compelled to deal with the realities of life. If he stayed and continued to see Lotte, he would not indefinitely be able to steel himself as he had done today. Tomorrow, the next day, the next week, eventually it would happen. He was only human, made of flesh and blood, and there was a limit. He knew the answer…there was only one alternative. He had to leave and go to America. It was the only place on earth that held the promise of his future hopes. Only in America.

  Quickly, he packed his meager belongings in a sack and left the attic. It had been his home, a place of contentment, but he was compelled to move on. It was the only way he could eventually give Lotte what he felt she was worthy of.

  Softly, he knocked at her window. She got up from her bed and quickly slipped into her robe. Quietly, she walked past the closed door of her sleeping grandparents and met Jacob on the back porch. He did not attempt to kiss her. She started to reach up to him, but he held her hand gently. “What is it, Jacob?”

  “Lotte, I’ve been awake all night.”

  “Why, Jacob? You seem so upset. You do love me, don’t you?”

  “Oh, yes, Lotte—”

  “Well, then?”

  “I want to marry you, Lotte, but I have to go away and I want to know if you love me enough to wait.”

  “Wait, Jacob?” she said, confused. “You mean because of our ages? When my parents meet you and see what a wonderful young man you are, they’ll consent.”

  “It has nothing to do with my age, but with your future. I can’t make a living here, I have nothing to give you. So I must go to America, I can make money there—”

  “Oh, no, please don’t go, Jacob. Please come to Berlin. You’ll find a job, I know you will.”

  “No, Lotte. Listen to me carefully. There is no future here in Europe for a person who has no trade. I’ll be a poor man all my life. It’s only in America that I can succeed—”

  “Jacob, don’t go, please don’t go.” And she began to cry.

  “How much do you love me?” he asked, taking her face in his hands.

  “With all my heart, Jacob.”

  “Do you love me enough to wait? It may take some time.”

  “Yes…but I beg you, don’t go, Jacob.”

  “I must, Lotte, it’s our only chance. The time will go fast, and before you know it I’ll send for you.”

  “Oh, Jacob, I will miss you so.”

  “And I’ll count the days, but there’s no other way.” He took out a letter and handed it to her. “Will you give this to your grandparents? I love them more than my words can say. I will write you every day.” They clung to each other fiercely, then Jacob gently put her from him and turned to go. Lotte watched as he flung the sack over his shoulder and walked down the street until he was lost from sight.

  CHAPTER SIX

  IT WAS DECEMBER OF 1907, and the old vessel turned and twisted like a toy in the midst of the mighty Atlantic. The ocean seemed angry and hostile today, as the giant waves shot up like white fangs, then cascaded down in an icy torrent across the bow.


  Below the decks, hoards of immigrants were being tossed about in the stormy seas. Some writhed in pain from hunger, holding their swollen bellies. Others, too weak to cry out, lay oblivious to the misery around them. Some wished that death would overtake them, and others prayed to survive.

  Deep in the bowels of the ship, Jacob shoveled the coal into the furnace. Its appetite seemed insatiable. As soon as the monster was fed, he slammed the iron door shut. Breathlessly, he wiped the perspiration from his forehead with his blackened arm. When the shift was over he would hold onto the rail with his raw hands and ascend the catwalk and then, unsteadily, inch his way along the narrow corridor until he reached his quarters. Too exhausted to wash, he would all but collapse in his hammock and fall into a deep sleep.

  During the two weeks since he had signed on at Hamburg, Jacob had not seen daylight. When the storm lessened he would go up and breathe in the crisp night air. Standing at the rail, he dreamed of Lotte. She was what sustained him during this ordeal; the very thought of her fortified him. Yes, he would conquer the world for her, no matter how difficult the times that lay ahead of him.

  The long journey had at last come to an end as the old vessel weighed anchor in New York harbor. It began to move in slowly while the torrential rain pounded against the portholes. The wind howled mournfully.

  Weak and bedraggled women, men and children, families who until now had been faceless, formless creatures, began to emerge from below. Many cried with relief from the agonies they had endured. Some, too bewildered by the reality, that they had survived, stood mute on the deck almost unaware of the downpour and the cold. Others, too weak to stand alone, clung to one another for support.

  For a brief time Jacob observed the human fodder, of which he was a part, and in that moment he was filled with a special feeling for them. But he also admonished himself. Life hadn’t treated him with any special privileges. He’d known deprivation, hunger and the fight for survival, and he had endured them all alone. Remember that, he told himself…

  Quickly, he picked up his duffel bag, swung it over his shoulder and walked down the gangplank. He went to the shipping office and waited in line to receive his wages. He looked at the money being placed in his callused hand. A dollar a day, the stingy bastards. He stuffed the twenty-one dollars into his pocket.