The Length of a String

by Elissa Brent Weissman

  Then I ran to my room, crying. Like something out of a soap opera, but I don’t care. All my life I’ve let you be the one to throw tantrums for us both, but you’re not here. YOU ARE NOT WITH ME! Who says I have to be the calm one? Who says I can’t throw a fit?

  I can see you—wherever you are—smiling and saying “Good for you!”

  Still Saturday, November 1

  Belle,

  I stayed in here for a long time, not knowing what to expect. Papa would have made me come back to the table, apologize, and clean up the plate by myself. I thought Max and Hannah might decide they don’t want me anymore, if I am going to be so violent and ungrateful. But a little while ago there was a soft knock on the door . . . and it was Max.

  He didn’t say anything . . . he just sat down on the floor and set up the Chinese checkers set. We played in silence. When I cried, he offered a handkerchief, but no words. I played like it was an Olympics matchup, using both of our colors to make a long string, and had my marbles jump others one by one until they all landed home. Why not can life be like Chinese checkers?

  After the game, Max said that he was glad to have me here with them. He said at first he was nervous because he worried he could not stand in for my family, and “what do I know of teenage girls from Luxembourg?”

  It made me feel warm, what he said, but I could barely look at him, let alone reply.

  Then he said, “There’s more to the story.” I first thought he meant the story of why the uncles won’t pay for my family’s passage. I was ready to hear him say things aren’t as easy as they seem. Adults always say so, even when things are plain as day. Thank goodness, that’s not what he said . . . he talked about the uncles again. He said, “Their parents never made it out of Russia, but my mother did. So my uncles lived with their sister again, here in Brooklyn.”

  I have been sitting here by myself since then, thinking. I feel so overwhelmed. I am still angry, but I’m ashamed of my behavior tonight. It’s not fair to be angry at Max and Hannah. They’ve done so much for me.

  I can hear the radio playing softly, so Hannah must still be awake. I will go say good night. I may or may not apologize for my outburst, but I will apologize for the plate.

  CHAPTER 27

  If nothing else, I thought my mom’s discovering the adoption site might make her less enthusiastic about our trip to the mall, but no such luck. She wanted to set out early, which meant she was already getting on my nerves by 10:30 in the morning. No matter how bored or rhetorical the salespeople’s “Can I help you with anything?” my mom took them up on it. If they didn’t ask, she’d call them over anyway and say, “My daughter needs a dress for a bat mitzvah next weekend.” If she caught the flash of surprise on each salesperson’s face when she referred to me as her daughter, she didn’t show it.

  I tried to wander off and look through the racks on my own while the workers pulled dresses I’d never wear, but Mom kept calling me over to hold stuff up in front of my body. We lucked out in the first store: I found a shimmery gray dress that fit just right, and everyone agreed it looked good. I hoped that meant we were done, but Mom found it empowering. “Let’s keep going,” she said, looping her arm through mine. (Because everyone wants to walk through the mall arm in arm with their mom.)

  In the second store, I tried on three things—one that I picked and two that they picked—but two didn’t fit right and my mom said the third was “too mature.”

  In the third store, I agreed to try on a red dress with flowers printed on it. When I came out of the dressing room (my mom would’ve come in, if I hadn’t flat-out refused) and stood in front of the mirror, my mom and the elderly saleswoman tugged at the sides.

  “It’s too short,” Mom said, disappointed.

  “That’s how they’re wearing them these days,” the woman said. I tried to hide my frustration at having to hear fashion updates from someone who was, seriously, eighty years old.

  “She’s just so skinny,” my mom told the old lady, as though I weren’t right there. “She’s not really filling it out in the bust area.”

  “Mom!” I cried.

  Mom rolled her eyes, like I was the one who needed to grow up, even though she wanted to put me in a dress meant for a third grader.

  We stopped for a soft pretzel, but Mom could tell it did nothing for my mood. “Should we take a break?” she suggested. “Walk around Brookstone, get some lunch before we hit Macy’s?”

  A break sounded good, but that would only prolong this day. Macy’s was so big, we were sure to find something, and then we would be done. “No,” I said. “Let’s just power through.”

  I had higher-than-average hopes for Macy’s for another reason: That’s where Hannah took Anna for new dresses. (Not the same Macy’s, obviously, but still.) But Hannah had style; I’m sure her selections were cool. My mom, on the other hand, went straight to the children’s section, not junior’s, so we were surrounded by moms with girls who came up to my waist. I could literally see the baby clothes from where we stood.

  At least I wasn’t likely to run into anyone I know there. Parker would never set foot in the children’s section. Even so, I pretended to be invisible while my mom flipped through racks and held up various dresses, each one more babyish than the last. I tried to be polite as I turned them down, one after another. No thanks. Nah. Eh, not really.

  “How about this one?” Mom said. It was yellow with a big blue bow on it. It’d look good on an infant. I shook my head politely.

  She sighed. “Just try something on, Imani. It’ll look different off the hanger.”

  “This stuff just looks kind of young.”

  “You’re kind of young.”

  “No I’m not. I’ll be a teenager in June.”

  “You’re certainly acting like one today.” She gave me a warning look, like she was about to count to three. “Please go try this on.”

  “This is kids’ stuff. It won’t even fit.”

  “We won’t know until you try it on.”

  I gritted my teeth and grabbed the hanger from her. Stomped to the fitting room and threw the dress on. “It looks stupid!” I shouted through the closed door.

  “Let me see,” Mom said from right outside.

  I opened the door, tired and over it. “See?” I tried to pull the door closed, but my mom held it.

  “Come out to the big mirror so I can see it properly.”

  My mouth tight, I padded to the big mirror and stood on the stupid carpeted pedestal. My reflection scowled back at me. This dress was absurd. It probably came with a giant lollipop.

  Mom gave a small smile. “I think it’s cute.”

  I closed my eyes. “I wouldn’t be caught dead in this.”

  “Imani,” Mom said sharply.

  “It’s hideous! We’re not buying it.”

  “Let’s see what the salespeople think.”

  “Stop it!” I cried. “It doesn’t matter what they think. I’m the one who has to wear it, so my opinion’s the only one that counts.”

  “I’m your mother,” Mom said, rubbing some fabric from the skirt between her fingers. “My opinion counts too.”

  “You’re not my real mother,” I fired back.

  Mom froze, the fabric still between her fingers. Our faces were next to each other in the big mirror, hers pale and mine dark, both looking equally shocked. I saw her eyes start to fill.

  “Don’t cry,” I muttered. “It’s true.”

  She shook her head. Whispered, “How dare you.”

  I thought of Anna screaming those exact words at the uncles. They’d deserved it. Did I? “Mom—”

  “First that adoption reunion site, behind my back, and now . . .” She held up a hand. “I can’t deal with this right now.”

  My apology evaporated on my tongue. “Right now?” My words were like the pointy shards of a b
roken plate, aiming right where they’d hurt. “You can’t deal with this right now? What about me? I’ve been dealing with this my entire life!”

  She turned to face me, her eyes all red and dripping. Typical.

  “Oh, Imani,” she said. It sounded like an apology was coming next, and I didn’t want to have to accept it. I stepped off the pedestal, still wearing the stupid yellow dress, and went back to the fitting room to change into my jeans.

  It was understood that our shopping trip was over after that. The ride home was silent except for my mom’s shaky breaths. When we got home, she went to her room and I went to mine. She was leaving for her business trip Tuesday morning. Until then, I’d just avoid her—and this whole situation—as best I could. Jaime called my name hesitantly into my door, but I ignored him until he went away.

  I pulled out the diary from its place under my bed. I hoped Anna would have another outburst. I hoped those uncles would get what they deserved. I hoped she’d hear the worst of her news now so she could drown them—rightly, mercilessly—with blame.

  Saturday, November 8, 1941

  Dear Belle,

  I have not been writing because there is little to say. Another week has passed with no word from home. Mme. Veron is trying to find out more, as is everyone, but it is taking ages. Why? The war, the war, the war.

  Ever since my outburst, it is uncomfortable to be around the uncles. I was tempted to stop working at the factory, but that would show weakness, and I want to be strong. So I have continued to go, despite how uncomfortable it can be. Perhaps the tension would ease if I apologize to them, but I refuse. I will apologize to them when they apologize to me for not sponsoring Mama and Papa.

  No. I will apologize to them when they bring the last of you here.

  Hannah and Max have not mentioned my behavior even once. I don’t think I deserve to be here with such good people. Hannah has been extra kind to me . . . she has even offered to take me and Miriam bowling one day. Miriam says they have it at the Jewish Community House. It will be us 3 girls. I wish you could come too, to make 4.

  Thursday, November 20, 1941

  Dear Belle,

  Today is an American holiday called “Thanksgiving.” School is closed, and we are going to take the train to Hannah’s mother’s house in New Jersey to eat a big meal. I’m told it will be turkey. (Not fish, thank goodness!) The uncles wanted to keep the factory open, but Max convinced them to let the workers have the day off. They were not happy about it, though, because we have a big order to fill.

  Miriam and I made a plan to go shopping together next Sunday. We eat lunch together most every day now, and we often hand a small note to each other when we pass in the hall between second and third period. (Sometimes her note is very small, just “Bonjour!” on a Beech-Nut gum wrapper!) How nice it is to have a friend at school, and a girlfriend close to my age! I wish I would see her this weekend, but she is spending the Thanksgiving holiday in Washington with her cousins.

  Sunday, December 7, 1941

  Belle,

  The Japanese bombed America in a place called Pearl Harbor! I was playing stickball with Freddy and some others when all the mothers began calling to their children to come inside. In our apartment, Hannah and Max were sitting right in front of the radio, intensely listening. I felt scared—it reminded me of when the Germans came marching into Luxembourg last May, and the Grand Duchess fled. (Remember how frightening it was when we picked up gas masks at City Hall? We even needed one small enough for Mina . . .) But Max showed me on a map where Pearl Harbor is. It’s in a place called Hawaii, which is so far from Brooklyn, I can hardly believe they are both part of the United States. How different to be in such a large country. The Germans occupied Luxembourg in a few terrifying hours. The Japanese can not march from Pearl Harbor to New York . . . they’d have to swim an ocean first!

  Freddy said Milton is going to enlist in the army first thing tomorrow. He wants to sign up too.

  I said, “I don’t think they will take an 11-year old.”

  Freddy said, “I’ll say I’m 16.”

  I could tell Freddy how much better it is to stay with your family, but I needn’t bother. There’s no way the U.S. Army will let him sign up. He still only comes up to my shoulder.

  Thursday, December 11, 1941

  Belle,

  America is at war with Germany and Italy now too. Milton is officially registered to fight. (He said the line to register stretched two whole city blocks!) He may leave before he finishes high school. None of his family, or Enid, seems sad to see him go. They’re all just proud . . . except Freddy. He is jealous. He spent much of yesterday afternoon throwing his baseball against the wall, catching it in his glove, and being angry. THWAM. “Stupid army.” THWAM. “Stupid Milton.” THWAM. “Stupid Milton gets to have all the fun in the stupid army.”

  He’s like you before I left, when you thought my journey would be a big adventure. I suppose it has turned out to be something of an adventure, but still I yearn for news of you. And how I yearn for you to be sharing the adventure with me.

  Tuesday, December 23, 1941

  Belle,

  Nothing to write for many days, and then so much in one day! The most important thing first: According to people from shul, the Nazis have been sending Jews on trains to Poland, and many Luxembourgish Jews were sent to place called Lodz. They said it is a “ghetto,” a city only for Jews. What does this mean, Belle? Do you have a new home? Is it big enough for all of you? Are you safe? One woman at shul thinks it is good to have all the Jews in one place, away from the hateful Germans. But how can it be good when they sent you there, when they took you away from home? And how can they make sure the Jews stay in the ghetto and others stay out? SA officers . . . dogs . . . a large wall? Still, I feel such relief to know something of where you are.

  A friend of Hannah’s says she got a letter from her cousins requesting (in some kind of code to fool the censors) blankets, clothes, and food. This has us all worried, of course. December in Poland with no blankets! And food . . . can it possibly be worse than the rations at home? But on the very much bright side (I must be like Papa here, and try to be optimistic . . .) this friend received a letter, which means the people in the ghetto can send letters! Even better, the letter she received from Lodz was written in September, and it only now arrived. So if you or anyone else have written, there is hope that I will get a letter soon too!

  The letter Hannah’s friend received had a return address. I wrote a letter to every member of our family (from Grandfather down to Mina, and 2 for you and 2 for Oliver!) and mailed them in separate envelopes. Surely one of them has to arrive. I made sure to include my address here in Bensonhurst in all of them. Perhaps you had to leave so quickly, you could not take my address with you. (It makes me think of the story of Passover, how the Jews had to leave so quickly, they didn’t have time for their bread to rise!)

  Once we know where you are, we will send whatever you need. We will help you through the Polish winter while Max works his mightiest to bring more of you here! He has promised to do everything he can, as quickly as he can. That is the most exciting thing, and it gives me such great faith that it seems almost foolish to write about these other things, but I will.

  Milton is set to deploy shortly after the new year. His family is planning a party before he leaves.

  Freddy went to the war office to try again to register. He was again turned down. But they gave him a pamphlet about the “Junior Service Corps.” They said they need responsible boys and girls to help here, on the “home front.” Freddy is going to go to a Junior Service Corps meeting first thing in the new year. He can’t wait. He said I should go with him, that they could probably use me because I can speak French. I think he’s overestimating the sort of jobs you get in the Junior Service Corps.

  Miriam invited me to her apartment over th
e weekend! I will go on Sunday. School is closed for the Christmas holiday starting tomorrow (funny because I doubt there is even one not Jewish person in my school) and we will spend more time together next week. Her cousins are coming from Washington, and she said she wants me to meet them, especially one who is 13 named David . . .

  Uncle Egg has caught a terrific cold. Max is forcing him to stay home from the factory. Uncle Onion is even staying home to help care for him. That means the factory will be much more pleasant for at least a few more days.

  I’ve made some progress on the skins! I figured out a way to make a sleeve using one fewer skin than usual, and Max agrees it is a good way. Since every coat has two sleeves, that saves two pelts for every coat! With school closed, I will have lots of time to work in the factory, and I wager Max and I can solve the rest of the puzzle by the new year. If we can do so, we will surely make lots of money, and I will get a big bonus, which we can send to YOU in Lodz so you can leave right away. All of you!

  I do hope you are well. My gut tells me that you are. I am feeling such optimism today! I have such great hope for 1942!

  CHAPTER 28

  My mom left for her business trip a day early. She claimed that her meeting on Tuesday had been moved up, so she had to fly out Monday, but she probably just wanted to get away from me. Whatever.

  Dad seemed stressed about the whole thing. He knocked on my door before he left to drive Mom to the airport. I could see her behind him, in the hall with her rolling suitcase. “Can you at least say goodbye?” Dad asked. “I don’t want her to leave with you two on such bad terms.”

  I came to the door and leaned on the frame.

  “Bye, Mom,” I said.

  “Goodbye,” she replied. “I love you, Imani.”

  I thought of Anna, the way she wished she could do her goodbyes over. The fact that she never saw her parents again. I thought of Milton and all the other men lined up around the block to go to war. I thought of Freddy, who was going to die fighting in Korea.