by Ruth Behar
We went up to a pretty woman wearing red lipstick who stood behind one of the counters and asked if she knew how to find Isabel de la Fuente.
“Is she expecting you?”
Papa nodded.
“She’s on the fourth floor. You can take the elevator.” She pointed to the end of the hall.
An elevator? What was that? Both Papa and I were too embarrassed to ask.
We went in the direction she pointed and saw people entering what looked like a steel closet. A woman dressed in a stylish suit with a lapel flower sat on a small stool. “Entra, entra,” she said.
We squeezed in, along with many other people, and she pressed a lever. The contraption took us into the air. Even though I was standing still, it seemed like I was flying.
“Primer piso.”
“Segundo piso.”
“Tercer piso.”
The elevator stopped on every floor and people poured in and out, some proudly holding shopping bags filled with the things they’d bought.
Finally I heard, “Cuarto piso.”
Waiting there to greet us was Isabel de la Fuente with a big smile.
“¡Bienvenidos! ¿CÓmo están, Señor Abraham y Señorita Esther?” She gazed at my dress and said, “How lovely you look, like a palomita.”
I didn’t mind being compared to a little dove.
How wonderful it felt being treated not like an annoying fly, but like an important person.
Isabel de la Fuente led us to the salon de señoritas, where they sold clothes for young girls.
Here, she said, was where they wanted to sell my dresses. Her boss thought my designs would be very popular with the girls and their mothers who shopped at El Encanto. But there was a problem. She lowered her voice to a whisper. She’d kept it a secret from her boss that I was a refugee. The law in Cuba didn’t allow refugees to work. Also, I was too young. But Isabel de la Fuente had a suggestion. “Since your father is your guardian, and he is a legal resident in Cuba, we could name him in the contract. Is that all right with you, Esther?”
I tried to answer as best I could, with Papa helping me with some Spanish words.
I told her, “All the dresses I am making are for one reason—to bring my family here from Poland. My mother, my grandmother, my sister, and my three brothers are waiting for us to send them their steamship tickets. I will be happy to have the contract in my father’s name.”
“Muy bien,” Isabel de la Fuente said. “Then we can work together. You won’t have to sew all the dresses yourself anymore. We have a factory, and the dresses can be made there.”
“A real factory with many workers and many sewing machines?”
“That’s right,” she said, and smiled.
“So what will I do?” I asked.
“You’ll design the dresses, creating the samples for us, and then we will make them.”
This was going to be so much easier than working for Rifka Rubenstein! I could still sew a few dresses each week for her, but now I’d be able to experiment with different designs and they’d make as many copies as they wanted for El Encanto.
When Isabel de la Fuente told us what we’d earn for the sale of the dresses, Papa and I hugged each other. We’d be earning triple what Rifka Rubenstein paid for each dress!
“If the dresses sell, we can pay you more,” Isabel de la Fuente added, and I thought to myself, Pooh, pooh, this is too good to be true.
Isabel de la Fuente said they liked the designs of the dresses they had borrowed with the buttons down the front and the pockets at the hips and planned to make them in many sizes and fabrics. If we gave El Encanto permission, they would start sewing those right away in their factory.
Papa looked at me to be sure I agreed. Then he said yes and he read through the contract carefully before he signed it.
“Look, my dear Esther, see what it says here.”
Papa smiled and pointed to the part that said the label on the dresses would read, “Designs by Esther. Exclusively for El Encanto.”
“Is that all right with you?” Isabel de la Fuente asked me.
“¡Sí, sí!” I replied, almost fainting with joy.
“I had a good feeling this would all work out, so we prepared an advance for you,” she said, holding out an envelope. “I am so pleased for you both.”
Then Isabel de la Fuente praised my designs once more and asked if I could come up with two or three new designs by the end of June.
Of course I said I would.
Everything seemed to glitter afterward, not just El Encanto, but the whole world. We stopped at Rifka Rubenstein’s to deposit the money in her safe, and when Papa saw how much Isabel de la Fuente had given us, he exclaimed, “She is an angel God has sent to us. Now we’ll take a stroll on the Malecón to celebrate. Remember, Esther, how you wanted to go for a stroll on the day you arrived in Havana and we didn’t have time? Today, we make time!”
We crisscrossed through the crowded streets of Old Havana and found our way to the Paseo del Prado, an elegant boulevard lined with marble benches and shaded by a canopy of trees. Sculptures of lions stood regally on each corner.
“They say Havana is the Paris of the Caribbean,” Papa remarked. “I doubt I’ll ever get to visit Paris, but this seems like a very fine city to me.”
“I don’t know how Mama ever got the idea that Cuba was one big jungle. Papa, look at that mansion! It’s like a frosted cake!” I pointed to a tall building with elaborate designs and a curly balcony on its third floor.
We both laughed and kept walking, feeling the sea pulling us forward.
Then there it was—the beautiful sea! And stretching around it, like a necklace, the seawall the Cubans call the Malecón. We strolled along it, feeling the salty mist on our faces, enjoying the breeze.
“Be careful!” Papa yelled as I pulled myself up on top of the wall and dangled my feet over the side.
It was scary to be up so high, staring down at the wide blue sea. But I took a deep breath and felt a little braver.
I thought of you, Malka, and Mama and Bubbe and my brothers, how far you all still are from us. I wanted to stretch out my arms and give you a hug. But my sorrows were mixed with my joys. The sea was calm and peaceful and seemed to be whispering to me, I will bring your family to you. Soon, soon, soon.
Then I turned back around and said to Papa, “Thank you for the stroll on the Malecón. Now let’s go home to Agramonte. I have many more dresses to make!”
Sending you all my love,
ESTHER
AGRAMONTE
June 14, 1938
Dear Malka,
We returned to Havana today, as I had finally finished making all the dresses I owed to Rifka Rubenstein. When we walked into her store, she complimented me for getting a contract for my designs with El Encanto, but also reminded me that she had seen my talent before anybody else.
“And I’m so grateful you gave me my start,” I told her. “I can still make some dresses for your lady customers, if you’d like. How about thirty dresses a month? I’ll sew a unique design for your store that they won’t find at El Encanto!”
“You are a good girl, Esther. That is kind of you. I’m happy for your good luck, but don’t let it go to your head. Remember you are a Jew and a refugee.”
“I never forget. My sewing is to help my family. Thanks to my work for you and the designs for El Encanto, we’re making money faster than we expected. We thought it might take years before we could even imagine being reunited again. Hopefully we will bring our family to this beautiful island soon!”
“Yes, let’s hope that day comes quickly.” Rifka Rubenstein sighed. “For some, Cuba is a paradise, but I don’t want to be in the tropics forever. The sun gives me headaches and the humidity is turning my bones to mush. I want to be in New York, where I can wear a winter coat and mittens a
nd the snow makes everything quiet. And if we stay here too long, we’ll start to think we are Cuban and forget who we really are.”
“But I want to be Cuban!” I exclaimed.
“A Jew can never be anything but a Jew.”
“That’s what Hitler and the Nazis want us to believe, but it’s not true. We can be anything we want to be.”
Oh, Malka, I truly believe this. On the train home, I thought about how much I’ve learned being a refugee in Cuba. And I’ve made the most wonderful friends. But I understood what Rifka Rubenstein was trying to say. I will not forget our Jewish customs and traditions, but that doesn’t mean I can’t learn about other ones, does it?
With all my love,
ESTHER
AGRAMONTE
June 23, 1938
Dear Malka,
Every time we visit Rifka Rubenstein, she gives Papa a stack of Yiddish newspapers from New York that she’s finished with. Papa has spent days reading and rereading them. The news is getting more and more frightening, with such awful things happening to the Jews in Austria ever since the Nazis invaded. Papa read aloud stories about people being beaten in the streets and thrown out of their homes. I asked Papa if such terrible things could happen in Poland, and he said he hoped not, since so many Jews have lived there for a such long time. Every day Papa and I hope you are all safe.
And now, Malka, it pains me to tell you what has happened here.
We were just getting ready for bed a few nights ago when we heard knocking on the door. Papa cracked it open and Señor Eduardo pushed his way inside. He saw the Yiddish newspaper in Papa’s hand and said, “Is that some secret alphabet only you people can understand? I bet that newspaper contains information that is a threat to Cuba. How did you get it?”
“A friend in Havana gave it to us,” Papa replied.
“So you have friends in Havana? Why don’t you go and live there? I see you coming and going on the train. Why have you come here? Did they send you here to spy on us?”
Papa said, “We are from a small town in Poland. We wanted to live in a small town in Cuba.”
Señor Eduardo snickered. “My sister, Graciela, is a fool to let you rent this house for pennies. If it were up to me, you’d be in the street.”
“What do you want from us?” Papa asked.
“Let me see what’s in your pockets.”
He moved closer to Papa, and Papa pulled out all the money in his pockets. It was a small amount to pay for the things we needed every day.
“That’s all? Where’s the rest?”
He raised his hand. He hit Papa and knocked him to the floor.
“No!” I screamed.
I went to the front door and opened it wide.
“¡Por favor! ¡Por favor! ¡Por favor!”
I didn’t know how else to call for help. It was night and Calle Independencia was deserted. Then I caught sight of someone in the darkness—a man hurrying toward me. Fortunately, it was Mario José.
“Papa!” I said, and it was enough for him to understand.
He rushed into the house and helped Papa to his feet. Papa had a bump on his forehead and was dizzy. We sat him down in one of the rocking chairs and I sat next to him, whispering, “Papa, Papa, it will be all right.”
“What have you done to this innocent man?” Mario José asked.
Señor Eduardo said, “Go now, Mario José. This is none of your business.”
“You have hurt Señor Abraham and frightened Esther.”
“I told you to leave. So get going.”
“I am not leaving until you promise to stop attacking Señor Abraham and Esther. They’re our neighbors and they deserve to be treated with respect.”
“Neighbors? They are judíos who have come here to make money, to take away jobs from Cubans. The girl is making dresses to sell in Havana. It’s against the law. She’s a refugee. They should be arrested, father and daughter!”
“They aren’t taking anything from anyone. They have come to Cuba because they can no longer live in the country they are from. All they want is to live in peace here and bring their family to be with them.”
“Ask yourself, why aren’t they wanted in their own country?”
“They have done you no wrong, yet you keep attacking them,” Mario José said. “Stop bothering Señor Abraham and Esther, or I’m going to get the workers to call a strike!”
“Look, Mario José, you know I have nothing but respect for your mother, Ma Felipa. She saved my life when I was a boy. I can’t forget that. And you and I grew up together at the sugar mill. But you’re a fool to let these foreigners come between us!”
Señor Eduardo stormed out, taking the money from Papa’s pockets.
“Lo siento,” Mario José said to both of us. He turned to Papa. “I’m going to tell Doctor Pablo to come over right away and have a look at you.”
A few minutes later, Mario José returned with Doctor Pablo, who was upset too. He gave Papa a cold compress and made sure he was going to be all right.
At the door, before leaving, he said, “Señor Abraham, I am ashamed to be related to Señor Eduardo. My brother-in-law forgets that when José Martí fought for Cuba’s independence, it was to create a nation where people of all backgrounds could live in harmony. That’s the Cuba I believe in. Sleep well, Señor Abraham, and I will stop by in the morning to see how you’re feeling.”
And then the house was finally quiet, dear Malka, and we were grateful to feel safe again.
With love always, your faithful
ESTHER
AGRAMONTE
June 24, 1938
Dear Malka,
You won’t believe what happened today! This morning, Mario José and the workers called a strike at the sugar mill. And the workers all asked to join the Anti-Nazi Society of Agramonte.
Manuela came by early to see if I could come with her to the sugar mill to show our support for the strikers, and Papa said I could go. Then we went and got Francisco so the three of us could be together. We were eager to get there, and as we got farther away from Agramonte and were out in the open fields, we started racing one another just for fun. It wasn’t long before we were sweaty and tired, so we stopped at the edge of a sugarcane field to rest.
“I had forgotten how fast I could run!” I said as I caught my breath.
“Me too!” Francisco said. “I don’t get to run anymore since I’m always helping my uncle in the store.”
Manuela nodded but didn’t say anything. She looked downcast, and I wondered why she was suddenly so sad.
“Are you not feeling well?” I asked her.
Her gaze settled on the sugarcane fields surrounding us and she didn’t say anything for a long while. At last she said, “As we were running, I thought of the people before me who were enslaved, how so many wished to run away to freedom. But most who tried were caught and punished with beatings. Only a few got away. They were able to live as free people, hiding in the woods, in palenques, as we call them. While running, I asked myself, Would I have been able to run to freedom? Could I have run fast enough?”
Her voice trailed off. Francisco and I drew closer, and we each took one of her hands and huddled together.
“It’s horrible how there can be so much cruelty in the world that people have to run for their lives. Imagining what your abuela Ma Felipa went through is enough to make you lose all hope,” I said. “At least those days are over, but the sugarcane workers are still not being treated right.”
“I hope this strike helps,” Francisco added.
“Yes,” said Manuela. “I do hope it helps all of us.”
We all felt ready to continue then and headed toward the mill.
As we walked, I gazed up at the clear blue sky and said a silent prayer of thanks that we were all free here.
Mario José had c
alled for a peaceful strike, and the workers were gathered around the entrance to the mill when we arrived. Several held their machetes, waiting to go back to cutting the last of the cane so that it could be turned into molasses. I saw many friendly faces from the days when Papa and I peddled statues and sandals in the countryside.
The three of us quietly stood with Mario José, who held the keys to the mill in his hand.
Soon Señor Eduardo appeared, galloping in circles on his horse and raising dust. Pointing at me, he yelled, “This is all your fault!”
My heart beat fast. I was so afraid. But now Manuela and Francisco put their arms around me and I felt better.
Manuela whispered, “Don’t listen to him. This strike is for every one of us. We’re standing up against all his injustice.”
Furiously looking down at the crowd from his horse, Señor Eduardo yelled to the workers, “You want to starve? That’s fine! No work, no pay!”
He rode off and no one said a word as we all stood still under the scorching sun.
Then an old man called Agustín began to speak. He’d lost an arm feeding the cane into the rollers to squeeze out the sweet juice, but he was still one of the best sugarcane workers. He was famous in Agramonte for wielding the machete expertly with one arm.
“Let the sugar rot in the fields, if that’s what he wants. Let him get a taste of the bitter suffering of our ancestors.”
“Sí, sí, sí,” people said in response, and they remained standing tall. Then they began murmuring among themselves.
“We won’t give up,” they said.
“He can’t scare us anymore with his threats.”
A little while later, Señor Eduardo returned and surprised everyone by announcing, “All right, this is enough silliness. You’ll all get a raise if you return to work in the morning.”
Agustín raised his machete in the air and everyone cheered. And that was how the strike ended.
Later we heard that Señora Graciela had spoken to her brother and urged him to treat the workers more fairly—and for once he must have listened. Even though the strike only lasted one day, dear Malka, it was long enough to teach Señor Eduardo a lesson. He saw he needed to cooperate with Mario José and the workers if he wanted to keep his sugar mill running. And he told Mario José that he still couldn’t stand the sight of Papa and me, but he’d leave us alone as long as we stayed out of his way.