by Rona Arato
“In Russia, we were Kapustin. In America, we are Kaputnik. So, tell me. Where is my husband?”
“Which husband? Kapustin? Or Kaputnik?”
“I have only one husband!”
“I know. Saul Kapustin. So why are you calling yourself Kaputnik?”
“Where is he?” she demanded, ignoring his question. “What have you done with him?”
“What have I done with him?” said Mendel. “She thinks I have done something with my brother? What would I do? Boil him in a pot of soup?”
“It wouldn’t surprise me.”
“Enough with the insults,” he said. “This is what I have to put up with? A Greenie fresh off the boat. First she was a Kapustin, and now she is a Kaputnik. She doesn’t even know her own name, and she accuses me of harming my brother!”
“Mama,” Moshe said. “I don’t think Uncle Mendel killed Papa.”
“Of course, he didn’t kill him.” Mrs. Kaputnik’s face had turned the color of ripe beets. Drops of sweat dotted her forehead. “So, if he’s alive, tell me. Where is he?”
“Please, calm down. If I knew where he was, I would tell you. Believe me, I have no idea.”
“He came here to see you! From Russia! Five years ago!”
“He came.” Uncle Mendel sighed. “But he was here for only three days. On the third morning, he went out to get a newspaper and, poof, he disappears.”
“What do you mean, he disappeared?” Mrs. Kaputnik asked.
“Exactly that. He went out to buy a newspaper and never came back.”
“You didn’t look for him?”
“Of course, I looked – on the street and down by the river. I even asked around.” Mendel threw up his hands. “What else could I do?”
“Mama,” Shoshi interrupted, “we’re hungry and tired. Where are we going to sleep?”
“Sleep?” Mrs. Kaputnik looked out at the street. “Oy, it’s dark already.” She turned to her brother-in-law. “So, are you going to take us home?”
“Of course, of course. Excuse my manners. You must be exhausted. Wait while I close the restaurant, and I will take you upstairs to meet my Sadie and my Bernie.”
Uncle Mendel led them to the door. “This is a special occasion,” he said, locking the door behind him. “My customers will understand if I close for one night.”
“Customers?” Mrs. Kaputnik looked up and down the street. “You have customers?”
Uncle Mendel ignored her. “We live upstairs, above the restaurant.” He pushed open another door, and they stepped into a dark hallway that smelled like chicken soup and boiled cabbage.
Shoshi reached for Moshe’s hand, as they followed their uncle and mother up the stairs to the fifth floor. A tiny needle-thin woman opened the door. Her gray dress touched the tip of scuffed black shoes, and her head was covered by a stiff black wig. “What are you doing here when you should be in the restaurant?” she snapped. “I was coming down to help you serve the supper.”
“Not tonight, Sadie. Tonight is special. Look, I have such good news,” Uncle Mendel said, panting from the exertion of climbing the stairs. “It’s my brother’s family. They came all the way from Russia.” He turned to Shoshi and Moshe. “This is your Aunt Sadie. Sadie, this is Ruth Kapus–”
His sister-in-law interrupted him. “Kaputnik. I am Ruth Kaputnik.”
Sadie looked at her in confusion. “Kaputnik? Why aren’t you a Kapustin like us?”
“In America, we are Kaputniks.”
Sadie turned to her husband with a puzzled expression. “What is this mishigas?” she said.
“The authorities changed her name at Ellis Island,” replied Uncle Mendel.
“We came to find my husband,” Mrs. Kaputnik told him. “Our name is none of your business.” She looked around the room. “What is your business is where you want us to sleep.”
“Here?” said Aunt Sadie. “You can’t sleep here! There is no room.”
“No room? In such an elegant apartment, you cannot fit three more people?”
“Elegant? We have two rooms with a toilet outside in the hall! This is what we have.”
“We call this a railroad flat because the rooms are in a line, like the railcars of a train,” said Uncle Mendel. “This is the living room and this is the kitchen.” He led them into a small room with a stove and a metal sink. Then he showed them the bedroom. It had a metal bed, a wooden clothes cupboard, and a metal trunk.
Shoshi’s spirits plunged. This was the beautiful American apartment? This dark, cramped space, where they were obviously not welcome? No wonder Papa left. She wished her mother would find them another place to live. If only they had stayed with Salty and slept on the boat. She was reminded of Snigger. How would he and Salty ever find them in this dirty, crowded city?
They followed their mother back to the living room, where she poked her nose into corners, examining the few sticks of furniture: a wooden table, three wobbly chairs, and a red plush sofa that sagged in the middle. She peered out the front window. It led to a metal fire escape that looked down on the street. “Where do you sleep?” she asked her brother-in-law.
“In the bedroom.”
“And your son?”
“Behind that,” Uncle Mendel pointed to a curtain stretched across the end of the living room.
“Then we will sleep here.” Mrs. Kaputnik dropped her bundle by the window and motioned the children to do the same.
Aunt Sadie huffed into the kitchen.
The door flew open and a chubby boy, with a batch of newspapers under his arm, bounded into the room.
“Am I late for supper? I still have papers to sell, but I didn’t want to be late.” He saw the Kaputniks. “Who are they?”
“Our family from Russia.” Mr. Kapustin put his arm around the boy’s beefy shoulders. “Bernie, I want you to meet your Aunt Ruth and your cousins, Shoshanna and Moshe.”
Bernie scowled. “Are they going to stay with us?”
“Just until they get settled.”
Looking none too pleased, Bernie threw his papers on the floor and stomped into the kitchen.
Moshe and Mrs. Kaputnik sat at the table, but Shoshi was so exhausted, she spread her cloak and lay down in the corner, her head in her arms. So this was the Goldene Medina. She closed her eyes to shut out the offensive surroundings. This was the wonderful land where her Papa had come, the new world where they were supposed to get rich and live in splendor to rival the czar. Forcing back tears, she tried to convince herself that they’d get Snigger back and that they’d soon find a place of their own and start looking for Papa. She drifted off to sleep and dreamed that she was being chased through a densely wooded forest by men shouting for her to stop so they could put hooks in her eyes. Suddenly, Moshe and Salty joined her and together they eluded the men, moving deeper into the forest and searching under every tree for dragon eggs.
CHAPTER 9
Hester Street
“Dragon eggs are everywhere. The forest is full o’ them,” Salty said. He laughed a high-pitched laugh that went soaring to the branches of the tallest tree. “Keep looking and ye’ll find yerself a fine specimen.” Shoshi and Moshe foraged under every tree but all they found were brown, spongy mushrooms.
“We’ll never get Snigger back this way,” Shoshi cried, sinking to the ground. “He’s lost, Moshe. Lost. What are we going to do?”
“Shoshi, Shoshi, wake up.” Moshe shook his sister’s shoulder.
Shoshi sat up. “What is it? Did you find him? Did you find Snigger?”
“It’s me. We’re at Uncle Mendel’s, and it’s morning. Mama and Aunt Sadie are downstairs. Get dressed. Let’s go join them.”
Shoshi scrambled to her feet. She splashed her face with water from a pitcher by the stove, straightened her rumpled clothes, and followed Moshe downstairs.
Hester Street was alive with color and motion. Children sat on stoops, skipped rope, and played hopscotch on the sidewalk. Women gossiped in doorways. Men in wide-brimmed hats and long black coats moved
leisurely down the street, heads together, talking in rapid Yiddish. Handcarts and horse-drawn wagons filled with produce, household goods, and clothing clogged the street. Women with straw baskets slung over their arms picked over the contents and haggled with the grocers. Like on the ship, people spoke many languages intermingled with English words. They passed two children arguing, and one shouted “Shad dap!” Was that English? She spotted Aunt Sadie inspecting potatoes.
“Four cents a pound for potatoes? Such a robber! I paid Levinsky on Delancey Street three cents.”
“So, go buy from Levinsky.”
“Why should I buy from Levinsky? I’ll give you the three cents.”
The grocer looked down at Aunt Sadie and shook his head. “My price is my price. You want to pay three cents, go to Levinsky.” He turned his back on her and went to help the next customer.
“Hmmmph.” Aunt Sadie flounced away, her empty basket slapping against her hip.
“Good morning, Aunt Sadie,” Moshe called after her. She ignored them. The children exchanged glances.
“How will Salty ever find us with all this confusion?” Shoshi asked, as they walked up the street. “Look, Moshe.” Shoshi stopped in front of a small brown monkey. The monkey wore a red coat and a matching hat. A man in a black hat, black-and-white striped shirt, a black bow tie, and red suspenders held the monkey’s leash in one hand and cranked the handle of an organ with the other. The monkey danced up to them, tipped his hat, and held out a tin cup.
“Misha wants to say hello,” said the man. “What are your names?”
“I’m Shoshi, and this is my brother, Moshe. Hello, Misha.” Shoshi held out her hand. The monkey thrust his tin cup into it. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any money,” she said.
The organgrinder laughed. “Next time, maybe. Good day.” He ground out a song as they walked away.
Shoshi peered into vendors’ pushcarts. In Vrod, market day was for eggs and chickens, potatoes, beets, and onions, and maybe a few pots and pans. Here, there were dozens of strange fruits and vegetables. There were pots, kettles, spoons, knives of every size, feather pillows, bolts of cloth, boys’ pants, and men’s hats and coats. Did people here really have so much money to spend? She stopped at a cart piled with bunches of curved yellow objects. “What are those?” she asked the owner.
“Bananas. Here, try it.” He broke one off the bunch and held it out it to her.
Shoshi shook her head. “I’m sorry, we don’t have any money.”
“No, no. Eat it.” He peeled back the waxy yellow cover and handed it to her. “It is good for you.” She was ravenous. Shoshi broke the strange-looking fruit in two and handed half to Moshe. She bit into its pale yellow flesh. It slid across her tongue and a sweet taste filled her mouth.
Moshe popped his banana in his mouth. “Ych,” he said, making a face. “It’s slimy.”
“Eat it anyway,” Shoshi said. They thanked the pushcart owner and left. When they reached Uncle Mendel’s restaurant, they stopped. Their mother and uncle stood in the doorway, engaged in a heated discussion.
“My husband sent you money to start this restaurant, and since you never paid it back, we are your partners.”
Uncle Mendel stamped his foot. “My Sadie and I run this restaurant, and we do not need a partner.”
“The way you run it, I’m surprised you haven’t starved. Look at this place. Look at that window. It’s filthy. What kind of food do you serve?”
Uncle Mendel was getting angrier by the minute. “How dare you come here from Russia, show up on my doorstep, and insult us,” he sputtered.
“My children and I need a place to stay, and we are going to live and work with you.” She pulled out her coin purse. “We have some money left so we can pay for our food.”
Uncle Mendel eyed the purse. “How much is in there?”
Mrs. Kaputnik slipped it back into her skirt. “Enough. So, we have a bargain?”
An oily smile wreathed the man’s face. “How can I say no? After all, we are family.” He took her arm. “We will go inside and have a little schnapps to celebrate.”
He winked, his gaze returning to the spot in Mrs. Kaputnik’s dress where her purse bulged through the fabric. “Yes, I think this will work out fine.”
“We must find Snigger before Salty goes back to his ship,” said Shoshi. It was late afternoon, and she and Moshe were sitting on the metal fire escape outside the Kapustins’ apartment. “Maybe we should go back to Salty’s boat.”
“Do you remember where it is?” Moshe asked. “No. I guess we’d just get lost trying to find it.” “Look at all the people on the street. How will he find us?” Just then, they heard Bernie climb through the window onto the fire escape.
“So, Greenies, how do you like America?” “What does it mean – Greenies?” Shoshi asked. “It means newcomers. Just off the boat. Look at your clothes.” He sneered at Moshe’s worn pants and loose-fitting shirt. “You’ll have to dress better than that if you want to be Americans.” He stuck out his tongue before climbing back through the window.
“I hate it here,” said Moshe. “I want to go home. I want Snigger. Maybe Salty took Snigger back to the ship, and we’ll never see him again.”
Shoshi looked out at the street. Every building had metal fire escapes just like the one they were sitting on, and many of them were draped with blankets or mattresses hung out to air. “There must be something we can do.”
From the minute Salty and Snigger left the boat, Salty felt that someone was following him. It wasn’t just his sailor’s instinct of a wind at his back; it was a sense of foreboding that crackled through the air like summer lightning. Snigger was hidden on a pushcart that Salty had “rented” for the day from a friendly street vendor. The dragon was curled up under a canvas tarpaulin that was also covered by sacks of potatoes. If people noticed smoke seeping out from under the cover, they would think it was from the metal stove that was used to roast potatoes. Still, something wasn’t quite right. Footsteps that almost, but not quite, matched his own echoed behind Salty.
Salty stopped walking. The footsteps behind him stopped too. He whirled around, but no one was there. “We’d better find Hester Street soon,” Salty said. He had remained awake all night for fear that the dragon’s hot breath would set the boat on fire. Then this morning, the beast had eaten all their food so that Salty’s stomach now rumbled like a thunderstorm. And time was running short. His ship was sailing at daybreak tomorrow. But first, he had to return Snigger to his owners.
Grasping the cart’s handles, he trundled down the street, then swerved to the left and entered an alley. He listened again. Nothing. Maybe whoever had been following him had given up. Or perhaps he’d imagined the whole thing. He breathed a sigh of relief and doubled his pace. His arms ached and the rumblings in his stomach were so fierce that he thought passersby must surely have heard them. “Hang in there, old feller,” he told himself. Hoisting the cart, he gave it a mighty push forward, and then screeched to a stop. A hooded figure in a dark cloak was blocking his path.
“Give me the dragon,” said the man in a gravelly voice.
“No’ on yer life.” Salty backed up. He swung the cart side ways and moved up the alley toward the street, but the black-robed figure jumped in front of him, blocking his exit.
“The animal is of no use to you,” he hissed. The man reached into a pocket and pulled out a handful of coins. “I will pay you well.”
“The animal is no’ mine to sell,” Salty said.
“Then I shall have to take it.” The man drew nearer, and Salty saw the flash of a knife.
On the ship, Shoshi and Moshe had talked about their new family in America and wondered what they would be like. They thought it would be nice to have an aunt and uncle and a cousin. But Bernie wasn’t the cousin they had wanted. Bernie was a bully. They’d been there less than a day, and already Bernie was pushing them around and taunting them unmercifully.
While their mother talked to Aunt Sadie, Bern
ie was given the task of showing Shoshi and Moshe around the neighborhood. He strutted and preened, and whenever they met other children, he raced ahead so that people wouldn’t think they were together. Finally, he led them into a narrow alley that was filled with garbage. Laundry was hung on clotheslines that were suspended between the buildings. Thumbing his nose at them, he raced away.
“What do we do now?” Moshe asked.
“Find our way back, I guess,” Shoshi said. “It can’t be far. We’ll just go back the way we came.”
They started walking. The alley narrowed and the buildings crowded in on them. Overhead the laundry snapped like flags in the wind. A furry object darted over Shoshi’s foot, and she screamed.
“It’s only a cat,” Moshe said. The cat slunk away through the garbage.
“Let’s get out of here,” said Shoshi. The buildings were so tall and close together that their shadows blackened the pavement. She turned a corner and led Moshe down another narrow alley, where they both stopped.
“Which way do we go now?” Moshe asked.
“I think it’s that way.” Shoshi headed toward a faint light where the buildings seemed to part in the distance. Moshe followed behind her. They heard a loud squeal, as one of the cats pounced on a mouse – or worse, a rat. Shoshi shuddered.
Finally, they emerged from the dark cavern of buildings. “What street is this?” Shoshi asked a woman. “Houston,” the woman answered and continued on her way. “I think Hester Street is back there,” Shoshi said. They resumed walking, only to find themselves back in another alleyway.
Bernie and a group of boys emerged from a doorway a few feet ahead of them. “Hey!” They yelled and waved their hands furiously to get their cousin’s attention.
“Bernie, why did you run off? We can’t find our way home,” said Shoshi.
Bernie furrowed his brows. “It’s not your home, Greenies.”
His companions hooted, and one, a tall stringy boy with a cap pulled low over his forehead, slapped him on the back. “Who are your buddies?”
“They’re not my buddies, Ziggy,” Bernie said.
“Bernie, you brought us here. Now help us find our way home,” said Moshe.
