by Rona Arato
Shoshi pictured trees and wildflowers in the fields and along the river of their village. She remembered their neighbors, all of whom she’d known her life whole life. But then she remembered the laws that said Jews could only live in the poor villages of the Pale. And she remembered the Cossacks, with their swords, stomping feet, and horses that trampled everything in their path. Here they had to deal with gangsters like Nick the Stick. Yet with all their troubles, she believed that America was better than Russia. “We can’t go back. America is our home,” she said.
Music had begun to pour from the restaurant. The children rushed inside. To their astonishment, the arguing had stopped. Mr. Shmuel was playing his violin, the organgrinder was grinding out a tune, and Mr. Seltzer was pumping an accordion. Tables had been pushed back, and people stood and clapped along to the rollicking notes. Two men linked arms and twirled around. Others joined in; men forming one circle, women another.
“I thought everyone was angry,” Shoshi said.
“At Mr. Stick, they are angry, not with our neighbors.” Mrs. Kaputnik smiled a rare smile, and Shoshi was filled with joy. Mama believed they were going to be all right in this new and puzzling land, and if Mama believed it, so should she.
Shoshi took her brother’s hand and drew him into the circles of dancers. He joined the men and she danced with the women. Around and around they twirled until the room spun before their eyes. Shoshi dropped into a chair. Moshe plopped down beside her.
“We’ll find Snigger,” Shoshi said, as she gasped for breath.
“And Papa too?” Moshe pushed sweat-soaked hair from his forehead.
Shoshi hesitated. Who knew what those terrible men had done with their father. She raised her head and straightened her shoulders. “Yes, and Papa, too.” Like her mother always said, if you are going to make a wish why not wish for the best? So that was what she would do – wish that soon they would all be together.
CHAPTER 16
Where Is Snigger?
“Snigger’s missing!” Shoshi grabbed Aloysius P. Thornswaddle’s hand. “He vanished yesterday, and we don’t know where he’s gone or how to find him. And those gangsters have our father. You can help us find them, can’t you?”
Mr. Thornswaddle had come to check up on them. Now he knelt down and held her shoulders. “Slow down little lady. First, what is this about your dragon. When did you lose him?”
“We didn’t lose him. He was stolen.” “And how do you know he was taken?” Shoshi blinked back tears. “Snigger would never leave us.”
Mr. Thornswaddle stroked his chin. “One never knows with dragons. Fickle animals they are. Is it possible he flew off?”
“Snigger doesn’t fly,” said Moshe.
Mr. Thornswaddle thought for a moment. “Not all dragons fly, you know. Only Western European dragons can fly. But those dragons are mean!”
“Snigger’s not mean,” said Shoshi.
“Eastern dragons from China don’t fly at all, and they are much sweeter tempered than their western cousins.”
“How do you know so much about dragons?” asked Shoshi.
“I am a man of the world. I pick up knowledge wherever I go. Your dragon could be from the east or the west. And that makes a big difference. Western dragons are fierce. They guard treasures. Eastern dragons are friendly. Is Snigger fierce or friendly?”
“Friendly,” said Moshe. “Unless he’s angry. Then he can be fierce.”
Shoshi was losing patience. “Mr. Thornswaddle, Snigger was stolen. Someone took him. Maybe it was those gangsters.”
They were interrupted by their mother. “It’s time to open the restaurant.”
“Mama,” said Moshe. “Mr. Thornswaddle is going to help us find Snigger.”
“That’s good. And can he help us with this Shtick person?”
“Nick the Stick has been a problem for me too,” said Mr. Thornswaddle. “Why, that perfidious piece of pestilence owns the New York Yoinkles.”
“Mr. Thornswaddle, is there anyone you don’t know?” asked Shoshi.
“Well, I don’t know Mr. Theodore Roosevelt, the president of these U-ni-ted States. At least not yet,” he added with a wink.
“What do you know about this Stick man?” asked Mrs. Kaputnik.
“I know that he runs all the rackets on the Lower East Side, and that he terrorizes people like you.” He scowled. “And, that he has a secret weapon, his magic bat, which his team uses to win every baseball game.”
Mrs. Kaputnik placed her hands against her temples, “He is the man who took my Saul.”
Aloysius P. Thornswaddle looked frightened. “For now, I suggest you pay Mr. Stick his money, keep your children close, and leave the whereabouts of your husband to me.”
It was Friday, and Nick the Stick’s first payment was due. Mr. Thornswaddle had dropped by to assure them he was still looking for Snigger and their father.
“He talks a lot, your Mr. Thornswaddle,” said Mrs. Kaputnik after Thornswaddle left. She and Shoshi were in the kitchen making matzo balls. “Better he should tell us how to stay in business if we must give all our money to Mr. Stick.”
Shoshi took a broom from the corner and went into the restaurant’s dining room. It was almost time to open. “Good morning,” she said to Mrs. Shmuel, who was wiping down tables with Moshe.
“Good morning.” Mrs. Shmuel smiled. She took the broom from Shoshi. “I will sweep. You fix the cans.”
Shoshi relinquished the broom. She began to stack canned goods into a pyramid shape. As she worked, she thought about her mother’s comments. Even though the restaurant’s business had grown, there still wasn’t enough money to pay Nick the Stick his twenty-five dollars. Life was looking bleak. No Papa, no Snigger, no money, and a gang of thugs beating at their door. How would they ever survive?
At precisely four o’clock, Igor appeared in the doorway. “Where is it?” He held out his hand.
Mrs. Kaputnik reached into her pocket and pulled out a handful of cash and coins. “Here, five dollars and twenty cents. This is all I have.”
Igor snatched the money, counted it, and put it in his pocket.
“Where’s the rest?”
“I hope next week.”
“Nick won’t like this.”
“He doesn’t like it, he can come himself.”
Igor shot her a puzzled look. “Believe me, Mrs. Kaputnik, you do not want that. No one defies Nick the Stick.”
“I have to get ready for Shabbos,” Mrs. Kaputnik said.
Igor left the restaurant, but not before issuing a warning. “You haven’t heard the last of this.”
“I’m sure I haven’t,” Mrs. Kaputnik said after he’d gone. What else can go wrong? she thought.
On Sunday, Igor returned. He marched into the restaurant and waved the patrons out. He stood before Mrs. Kaputnik.
“Where’s the money?” He held out his hand.
When she started to protest, Igor grabbed her arm and shoved her toward the desk where she kept her cash box. “Open it,” he ordered.
Mrs. Kaputnik shot him a murderous look but did as she was told.
He pocketed the money. “Lady, this time you’re gettin’ away with a late payment. Next time, you ain’t gonna be so lucky.” Igor’s eyes fell on Mrs. Kaputnik’s picture of her husband, which she had tacked next to the box. “That guy should be a lesson for you. He didn’t pay his debts and Nick took care of him. Remember to have the dough ready next Friday. We don’t want nothin’ bad happenin’ to those nice kids of yours.”
CHAPTER 17
How to Rescue a Dragon
Snigger’s disappearance rocked the Kaputniks’ world. Their sense of loss was overwhelming. Friends and loyal customers came into the store every day, asking about Snigger. The children were surprised by the neighborhood’s interest and support. Instead of fearing Snigger, the people in their neighborhood had learned to embrace the dragon.
Mr. Thornswaddle, Moshe, and Shoshi sat at a table in the restaurant and discu
ssed the problem over steaming glasses of tea. “Everyone who comes to this country from someplace else leaves the familiar behind. We learn to cope with strange customs, a new language, foods we’ve never tasted before. We miss our families and friends back home and feel trapped living in tenements.”
“Even you, Mr. Thornswaddle?” Moshe asked. “I thought you were all settled in the new world.”
“I speak English. I know my way around the city,” said Mr. Thornswaddle. “But when I arrived, I was as green as unripe fruit. That’s why newcomers are called Greenies. Immigrants take time to ripen. The people who arrived first have become Americans, and you remind them of what they used to be.”
Shoshi thought about this. “We’re starting school in September. Will that make us American?”
“My goodness, you’ve already begun. Your English is improving every day. You’ve helped your mother learn to speak better English. You see, becoming American is like assembling a giant puzzle. There are dozens of pieces: language, food, education, work, friends, and a neighborhood where you can walk down the street and see familiar faces. Once you know people, you don’t want them to go away. That’s why they miss Snigger.”
“Mr. Thornswaddle, what does this have to do with finding Snigger?”
“Nothing, Shoshi. And everything. Nothing, because the people who took Snigger are obviously not Greenies. And everything, because your customers and neighbors will help you find him, if you let them. Snigger is a larger-than-life personality who makes people feel like they know him or want to know him.”
“People like you?” Shoshi asked.
Mr. Thornswaddle beamed. “Like I was saying, Snigger has become neighborhood property, which is why the neighborhood wants to help you.”
Soon people would be coming for their matzo balls; some to eat, but mostly to throw at stacks of cans or hit with sticks. Everything was so different than Shoshi had imagined. Was it better here or had they been better off in Vrod? They were safe from Cossacks but were threatened by crooks. They had new friends but no Papa. They owned the restaurant but shared their flat with boarders. America might not be the Goldene Medina, but it was definitely a land filled with possibilities, even if those possibilities were sometimes strange and frightening.
That evening, Ziggy paid them a visit. He’d brought his friend Noah, and the four of them gathered on the stoop outside the Kaputniks’ building. “We’ve decided to let Moshe into our gang. You too,” he said to Shoshi. “Even though you’re a girl.”
“Well, thank you.” Shoshi stood, held out her skirt, and curtsied.
“You should be grateful,” Noah informed her. “We don’t like girls.”
“I thought you hated both of us. You called us Greenies. What changed your mind?” Moshe asked Ziggy.
“We miss the dragon,” Ziggy admitted. “So, we’re gonna help you find him.”
“Why should we trust you?” Shoshi said. “You tried to beat up Moshe.”
“Aw, Bernie told us to do it. Anyway, you have to trust us now because you need us. First we’ll find Snigger, and then we’ll rescue your father.”
Shoshi’s jaw dropped. “What do you know about our papa?”
“We know lots about what goes on in the Lower East Side. Don’t we, Noah?”
“Yeah.” Noah smiled, exposing two missing front teeth.
“Aren’t you a little old to lose your teeth?” asked Moshe.
“Didn’t lose ’em. I had ’em knocked out.” Noah held up his fists. “The other guy don’t got any left.”
Shoshi wondered what they were getting themselves into. She looked at Moshe, and he shrugged. “What choice do we have?”
“Okay,” she said. “We’ll work with you on one condition. We get Mr. Thornswaddle to help us.”
“That barber pole?” Ziggy protested.
“He has a circus,” said Moshe. “So he knows lots of tricks.”
Ziggy scrunched his face into a thinking mask. “No adults,” he said. “They talk too much. But us kids, we take a blood oath of silence.” He pulled out a pocket-knife and pricked his thumb. The other three took the knife and did the same.
“Ouch!” said Shoshi.
“It’s supposed to hurt, that’s the point. Now we press our fingers together and we’re bound by a blood oath. If any of us breaks the code of silence …” Ziggy ran a finger across his throat.
Shoshi shuddered.
“Now that we’ve sealed the pact, we need a plan,” said Ziggy. They all huddled together. “It’s about time you two learned what’s what in this neighborhood. And who the real enemy is.”
CHAPTER 18
Operation Dragon Search
For the next few days, Shoshi and Moshe spent all their free time learning their way around the Lower East Side with Ziggy and Noah. As they became more familiar with the neighborhood and their English improved, they felt less like outsiders. At mealtimes, they helped their mother in the restaurant. Evenings were spent on the street cooling off in the water from the fire hydrant; playing baseball with Ziggy, Noah, and the other neighbor hood kids; and planning how to find Snigger and their father.
The street baseball games were their favorite pastime. They used broom handles for bats and hit matzo balls. Dingle Hinglehoffer dropped by occasionally, and the kids peppered him with questions about the game.
Life on Hester Street was good; but inside the restaurant, it was a different story. Every Thursday night, Mrs. Kaputnik sat down with the money from the week’s sales and set aside the twenty-five dollars for Nick the Stick. And every Friday, when Igor came to collect it, she asked him about her husband. What had happened to him? Where was he? Igor always feigned ignorance and smiled a creepy smile that made Mrs. Kaputnik’s skin crawl. And each time, Shoshi and Moshe were more convinced that not only did he know, but that he was involved with their father’s disappearance.
Another week went by, and Igor had paid his regular Friday visit. Shoshi and Moshe cleaned tables and swept the floor, avoiding their mother, who was in a foul mood. Shoshi didn’t blame her, but she wished their mother wouldn’t take her anger out on them.
One hot afternoon, Mr. Thornswaddle and Dingle Hinglehoffer appeared in the doorway.
“Fly ball.” Dingle Hinglehoffer picked up a matzo ball and tossed it to Moshe. “Nice catch,” he said, as Moshe snatched it from the air.
“Hello, Mr. Hinglehoffer,” said Moshe. “Did you win your baseball game?”
Dingle Hinglehoffer folded his body into a chair. “Naw, we Slobbers can’t get nowhere against those Yoinkles. Ya gotta have a special pitch. Somethin’ the other team won’t expect. Especially with a batter like Yicky Stickyfingers.” He threw the ball in the air and caught it with one hand.
“What do you mean?” Moshe asked.
“Well, it’s ’cause of Yicky’s bats.”
“No one can win against the special bats that he uses,” said Hinglehoffer.
“What makes them special?” asked Moshe.
Dingle Hinglehoffer returned to his seat. “Only one man in New York makes them. He works for Nick the Stick. Some might even say he’s Nick’s slave.”
Shoshi’s ears perked up.
“Nick the Stick gets the people who owe him money to work for him. Some of them are never seen again. This man, though, is special. He’s the one who makes Nick’s walking sticks and the baseball bats.”
“Mr. Hinglehoffer,” Shoshi asked. “Do these bats have a rose carved into the wood?”
“Why yes, they do,” he said, looking at her with surprise. “It’s the same rose that he carves into Nick’s walking sticks. How did you know that?”
“A lucky guess,” Shoshi grinned.
“Good for you. Well, I’m off to Nebbish Field. Bye!”
As he walked up the street, a man in a black hooded cloak brushed past him. His hood fell back, revealing his eyes – the left one, blue; the right one, black.
“I wonder if Mr. Thornswaddle really has a circus,” said Shoshi.
“Why would he lie about that?” asked her brother.
“I don’t know.” It was evening, and Shoshi and Moshe were sitting on the fire escape. Strains of Mr. Shmuel’s violin drifted through the open living-room window. Shoshi looked down into the street. As usual, it was crowded and noisy. She spotted their mother and Mrs. Shmuel on a stoop across the street, gossiping with a group of neighborhood women. Shoshi rested her head against the metal bars. “I don’t know,” she repeated, “but when he met Salty, he pretended he didn’t know him.”
A shrill whistle from the street caught their attention. Ziggy and Noah stood below them. “Come down.”
The children clambered down the fire escape.
“What do you guys want?” asked Moshe.
“It’s not what we want. It’s what you want.” Ziggy smiled slyly. He reached into the pocket of his overalls and pulled out a paper with a picture of a lion’s head in the center of a blue circle that was surrounded by orange flames.
“What is that?” asked Moshe.
“A flyer for a circus,” said Noah.
“And that, my friends,” grinned Ziggy, “is where we’ll find Snigger. Because …” he pointed to a picture of a man at the bottom of the flyer. “Look who it belongs to.”
“Mr. Thornswaddle!” Shoshi exclaimed.
“See, I told you he owns a circus,” said Moshe.
“Snigger will bring people into his circus, and that means money,” said Ziggy. “Meet me here just before dawn. We’re going on a dragon hunt.”
CHAPTER 19
This Is a Circus?
It was still dark when Shoshi and Moshe slipped into the hallway, closed the door quietly behind them, and crept down the stairs. Ziggy and Noah were waiting for them on the street.
