Martin picked apples all the way up until December and now he had quite a bit of money saved. During the months he had lived in Watsonville, he had grown accustomed to the town and almost felt like it was home. He would go to San Francisco for the holidays to see the family and especially Katarina’s baby. But he would be back in time to work the fields in the spring.
Chapter 16
Martin got a ride to Oakland in an apple truck from Luka’s farm. He only had a short walk to where the family was living from the place he was dropped off. Martin had almost forgotten the house until he climbed the steps and knocked on the door. Mirna was the one who answered it with a scream. “It’s Martin. He’s back. Come everyone and say hello.”
Martin gave Mirna a long hug while they waited for the others to arrive. Anton was next, followed by Vlad and finally Katarina with a baby in her arms. “I especially wanted to see your baby,” he said.
Katarina drew him near Martin and opened the blanket so he could see the baby’s pink face and dark hair, almost black. He let out a cry when he felt the cool breeze on his skin. “He’s a boy. Of course, I named him Paul but we call him Pauli. I think he is going to look like his father. Certainly, I hope so.”
Martin peered at the bundle in Katarina’s arms. Paul, he thought, was the treasure his father guarded so closely that he gave up his life for him. “He does resemble his father,” Martin said, even though he didn’t really think a baby could possibly have the form of an adult so soon.
In the time leading up to Christmas, Martin and the family spent time at a makeshift Slavonic Society in an empty building near where the family was living. Many of the people Martin had met in San Francisco were there including Nevenka’s family. It was hard to face them without her. As much as possible, Martin kept his distance and even avoided Stan until he was confronted by him. “I do not understand why you are no longer friendly to us.”
Tears welled up in Martin’s eyes. “You bring back too many memories. I know I should put Nevenka behind me but I can’t.”
“Nor will we ever. But to deny our friendship is like another death.”
Martin knew Stan was right but could not bring himself to look him in the eye. Instead of facing his feelings, he had run away from them so he wouldn’t feel the pain. But being back had brought all his old feelings to the surface in a raw form that hurt like hell. Maybe I won’t be able to move on unless I grieve. Then he turned to Stan. “You have been a good friend. I want us to stay that way. Let’s walk over to your family so I can extend my greetings.”
Christmas 1906 was very different from the one before when there was so much joy, so much to look forward to, so many dreams. No matter how Mirna and Katarina tried, the place they were living in just wasn’t up to the festive atmosphere that had been created at the townhouse. There was a Christmas tree, of course, but the old world ornaments had been left behind in storage and were probably destroyed. Instead, they had strung garlands of popcorn and tied bows made out of red satin ribbon that had a sheen to it when the light hit on the branches. They also hung fruit and candy to add some color. But the tree looked a bit sad, like all of them, as if it were meant for orphans.
Certainly, nothing about this Christmas was anything like the last one except for the food. It was the only familiar thing that could be transported. And, Martin thought, that was what made food so wonderful, what inspired him to become a chef. No matter what, food could always fill the emptiness if it was made with love. Mirna brought out the bakalar en brodo and Anton gave the blessing. “This cod that has saved bodies will also save our souls. It is a tradition that binds us through the generations.” Martin looked around the table and caught tears in everyone’s eyes.
Uncle Anton waited until after New Year’s to take Martin across the bay to San Francisco. The purpose of the trip was to meet with the insurance representative to find out when claims would be settled. The insurance company had set up on the waterfront near the Slavonic Society and Croatian businesses. When they arrived, others were already in line so they had to wait their turn. Finally, when they had a chance to meet with a representative, he said, “Be patient. We are working on it and will be in contact with you when we have some news.”
Uncle Anton and Martin made their departure but Anton was peeved. “What does he think we’ve been doing? It’s been over eight months. If the insurance doesn’t pay soon, we will end up in the poorhouse.”
Anton led Martin on a walk through the city. It had an eerie feeling as if the spirits of all those who died now inhabited it, turning it into a ghost town. “It doesn’t look like the same place, does it?” Martin shook his head and thought it didn’t feel like the same place either now that Nevenka was gone.
They walked a few blocks and came upon Anton’s restaurant, which appeared almost untouched. “I was lucky. As soon as the insurance money comes through, Marko is going to help me with repairs and then I’ll be back in business. People are always hungry and need to be fed. A good meal will go a long way to sooth the soul.”
Next they came upon the townhouse. “Look how well this held up. It’s made of solid brick not like those fancy houses on Nob Hill that were made of wood. Once the neighborhood gets cleaned up, we might be able to move back in.”
“I hope that’s the case. You are one of the lucky ones for sure.”
“Not just luck, Martin. Good decisions, too, about what type of home to buy. Marko has taken a walk around town and everywhere construction had been cheap or frivolous it was disaster. A home needs to last.”
Everywhere they walked they saw disaster but they also saw people cleaning up and even starting to rebuild. Martin was amazed at the strength of the human spirit and its refusal to give in to despair. And he knew he had that spirit in him, too. In fact, most Croatians did. They always had to struggle to survive, never, never giving up.
Chapter 17
Martin certainly understood Caruso’s sentiments when he said he would never again sing at San Francisco’s Opera House after being caught in the earthquake. Martin wanted a fresh start, too, so he went back to Watsonville in the spring to help with the crops. Michael had promised him a job so that’s where he headed as soon as he hit town. “I’m glad to see you back,” said Michael. “How was San Francisco?”
Martin shrugged his shoulders as tears welled up in his eyes. “San Francisco was depressing. But things will get better. And little Pauli will help get the family through as they see hope for the future.”
“Okay, then. I’ll show you to your bunkhouse where you can stash your gear, then you can follow me around today to learn what we do to bring in a good harvest.”
Martin began learning what it took to be an apple man. He spent much of his time tilling the soil so the trees could get moisture. It was hard, back-breaking work but when he saw the trees beginning to leaf and flower he felt rewarded as the sound of buzzing filled the orchards while bees did their important work of pollination. In mid-summer fruit appeared, signaling it would soon be time for harvest. Martin was already an experienced apple picker. He felt completely at ease on a ladder high up in a tree, but the best apples were picked a little lower where they were not exposed to so much sun and rain.
Martin picked alongside Chinese and Filipinos who came to town for the harvest. Usually, farmers had a system for getting the fruit picked so they would ensure none of the harvest went to waste. They helped each other and everyone prospered. When the apples were packed in boxes they were taken to the foothills where red wood stands shaded the fruit, keeping it cool until it was ready for market. The pay wasn’t much but Martin was able to save a little, and when his insurance money came through, he would have enough to open a restaurant.
He and Michael scouted locations near Main Street and had a couple sites picked out. But then in 1907, there was another stock market panic that put fear into every businessman including apple growers. Fortunately, the panic only lasted a year, but it demonstrated the clear need for a national bank.
Martin didn’t know if he had made a mistake coming to the United States. It seemed there was one crisis after another, not allowing for his American dream to even gain a foothold. But he had witnessed his uncle’s success and now in Watsonville he saw how many of his countrymen were making a fortune in agriculture. The dream was possible but not easy. He would just have to persevere until he achieved it.
In the summer of 1908, as the stock market recovered, Martin received word from his uncle to come to San Francisco to collect his insurance check. It was more money than Martin had expected, and he went back to Watsonville to sign a lease on space for his restaurant. He had been able to recover some of the Dubrovnik pictures Nevenka had purchased for his San Francisco diner. And he remembered the red and white checked cloth she had made curtains out of and wanted to replicate those. But he needed help to get the restaurant ready for its opening so he asked Michael if he knew someone.
It amazed Martin how quickly word got around. After the harvest was over, a couple Croatian women showed up to measure the window for curtains and show Martin samples of the cloth they could use. Croatian handymen appeared, too, all prepared to do whatever task Martin needed—painting, building tables and chairs, laying tile for the floor. For anything he needed, all he had to do was ask and the help was there. I finally feel I have a new home. Everything is perfect…well almost. Tears came to his eyes as he thought of Nevenka. Would he ever find love again? Maybe in this town he would. The thought gave him hope and brought a little smile to his lips. I’m already twenty years old. It’s about time I found a wife.
Chapter 18
The Dalmatian Coast Cafe opened after the harvest on a Tuesday, which is usually slow in the restaurant business. Martin used Dalmatia in the name because so many Dalmatians lived in town that even the writer Jack London called it New Dalmatia. Martin hired Liu and Hong, Chinese men whom he had met apple picking, for the positions of sous chef and waiter. Liu was tall for a Chinese man and thin with graceful hands that were an asset in the kitchen. Hong was short and stocky and always looked as if he were about to laugh, a quality that endeared him to customers. They were both from San Francisco’s Chinatown which had been completely destroyed in the earthquake and they had restaurant experience.
Martin knew they were going to open their own restaurant as soon as they had saved enough money to do so. But he couldn’t believe his luck finding two helpers who already knew the business. And when they moved on, he had been assured they would find their replacements who would be just as good if not better. But, of course Martin knew, they would take the best ones for themselves.
As expected, opening day there were few patrons, but Michael had been one of them, and he brought along his uncle’s family, which helped to fill a couple of tables. They all ordered fish, even though there were a variety of meats on the menu because, not only was fish a favorite food, but it would be a true test of Martin’s skill as a chef. As the orders came in, Martin noted seafood risotto, bakalar en brodo, pan fried sand dabs, a local catch, and Dalmatian stew, a delicious combination of lobster, scallops, clams, jumbo prawns, and white fish of some sort in a light seafood broth accompanied by garlic bread for dipping. These customers are certainly throwing a challenge down, but I know I’m up to it.
Martin had what all good chefs needed, and that was timing. Since the diners were one family who wanted to enjoy their meal together, it was important all their entrees arrived at the table at nearly the same time. But until they did, Martin provided them with some little appetizers of tiny fried shrimp and calamari that Croatians are usually crazy about. He knew that would buy him some time while the customers indulged themselves. Most of the meals that were ordered required quick last-minute cooking with the exception of the bakalar, which had been simmering for hours just like Aunt Mirna’s on Christmas Eve. So it wasn’t long until Martin called Hong to deliver the dishes to the table. Then Martin thanked Liu for his assistance and stood listening to what the family had to say about their meals. From what he could tell, they were enjoying themselves since there was much eating and little talking. Finally, Michael shouted out, “Martin, come over here. We want to compliment you.” Martin took off his chef’s hat and apron and wiped his hand on a rag before coming out of the kitchen to meet his guests.
Michael’s uncle stood up, “I want to salute you. I have never tasted better fish even in my own mother’s home who came from Croatia and should have known all the secrets to cooking it in a most succulent way. But you have far surpassed her. Let’s all raises our glasses in a toast to Martin and his success, which seems almost certain.”
Martin felt his face grow warm and knew he must be blushing. But, nevertheless, he was proud of his accomplishment on this first night of his own restaurant. “Thank you, Luka, for the kind words about my cooking. But even more, I thank you and Michael for giving me a job that allowed me to make the money I needed to open this business. And to show my gratitude, I have a special dessert for you on the house.” He hoped Liu had the oil heating so the dessert would go quickly…again timing. He didn’t want his guests to lose interest before dessert arrived. But Liu and Hong had teamed up to start the process, and fritule were already rising to the surface, and as they did Martin captured them in a slotted spoon and set them on paper to dry. Then he sugared them lightly before bringing them out.
“Fritule,” everyone shouted in a harmony of joyous tones. These donuts were usually only served before Lent so it was a sign of a special occasion that they were being served tonight.
“Not only do these donuts have raisins in them but sljivovica, too.” Martin knew the plum brandy from his homeland paired well with raisins and would be especially appreciated by his countrymen.
“Martin,” said Luka, “bring the rest of the bottle here. We need to make another toast.” Hong had heard the request and was already bringing the bottle to the table along with small liquor glasses, which he set at everyone’s place. “To the Dalmatian Coast Cafe. May she always be a gathering place for Croatians in search of a home-style meal.” At that, Luka tossed the liquor back in his throat and swallowed. And may St. Blaise always bless you.”
The next couple of days, apple men starting coming in from the fields for lunch. Michael and his uncle must have passed the word along, thought Martin. These men all had hardy appetites so instead of fish they focused on meats—leg of lamb, grilled marinated skirt steaks and tripe stew, a nutritious dish, simmered for hours to achieve tenderness, which many wives refused to make due to the smell and preparation involved. Martin liked to use the honeycomb tripe which is superior to the others and not only involves multiple washings but also brushing to remove dirt between crevices. He cut the tripe in strips and placed it in a pot with tomato puree, carrots, onions, green peppers, and paprika, a popular spice introduced to Croatians by Hungarians. By the looks of their clean plates, the apple men had enjoyed their meals, tipping Hong well for his service.
In between meal times Martin, Liu, and Hong cleaned up and prepared for the next one. After lunch was over, they usually took a break and ate. This was a good opportunity to get to know each other and smoke a cigarette. “How long have you been in America?” Martin asked the pair.
“Our ancestors came for the Gold Rush and to build the railroad over and through the Sierra Nevada Mountains,” said Liu. “We did very difficult labor that no one else wanted to do.”
Martin did not know anything about this so he asked, “Did only men come or families, too?”
“Many men came alone. Then later sent for their families. But eventually the United States government passed the Chinese Exclusion Act, which didn’t allow any more Chinese to immigrate.”
“What was the reason?”
“They were afraid of us. They called us the yellow peril. But we multiply fast and were able to build a Chinatown.”
“So, I know that your Chinatown was destroyed in the earthquake. Now what will you do?”
“Rebuild, of course, on the s
ame spot since our ancestors are buried there.”
“I’m sorry to hear all these sad experiences you have had since coming here.”
“Not all has been bad,” said Hong. “The earthquake destroyed documents so many of us have been able to claim citizenship through residency. Families are already arriving to join their relatives.” Hong and Liu caught the stunned look on Martin’s face. “We Chinese are very clever and take advantage of every opportunity.”
“I could certainly learn a lot from you.”
Chapter 19
On Friday, Martin was expecting a crowd of Croatians at the restaurant since it was a day of fasting for Catholics. Sure enough, at lunchtime the tables were filled with farmers and then at dinnertime families began to arrive. Martin noticed one in particular—a single young girl with a couple who appeared to be her parents. Unfortunately, the girl sat with her back to the kitchen so he could only see her long blond hair glistening in the candlelight. She looks like an angel.
Hong stepped up to their table, and Martin noticed the father seemed to do most of the ordering, starting with a variety of fried appetizers and Crab Louie’s. That was followed by a round of clam chowder and salad and then the main course. Since abalone was on the menu tonight, that was requested along with sand dabs and sardines. This is a family of seafood lovers, Martin thought. As he cooked, he looked up from time to time hoping to get more of a glimpse of the girl. Finally, when they had finished their meal and before dessert was ordered, there was a lull in the restaurant that allowed Martin the opportunity to go around greeting and thanking guests.
The California Immigrant Page 7
