by Ruth Behar
Señora Graciela came and stood next to us. She was wearing the dress I’d made for her and whispered in my ear, “As you can see, I love this dress, Esther.”
“I want to make you another, Señora Graciela. But I don’t have black fabric. Could I use fabric that is a dark blue?”
“Dark blue will be fine, Esther. I’ll never forget my beloved Emilia, but I’ve grieved so long for her, I think she wants me to put aside my mourning clothes and feel a bit of happiness again.”
As my eyes filled with tears, Señora Graciela pulled out a freshly ironed handkerchief from her dress pocket and said, “Keep it. Let it be a souvenir.”
I remembered the handkerchief Bubbe had given me and that I’d given to the man named Jacob before I got on the train to Rotterdam. Had he made it across the ocean? Had he been reunited with his family? So many people are looking for a place to call home. I want to imagine that the world has a very large heart and can give all of us who have lost our homes a chance to start over.
Ma Felipa came with Manuela and they hugged me with so much warmth, I wanted to melt. They pointed to Mario José, who was sitting on a bench with two other men, each with a batá drum on their lap.
“The drums are to call the spirits and the ancestors,” Manuela whispered. “We need their strength to protect us from the Nazis.”
Francisco and Juan Chang arrived with a banner. Francisco had made it. In neat handwriting, he’d written in Spanish: LA SOCIEDAD DE AGRAMONTE EN CONTRA DE LOS NAZIS. On the four corners of the banner were Chinese characters.
“What do they mean?” I asked.
“They stand for faith, peace, love, and hope,” Francisco said.
“They’re beautiful,” I told him.
“I’m glad you like them, Esther,” he said with a smile.
Doctor Pablo came and grabbed Papa by the elbow. “Come on, we’ll start walking and everyone will follow.”
They set off down the street, and Mario José and the other drummers sounded the drums, softly at first and then with more force.
Manuela stood to my left and Francisco to my right. Between the three of us, we held up the banner as we walked behind Doctor Pablo and Papa.
Señora Graciela took Ma Felipa’s elbow, Ma Felipa took Juan Chang’s elbow, and they followed after us.
The crowd came next, moving to the beat of the drums. Several people added their own sounds to the music. Some clapped together wooden sticks known as “claves.” Some rattled maracas. Some scraped güiros made from polished gourds. And some banged on pots and pans. At the end of the line were Mario José and the two other drummers, playing their drums as they walked.
The march came to a stop on a clear patch of land at the edge of town. A makeshift stage had been created out of a few wooden planks. Doctor Pablo climbed up and everyone, even the babies, quieted down to listen.
Doctor Pablo began, “The Anti-Nazi Society of Agramonte thanks you for coming tonight to this rally. We are here to say we have no animosity toward the Hebrews who have come to Cuba searching for a new home.”
People clapped. Then someone said, “Let him talk! He’s not finished yet.”
Doctor Pablo continued, “It isn’t easy to be a refugee. It isn’t easy to find your way in a new place and learn a new language. No one leaves their country unless they must. The Hebrews are suffering now in the lands where they have lived for centuries. That is why they are escaping and looking for a new home in Cuba. Señor Abraham and his daughter Esther became our neighbors, and they’ve won our affection and respect. We’re here to tell them they’re safe on our island. We won’t allow a Night of Broken Glass to happen in Cuba. Some of us believe in God. Some of us believe in African spirits. Some of us believe in kindness. Whatever you believe, we come together to say no to the Nazis in Cuba!”
People cheered and sang out, “Nazis, no, Nazis, no, Nazis, no! No, no, no!”
Then the drummers came to the stage and resumed playing. Ma Felipa led several women in a slow dance, swaying back and forth, while others milled around saying hello to each other. Little children chased after one another, playing tag, and then got in line when a man came selling shaved ices with different sugary syrups.
“This is Cuba,” Doctor Pablo said, laughing. “We can only be serious for the briefest moment. Then there’s a party, an all-night pachanga.”
“But we accomplished our goal,” Juan Chang said. “That’s what matters.”
“We’re so grateful to all of you,” Papa said. “Esther and I were lucky to come to Agramonte.”
“You will have a home here always,” Señora Graciela said.
I was sadder than ever that we would soon be leaving Agramonte.
A gentle breeze blew and no one seemed in a rush to go to sleep. The hurricane season was over. We had been spared the harsh winds that made autumn an uncertain time of year. Everyone was glad to gather and enjoy the night as the moon rose in the sky and the stars shone bright.
Then all of a sudden we heard the sound of a horse galloping. My body began to shiver and my teeth chattered.
Francisco was the first to notice and came next to me to say, “Esther, it will be all right! We’re here with you.”
But I still had a terrible feeling when Señor Eduardo rode over to us, sitting high on his horse.
“Who gave permission for all these people to assemble here tonight?” he said, gazing at Doctor Pablo.
Doctor Pablo replied, “No permission was needed. This is a peaceful gathering of the Anti-Nazi Society of Agramonte.”
“¿Qué dice?”
“You heard what I said. We are taking a stand against the Nazis and their discrimination against the Hebrews.”
“That’s ridiculous! The Nazis are doing the right thing in Germany. That’s why I’m proud we now have a Cuban Nazi Party and I can be with them.” He glared at Papa and me. “How much longer do we have to put up with these people invading our country? If it were up to me, I’d have them pack their bags right now.”
Señora Graciela came closer. “Please, Eduardo, you mustn’t speak that way. Señor Abraham and his daughter Esther are good neighbors, and we want them to feel at home in Agramonte.”
Ma Felipa put her arm around my shoulders. Manuela, Francisco and Juan Chang, Doctor Pablo, and Señora Graciela formed a circle around Papa and me. Mario José put down his drum and joined the circle too.
“It’s best you go now, Eduardo. The night began in peace and we want it to end in peace,” Ma Felipa said.
Señor Eduardo cowered before Ma Felipa. Without saying another word, he rode away on his horse, leaving a cloud of dust. Everyone cheered. And the drumming and dancing went on until dawn.
With all my love,
ESTHER
AGRAMONTE
November 11, 1938
Dear Malka,
I barely slept after staying up so late last night. And once asleep, I had a nightmare about the Nazis storming into Govorovo with torches and setting the town ablaze. You and Mama and Bubbe and Moshe, Chaim, and Eliezer were running for your lives. I stretched out my arm and it turned into a thick rope. “Grab hold of me!” I yelled, and I pulled and pulled, trying to steer you toward me, toward Cuba. Then Señor Eduardo appeared on his horse and I had the terrible thought that I would fail to bring all of you here.
In the morning I was still scared from the nightmare, but I set to work on a dress for Señora Graciela in the dark blue fabric. Knowing that Señora Graciela is Señor Eduardo’s sister and yet so different from him, I calmed myself as I stitched together her dress. I used the wraparound design with a wide collar and one large front pocket so it would be another style from the dress I made for her in black.
I sewed all day and finished it, and Papa let me bring the dress to Señora Graciela. She was delighted and put it on right away, tying the bow at her waist and twirling
around. “This was the dress I needed! Emilia’s favorite color was blue! I’m sure my beloved daughter is glad I can remember the happy days we shared.”
I gazed at the painting of Emilia in the living room and wished I could bring her back into the world for even a second so they could hug each other again.
Señora Graciela took my hand and we sat down on the sofa. “Esther, I want to apologize again for my brother, Eduardo. But as you saw last night, all of us support you and your father. You’ll always have a home here in Agramonte.”
I should have told her then that we were moving to Havana, but I couldn’t bear to. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye.
I know our move will give us more opportunities and enable us to spend time with other Jews. But I have come to love the people of Agramonte, and if I had to stay here, I feel I could live among them joyfully for the rest of my life and still be Jewish. As the poet José Martí has taught me, I come from many places. Agramonte will always be my first home in Cuba.
Dear Malka, the time is getting close when you will be coming to this place—Papa and I are going to buy your steamship tickets tomorrow! Then we will read these letters together and you’ll know everything about my life in Cuba while I waited for you. Until then, I run my finger along the sweet words you wrote to me at the bottom of Mama’s letter and I feel you close.
With all my love as always,
ESTHER
AGRAMONTE
November 14, 1938
Dear Malka,
I can hardly describe how excited Papa and I were to finally be going to the travel office to buy your steamship tickets! But first we had to stop at Rifka Rubenstein’s store to pick up the money in the safe box. When we arrived, she sat in her usual spot behind the counter, waiting for customers, reading the Yiddish newspaper.
“Have you heard about the Night of Broken Glass?” she asked as we walked in.
Papa nodded. “We have heard. It is very disturbing news.”
I quickly added, “But we have very kind neighbors in Agramonte. They organized a rally. They want to keep the Nazis out of Cuba.”
“Don’t tell me your neighbors did that? They are not even Jewish!”
“There are good people in Cuba who want to help us, and it doesn’t matter if they are Jewish or not!”
“Oh my, Esther, dear child, you are so innocent. You think they care what happens to us?”
“Yes, they do! We have friends in Agramonte who have welcomed us. We can’t go around thinking everyone hates us! How will we ever live in this world?”
Rifka Rubenstein shook her head. “Some people hate us and there is nothing we can do to change that.”
Papa listened, not saying a word. He finally said, “Both of you are right. There are good people and hateful people—and indifferent people, neither good nor hateful, just waiting to be told how they should think and feel.”
“Those are wise words, Avrum, spoken like the scholar you are,” Rifka Rubenstein said.
“Thank you,” Papa said. He sighed and went on. “Frightening things are happening in the old country, but today is a joyous day for us. We finally have enough to buy the steamship tickets for our family. Let’s hope we can find a better future here in Cuba. And you, dear Rifka, may you be blessed and find a better future up north with your beloved family.”
“That is very kind of you, Avrum.”
Rifka Rubenstein turned and gave me a hug, surprising me. “I may speak harshly to you, Esther, but you know I love you like my own granddaughter.”
Papa and I took our money from the safe box, split it in half, and put it in our two satchels.
“Don’t act as if you are carrying lots of money or the thieves will smell your fear,” Rifka Rubenstein said. “Here, take these remaindered rolls of fabric and stuff them into your satchels so you’ll look like you’re peddling.”
We followed her advice and went off to the travel office, walking side by side, except when the streets grew narrow or people rushed past us. Havana never felt so crowded. Every time I took a step, I bumped into someone. I held on to my satchel tightly and Papa did the same. Imagine if we lost our savings after so much hard work and months of dreaming of being together here in Cuba!
Fortunately, we arrived at the travel office with our satchels intact. But there were many people ahead of us. They sat in rows in the steamy room, eyes half closed, looking as if they’d been waiting for hours.
Someone said, “Get a number and sit down. They’ll call you.”
We sat and waited. It seemed to take forever.
At last they called our number. We jumped up and rushed to the desk of the woman who would attend to us. She wore her black hair in a long braid and had a weary expression. She tried to smile as she asked, “How may I help you?”
“We need six steamship tickets from Poland to Cuba for the earliest date you have available,” Papa said.
“Are these tickets for your family?” she asked.
Papa told her, “Yes, they are. They are for my wife, my mother, and my four remaining children.”
She shook her head and her braid wiggled down her back.
“I must be honest with you, señor. It will be a long and difficult journey. And it will cost a lot of money. The travel company is forcing us to charge an extra amount in case any of the passengers aren’t allowed into Cuba and have to be sent back on the same ship they came on.”
When she told us the price for the steamship tickets with all the other expenses, I thought Papa would cry. He turned to me and said, “We are a little short of the total. We will have to come back another day when we have more money.”
I whispered back, “Don’t worry, Papa, I have an idea.”
I told the lady we’d be back shortly with all the money, and she said to come directly to her when we had it.
We left the travel office, and I told Papa I’d sell my pocket watch to Zvi Mandelbaum.
“I don’t want you to sell it,” Papa said. “You received that watch as a gift.”
“But I want to sell it,” I told Papa. “Please let me.”
Zvi Mandelbaum greeted us with his usual exuberance.
“Hello, my friends from the countryside. What brings you to the great metropolis of Havana today?”
Papa got right to the point. “We are a little short of money for the steamship tickets for our family, and Esther has a pocket watch she wants to sell to you. What can you give her for it?”
I knew Zvi Mandelbaum was a good businessman, so I wasn’t expecting he would offer much.
“My, oh my, it’s real gold,” he said, astounded.
He offered a large sum of money, enough to cover the remaining expenses for your trip, with lots of money left over for our move to Havana. We’d be able to buy beds for the apartment. We’d have everything ready for when you all arrived.
I handed over the watch and Papa secured the money in his satchel. He stepped out the door, and as I was about to follow, Zvi Mandelbaum called to me. “Esther, come back, shayna maideleh. I have something for you.”
Papa waited outside while I returned inside, expecting Zvi Mandelbaum to give me a candy or a trinket from his store. Instead, he held out the pocket watch.
He whispered, “Dear child, I have seen how hard you’ve worked with your father ever since you arrived in Cuba, how dedicated you are to reuniting your family. Take this watch back. It’s an expensive watch. You may need it down the road for an emergency. Keep the money I gave you. May your family come to Cuba soon.”
“Are you sure about this, Mr. Mandelbaum?” I dared to ask.
“I am sure. After the Night of Broken Glass in Germany, things will get worse for the Jews. We must help one another in every way we can. And I promise I’ll give everyone in your family a pair of sandals as soon as they arrive!” He put the watch in my hand and said, “Don’t
tell your father. He’s a proud man. He shouldn’t think he owes me anything. Here’s a key chain. Tell him I gave you that.”
I thanked him for his kindness and put the watch back in my pocket. I showed Papa the key chain and he didn’t suspect anything. He’ll never know Zvi Mandelbaum could be so generous.
We returned to the travel office and the woman with the long braid was ready for us.
“While you were gone, I think we found you the best itinerary. Your family should travel on the Orduña steamship. I don’t recommend they pass through Germany now. It is very dangerous. They will have to go through France.”
She knew we were Jews, without having asked, because it was only Jews who came to Cuba from Poland.
She went on, “The Orduña is a British ship. It’s part of the Pacific Steam Navigation Company. It boards at the port of La Rochelle in France.”
“How will my family get to France?” Papa asked.
“They will have to sail from Gdynia in Poland to Le Havre in France. Gdynia is a few hours’ distance from Warsaw.”
She pronounced Gdynia in a funny way, with a Spanish accent, but Papa and I understood. We were too embarrassed to tell her we’d never traveled that far when we lived in Poland. Even going from Govorovo to Warsaw was a rare trip.
Then she continued, “From La Havre, they will have to figure out how to get to La Rochelle so they can board the Orduña. The ship will take them to Liverpool and Bermuda and will make a stop here in Cuba.”
“Is there no other route they can take?” Papa asked.
“I assure you this is the safest route. The Orduña is one of the most reliable ships coming to Cuba right now. I have tickets available for January 16, 1939, in exactly two months. It seems like a long time from now, but they will need to get from place to place. They will need a medical examination. We have to get their visas too. There is much to be done.”
We opened our satchels and took out the money we had saved. Papa added up the bills and paid the woman for the steamship tickets and the visas. The tickets will be wired to Poland. Papa is also wiring the money needed for all your other expenses.
