My dear sister!
I ended up taking a long nap together with Papa on the first train from Havana to Matanzas. It felt so good to curl up next to him and not be alone anymore! We might have kept on sleeping, but thankfully we were startled awake by the slamming of the brakes as the train pulled into the station in Matanzas.
Everyone rushed to get off the train. For a moment, I was separated from Papa and I fell into a panic. “Papa, Papa!” I yelled, unable to find him.
People turned and asked, “Niña, ¿qué pasa?” which I later learned meant “Little girl, what’s wrong?” Cubans didn’t look at me with hatred in their eyes. It was the strangest sensation to realize I was no longer in Poland, where the word “Jew” hung on the lips of strangers like a curse.
A few steps ahead, Papa came into view. I ran to him and everyone around me smiled.
We sat on a bench in the station to wait for our next train. It was late in the afternoon and the warm air had thickened like porridge. I was glad I’d taken off my stockings in Havana. I hope I can find a bit of cloth to make myself a lighter dress. All the girls and women here wear sleeveless dresses. It’s not proper for Jewish girls in Poland, but the Cuban heat is very strong, so I don’t think Papa will mind.
Papa pulled out more challah and bananas from his satchel for a snack. We said the prayer again before we ate. “If you eat without thanking God, you are no better than a beast,” Papa told me. He cut up slices of the challah with his pocketknife and we ate it gratefully with the bananas.
I couldn’t help asking, “Papa, did you miss us all these years?”
He sounded so sad when he answered, “Of course I missed you. I don’t know how three years slipped by so quickly. It feels like I arrived in Cuba only yesterday. And after working so hard, I’ve only managed to bring you to Cuba, while my dear wife, my mother, and my four other children suffer in Poland. I’m a terrible failure.”
“Please don’t think that way, Papa. I’m here now to help.”
Papa sighed. “I am glad you’ve come, Esther. I think Cuba agrees with you. Now let’s see what you think of Agramonte.”
The next train arrived and we climbed aboard. It was a smaller train filled with people in dusty clothes and shoes, their hands rough and callused.
“They are sugarcane workers,” Papa explained. “There are many sugar mills around here. They cut the cane with machetes and boil it to make the molasses that becomes sugar. The work is bitter, but the result is sweet.”
We both stayed awake, sitting side by side, gazing at the sugarcane fields that dotted the landscape. The cane grows tall and forms huge thickets that dance in the breeze. Leaving Matanzas, the train moved on a track parallel to the river. Then it curved around and turned into some tree-covered hills. It reminded me a little of the forest between Govorovo and Vishkov, but with tall palm trees instead—can you imagine?!
The train stopped at lots of little villages, then there was one big one called Unión de Reyes. One side of the track was filled with sturdy wooden houses where the better-off people must live, and on the other side, there were rickety shacks, probably where the peasants who cut the sugarcane live.
At last we stopped at a station with a sign that read AGRAMONTE. It was a town no bigger than Govorovo! I said I would follow Papa to the ends of the earth and I have done just that. Now I will finish writing to you, beloved sister. It is time to know my new home in Cuba.
With love from Cuba,
ESTHER