Dear Malka,
I am getting better and better at sewing. But it’s true I spent all of Saturday night and Sunday doing little else. For the dress for Ma Felipa, I used the blue fabric and designed it to be looser and longer so it would be comfortable and flow like the water of her Yemayá fountain. I added iridescent mother-of-pearl buttons down the front and cut a big square of fabric she can use as a kerchief.
Papa came with me to deliver the dress and kerchief to Ma Felipa. When I gave the things to her, she began to sing, “Yemayá, Yemayá,” and sprinkled water from the fountain onto the dress. Then she went to the other room and changed into the dress and tied the kerchief around her head. Upon returning, she stretched out her arms and hugged Papa and me at the same time and said, “Bendiciones,” which Papa told me means “blessings.”
The next dress I decided to make was a black one for Señora Graciela. I knew I couldn’t make anything as elegant as the dresses she wore every day, but I designed it with a high collar and a bow at the top of the neck and gathered it at the waist with a full skirt. I also made hidden pockets for her dress. Señora Graciela can use them for her many handkerchiefs. I borrowed the measurements for Ma Felipa’s dress since the two women are about the same size. The only difference is Ma Felipa is taller, so I made Señora Graciela’s dress a bit shorter.
Señora Graciela was astonished I had made the dress myself. She ran to her bedroom to try it on and returned in a rush of excitement about how well it fit. She was stunned I had crafted it with the hidden pockets and instinctively placed the two handkerchiefs she was carrying inside them. She called in Doctor Pablo to see my handiwork. They marveled at my “gran talento.”
“¿Te gusta coser?” Señora Graciela asked me.
She asked if I liked to sew. I now understood those words in Spanish!
I responded, “Sí, me gusta.” I’ve learned that I actually do like to sew.
“Muy bien,” Señora Graciela said, pleased by my response. Then she asked if I wanted a máquina de coser.
A sewing machine? Of course I wanted a sewing machine! I thought about all the dresses I could make in a week if I didn’t have to stitch them together by hand.
Señora Graciela said she had an old sewing machine that belonged to an aunt who moved to el norte. Pulling a handkerchief out of the pocket of the dress I’d sewn, Señora Graciela dried a tear and explained how she had dreamed of making dresses for Emilia, but could neither cut nor sew straight. Doctor Pablo put an arm around Señora Graciela’s shoulders, and I thought how fortunate she was to be married to a doctor who could care for her, although no doctor could heal her sorrow.
Then a smile appeared on Señora Graciela’s face. She said she had never imagined a sweet girl like me would come along—a girl who could sew her own clothes. That I was like a gift from the sky, “del cielo,” she said. If I would accept her gift of the sewing machine, she would feel so happy.
I turned to Papa, not knowing if I could accept such an enormous gift. Now I was excited about the idea of making lots of dresses and selling them. I hadn’t thought of that when I started sewing; I just wanted to get out of my itchy wool dress and sew dresses for people who’d been kind to me. But if I did well and my dresses sold, I could help Papa get you all to Cuba even faster!
Papa looked back at me with a warm smile, nodded to Señora Graciela, and told her I would be happy to take the sewing machine. She clapped her hands and said she’d have it sent over in the afternoon.
As we were about to say goodbye, Doctor Pablo turned to Papa. Pointing to the newspaper on the dining table, he said, “Bad news these days in Europe. Have you heard, Señor Abraham? The Nazis have taken over Austria. They’re treating the Hebrews badly. They forced Hebrew actresses in Vienna to scrub toilets while they stood there laughing.”
Doctor Pablo called Jewish people “hebreos” rather than “judíos” because he thought that word was more polite.
“You are safe here,” Doctor Pablo added, smiling at us.
But Papa and I looked at each other in fear.
“We are safe, but not our family,” Papa said.
“You will be together one day,” Doctor Pablo said.
“Juntos” was the Spanish word he used for “together.” I repeated it to myself to make it come true.
Late in the afternoon, there was a knock on the door, and we found Mario José standing there with a Singer sewing machine. Manuela was with him too.
“Señora Graciela asked me to bring over la Singer,” Mario José said. “I help her with her chores when I’m not busy at the sugarcane fields.”
We invited them in and I asked Mario José to put the sewing machine in my bedroom so I could sew whenever I wanted without disturbing Papa.
Once it was set up, Papa asked them to sit in the rocking chairs in the living room, and I brought over the bench from the kitchen for Papa and me. Then I went to the room and got some remnants of cloth I still had left to show to Manuela. I asked her which she liked, and she said she liked them all. “Todos, me gustan todos.” We both laughed. I unfolded them and we draped them against our bodies to see how they looked. We were wearing the floral dresses I’d made and we were like mirrors for each other.
Mario José asked about our familia and if I had a mamá. Papa explained about our family in Poland and how they were waiting for us to bring them to Cuba.
Mario José nodded. “Separados por el mar,” he said.
Yes, sadly we were separated by the sea from the people we loved most.
Papa should then have asked Mario José about his family, but Papa was not one to ask questions. I was about to when Mario José himself pointed to Manuela and said, “No tiene mamá.”
Manuela’s face became sad and Mario José told us how his wonderful wife, Cecilia, Manuela’s mother, had died two years ago from a heart attack that struck like lightning and took her away so fast there was no time to say goodbye. Ma Felipa had needed to step in and be not only Manuela’s grandmother but her mother as well.
I felt sorry for Manuela and reached over to give her a hug.
I thought about Mama and Bubbe, how lucky we are to have them both. I wish I could give them a big hug right now. You all feel so far away.
By then, the afternoon light had faded. Mario José stood and said he and Manuela needed to get home. Ma Felipa was probably wondering why they were gone for so long. They wished us a good night and we did the same, one father and daughter to another father and daughter.
After Papa went to sleep, I sat down to try the sewing machine.
At first it was a disaster. I sewed a seam and it came out crooked. I had to rip it out and sew it again several times. But once I got the hang of how to step on the treadle, I realized why the sewing machine was such a great invention. I could finish a seam in seconds.
It was harder to sew the buttonholes and attach the sleeves and collars. I kept practicing those tasks as the night stretched before me and the light of the kerosene lamp wore down.
Fortunately, the bobbin had a new spool of thread. I could sew and sew to my heart’s content.
By the time the soft light of dawn shone through the window, I’d mastered the basics of the sewing machine and decided it was as dear to me as a fiddle is to a fiddler.
Your loving sister,
ESTHER