Dear Malka,
Our day started out sad, knowing Papa and I were going to El Encanto for the last time. We took the elevator to the fourth floor, and the first thing I noticed was that my dresses were gone. The new dresses now on display looked starched and formal, and none of them had pockets!
We went over to a very tall saleswoman in rickety high heels.
“Buenos días,” I said.
The saleswoman knew who I was from my accent. “¿Eres Esther?” she asked. “¿La polaquita?”
I nodded and she motioned for us to follow her. She led us into the office where we had always met with Isabel de la Fuente. Once the door was closed and the three of us were alone, the saleswoman passed Papa a very thick envelope. Papa placed it at the bottom of his satchel, where it would be safe.
We both felt sorry about the loss of Isabel de la Fuente in our lives, and took a long, meandering walk through El Parque de la Amistad, the sprawling park filled with palm trees behind El Capitolio. Young couples in love and mothers with small children lingered on benches, munching on peanuts and enjoying shaved ices with sugary syrup, whiling away the time. It was such a beautiful sunny day in Havana, it seemed like nothing could be wrong in the world.
We walked past the park and ended up in a neighborhood we’d never seen before, a part of the city where Chinese people lived. Restaurant tables covered in bright red tablecloths spilled onto the street. I could smell the jasmine from the Chinese food, which I so much wanted to taste. Papa would never let me eat it because it contained pork.
As we walked along a street called Zanja, we came across a peddler selling newspapers in Chinese.
“Papa, let’s get a newspaper for Francisco Chang.”
“Of course,” Papa said. “That will be a nice gift for your friend.”
We went to see Rifka Rubenstein afterward, and she had big news.
“I received my visa to go to America, the real America!” she announced. “My turn comes in two months, so I will leave Cuba in December.”
“Congratulations,” Papa said. “Your wish has come true.”
“Yes, finally.” Rifka Rubenstein sighed. “But I have much to do in the next two months to get ready.”
“Can we help you?” Papa asked.
Rifka Rubenstein smiled. “Would you like to manage the store after I leave?”
“What a surprise!” Papa responded. “I thought you’d want help packing up to go to New York.”
“I can pack my own bags, thank you. But I will need money to get settled in New York. That’s why I don’t want to sell the store. If you’ll manage it for me, we can split the profits half and half. That way, you’ll earn money and so will I.”
“I can’t think of a more perfect arrangement,” Papa said.
Rifka Rubenstein looked pleased. “You and Esther can live upstairs in my apartment, and there’s plenty of room for your family too when they come.”
My head started spinning. I closed my eyes and opened them again to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.
Then Papa said, “I’d be glad to manage the store. Esther and I will live upstairs and prepare everything for the arrival of our family from Poland.”
Suddenly I imagined myself in Havana. It would be exciting to wake up to the cries of the peanut vendors, the hustle and bustle of people rushing from place to place, the honking cars, the smell of coffee and fragrant tobacco smoke from the cafeteria across the street. But I’d no longer hear crickets and birds bursting into song in the morning and the roosters crowing. I’d be far from my friends, Manuela and Francisco Chang, and the weeping ceiba tree, and Yemayá’s water that pours from the ground inside Ma Felipa’s house. A gloom settled over me as I thought about everything I’d miss from Agramonte.
Rifka Rubenstein frowned. “You’re so quiet, Esther. Cat got your tongue?”
I shook my head, unable to speak. “I don’t know, I—I’m sorry,” I stammered.
“My, oh my! You are a strange one, Esther,” Rifka Rubenstein replied. “You should be jumping for joy. You’ll finally get out of the countryside and come to the city. You’ll be able to meet other Jewish children and go to a Jewish school.”
I tried to smile. I felt a lump in my throat.
Papa understood. He put his hand on my shoulder. “My child, don’t be sad. You’ll have time to say goodbye to Agramonte. We have two months still to go.”
“That’s right, it’s not as if you’re moving tomorrow,” Rifka Rubenstein said, a touch of sympathy in her voice. “Think of how much you’ll enjoy helping your papa in the store when you come home from school. You can sell your dresses here as you did at the beginning. If you want to put anything else on the labels, be my guest. I won’t care anymore, since I’ll be in New York!”
We went to the back room and Papa opened up the envelope Isabel de la Fuente had left for us. “The angel was kind to us again,” he said. “How will we repay such kindness?” Then Papa counted all the money we had in the safe box.
“We have almost enough now!” Papa said happily. “Next time we come to Havana, we’ll get the steamship tickets and send everything else they’ll need for the journey.” But then Papa became sad. “It’s all thanks to you, Esther. I couldn’t have raised the money alone. You’ve seen what a terrible salesman I am.”
“Papa, we’ve done it together. But you say we need a little more money?”
“Yes, we have enough for their tickets and visas, but we need extra to make sure they don’t run short during their journey. It’s harder to leave Poland now. They are making it more and more difficult for Jews to come here. Many palms have to be greased.”
“What does that mean, Papa?”
“People like Señor Eduardo, every step of the way, demanding money. If you don’t pay them, they will block the path.”
“I am going to make lots more dresses so we can sell them here in the store. With each stitch, I’ll bring Malka and all of our dear family closer to us.”
Papa smiled. “Wonderful, my child. What a blessing your sewing is.”
We filled up our satchels with fabric from Rifka Rubenstein’s store. Then we stopped at Zvi Mandelbaum’s store to pay him the commission we still owed him from the sale of the sandals on the installment plan.
“You have done so well!” Zvi Mandelbaum said when he saw us. “Do you want more sandals?”
Papa shook his head. “Not at this moment, but maybe when my sons come, we will go peddling.”
“Your sons? Are they on their way to Cuba? That is wonderful news! At last your family will all be together!” Zvi Mandelbaum said, smiling at Papa and me.
“They are not on the way yet. How I wish they were. But we have raised almost all the money we need for their journey,” Papa replied.
Zvi Mandelbaum raised his eyebrows and looked at us with curiosity. “Well, I know you haven’t made a fortune from peddling.”
“It’s Esther. She has magical hands,” Papa told him.
“I can sew, that’s all,” I said. “I am fortunate that my mother taught me, and now we can sell my dresses.”
“That is truly a blessing!” Zvi Mandelbaum said, and he gave Papa a hug, practically lifting him off the floor!
We got on the train, and there was still a little light in the sky when we returned to Agramonte. I was glad to see the town again; it felt like home.
After I put away the fabric and washed up, I asked, “Papa, may I bring the Chinese newspaper to Francisco Chang?”
“You can, Esther, but be back before it’s dark.”
I rushed off and found Francisco at the counter, sketching in his notebook.
I held out the gift of the newspaper. “Un regalo,” I said.
His eyes lit up when he saw the Chinese characters.
I told him Papa and I wandered behind El Capitolio and that’s when we discovered the streets where Chinese people lived. He said he had heard there was a Chinese neighborhood in Havana and hoped one day to go there with his uncle.
I wasn’t ready to tell him I’d be moving to Havana in two months.
I turned to leave. It was getting dark outside. Then Francisco opened his notebook and pulled out a sketch.
I stared at it, amazed at what it was. Francisco had drawn an aleph, the first letter of the Hebrew alphabet. He had made the aleph the size of an entire page and filled it in with colorful flowers and glowing stars.
He smiled. “I saw this letter in the newspaper at your house,” he said. “It’s a beautiful letter, so I thought I would draw it.”
“Gracias, Francisco, muchas, muchas, muchas gracias.”
We both laughed at how I said “muchas” three times. Then I rushed down the street with the aleph in my hand. When I got to our front door, I folded the drawing and put it in the pocket of my dress. This would be another one of my special memories from Agramonte, this gift Francisco gave me on the day I learned I’d be moving to Havana.
I’ll always share my special memories with you, dear Malka. Very soon I will whisper them to you before we go to sleep, the way we used to share stories with each other in the dark of night when Poland was still my home.
With all my love,
ESTHER