Dear Malka,
At the crack of dawn, the man that Papa hired to move our things to Havana arrived with his truck. He took the beds and linens, the table and the rocking chairs, and the sewing machine too. Señora Graciela insisted I keep it so I could continue making dresses. Within minutes, our little home in Agramonte was emptied of Papa and me.
While Papa said his morning prayers, I stepped outside to take a last look at our street in Agramonte. There was Francisco Chang bringing a gift wrapped in tissue paper.
“For you,” he said. “Open it.”
I pulled away the tissue paper, and inside was a rounded teacup. I held it carefully. It was made of porcelain and decorated with flowers and flying birds.
“I brought it from China,” he said.
“I don’t want to take it away from you.”
“I have another one. You keep this teacup and I’ll keep the other. When you drink tea in Havana, I’ll be drinking tea in Agramonte.”
Then he gave me another tin of sour cherry tea.
“Here’s a little more tea,” he said with a smile, and passed the gift to me.
I thanked him, and he nodded and said, “Buena suerte.”
He wished me good luck because neither of us wanted to say goodbye.
When I went back inside, Papa had finished saying his prayers. We got our satchels and caught the direct train to Havana. Papa dozed off, but I was wide awake, gazing at the palm trees touching the sky and the sugarcane fields and feeling this is now my land.
Rifka Rubenstein was waiting with her suitcases, sitting behind the counter and reading the Yiddish newspaper as if it were an ordinary day.
“If you had arrived a minute later, I would have grown impatient, but you came at just the right time,” Rifka Rubenstein said by way of greeting.
“Do you leave soon?” Papa asked.
“In fifteen minutes,” she replied. “Here are the keys to the store and here are the keys to the apartment. Avrum, when you run out of fabric, I will send more from New York. Esther, remember to water the plants on the balcony.” She smiled at us. “May your family arrive safely to Havana.”
“Thank you, Rifka. May you arrive safely to New York, and may your family come soon so you can all be together,” Papa said.
She turned to me. “Esther, since I think of you as like my granddaughter, I took the liberty of going to the school and enrolling you. Classes are in Yiddish and Spanish, and you can begin in January. As my going-away gift, I have paid for the first term. You will meet other Jewish girls and boys. Finally you will be with your own people. Won’t that be good?”
I thought of the Chinese teacup Francisco had given me, still wrapped in tissue paper in my satchel. I thought of Manuela telling me that the power of the African drums can sweep you away. I would never have met Francisco or Manuela if Papa and I had come straight to Havana and only been among Jews. I would have lived in Cuba without really knowing Cuba.
Rifka Rubenstein sighed. “Esther, you haven’t answered me.”
“Sorry, I was thinking. Thank you, that was nice of you to enroll me at the school,” I told her, trying to sound enthusiastic.
“You will be glad I did,” she answered. “Your papa too.”
“We are very grateful to you, Rifka,” Papa said. “Go in peace and don’t worry about a thing. We will take good care of your store. And if there’s ever anything you should want from Cuba, like a sweet pineapple or a juicy mango or a strong coffee, please tell us and we’ll find a way to send it to you in New York!”
“I might take you up on that!” she replied, laughing.
We hugged, and a friendly driver arrived to help her with her suitcases, carrying them all in one hand and extending the other to her politely so she could step down from the curb.
It was hard to believe that Rifka Rubenstein was going to the port to catch her ship to New York. Will she find happiness there? I hope so.
We waved to her from the front door and she looked back at us with tears in her eyes. Even though she’d been eager to leave Cuba, it seemed she would miss it more than she dared to admit.
Papa and I were unsure what to do next. We looked at each other like two orphans. The store and the apartment were now ours, so long as we did well and made enough for us to live on and for Rifka Rubenstein to earn a profit too.
We spent the day getting the store in order, arranging the fabrics by type and color. I hung a few of my dresses in the window again. Then the man arrived with the truck from Agramonte and we moved our things upstairs to the apartment.
I remembered to water the plants on the balcony. Afterward, I stood and watched our new neighbors taking down the laundry that had dried on the clothesline. I smiled and they smiled back. Farther away, I watched the streetlamps turn on at nightfall.
The city of Havana glowed as if lit by thousands of fireflies. Drivers honked their horns and people shouted and laughed as they walked on the street below. There was a bittersweet smell from the coffee brewing in the cafeteria on the corner.
I wondered why my lips tasted salty and realized it was from the sea. We are very near the harbor. Near the sea! This means we are near the ships. Soon you will be on one of those ships, dear Malka. I am closer to you here in Havana.
With immense love from your sister,
ESTHER