I closed my eyes and had a hard time opening them again. It was super late—almost midnight—and it must have started to rain. I could hear the soft tapping on the roof. I needed to go to bed. I shouldn’t have been reading without Madeline again anyway.
Diary closed and lamp off, I lay there with my eyes closed, trying to fathom how despite everything, Anna still believed in God. She thought He had his hands full in Europe . . . she didn’t even know how true that was. At this point, the rest of her family was still alive, or at least she thought so.
My eyes opened again, into the dark. Would Anna discover, in the course of this diary, that everybody died? My mind flashed to this tote bag Parker sometimes carries, with a quote in glittery letters on the side: “It’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.” (Parker loves that bag, so Madeline and I have this joke about her losing it.) But now I wondered about that quote for real. Anna loved her family for twelve years before she lost them. Would she agree that it was better to have loved and lost? Or maybe she’d have envied me, since I left my birth family without ever knowing what I was missing.
Maybe she did envy me, I realized, reminding myself, again, that Anna had been a real person. My great-grandmother. She knew me. She knew I was adopted. What did she think of that?
Maybe she’d left me her books on purpose. She knew I’d find the diary and hoped it’d help me find a way to talk to my parents about my past. After all, look how well things had gone tonight, when my mom and I talked about my name and Kwanzaa. I just needed to keep taking tiny steps, testing the water as I went.
Some words were already forming in my mind as I drifted off to sleep. Next-step words to gently let my parents know that I’ve always wondered about my roots.
Thursday, 18 September 1941
t. August 1950
Dear Belle,
What a day! I thought Hannah had so many fur coats because she and Max are rich. But no . . . it’s because Max makes them! He is a furrier. But I will start at the beginning and tell you everything. (I can just see you on our bed, cross-legged and leaning against the wall, begging me to do just that. “Anna. Tell me everything!”)
This morning while I was eating breakfast, the telephone rang. Hannah said to me, “What do you wager this is Max?” Then she picked up the phone and winked at me because she was right, it was Max.
When she hung up, she laughed and said, “He left his lunch in the icebox! He could eat out, but then he’d be getting an earful about it all afternoon from those cheapskate uncles.”
The word “cheapskate” brought to mind a bad memory. Remember how the shopkeeper at the toy shop near school used to let me borrow boxes of puzzles to do at home? I would put them together quickly and return them with all of the pieces, then he would seal the box again and sell it. But once the Nazis invaded, he stopped letting me borrow them, saying (in German, though before the occupation he always spoke Luxembourgish) that I had to stop being a “Geizhals” Jew and buy them like everyone else. I never told you that before . . . I never told anyone. Oh Belle, the sting I felt when he said it! I left with my head low and my eyes burning. I wish to this day that I had stood up tall instead. (You would have, I know.) That’s why I stopped going to his store, even before he put up the NO JEWS ALLOWED sign.
“Cheapskate” sounds sillier than “Geizhals,” though. And I know Hannah didn’t mean it hurtfully. . . . In fact, I think it is exactly right to describe those uncles!
Hannah decided that I would go with her to Manhattan to bring Max his lunch. She said, “The factory isn’t far from Macy’s, so I thought we might do some shopping too. We can get you some dresses for when you start to go to school.”
I had been wondering when I will start school! The thought of it makes me both excited and anxious. There was no time to think about it then, though. We dressed quickly and off we went for my very first trip into Manhattan.
We took the subway (the Sea Beach Line) and it got more crowded with each stop. When we got off at 34th Street and emerged from Penn Station . . . oh my! I cannot say enough how tall the buildings are, and the street was filled with cars and taxis, and there were so many people, and they were all in a rush, hurry hurry hurry. The bustle was catching. Walking to 7th Avenue, it was as though Hannah had exchanged her high heels for roller skates. We wove our way through the sea of coats and hats, usually on people, but not always . . . a group of men hurried past pushing a rack of gentlemen’s suits! Hannah explained that we were in the garment district, “the clothing capital of New York.” Max’s factory is in the fur district, which makes sense, and Hannah said just south of us was the flower district. She pointed and said, “Smells divine!”
New York is so new, Belle. There are no stones or arches, and not a single castle, not even in the countryside, I wager. Just steel and glass and skyscrapers with pointy tops. Compared to America, Luxembourg is positively old.
Hannah stopped at an enormous gray building that looked like all the others. She pressed a button at the entrance . . . there was a crackling noise, then a man’s voice, probably Max’s, said, “Schoelstein Furrier.”
Hannah said both our names, smiling at the way they rhyme. The voice clicked off, then a loud buzz, and Hannah pulled open the large glass door. We took the elevator to the 15th floor and then down a long hallway, the ticking of Hannah’s heels echoing as we went. We came to a door with a sign that said “Schoelstein—Furrier,” and Hannah knocked a happy rhythm before opening it up.
I’m not sure what I expected to find, but this was not it. First came a small, carpeted room with a couch, a desk, and mirrors against the wall. This room was empty and quiet, though we could hear sounds coming from behind a door to the left, which Hannah opened next. Inside was the factory where they make the furs. It was messy and loud. There were some large machines in one corner of the large room. Near them were a long rack of fur coats on hangers. On the other side of the room were three long tables, with one man on each end, working with strips of fur. A third man was removing a large, wet fur from where it was nailed to a board. The nails dropped to the ground as he pulled them out, and this must be a common practice . . . the floor was covered with nails! Two women were at a table of their own, sewing. The uncle whose head is shaped like an onion was walking between the tables, looking over their shoulders and grumbling in Yiddish. The one whose head is shaped like an egg was seated at a desk, frowning over a ledger book. Cousin Max was standing in the corner behind a large table. He was arranging strips along the table by color, then stepping back to look at them and consider.
Max and Hannah are such an oddly matched pair. She went over to him right away and kissed the side of his head, but he didn’t take his eyes off the fur. He only looked away when she placed his lunch sack in his hand. He did, finally, look up and give Hannah a small kiss on the cheek. I really do wonder how he and Papa are in the same family. Papa would never give such a reserved peck. He would wrap Mama up and plant a big kiss right on her lips! I always used to look away, but now I wish I hadn’t.
Soon the door buzzer sounded because someone named Walter was downstairs. Hannah used a great saying, “We’ll get out of your hair,” but Uncle Egg stood up and said, “Warten.” He mumbled some more Yiddish, and Uncle Onion began nodding. You see, Walter is a buyer, and the uncles wanted Hannah to stay in case Walter requested to see what one of the coats looks like on a woman. So we stayed, and you won’t believe what came next . . . just wait!
Max and Uncle Egg and Hannah and I went to the smaller, quieter room (the one with the couch and the mirror) to meet Walter. He shook hands with Max and his uncle. Max introduced Hannah, who seemed to be embracing her role as a model—she smiled like she had never been happier to meet someone. She looked truly ravishing.
Max showed Walter a short brown jacket. He gave some details about it, and Walter examined it while he listened, running his finger over the fur. Max asked him if he wanted to see what it looked like on. He said, “My wife can model it for you.”
Walter smiled politely at Hannah, and then turned his head to look at . . . me! He said, with a perfect American accent, “How about this model?”
I thought I didn’t understand his English . . . Me? Model?
Max didn’t understand either. He said, “Anna?”
“Yes,” Walter said, “if you don’t mind.”
Hannah squeezed my arm and said, “Oh, what a wonderful idea! Anna will look beautiful in this jacket.”
Walter said, “I agree.”
What could I say? No thank you? I think you have the wrong twin?
Max held the coat out, and I slid my arms into the sleeves. Goodness! First, it was so heavy, I had to make an effort to stand up straight and not let the coat pull me down. But it was so warm and so soft! I now understand how bears can hibernate. With a coat like that, you could just curl up and sleep for months.
It was big on me, but Walter paid that no mind. He asked me to step onto the pedestal by the mirrors and turn around. Facing the other way, I saw myself in the mirror and gasped. I looked like a movie star! Golly Belle, you would have fainted. In that moment, I closed my eyes and tried to transmit the sensation of being in this coat to you, all the way across the ocean. (I am doing it again now. Do you feel the warmth?)
When I opened my eyes, I saw Hannah behind me in the mirror. She was beaming. She said, “I forgot how wonderful it is, the feel of your first fur coat.”
Walter liked that and kept repeating it to himself. “The feel of your first fur coat.” He asked Max if he could make a coat that would better fit “this young woman.” He was referring to me! Young woman!
Max said, “Of course.” Walter said he wanted it just like the coat I had on, but the right size. He said he could convince the store owner to buy a few. For “teenagers,” he said. He was talking quickly . . . figuring things out and getting excited, and Max kept saying “of course, of course.” I don’t know how much Uncle Egg understood, but he must have realized it was good news, because he was nodding like his head was on springs.
Max made sure it was okay with me, to be the model, and how could I say no? It was all very exciting.
Walter said a lovely English word that seemed to sum up the entire morning: “Splendid.”
After he left, Max had me stand back on the pedestal to take my measurements. We decided that I won’t start school until after the High Holidays. This way, I’ll be more settled and my English will be better—and I’ll have time to go to the factory for fittings as the coat comes along. (Yom Kippur is at the beginning of October . . . perhaps by then, you will be here to go with me!) Hannah still wanted to stop at Macy’s for dresses, however. I followed her around in something of a haze.
I simply can’t believe it . . . me, a model. It’s perfectly absurd! My stomach feels like it is back on the ship. If only you had come in my place . . . but I’m sure you can model when you arrive. We look exactly the same, after all! I am feeling dreamy and hopeful. If this is a success, and Walter buys lots and lots of coats, Max will make enough money to send for our whole family. All of you! Every single one!