Threads and Flames (9 page)

She crawled out of bed and fumbled for the hem of the dress she would wear the next day. She'd sewn most of her remaining money inside. It was a precaution prompted by the memory of the shtetl innkeeper's wife coming home in hysterics from a grand trip to her sister's home, in Lublin, where the city pickpockets had stolen every coin to her name.
Why didn't I listen to my sister?
the poor woman had sobbed.
She told me to sew the money into my dress, but I didn't. Now this!

Raisa's own coins clinked softly, reassuring her.
I'll have to exchange this for American money. And I'll have to get a job. And I'll have to learn English, a whole new language, but . . . not too soon, I hope. I have too much trouble learning anything. Zusa is so impatient, trying to teach me how to read, that I must be very stupid
. She sighed, climbed back in beside Brina, and with a last faint thought—
maybe learning English won't be as hard as learning how to read
—she fell asleep.

She woke up with Zusa shaking her by the shoulder. “Get up! Get up! They're letting us off the ship by groups, and they've just called our numbers. Come on.”

“What?” Raisa asked, still half asleep. She patted the empty space next to her in the bunk. “Where—”

“She's right here, dressed and ready to go. Now, hurry!”

Raisa rolled out of her bed and got dressed as fast as she could, with Zusa hurrying her every step of the way. They grabbed their traveling bags, Raisa took Brina's hand, and they joined the flow of passengers climbing the stairs to the open deck and the new land. Raisa's stomach grumbled. There was no breakfast being served this morning. As the passengers filed out of steerage, members of the ship's crew made sure to collect their empty meal pails and utensils.

Out on deck, it was still dark.
Did we land in the middle of the night?
Raisa wondered, until she became aware of a faint glow on the far side of the ship. Dawn was coming. In the dim light she thought she caught sight of her friend Luciana, her black braid like a streak of ink down the back of her bright green flowered shawl, but the shadows shifted and she was gone.

“A fine thing!” said a grouchy voice behind Raisa. “To come all this way, and not to see it!” It was an old Jewish man, being helped along by his family. He pounded his walking stick on the deck and refused to stop protesting. “It's a shame, that's what it is! When my cousin Tsvi came here, it was all he could write home about in that first letter. How tall! How beautiful! How majestic! And now that God has seen fit to let me live long enough to come to the Golden Land, how do I arrive? In the night, like a thief! In an hour as black as a Cossack's heart!”

“Papa, Papa, please, you'll upset yourself,” a middle-aged woman beside him crooned. “You'll see it, I promise you.”

“When?” he countered. “We sailed right past the island in the dark! That's what one of the sailors told me when I asked him about seeing it.”

“What's the matter with him?” Raisa asked Zusa. “What did we sail past?”

“I don't know,” Zusa replied. “But I'll bet it was something good.”

The girls moved along in the crowd as it carried them across the deck, down the gangplank, and along the pier. Raisa's legs felt wobbly walking on solid planks instead of a swaying deck. Several times she nearly lost her hold on Brina's hand. The going was not easy, since she was not only minding the child but also carrying Brina's belongings in a bag that had belonged to her dead mother. The poor woman hadn't owned much, so Raisa was able to tote it under one arm, her hand clutching the handle of her own satchel.

The people were steered like cattle, herded in the shadow of the great steamship. Self-important men in crisp, dark uniforms seemed to be everywhere at once, asking questions in many languages, consulting lists, taking names, pinning cards to everyone's coats, and handing out other cards accompanied by instructions that sounded like threats: “Hold on to that if you don't want to be sent back!” And at the end of all that, Raisa found herself, Brina, and Zusa pressed beside the cranky old man and his daughter on the wide-open deck of a small, foul-smelling boat. A horn tooted and the vessel began moving away from the dock almost as soon as the last passenger was aboard.

“Wait!” Raisa cried, dropping the bags and waving the cards she'd been given for herself and Brina. “There's been a mistake. They're sending us back, but we've still got our cards! Zusa, for heaven's sake, we have to
tell
them we're going to New York City and not—”

“Stop fussing, girl,” a bony, black-clad woman cut in. “We're being taken to New York City right now. Nothing's wrong. The ship docked in Hoboken, just the way it was supposed to.”

“Hoboken?” Raisa had a bit of trouble pronouncing it.

“It's in New Jersey, just across the river from New York. My son told me all about what to expect when he sent for me.” She puffed herself up proudly. “We're on the ferry for Ellis Island, and from there we'll be taken to New York City. All provided that we pass inspection, naturally. You
are
in good health?” Raisa nodded, speechless. “Then you have nothing to fear.” The woman's smile was as thin as she was, but it was warm.

She produced three pieces of dry bread from her bag as if by magic. “My son also warned me that sometimes the ships dock before breakfast. The company doesn't mind saving a little money on feeding us, and what do they care if we're hungry? So I put aside something extra at dinner last night. I'm sorry, this is all I have left.”

The girls thanked her and devoured the bread. All at once, Raisa heard a growing clamor from the far side of the ferry. She turned at the sound. By now, the sky was a pearly blue banded with pink and violet on the horizon. A sliver of rising sun sent a path of gold rippling over the water. Something the fresh color of springtime grass towered in the distance. The closer the ferry sailed toward that green beacon, the louder the passengers' voices grew. Raisa and Zusa leaned against one another, straining to see.

“Papa! Papa, look! See? You didn't miss it after all!” the old man's daughter cried. “There! Do you see her?”

“I see,” the old man replied. Tears were streaming down his cheeks. “I see. Blessed art Thou, O Lord our God, King of the universe, who has granted us life and sustenance and permitted us to reach this season.”

Raisa stared at the ever-growing image of a magnificently robed and crowned woman, her right hand holding a torch to the sky. As the ferry sailed closer, Raisa picked up Brina so the child could share the wonder of such a sight. “Look, darling!” she exclaimed. “She's wearing the sun!” Brina crowed with joy and stretched out her arms to the woman.

“We're here, Raisa.” Zusa's normal tone—playful, joking, mischievous—was gone. The woman's upraised torch cast an enchantment that transformed her voice, filling it with the soft breath of wonder and awe. “We're
here.
It isn't a dream anymore. We've truly reached the Golden Land!”

“HAVE YOU SEEN MY SISTER?”

“I
look inside the big brick buildings of Ellis Island. “It's as if there's no one left anywhere else in the world. They've all come here!”

Raisa had to agree. Although she couldn't truthfully say she'd recognize every single person from steerage, she had a rough idea of how many passengers had shared her voyage from Bremerhaven. Once the Hoboken ferry had docked at Ellis Island, everyone aboard was urged from the landing, up some stairs, and into a great hall mobbed with so many people it was impossible to think they'd all come from just one ship. The confusion, the noise, and the smell were overpowering. Worst of all was the waiting, watching groups being separated from the crowd and led away to who knew where and who knew what fate.

Officials stepped in and out of the swarm of waiting immigrants, making order. Raisa heard her name called as part of one group, gathered up her bags, instructed Brina to hold tight to her skirt, and stepped forward. Zusa followed, only to be told in crisp, definite terms that her name was
not
part of this group and that she would have to wait like everyone else.

“Oh well, I'll see you later, then,” she said to Raisa. “I probably won't be too long catching up to you. We'll meet later.”

“Of course,” Raisa replied, smiling at her friend. But she was only half listening, too distracted to add,
But
where
will we meet, Zusa?
That question didn't seem to be so important to her just then. Her first priority was the little girl in her keeping. The official hadn't called Brina's name, either, and she had to give her full attention to making sure that she and the child weren't separated. Fortunately, Ellis Island teemed with staff who spoke more than one language. It wasn't hard for the peevish official to locate someone fluent in Yiddish, though before that person spoke a word to Raisa, he examined the list of names from which the first man was working. Raisa had no idea why the first official scowled and grumbled, until the second man smirked and told her, “The little girl's name is there, all right, written in next to yours. If that stupid jackass knew how to read better, he wouldn't have had to drag me over here for nothing.”

Raisa and Brina fell into line with the other members of their group. They passed from the great hall into a smaller space, where interpreters told them to turn over the cards they'd been given aboard the ship. Raisa had jammed Brina's card and her own deep into the pocket of her coat. Even though it was warm in the building and growing warmer by the minute, she didn't dare remove the coat. She saw how easy it would be for things to go astray in the throng. Now she dug out the cards and waited.

Brina began to moan, “I'm hungry!” Raisa shushed her with promises that they would have something good to eat soon, though she didn't believe it. And yet there was food somewhere. She caught the occasional whiff of cooking, mixed with the smells of sweat, disinfectant, and the sea.

She thanked God when it came time for her to turn in the two cards and the officials allowed her to take Brina with her. For all she knew they might have insisted that she and Brina go through the process separately. Together they filed along with the other passengers down a row of men in white coats all carrying stethoscopes, just like the one the ship's doctor had used.

The medical examination was short but dreadful. Raisa tried to stay calm for Brina's sake. She had no idea what each doctor was looking for, or if having the approval of steamship company doctors to leave Bremerhaven would be good enough to let her arrive in New York City. The overall noise of the hall was sometimes spiked by the sound of a woman's cry of distress, a man's raw howl of grief, a child's shriek of terror. Raisa could only imagine what was causing so much suffering.

Something's wrong and they're being sent back
, she thought while the doctor made her remove her kerchief and a nearby translator had her explain once again the reason for her shorn head. The bite of the steel delousing comb was nothing compared with the pain of apprehension.
What if he finds something wrong with me? I can't go back, not now! Especially not now. What will happen to Brina if they send me away?
She mumbled a prayer she remembered from Zusa's book and added her own words, begging God for help.

She was so wrapped up in her fearful thoughts that she was not paying attention to what was happening to the passengers ahead of her. Their sharp gasps and startled exclamations were nowhere near as loud as the more violent, terrifying cries from elsewhere in the processing area and failed to distract her from her worries. It was only the sound of the interpreter's voice that finally had the power to jerk her attention back to the moment. “Very good,” he said, a tight smile on his lips. “Now, there is one last thing. You'll have to hold your sister very still for this, you know. Can you do it?”

“She's my cousin,” Raisa said mechanically. “I can do whatever you need me to do for her.”

The interpreter's smile warmed slightly. “That's what we like to hear.” He turned to the next doctor in line and said something that got a satisfied nod in response. As the two girls approached the waiting doctor, Raisa saw that he was holding a coldly glittering instrument in his hand. It was a metal buttonhook, a device that looked much like the hooked needle Raisa used when she set aside her sewing in order to crochet shawls and stockings for the winter—although a buttonhook wasn't used for crochet work, but to make it easier to fasten shoes and boots that closed with a long row of tiny buttons up the side instead of laces.

The doctor's buttonhook wasn't used for that purpose at all.

Raisa gasped when the doctor rested the buttonhook against her left brow bone and skillfully turned her upper eyelid inside out over the rounded metal tip. Before she could react to the pain, the doctor had done the same to her lower left eyelid; then he gave her right eye the identical treatment. His deft, swift touch left her blinking and stunned while the translator told her, “That was excellent, miss. No trachoma. Now, hold the child, please.”

Raisa thought her heart would break when the doctor used that horrible buttonhook to check Brina's eyes. The little girl tried to squirm free, but Raisa used her left arm to keep Brina's body immobilized while her right held the back of the child's head steady. The doctor did his work with the same speed and expertise as before, though it took the translator several tries to make his verdict heard over Brina's outraged squalling.

“No trachoma, either. You can go ahead to the Registry Hall.”

That was easier said than done. Now Raisa had to carry two bags while at the same time holding on to a child who wanted nothing more than to run away from her. She didn't know what this “trachoma” thing might be, only that it was to blame for Brina's hysterical attempts to fight free of her grasp, all the while screaming for her mother.