Touched by Fire (14 page)

At last, the longest morning of my life comes to an end. The bell rings for the lunch break. Gratefully, I stand up and stretch. My wrists ache, my back is stiff, and there’s a ringing in my ears from the hum of the machines. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that Malka and I have found each other again.

In the dressing room, we fall into each other’s arms, laughing and crying with happiness. Girls mill round us, not taking any notice. Lockers open and close. Everyone is anxious to make the most of the only break of the day.

Beckie tells us not to waste precious time. We hurry into the elevator. Rosie is there before us, with some girls from the ninth floor, talking to Gaspar Mortillalo, the second elevator operator.

“Did it go well, Rosie?” I ask her.

“I think so. You were right about the buttonhole machine, Beckie. I felt sorry for the boy in charge of it. You look as if something wonderful has happened, Miriam. Tell me!”

The moment the elevator stops and we scramble out, Malka and I explain the miracle of finding each other.

Beckie says, “Are we going to live on air? I am starving. Come on, Mrs. Lena Goldman’s café is just a short way up Greene Street. Several of the girls go there for lunch.”

Malka says, “I brought a sandwich, but I’ll get a glass of tea.”

We don’t stop talking, except to tell Mrs. Goldman that the three of us will have her lunch special of tea and coffee cake for a nickel. We settle into a booth for four. There are menu items chalked up on a board over the till, and red checked curtains at the window. I have never eaten in a café before. But I don’t feel like a greenhorn, I’m too happy.

“Miriam, tell me about the family,” Malka says. “Are you all in New York now?”

“Only Papa and me, the others will come later. My little sister, Devora, is only two, and not strong enough for the voyage yet. I came on ahead.”

“A new sister, how lovely!” Malka says. “You are brave to come here alone, Miriam. You were always braver than me.” I blush at the compliment.

“Tell me about your family,” I say.

“Mother does fine laundry for wealthy customers. Esther,
my sister, is married. She has a baby boy, Abbie, short for Abraham. Do you remember my brother, Reuven? He is studying at night classes to become a waiter. During the day, he delivers for Katz’s Delicatessen, at Ludlow and East Houston.”

“We should all go there after work, one day, don’t you think, girls?” Beckie says.

Rosie and I nod – our mouths are too full of cake to speak.

“Miriam, I want to hear about that rascal Yuri,” Malka says.

“He is as stubborn as ever, I’m afraid. When we have more time, I’ll tell you all about him. For now, it’s enough for you to know that he ran away the night before we left for America! I want to hear how long you’ve been in New York and why you didn’t tell me you were going away!” I say.

“Miriam, I wanted to tell you, but Papa made me promise not to say a word. We got out of Russia and crossed the border into Poland, hidden under potato sacks. It was many days before we arrived in Bremen. After a long wait, when we were inspected from head to toe, we were finally allowed to board the ship. It was a horrible journey. I’ll never set foot on another ship as long as I live!

“Beckie and I started work almost at the same time, last year. Up till then, I helped Mama with the laundry and did mending. Mr. Blanck’s wife, Bertha, sends Mama her lingerie! I wonder what she’d say if she knew one of the
machinists in her husband’s factory knows the color of her petticoats!” We can’t stop laughing.

Beckie says, “We’ve been sitting next to each other for a year, Malka. I thought I knew all about you. I can’t get over you two meeting like this.”

Malka says, “It still seems like a dream. Tell me how long you’ve been in New York, Miriam.”

“I arrived only a week ago. It seems longer – so much has happened. Papa has been here for two years. We lived in Berlin after we left Kiev. Our journey here wasn’t too bad. Rosie and I met in Hamburg and became friends. Now she boards with us. It is a small world – we even live in the same house as Beckie on Clinton Street! Papa said yesterday that every time he goes to play chess or walks to the
chazir-mark
, he meets someone he knows from Kiev!”

Rosie says, “It is, how you say?
Destino
, fate. It is meant to be that we four should be together!”

Beckie looks up at the clock above the till. “If we don’t hurry back, it will be ‘fate’ to be docked pay for being late!”

We laugh some more, eat the last crumbs of the delicious cake, pay, and make our way back to work.

“It’s not fair, Miriam, you are still taller than me,” Malka says.

“And you are as skinny as ever! Do you remember how we used to pester Papa to measure us, to see who was the tallest? You have hardly mentioned your father, Malka. How is he?”

“Papa died of tuberculosis two years ago, Miriam. Mama thinks he must have caught it on the ship. The men’s quarters were very crowded and dirty, he told us.”

“I am so sorry, Malka.” I wish, now, that I had not asked.

We get back to work just before the bell goes. The afternoon seems endless. Floor girls run back and forth. Mr. Bernstein walks round the tables making sure the work is going smoothly, and I long to get up and stretch. My back is not used to being hunched over a sewing machine all day. There is no Mama or Bubbe to say, “Time for a glass of tea.”

Malka says, “Turn your head for a second, Miriam. Mr. Blanck is checking the Washington Place door, again.” I glance behind me but don’t manage to get a good look at the boss.

A supervisor appears. She says, “Keep your eyes on your work.”

Finally, the quitting bell rings. I feel as if I’ve been sitting crouched over a table for a week! We hurry to put on our coats. There is already a lineup to get through the partition. I hate the idea of having my pocketbook searched.

“You’ll get used to it, Miriam,” Beckie says. I suppose so. I manage to smile and say good night to Mr. Wexler. What a relief to get down to Greene Street. I’m glad of the walk, after a long day of sitting down. Malka lives on Rivington Street, so we can walk part of the way home with her. We arrange to meet again, next morning. I’m too excited, now,
to feel tired and can’t wait to go home and tell Papa everything that has happened today.

I decide to bring Malka my outgrown boots that Zayde made for me. They still look good as new. She is so tiny, they’ll fit her beautifully. Her boots look like mine did at the end of the voyage. And although I polished the salt stains away, I badly need some new ones. Mama used to give my outgrown clothes to Malka’s mother for her, when we were small.

Rosie and I cook supper together, and it is almost ready when Papa comes home from work.

“Well,” he says, “how did you make out? Have they hired both of you?”

“Yes, Papa, and we are each to be paid nine dollars a week!” He congratulates us and says how proud he is of us. Then I tell him about Malka. He is pleased that the Pinskis are safe in America.

“I grieve for Mrs. Pinski and the children. It is so sad to lose a father. Emanuel was a fine man,” Papa says. “How tragic to come such a long way and then to die!” He sighs.

“So, are you going to tell me about the factory and what work you are doing?” Papa says.

“I’m a cuff setter on the eighth floor, Papa. It is a big square space, with high ceilings and huge windows. You never told me that the sewing machine can make thousands of stitches a minute. At first, I was scared I’d do something wrong. By the afternoon, I got used to it. What I really don’t
like is having my pocketbook searched, as though they suspect me of being a thief. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that. Or the time it takes to get out of the building at the end of the day. The door to leave the shop floor is too narrow to allow more than one of us to pass through. But take no notice of my complaints, Papa. I know we are lucky to work at the ‘Triangle.’ I do like it, and it is fun working with so many girls together.”

“Miriam, searching employees is the practice everywhere. It prevents dishonest workers – and there are always some – from stealing from the company. Rosie, are you on the same floor as Miriam?”

“No, Mr. Markov, I work on the ninth floor, hemming. The sewing tables and chairs are so close together on my floor, we almost have to take turns to get up and sit down. There are two hundred and forty machines. All the tables are in rows, from one end of the room to the other. I have some Italian girls at my table, and two of them are from Cherry Street, where my brother lives.”

“You are lucky girls,” Papa says. “The Asch Building is a new skyscraper, built of steel and concrete. I have often walked by it. A fine factory, I think. Not everything can be perfect, but it sounds as if you will do very well.”

On Saturday, we all receive our paychecks. Papa suggests that Rosie pays three dollars and fifty cents a week for her board.

“Thank you so much, Mr. Markov,” Rosie says. “I will be able to send money home to my parents and brothers and still have some over for myself.” She starts to make her wonderful tomato sauce for supper.

Papa says, “You may keep two dollars for yourself too, Miriam. That is fair. Some you use for housekeeping, some you save for tickets for the family to join us, and the rest is for you.”

“Thank you, Papa.” I can’t believe it. I have never had money of my own before. I can save up for a new shirtwaist or replace my boots. I can take classes in typing; I can go to the movies. Anything is possible in America!

A
whole year has gone by. Arm in arm, Rosie and I set off for work, each of us lost in our own thoughts. My dream will soon come true. Mama has written that Devora is strong enough to travel. They hope to join us in June. After all this time in America without them, I have started to mark off the days until they arrive.

Bubbe and Zayde have decided to stay behind. Mama wrote us that they feel too old to cross the ocean, to start over again in a new country. I can’t imagine our family without them. Papa comforts me. He thinks they might change their minds. He believes all the “nonsense” of Yuri’s rejection will be forgotten by the authorities in a year or two. I hope he is right.

Rosie is wearing a beautiful spring hat today, trimmed with a small posy of artificial daisies and violets. I have on
my new, cream-colored shirtwaist. For my fifteenth birthday, Papa gave me a lovely, lightweight length of fabric and helped me make it up in the latest style. The material is so delicate, I did not trust myself to cut it. I made it with full sleeves, edging the cuffs and collar and even the buttonholes with scallops of lace.

Beckie has to stay home today. Two days ago, she pierced her finger on a needle. The wound became infected. Yesterday she came in to work, so as not to miss getting paid. Finally, her mother put her foot down and made her stay home. It is a shame because Saturday is the best day of the week. Not only is it payday, but it is a short workday. We, the Four Fates as Beckie calls us, always have a treat planned.

Sometimes we stroll in Washington Square Park, or walk along Grand Street and look at the shops. Maybe we stop for an ice-cream soda, or buy a ribbon. Best of all is when we promenade the mile across the Brooklyn Bridge, which spans the East River. We can cross in thirty minutes, if we don’t stop too often. It’s a wonderful way to see New York – to watch people from different parts of the city, rich and poor, strolling along together.

Malka waits for us at the corner of Rivington Street, as she does every morning. For some reason, today when I see her waiting, I breathe a sigh of relief. I think Mama’s letter must have reminded me of that morning in Kiev,
when Malka and her family just vanished overnight. Malka is wearing Zayde’s boots again today. I can’t believe that they still fit her.

We’ve arranged to go to Katz’s Delicatessen for a soda after work. Malka’s brother, Reuven, waits on tables there now. He has eyes only for Beckie and will be disappointed that she’s not there. I smile at Rosie, and she smiles back, but I can tell she’s miles away.

A few weeks ago, her brother, Bruno, picked her up to come to his house for supper. He and Clara have a baby boy. It is hard to imagine Rosie as an aunt! She says that she and Clara have declared a truce, though they will never be friends. At least they are speaking! Bruno’s friend Marco was there for supper, too, and walked Rosie home. Since then, they have been out walking twice!

Rosie sighs happily. “I can smell spring in the air. Isn’t it a perfect day?”

She must be in love because not a whisper of a breeze gets between our tenement buildings. And you have to crane your neck to catch a glimpse of a clear sky. I know what she means though – I feel spring too.

Malka says, “One day, I’m going to live in a house with big windows. I’ll sleep in a room where the sun wakes me up in the morning, and I can smell grass and trees. I’ll open the window wide and look up and see the sky, as blue as the ocean.

“I have a great idea,” she continues. “Why don’t we go to Coney Island, one Sunday, and walk along the boardwalk and by the beach? There’s a trolley that goes all the way there.” A gust of wind makes us shiver in our spring finery. Rosie clutches her hat. “Maybe we’d better wait a couple of weeks, till mid-April, when it’s warmer,” Malka says.