But there’s no time to think of that. Someone gives me a push and tells me to climb aboard. How am I supposed to climb a mountain of pillows? By using Leyzer’s shoulders as a ladder!
Suddenly there’s such a weeping and a wailing that you might think the Temple had been destroyed. The loudest is my mother. She throws her arms around Pesye and says: “You’ve been a true sister to me. Truer than a sister!” Pesye doesn’t cry. Her big Adam’s apple just bobs in her throat and tears big as beans run down her fat cheeks.
Everyone is done kissing except Pinye. Watching Pinye kiss is better than going to the theater. Each kiss lands in the wrong place, that’s how nearsighted he is. If his lips don’t wind up in your beard or on your nose, his head bangs into yours. He can’t take a step without tripping. You could die laughing.
Praise God, we’re all in the wagon. I mean we’re on top of it. My mother, Brokheh, and Taybl are sitting on one mountain and Elye and Pinye are facing them on another. Leyzer and I are in the driver’s seat. Although my mother wanted me next to her, Elye said I’d be better off by the driver. You bet I am! I can see the whole world and the whole world sees me. Leyzer reaches for his whip. There’s a last round of good-byes. The women cry.
“Be well!”
“Have a good trip!”
“Write and tell us how you are!”
“The best of luck!”
“Don’t forget us!”
“A letter a week! Write at least once a week, for goodness’ sake!”
“Give our love to Moyshe, and Basye, and Meir, and Zlote, and Khaneh-Perl, and Soreh-Rokhl, and all their children!”
“We’ll be sure to! Take care! Be well!”
We all shout back from the wagon. We’re moving, I swear! Leyzer gives each of his eagles a crack of the whip. The wheels are turning. The wagon bumps and jolts. I jump with such joy I nearly fall off my seat. Something is tugging at my heart. I’m so happy I could sing. We’re off, off, off to America!
RUNNING THE BORDER
Traveling by train is a dream. Traveling by wagon wouldn’t be bad either if your ribs didn’t rattle so much. Leyzer’s eagles were really fast as lightning. By the time we reached the station we felt struck by it. No one could climb out under his own power.
I had the easiest time because I was next to the driver. Although the seat was so hard that all my bones ached, I jumped right down from it. That’s more than I can say for Elye, Brokheh, Pinye, Taybl, or my mother. The women were in a bad way. They had to be carried out one by one after unloading the linens. Leyzer did it himself.
He’s one mean cuss, Leyzer. Does he have a mouth! But he’s a good, faithful driver, even if he did throw us out of his wagon with all our things and leave us stranded in the station while he went off to look for a return fare.
Our first problem was the ticket agent. He made a fuss over our bundles. I mean it was more the pillows than the bundles. What was it to him how many we had? My mother tried talking to him nicely. She explained that we were going to America. The big oaf said that for all he cared, we could go somewhere else. I won’t repeat the word he used.
“The goy can be handled,” Elye said. “We’ll grease his palm.”
He said that to Pinye. Pinye is our leader. He’s our best brain and speaks Russian. He just happens to have a temper. So does Elye, but Pinye’s is hotter. He had a talk with the goy in Russian. In Jewish it went like this:
“Listen here, little man! A black year take you if we aren’t going to America with every last pillow and pillowcase. Here’s for a glass of vodka — and now shut your trap, you swine!”
Naturally, the goy didn’t want to. He called Pinye some names of his own. “Dog’s puss!” “Pig’s ear!” “Christ-killer!” “Jew’s ass!” We were afraid of a scene, even the police. My mother wrung her hands and said to Pinye:
“Who asked you to open your big mouth?”
“Relax,” Pinye said. “The goy will settle for an apology and half a ruble.”
And so he did. Both men apologized. Pinye kept talking a blue streak in Russian and the goy kept cursing like all get-out and carried our things into a big hall with high windows called the waiting room.
That’s when the real fun started. The goy said we wouldn’t be allowed on the train with so many pillows and rags. (He must have meant the quilts. I ask you: just because the lining is torn and a bit of padding is falling out, does that make a quilt a rag?) We had to talk to the stationmaster. Who did? Why, Pinye of course.
Pinye went with the goy to the stationmaster. I tagged along. With the stationmaster Pinye took a different tack. He waved his hands and tried to sound reasonable. I’ve never heard such crazy words in all my life. Columbus …Civilization …Alexander von Humboldt …Slonimski …Mathematics …I can’t even remember them all. Pinye must have won the argument, because the stationmaster didn’t answer back. A lot of good it did, though. We had to put our pillows in the baggage car and take a stub for them. My mother was beside herself. What were we going to sleep on?
My mother needn’t have worried. There was nowhere to sleep. There was nowhere even to sit. The car was so crowded you could hardly breathe. There were lots of passengers besides us, Jews and Christians, all fighting for a place. Because of the pillows we arrived at the last minute and barely found room on the floor for the women and bundles. My mother sat at one end of the car and Brokheh and Taybl at the other. They had to shout the whole length of it. That made everyone laugh. Elye and Pinye were left hanging in the air. Pinye is so blind that he kept bouncing off the other passengers.
I was fine. In fact, I was terrific. Despite the crush, I found a window to stand by. What didn’t I see through it! Houses, trees, people, fields, forests, all whizzing by. I can’t begin to describe it all. You should have seen that train fly! You should have heard those wheels turn! And the smoke! And the whistles! And the chug of the locomotive!
My mother was afraid I’d fall out the window. “Motl?” she kept screaming. “Motl!” A young toff with blue sunglasses made fun of her. “Motl?” he screamed in the same singsong. “Motl!” He had the Christians rolling in the aisles. The Jews pretended not to hear. It bothered my mother as much as last year’s snow. She only screamed “Motl? “Motl!” even louder. Then she wanted me to eat something. We had all kinds of good things: radishes and onions and garlic and cucumbers and hard-boiled eggs, a whole egg for each of us. I hadn’t feasted like that in ages.
The only spoiler was Pinye. Pinye had to stick up for the Jews. He didn’t like the Christians laughing at the way we ate garlic with our onions. He stood up straight and told the toff in Russian:
“I suppose eating pig is better!”
That made those Christians mad. One of them blew his stack. He hauled off and let loose with such an uppercut that Pinye’s head rang like a bell. Pinye isn’t the type to take that lying down. He threw two punches back. Being blind, he hit the wrong man. Luckily the conductor came along. What a scene! Everyone was shouting. The Jews blamed the Christians: a Christian had crushed a Jew’s toe with a suitcase. A Christian had thrown a Jew’s hat out the window. The Christians said it was a lie: the Jews were making it up. But the Jews had witnesses — Christian ones. One was even a priest. A priest, said the Jews, doesn’t lie. That’s only, said the Christians, because we had bribed him not to. The priest stood up and gave a speech.
Meanwhile a few more stations went by. Some passengers got off at each. The car began to empty out. Pretty soon our women were sitting on a bench with all their bundles just like princesses. The best seats were Elye’s and Pinye’s. We were having a fine old time when Taybl noticed that Pinye’s cheek was swollen. Pinye swore he didn’t feel a thing. That is, his cheek hurt but it was nothing. Pinye doesn’t like to talk about such things. He’d rather ask the other passengers where they’re going. Some said to America. America? A celebration!