“Are you sure they don’t do the opposite?” Pinye asked. Beeber blew his stack (he has a temper, Beeber does) and gave Pinye hell. Pinye, he said, is a wise guy. Wise guys don’t get far in America. Americans, Beeber said, don’t like monkey business. They say what they mean and mean what they say. A man’s word is sacred there. America is built on truth and honesty and justice and integrity and humanity and loyalty and compassion and …“You’re sure that’s all?” Pinye asked. That only made Beeber madder. It’s a shame the conversation was interrupted.
How come? Because someone came to tell us people were looking for us. Who can it be? Guests! Special guests! Yoyneh the bagel maker and his family have arrived. A new gangful! We go through the whole song-and-dance. First Brokheh kisses her parents. Then Elye kisses his in-laws. Then Pinye kisses his friend-in-laws. Then Beeber kisses them too. “Who’s this?” Yoyneh and his wife want to know. “I’m Beeber,” says Beeber. Pinye begins to laugh. My mother cries. Elye squirms. He glares at my mother and tugs his beard. But there’s nothing he can say. If you can’t spare a few tears for your in-laws, for whom can you?
“How did you run the border? Who stole your things and where?”
That’s our first question. They have a bunch of stories for us. But I don’t have the patience to listen. I go off to a corner with Alte.
Remember Alte? She still has two braids and looks like a bagel twist but she’s gotten older. I told her about Goldeleh, and about my friends Mendl and Big Motl, and about Ezrah and Fraulein Seitchik, and about the doctor who looks at your eyes. From there I went on to Vienna, and the Alliance, and Cracow and Lemberg, and running the border and saving our lives. I didn’t leave anything out.
Alte listened and told me her own story. Her father had been wanting to go to America for some time. Not her mother Riveleh, though. That is, it was Riveleh’s family that was against it. They said you had to slave in America and Riveleh wasn’t used to hard work. But after she and Yoyneh went bankrupt and their creditors started knocking on the door, there was nothing to do but sell everything and go.
There was one thing Riveleh refused to part with: a chemise Yoyneh had bought her back in the days when business was good. “What do you need a chemise for? Who wears them in America?” Yoyneh asked. “What do you mean, what do I need it for?” answered Riveleh. “For years I dreamed of a chemise, and now that I have one you want me to sell it?” Day and night that chemise was all they talked about. Riveleh’s family took her side. She and Yoyneh fought all the time. It almost led to a divorce.
Who won? Riveleh, of course. The chemise wasn’t sold. They packed it and took it to the border. Comes the border — no more chemise.
That’s what Alte told me. I didn’t care about the rest. Once I heard the chemise was gone, I lost interest. I took Alte for a walk around Antwerp. She wasn’t impressed. She had seen bigger cities, she said. I took her to the emigrant hotels and introduced her to my friends. That didn’t cut much ice either. She carries on like a grown-up, Alte does. She thinks a lot of herself.
Later that day we all walked to Ezrah, our gang and Yoyneh’s. When we got there we ran into Pesye’s gang. Goldeleh was there too. She wanted to make friends with Alte but Alte didn’t want to. Goldeleh asked me why Alte was so snooty. I told her it was because we were engaged at my brother’s wedding. Goldeleh turned red as fire. She slipped away and went to wipe her eyes.
Listen to our latest bad luck. We took my mother to the doctor. He looked at her eyes and said nothing. He just put another slip of paper in an envelope. We took it to Ezrah. Fraulein Seitchik was the only one there. She gave me a big smile (she always does when she sees me) but stopped smiling the minute she opened the envelope. “How are you today?” my mother asked. “How should I be, meine Frau?” said Fraulein Seitchik. “This isn’t good. The doctor says you can’t go to America.”
Brokheh, as you know, likes to faint. Down she went. Elye’s face didn’t have a drop of blood in it. My mother turned to stone. She couldn’t even cry. Fraulein Seitchik went to get some water. She revived Brokheh, comforted Elye, consoled my mother, and told us to come back the next day.
All the way to our hotel Elye lectured my mother. How many times had he told her not to cry! She couldn’t answer him. She just looked at the sky and said: “Dear God, do me and my children a favor and take me from this world right now!” Pinye claimed it was all that lying Beeber’s fault. We snapped at each other all day.
In the morning we went back to Ezrah. We were advised to go to London. In London my mother’s eyes might be cleared — if not for America, at least for Canada.
Where was Canada? No one knew. Someone said it was even farther than America. Elye and Pinye began to fight. “Pinye!” Elye said. “Where is this Canada? I thought you were a geographer.” Pinye said Canada was in Canada. To be exact, it was in America. That is, Canada and America were the same place, with a difference. “That makes no sense,” Elye said. “Sense or not, it’s a fact,” answered Pinye.
Pesye, Moyshe, and their gang were sailing for America. We went to see them off at the ship. Whew, what a scene! Men, women, children, bundles, pillows, sacks of linen, people running, yelling, sweating, eating, swearing! Suddenly, there’s a noise like some huge animal’s: HOOOOOOOOOOO!
That’s the signal that the ship is leaving. Everyone is hugging, kissing, crying — a regular opera. They’re all saying good-bye and so are we. We kiss Pesye’s whole gang. Pesye tells my mother not to worry. They’ll soon see each other in America. My mother makes a gesture with her hand and fights her tears. Lately she’s been crying less. She’s been taking a pill against it.
All the passengers are aboard. We’re left behind on the pier. Am I jealous of Bumpy! Just the other day the shoe was on the other foot. There he is on deck with his torn cap, sticking his tongue out at me. That’s his way of saying he’ll be in America before me. I give him the finger to hide how low I feel. That means: “Bumpy! You should break all your bones if I’m not in America before you know it!”
Honestly, don’t worry. I’ll get there soon enough.
THE GANG BREAKS UP
Day by day the crowds of emigrants get smaller. Antwerp is emptying out. Every Saturday a new shipload sails for America. My friend Big Motl is gone too. I don’t know what it was about him that Elye didn’t like. I guess it started with Brokheh.
Brokheh has a way of overhearing things, especially when they’re funny. She thinks everyone’s laughter is her business. You can be laughing at Pinye for stuffing his pockets with candies or at Beeber for the whoppers he tells — Brokheh is sure the joke is on her or her family.
Mind you, she was right this time. We put on a play about Riveleh and her chemise.
One day my mother had enough. “Oy, in-law!” she said to Riveleh. “Imagine if I talked about my stolen linens as much as you do about your chemise.”
“As if there’s any comparison,” Riveleh answered in her gruff voice.
“I suppose you think I stole them myself,” says my mother.
“How should I know?” Riveleh says. “I never slept on them.”
“In-law!” my mother says. “What kind of talk is that?”
“As you say good morning to me,” says Riveleh, “so I’ll say good evening to you.”