Threads and Flames (6 page)

But by the fourth morning, Raisa suddenly found herself opening up to Zusa, pouring out the whole story of Henda's escape to America and all that had come after. She didn't know why she did it, only that it somehow felt right.
You're
not
a stranger,
Raisa thought, looking into Zusa's eyes.
You're my friend.

“It's been four years that Henda and I have been apart,” she said while Zusa listened attentively. “Even when she wrote to say she was sick, it wasn't so bad because we could pray that she'd get better, and be happy when her next letter told us she was healthy again. The only thing I regret is ...” She folded her hands over the gold brooch with its missing pearl, pinned carefully to the bosom of her dress. “Don't laugh at me, Zusa, but I wish—I wish Henda could have written to
me,
sometimes. Just to me. It was hard, having to get all our news about her from Reb Avner for four whole years.”

Zusa gave Raisa a hug. “Who's laughing?
I
wish the two of us had come from the same shtetl. Then I could've fixed that stupid Nathan so he wouldn't
dare
grab someone else's mail!”

“Well, even if I had gotten letters straight from my sister, I still couldn't have read them on my own.” Confessing that made Raisa's cheeks turn pink.

“You didn't learn how to read?” Zusa tilted her head to one side and gave Raisa a curious look. It made her blush even more.

“A little. Not very well. Not like you. When we first met and you read my papers so easily
and
you could speak German to that crewman, that was wonderful!”

“Oh, that.” Zusa waved away all of Raisa's admiration. “My father learned German in the horse-trading business. He taught it to me so we could pretend we had secrets we were keeping from Mama.” Her smile faded. “I miss him.”

“Was it hard, learning another language?” Raisa asked.

“I don't know how hard it was,” Zusa answered. “I was so young when he started talking to me in German, I just picked it up, the same way I learned to speak Yiddish and Polish.”

“I hope it won't be too hard for me.”

“You want me to teach you German?” Zusa seemed surprised.

Raisa shook her head. “English.”

“That I can't do,” Zusa said. “But I wouldn't worry about it. It's not as if we'll
really
need it. Where you'll be living, you won't hear a single word of English for weeks at a time! It'll be like you never left the shtetl.”

“But what if Henda's living somewhere else?”

Zusa snorted. “
No one
lives anywhere else. None of our people, anyway. Trust me, Mama told me exactly how it is over there. We live in one part of the city, the Italians in another, and it's the same for everyone else—the Irish, the Germans, even the Chinese. Just think of it, Raisa—we'll get to see real Chinese people! Isn't that exciting?”

“I suppose so.” Raisa wasn't convinced, but she couldn't argue with Zusa's enthusiasm. “But—but won't
anyone
speak English?”

“Don't be silly, of course they will! And before too long, you'll pick up enough words to get by. But it's nothing you need to worry about learning
now.
”

Raisa had her doubts about that. She thought about Zusa and her father using German as their “secret” language.
I
do
need to learn English,
she thought.
I need to be able to get along wherever I go in this new land. If I can't understand the language, it's like being trapped behind a locked door.

“
Now
what's bothering you?” Zusa's question broke into Raisa's thoughts. “You've got such a serious look on your face, you must be solving the whole world's problems!”

“Nothing that big,” Raisa said. “Just mine. Zusa, I wonder . . . could you help me learn to read?”

“Read? Of course! Yiddish? German? Polish? You pick one, and I'll see what I can do for you before we make port. We don't have that much time.”

“Just Yiddish.” Raisa squeezed her friend's hand. “For now.”

 

 

Raisa's reading lessons kept her occupied, though she was often frustrated. Because reading came easily to Zusa, she couldn't seem to grasp that it was a struggle for Raisa to remember the letters and turn them into words, sentences, and thoughts. Most of the time, Zusa lost her patience and read the lessons out loud for her, leaving Raisa to repeat things she didn't fully understand. After three days of this, she wasn't becoming a reader, just a very well-trained parrot.

The only bright spot in the midst of so much discouragement was the fact that Zusa had two different books to bring to the lessons. One was a women's prayer book, the other a novel called
The Wishing-Ring,
written by a man who went by the name of Mendele Mokher Sefarim, which meant
Mendel the little bookseller
. Raisa did her best to appreciate the lessons taken from the women's siddur, but she couldn't help sharing Zusa's contempt when she explained why it was written in Yiddish rather than Hebrew: “They don't think we're scholarly enough to master Hebrew, like the boys. Ha! I remember some of the yeshiva students back home. They didn't have the brains to know which end of the goat gives milk! But
we're
the ones who aren't smart enough to learn Hebrew?” She made a disgusted sound.

It was hard enough reading the prayers without carrying so much resentment as well. Whenever her lessons came from the women's siddur, they ended in failure. It was a different story when Zusa tried to help her get through
The Wishing-Ring.
Though the words still came to her with difficulty, Raisa was eager to do better. There were even times when she stopped Zusa from taking over and doing the reading for her.

“But you're struggling!” Zusa objected. “Why can't I tell you what it says? You never mind that when we're using the prayer book.”

“I—I don't know why this is different, exactly,” Raisa admitted. “I just know I'm enjoying the story, and you say he's written other books. Maybe one day I'll be able to find one, and when that happens, I'll need to be able to read it on my own.”

“Suit yourself,” Zusa said. “Keep trying. But remember, it's only a nine-day voyage.”

 

 

On the seventh day of the crossing, the sea grew rough and any hope of completing the journey in nine days sank under the wild waves. Raisa woke up to the violent pitch and roll of the ship and sounds of loud moaning from her fellow passengers. A strong, sour stink was in the air, almost overwhelming the usual smell of haphazardly washed bodies and breakfast oatmeal. Raisa hooked her hands on the edge of her bunk and leaned over to see if Zusa was awake, too.

Zusa was lying on her side, reading the Sefarim novel.
She makes it look so easy!
Raisa thought with a twinge of envy.
Will it ever be that easy for me?

Zusa put down the book and greeted her friend happily. “Well, good morning! How are you? Not seasick?”

“No. And you?”

“Not a bit.” She sat up and swung her feet to the floor. “I didn't know I had such a strong stomach.”

“I wish mine were stronger,” Raisa said, pulling back from the edge of the bunk and resting her chin on her hands. “I don't mind the way the ship's moving, but this stench!”

“They can't help throwing up.”

“I know, and I'm sorry they're suffering. I wish there was something I could do for them. Do you think the ship's doctor has anything to cure seasickness?”

“If he does, he's saving it for the rich folk. Have you
seen
the look on his face when he handles our examinations? I heard he's supposed to look us over daily, but he can't stand the sight of us. No wonder he skips days, or sends an underling and hopes he'll get away with it! No, we'll be lucky if the crew comes down here to clean up the mess more than once.”

“Do you think it's safe to go up onto the open deck?” Raisa asked, climbing down from her berth. “I want some fresh air.”

“No harm in trying,” Zusa replied, standing up and starting to dress. “It might be raining, but a little water won't hurt us. What's the worst that can happen?”

The line for the toilets that morning was longer than usual, but the line for breakfast was radically shorter. The crewman dishing out ladlefuls of gluey oatmeal encouraged them to come back for seconds. “Maybe third helpings, too,” he said. “Don't hesitate; there'll be plenty.”

The girls ate in the company of those few people who weren't suffering from the bad weather. Everyone spoke in hushed voices, not wanting to disturb the sick. Raisa couldn't help feeling guilty for being well in the midst of so much suffering. She and Zusa gobbled breakfast and quickly scrubbed and stowed their mess kits, eager to escape.

They were heading for the gangway to the upper decks when the ship gave a crazy lurch, sending them staggering sideways. Raisa was fighting for her balance when something small and solid rammed her hip, knocking her off her feet and into Zusa. They fell together, and in the next breath so did the little girl who'd caused the collision. She sprawled across Raisa's lap, hands splayed, arms outstretched helplessly, as two meal buckets filled with oatmeal flew from her grasp. They hit the floor with a dull crash and rolled away, splattering globs of cereal everywhere. The little girl gaped, then screwed up her face and let out a wail of total misery.

“Oh, you poor thing!” Raisa exclaimed, sitting up and brushing long strands of tangled honey-blonde hair out of the child's face. “Don't cry; there's plenty of cereal today. We'll help you get some more.” She stood and offered her hand. “I'm Raisa. Who are you?”

The little girl let herself be helped up, her small, dirty fingers tightening on Raisa's hand like the claws of a tiny bird. “Brina,” she said in a whisper.

Zusa got up and shook out her skirt, chuckling. “And how old are you, little kitten?” Instead of answering the question, Brina grabbed Raisa's dress with both hands and buried her face in the cloth. This made Zusa laugh louder. “Well, I can see who
her
favorite is!”

Together the girls took care of cleaning and refilling Brina's meal pails. With some gentle coaxing, Raisa got the shy child to lead them back to her bunk, while Zusa followed them, carrying breakfast. It took Brina several false starts before she found the right path. “No wonder,” Raisa murmured in her friend's ear. “Can you imagine how confusing this place must be for such a little one?”

“
I
can't imagine the sort of parent who'd send a child this young to fetch breakfast,” Zusa hissed back. “Mothers are supposed to take care of children, not the other way around!”

“Maybe she had a good reason,” Raisa said. “Maybe she's taking care of her other children. Maybe she's got a baby to nurse.”

“Maybe she's just lazy,” Zusa concluded.

Brina stopped beside a bunk that was tucked away in one of the darkest corners of the hold. The upper berth was unoccupied, as were the bunks nearby. The little girl crouched down and reached one hand into the shadows. “Mama? Breakfast, Mama.”

Someone groaned in the darkness. Raisa bent down to peer at the woman, who turned over slowly on the crackling burlap mattress, her body huddled under an oversize black wool coat even though the ship's steerage section was so warm. The woman's thin lips parted with a sigh.

“Brina?” she said, her voice trembling. “Come to Mama, my darling.” The little girl obeyed, creeping into the bunk and her mother's outstretched arms. Only then did the woman speak to Raisa and Zusa. “Thank you for bringing her back. She was gone so long, I was afraid that ...” She bit her lip. “I'm sorry. I know she shouldn't be left to run around the ship on her own—she's not even five years old yet. But I'm—I'm so tired. That's all. I'm in good health, but the trip to Bremerhaven, and no one willing to help me with all of our things, and so many stairs to climb once we were on board!”

“And then this bad weather,” Raisa added, patting the woman's shoulder. “You're not the only person who can't be up and about today.”

“I hope you'll be able to eat a little something,” Zusa put in, setting down the pails. “It might settle your stomach.”

“I'll try,” the woman said, but she made no move to let go of her child or to reach for the pail full of oatmeal.

“It'll be easier if we look after Brina for you,” Raisa volunteered. “We can give her her breakfast over by our bunks and take care of her for the rest of the day.”

The woman's arms closed more tightly around her daughter. “Oh, I couldn't! She'd be too much trouble for you, Miss—Miss—”

“I'm Raisa and this is Zusa. She won't be any trouble at all. In fact”—she offered the weary mother a reassuring smile—“taking care of her will keep
us
out of trouble. Honestly, you'd be doing us a favor.”

“This is so kind of you.” Brina's mother held her child close and spoke to her. “Will you go with them, sweetheart? You'll have fun.” Brina looked from her mother's pale face to Raisa and Zusa, then gave the slightest nod. “That's my good angel.” Her mother urged her gently out of the bunk. “Now, you behave nicely while you're with them and do as they say. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Mama,” Brina said, giving her mother one more hug before offering her tiny hand to Raisa.

The girls took Brina's meal pail with them and went back to their bunks. Brina had a healthy appetite and made short work of the oatmeal. The rest of the day was spent playing games, singing songs, and sharing stories. Brina's eyes sparkled with joy, though Raisa couldn't help but notice the faint shadow of fear lingering on the child's face.