Ice Cream Town Page 2

  “It is very good,” he said.

  The girl smiled. “Mmmm.” She rubbed her stomach.

  If this is what food in America is like, Sammy thought as he left the dining hall, I am going to be very happy and very fat!

  When he entered the sleeping quarters, Sammy could not believe his eyes. The sleeping room was a long area with two rows of bunk beds. The whole area was roofed over with heavy wire. They were in a huge cage!

  “In Poland, we kept chickens in cages—not people,” he said to a woman in a white uniform.

  “It is for your own protection,” the woman answered.

  “Protection?” Sammy punched the air with his fists. “The only people who would steal from us are the other immigrants, and they are in the same cage!”

  Sammy was assigned a top bunk.

  Sammy climbed up, sat on his bed, and put his head in his hands. Suddenly, he felt very alone. A woman handed him five blankets and explained that he was to spread two on the wire bedsprings and use the other three as covers. Before bedtime, another lady passed down the aisle between the beds and gave everyone a cake of soap and two paper towels. She said they could wash in the lavatory that opened directly into the sleeping area.

  Sammy took the soap and towel and walked to the lavatory. He stared at the row of urinals. It was a great improvement over the slop pot on the ship. The clean showers seemed like a miracle. Stripping off his clothes, he moved under a spigot and turned the water on full blast. Cool spray washed away the dust and dirt of the trip. He lathered his chest, legs and hair, then threw back his head and let the water run over his face.

  A sudden poke to his chest sent him skittering against the wall.

  “Hey!” he shouted.

  A second blow caught him in the stomach.

  “Look, Peter. See what we have here. It’s the Jew-boy.”

  The second boy grabbed a handful of Sammy’s hair. “We don’t like Jew-boys, do we, Ivan?”

  Soap stung Sammy’s eyes so he couldn’t see. His head hurt where Peter had banged it against the wall. He swung wildly, but his blows missed his attackers.

  “Look at him, trying to hit us,” Peter laughed. Everyone knows Jew-boys can’t fight.”

  “We can’t, huh?”

  Sammy recognized Max’s snarl, followed by a cracking sound as his friend’s fist smashed into Peter’s jaw.

  “Come on, Sammy. Let’s teach these two bullies a lesson.”

  Sammy grabbed his towel, rubbed the soap out of his eyes and swung at Ivan, who was trying to separate Max and Peter. Ivan spun around, slipped, and crashed to the floor.

  “That’s enough, you hooligans.” A man in a uniform grasped Peter and Max by their collars and pulled them apart. “This is no way to get yourselves into America,” he said. He reached over and turned off the shower. “Now, go to your bunks. If I see you bums fighting again, I’ll send the lot of you back where you came from.”

  “I thought we left their kind in Poland,” said Sammy, as he and Max walked to the dining hall the next morning.

  “Guess not.” Max scowled. “It looks like things won’t be any better in New York, after all.”

  “What are you doing here, anyway? I thought you were already in New York,” said Sammy.

  “They’re keeping us on Ellis Island until my uncle comes to marry my mother,” Max said. He was quiet for a minute. Then he blurted out, “She doesn’t want to marry Uncle Morris. But she has to.”

  Sammy’s eyes widened in surprise. “Why?”

  “Mama says that it’s a Jewish law. If a man dies and he has a brother who is not married, the brother has to marry the man’s widow.” Max spat out the words as if they tasted bad.

  “And the Americans will only let us in once Mama is married. Every day there are weddings on Ellis Island between women like my mother and the men they’ve come to marry,” Max said. “The Americans have so many rules.”

  “I know,” Sammy sighed. “Malka is in the hospital because of their rules.”

  Max stopped. “Sammy, why is Malka in the hospital?”

  “She coughed during the medical exam. It was just a cough, Max.”

  Max clapped a hand on Sammy’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Sammy. Don’t worry. I’m sure Malka will be well. At least you have your father waiting for you when you leave Ellis Island.”

  Sammy whirled around to face his friend. “My father is waiting, but I don’t know him any better than you know your uncle. He was living in America while we were in Poland. What kind of father is he to leave us there?”

  “Lots of fathers did that,” Max said. “Remember, he has brought you here now. Once you see him, it will be good.”

  Sammy hoped Max was right. He was nervous about meeting this man he could barely picture. What he did recall made him feel angry. How could his father have come to America and left them behind?

  The boys continued in silence until they reached the dining hall. As they entered the bright room with its long tables, Sammy felt the usual surge of anticipation. What would he eat for his first American breakfast?

  “How long will you stay here?” Sammy asked as they drank milk and ate bread and hard-boiled eggs.

  If Max were with him, he figured, the wait wouldn’t be too bad. Max came from a village near Sammy’s town. Because they were both Polish and spoke Yiddish, the boys had instantly felt like brothers.

  Max shrugged. “We will stay until my uncle comes and marries my mother.”

  And we will stay until Malka is well, Sammy thought. Or until the Americans tell her she is too sick to enter, and they put us on a ship back to Poland.

  That night, before he went to the cage, Sammy looked across the water at the lights of New York. They twinkled like stars. He could hardly wait to explore the magic they promised in that new world across the water. Sammy looked up at the sky. He prayed that the doctors would let them into America.

  “If they try to send me back to Poland,” he vowed, “I am going to jump into the water and swim all the way to New York.”

  CHAPTER 3

  The Wait Is Over

  Three days after Sammy found Max, his mother got married. Her new husband was a short man with wisps of gray hair sticking out from his head, little black eyes, and a stern expression. Max did not seem happy with his new father.

  As they boarded the ferry for New York, Max called out, “Come soon! I’ll need a friend!” But how, Sammy wondered, would he ever find Max in such a big place?

  Sammy sat on the dock watching the ferry get smaller and smaller. A wind blew up, whipping the water into foamy whitecaps that lapped against the shore. On the ship, he had been crowded in with other people. In the sleeping room, there were always children playing games, babies crying, and women gossiping in different languages. But sitting on the dock, staring across the water at the stick towers of New York, he felt like everyone in the world had a place to belong except him.

  A seagull swooped overhead and landed on a rock in front of Sammy. Cocking its head, it stared at him with a beady yellow eye. Sammy reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of bread that he had saved from breakfast.

  “Here, little bird,” he cooed.

  He thought of Mrs. Kowalski’s sausage and wondered if the fish had eaten it when it fell into the water. He had not completely lied to Malka. He had seen a seagull dive in after it.

  The bird squawked, and Sammy stretched his arm out farther.

  “Come on. Take it.” The seagull fanned its wings, rose in the air, and then swooped down and snatched the bread from Sammy’s hand. Its beak scratched his skin.

  Sammy jumped back, lost his balance, and fell with a splash into the water.

  His head went under.

  He kicked and waggled his arms, trying to swim to the surface, but the weight of his shoes and jacket dragged him down. His eyes stung and he couldn’t breathe.

  I’m not going to drown at Ellis Island, without ever getting to New York, he screamed in his head. Green bubbles
danced before his eyes.

  Then his foot touched a rock. Sammy kicked hard and shot up to the surface just as a pair of arms reached down to pull him out. Sammy looked up into Malka’s frightened brown eyes. Seawater streamed from his clothes, and when he lifted his feet, his boots felt as heavy as iron.

  “Don’t we have enough trouble without you almost drowning?” Malka scolded as he scrambled onto the dock.

  Sammy stared at her. “How did you get out of the hospital?”

  “The doctors decided that my cough is left over from the influenza, and I don’t have consumption.” She looked at Sammy and shook her head. “Why are you always in trouble? Just look at your clothes. What will you wear when Papa comes tomorrow to take us to New York?”

  “My clothes will dry, Malka. Besides, I can wear my other—” Sammy stopped and rubbed the saltwater from his eyes. “Tomorrow? Papa is coming to take us home?”

  “Yes.” Malka moved away from him. “Sammy, you’re dripping all over me.” She was wearing her good red skirt—the one she had kept packed on the journey.

  “I’m…I’m sorry.” Sammy’s teeth chattered.

  Malka inspected her skirt. “You’re lucky. It will dry. But look at you. You are soaked. You’ll catch pneumonia, and then we will never get off this island.”

  She took his arm and marched him toward the sleeping quarters. Suddenly she stopped and turned to face him. “Sammy. Isn’t it wonderful?” She raised her arms over her head and twirled around so her skirt swished in red circles around her ankles. “We really are going to America.”

  His sister was pretty when she was happy. Her cheeks were rosy; the flecks in her eyes sparkled like gold dust. Sammy caught her excitement. He felt as if a heavy weight had fallen from his shoulders. Then he remembered what it was like before Papa left, when they had all been together.

  He pictured Mama. Her hands had always been in motion—kneading dough for bread, sewing clothes, and, at the start of Shabbos on Friday nights, blessing the Sabbath candles. Did Papa know about the soldiers who had marched into their village? Or about the times Sammy had been so hungry that he had gone to every house in the village singing for crusts of bread? Since that time, Sammy had refused to sing.

  “Malka, why didn’t Papa take us with him when he came to America?”

  His sister bent down and cupped his face in her hands. “Sammy, Papa came here in 1913 to find work and a place for us to live. He could not afford to bring the whole family. He even lived with Mama’s sister Pearl so he could save money to send for us. Then the war started and we couldn’t get out of Poland. The war lasted five years, and then Mama was sick. So it was another year before we could travel. Remember that. It is just the way things happened.”

  Malka straightened. “Now, go get dry before you become sick. Besides, you don’t want to miss dinner.”

  Food. Malka certainly knew how to cheer him up.

  “Do you think they’ll have ice cream tonight?” Jell-O wasn’t his only delight on Ellis Island. Three days ago, they had been served a dessert called vanilla ice cream. It had been so cold and creamy in his mouth that Sammy decided, then and there, that it was the best food in the entire world. All his life, Sammy had heard that the streets of America were paved with gold.

  Personally, he would prefer to see the streets paved with ice cream.

  CHAPTER 4

  New York at Last!

  Sammy watched the white dot that was the ferry get bigger and bigger as it passed the Statue of Liberty and plowed through the water toward Ellis Island. Papa was coming to take them to New York.

  Sammy ran to the sleeping room where Malka was packing their clothes into the trunk. He hopped from one foot to the other.

  “Sammy, stop jumping.” His sister straightened up. Her hair was combed back from her face and coiled into a neat bun. There were spots of color on her cheeks.

  When they were packed, Malka took their suitcase. Sammy picked up the trunk and tucked his tin treasure box under his arm. They went downstairs to join the other immigrants waiting in the area called “the kissing post.” That, Sammy knew, was the spot outside the registry room where new immigrants met their relatives. He looked at the crowd. Most of the people had arrived that same day. He could tell because they were still dirty and smelly from the ships. Everyone looked as excited as Sammy felt. They called out to each other in Yiddish, Polish, Hungarian, German, and other languages he couldn’t name. Giggling and poking each other, they waited for a first glimpse of their loved ones.

  Malka and Sammy stood together. All around them, people were hugging, kissing, and shouting. Then it was their turn. Malka jumped up and down, waving at a tall man in a black hat and long black coat. Smiling a huge grin that split his beard in half, Mr. Levin opened his arms and pulled Sammy and Malka so close that the fabric of his coat scratched Sammy’s cheek.

  “Malka, let me see you.” He held her at arm’s length. “So much like your mother. The red hair…” His voice sounded choked. “You are well now? The doctors, they say that you are healthy?”

  “Yes, Papa.” Malka squeezed his arm. “I am well.”

  “And you.” He turned to Sammy. “I cannot believe how grown up you are. A little man, already.” His eyes glistened. He pulled out a handkerchief and blew his nose. “Come,” he said. “We have waited for this day for such a long time. It is time to go home.”

  Papa took the valise and Sammy carried the canvas bag and his tin box. Together, the three walked down to the pier and aboard the ferry that would take them across New York Harbor.

  The Levins’ apartment was on the fourth floor of a five-story tenement building at 95 Orchard Street. Papa said it was called a railroad flat because the rooms stretched out in a line like the cars on a train. The family entered through a kitchen with a sink and a small gas stove and then walked into the front room.

  “This is a good apartment,” Papa said. “We are lucky. Our front room looks out on the street, not the back alley.”

  “It smells.” Malka scrunched her nose.

  It doesn’t smell as bad as steerage on the ship,” Sammy said. He looked around and his heart sank. In Poland, their house was small but it had a door and windows that opened to let in fresh air. This apartment was dark and crowded. Sammy studied the front room. A round table with four wooden chairs stood in the center, and a mud-colored sofa and matching chair sat against the wall. The yellow blanket that Mama had knitted for Papa before he left Poland was draped over the sofa’s back. At least something was familiar, Sammy thought. Then he walked to the apartment’s one window.

  “What is this?” He pointed to a metal railing outside.

  “Ah, that is a fire escape.”

  “Fire escape? Why do we need a way to escape from fires?” Malka sounded alarmed.

  Papa patted her arm. “It is only a precaution, Malka. Every building has them.” He moved beside Sammy and opened the window. It squeaked as he pushed it up. “Besides, they are a very nice place to sit on hot summer nights.”

  Malka looked out the window. “We are so high up.”

  “New York is different from our village,” her father said. “Here everyone lives in tall buildings.”

  “Papa, there aren’t any trees,” Sammy said, looking at the street.

  “This is a big city. In Poland, we lived in a village.”

  Malka wrapped her arms around her chest. “I suppose I will get used to it,” she said in a hesitant voice.

  Sammy turned away and walked through the rest of the apartment. A wall with a door cut into it separated the cramped front room from a tiny bedroom, which was separated by yet another wall from a second, even smaller bedroom.

  Papa followed him. “Sammy, you and I will sleep in the first room and Malka can have the back room.”

  “Why does she get her own room?” Sammy sulked.

  “Because I am a young lady, and I need privacy.”

  Sammy thrust out his lower lip. “I need privacy, too.”


  “Sammy. That is enough.” Papa stared down at him from over the top of his glasses.

  With what he hoped was a venomous glare at Malka, Sammy walked into the back room. It contained a narrow cot and a wooden dresser with three drawers. The room Sammy shared with his father had one narrow bed with a mattress. The bed was covered with a white bedspread decorated with red roses.

  “You will sleep on this,” Papa said, pulling out a second mattress that was stuffed under the metal bed frame.

  Next Papa took them into the hallway to show them the toilet. He explained that they shared it with the Baldani family across the hall. The toilet smelled of strong soap. Someone had recently cleaned it. Sammy pulled the flush cord. He watched the water swirl away and then refill.

  “Nu? (So?) What do you think?” Papa asked, when they returned to the front room.

  “Why do we have gas lamps?” Malka asked. “I thought New York was a modern city with electricity.”

  Papa held out his hands, palms up. “Our landlord is a little slow. Most tenements are already wired. Soon, I hope, ours will be, too.” He walked over to the kitchen and pulled a wooden match from a tin box on the wall. “Until then” —he struck the match against the box, and the tip erupted into a plume of orange flame— “you will use these. Like in Poland.”

  Sammy stepped onto the fire escape and looked down at the street. It was so far down that he got dizzy. Imagine a building with five floors! In Poland, almost everyone lived in small, one-story houses. Here, people were packed into tenement buildings like chickens in a coop. It was so hot inside the apartment they would all be chicken soup by morning. He had to admit that his father was right about the fire escape. It was going to be a good place to sit, or even sleep, on hot nights.

  Sammy finished his inspection. It occurred to him that he was starved. He had not eaten since breakfast on Ellis Island, and that had been almost eight hours ago. He stepped inside the apartment again.