Ice Cream Town Page 8

  “They let me do the carving,” he joked, “because I’m a doctor. I know how things should be cut, cut, cut.”

  Again with the doctor business. Sammy wished Papa would say, “I trained in Poland to be a tailor, and now I’m the best cutter in the coat factory—so I can cut, cut, cut things, too.”

  Uncle Milton passed around plates of turkey, and everyone piled their dishes with mashed potatoes and gravy; orange potatoes, called yams; green peas; Malka’s noodle pudding; and a dish that looked like a mound of bread soaked in water. Aunt Pearl said it was the turkey’s stuffing. Sammy had seen Malka clean a lot of chickens, but he had never seen anything like this soggy bread stuffed inside them.

  Everyone ate. Malka sampled all the new dishes, oohing and aahing over the sweet potatoes and turkey. Papa tasted little bits of everything.

  Sammy plunged his fork into a piece of turkey. It slipped in the gravy; his hand jerked and knocked over the glass of soda on his right. He watched in horror as a strawberry stain spread across the white tablecloth and dripped onto the floor.

  Knives and forks clattered against plates as everyone stopped eating and stared at him. Sammy’s face burned as red as the stain.

  “I guess you didn’t use forks in Poland,” Joshua sneered. “Did you eat with your hands?”

  “Leave him alone,” Leah said, giving Sammy a gaptoothed smile.

  “Quiet, midget.” Joshua poked her in the ribs. He scowled at Sammy. “You need to learn American manners.” Sammy decided that scowling was Joshua’s favorite expression.

  “That’s enough!” Aunt Pearl glared down her nose at them. She picked up the bell. Ding, ding, ding.

  “Lily,” she said when the woman came out of the kitchen, “please clean up my nephew’s mess. And, Sammy,” she added, with an expression that would frighten a snake. “Try to use whatever manners you do possess.”

  Lily came in with glasses of tea. Sammy didn’t want any, but Papa took it with a sigh of relief, as if it were a magic potion that would make Sammy disappear. He reached for the sugar bowl, took two sugar cubes and stuck them between his teeth.

  “Rubin! Such bad manners from you, too?” Aunt Pearl sniffed as Papa sipped his tea through the sugar.

  By the time the apple pie and strawberry Jell-O came, Sammy had lost his appetite. Nothing tasted good. He stuck his spoon into the Jell-O. It reminded him of his first day at Ellis Island, and how he had worried about not getting into America. Now here he was, in his snobby aunt’s living room, with relatives who treated his family like they had horns. His father sat in stony silence, and Malka looked as if she were going to cry.

  But none of that mattered, Sammy told himself. They were in America, and whatever happened, he had his gang. And some day, he vowed, he was going to teach his awful cousin Joshua a lesson that he would never forget.

  CHAPTER 16

  Double Trouble

  The Monday after Thanksgiving, Sammy met Herschel and the gang. The cold weather had ended the stickball games, and Herschel and his friends had moved to their winter hangout, in front of Klopchuck’s Pickle Palace. Herschel was pacing up and down the sidewalk when Sammy arrived.

  “Luigi Baldani and his gang want to take over our street corner,” Herschel said, smashing the fist of one hand into the palm of the other. We have to stop them.”

  “Stop them?” Sammy said. “How?” Sammy had not forgotten the day Luigi beat him up for his ice cream. He would love to give it back to him, but Luigi was Maria’s brother—and Sammy didn’t want to get into a fight. “Let’s just move to another street,” he suggested.

  Herschel gave him a horrified look. “Give up our turf? If we do that, we show ’em we’re weak.”

  Sammy had to admit that he had a good point. Strength was what life in New York was all about. “So, what can we do?”

  “Fight!” Herschel balled his hands into fists. “We’ll beat the pants off ’em. Scare him and his gang away for good.”

  “Yeah. We’ll kill ’em,” Moishe and Tommy echoed.

  Sammy’s stomach hardened into a knot. “Can’t we just talk to them?”

  “Talk?” Herschel laughed. He pointed to the leather strap around Sammy’s Hebrew book. “Are you going back to that cheder class?”

  “I promised my father.”

  “You better choose, Sammy. You either go to class or you come with us. We’re meeting Baldani on Broadway.”

  “C’mon, Sammy. We need your help,” Tommy pleaded.

  Herschel tapped his foot. “Babe Ruth would never let his teammates down.”

  Sammy sighed. How could he walk away when his pals compared him to the Babe? Tossing his doubts aside, he threw the book strap over his shoulder and followed his friends into battle.

  Luigi, Tony, and Carlos met them in front of Kaufman’s Five-and-Dime.

  Herschel swaggered up to the boys. “Okay, we’re here. What d’you want?”

  Luigi stepped forward. His buddy Carlos, a dark skinned boy with the blackest eyes Sammy had ever seen, stood beside Luigi.

  Luigi spoke up. “You guys have been hanging around the corner of Delancy and Orchard. That’s our territory. We want you outta there.”

  “Klopchuck’s is our place. We’ve been there all year. Besides, it’s a free country—or haven’t you heard?” Herschel pulled himself up to his full height, but he was still a head shorter than Luigi. “We can hang out anywhere we want.”

  Sammy’s hands were clammy, and his head felt like a kaleidoscope—where you look into a tube and shapes swirl around. Maybe he should go to cheder. On the other hand, he was the Babe, wasn’t he? And these were his pals.

  A policeman walked by swinging a billy club. He stopped and stared at the boys. His face was red from the cold, and his mustache quivered when he spoke.

  “You lads wouldn’t be thinkin’ of causin’ trouble, now would you?”

  Herschel smiled angelically. “No, sir. We’re going to buy a Christmas gift for our teacher. She means so much to us.”

  The officer tapped his foot. “You are now, are you? Well, I’ll just be walkin’ me beat. Don’t let me see you bums around here when I get back.”

  Sammy pulled on Herschel’s sleeve. “Let’s go.”

  “And let that copper scare us off?” Luigi sneered. “You a chicken, Greenie? A kosher chicken?” he laughed.

  “Shut up, Luigi.” Sammy stepped up to him and balled his hands into fists.

  Luigi raised his fists. “C’mon, Jew-boy. Let me show you how real Americans fight.”

  Herschel stepped between them and held them apart.

  “No fighting. I’ll tell you what—we all go into Kaufman’s.” He looked up at the clock tower in front of the movie theatre across the street. “And whichever gang comes out with the most loot in five minutes gets to control our street corner. We meet there.” He pointed to the movie theatre.

  Sammy tried to quell his rising discomfort. He did not want to steal. Snitching fruit from pushcarts was one thing, but lifting stuff from the five-and-dime was robbing a store. Yet what was he to do? He had to stick with his pals. Besides, Luigi had called him a Jew-boy. No way would he let him get away with that.

  Herschel narrowed his eyes and watched Luigi. “Whaddya think, Baldani?”

  Luigi snapped his fingers. “Let’s do it.”

  Sammy loved the five-and-dime. Row after row of wooden counters were piled high with men’s caps, ladies’ aprons, soap, pots and pans, washboards, linens, and rubber toys. People sat on stools at the soda fountain, on the right side of the store, eating sandwiches, sipping malted milks, and drinking coffee from thick white mugs. Sammy’s stomach rumbled. He hadn’t had anything since his lunch of bread, jam, and an apple. He was starved.

  “Quite a choice, ain’t it?” Herschel waved at the counters. “What are you gonna take?” Before Sammy could answer, Herschel darted into another aisle.

  “Can I help you, young man?”

  A plump woman in a black dress with white colla
r and cuffs looked at him from behind the counter.

  “I…I…” Sammy’s stomach coiled into a knot, and his cheeks burned. He took a deep breath and pointed to a pair of black mittens. He wasn’t sure of the words so he pantomimed putting them on.

  The woman smiled and handed them to him. He tried on the right mitten, then the left one. How soft and warm they were. He turned his hands up, then over, admiring the way they fit. Suddenly he saw Herschel gesturing from across the store.

  “Uh, that one.” Sammy pointed to some red gloves behind the saleslady. As she turned to get them, he jammed the mittens into his pocket. Turning, he raced down the aisle, pushed through the revolving glass door, and stumbled onto the sidewalk.

  His heart pounded. He could hardly breathe. Dashing across the street, he sprinted over the streetcar tracks, clearing them just as the trolley came rattling along.

  “Over here, Sammy.” Herschel gestured from a dark corner behind the theater’s box office. He and Moishe were squatting under a poster of Tarzan swinging from a grapevine. “Let’s see what you got.”

  Sammy pulled the mittens from his pocket. He dropped them on the ground next to a pile of candy bars, a pair of scissors, a blue-and-white striped scarf, and two bags of rainbow colored jellybeans.

  “That’s him, officer—the one with the dark hair. He took mittens from my counter.”

  Sammy whirled around as the plump saleslady marched up to him, followed by the red-faced policeman.

  Luigi and his gang were approaching. When they saw the policeman, they bolted back across Broadway and down the street. Herschel and Moishe took off, leaving Sammy alone to explain the mound of stolen goods at his feet.

  “Looks like you’ve got quite a stash here, boyo,” the policeman said as he stood, legs apart, blocking Sammy’s escape. “C’mon.” He grabbed Sammy by the collar while the saleslady gathered up the merchandise. They marched across Broadway and back into the five-and-dime.

  “The manager’s office is back there,” the saleslady pointed. She handed the policeman the goods.

  “Come on, boyo.” The policeman dragged Sammy through the store. Shoppers stopped and turned to stare.

  Sammy wanted to fall through the floorboards. He wanted to die.

  He bumped into a lady in a wide-brimmed hat with an enormous blue feather. He wondered if she’d bought it from Aunt Tsippi.

  “Tsk, tsk. Such a ruffian.” She sniffed as the policeman dragged him past her.

  He felt sick to his stomach. What would his father say? And Malka? Why had he listened to Herschel? He should have gone to cheder.

  The policeman stopped at a door with the words Store Manager stenciled in black letters on frosted white glass. The policeman knocked, and a tall man in a black suit opened it. He stared at them through wire-rimmed glasses.

  “Sammy?”

  “M-M-Mr. Goldman?” Sammy could barely get the words out. His knees buckled, and he stumbled across the floor as the policeman dropped his arm.

  “Thank you, Officer O’Malley,” Mr. Goldman said. “I’ll take care of this now.”

  “Don’t you want to press charges, sir?”

  Mr. Goldman rubbed a thumb across his chin. “I think this young man and I will have a talk. Then I’ll decide.”

  The policeman handed Mr. Goldman the pile of merchandise and left. Mr. Goldman led Sammy to a chair.

  “Sit,” he said.

  Sammy collapsed on the seat. The room was spinning, and he felt like throwing up.

  Mr. Goldman knelt in front of him. “Sammy, what happened?”

  Sammy tried to speak, but his voice wouldn’t work. Mr. Goldman walked behind his desk. “I saw the other boys who were with you. I know you didn’t take all this stuff yourself.” He looked at the pile of goods spread out on the green desk blotter. “So, who are they?”

  Sammy pressed his lips together. Herschel, Moishe, and Tommy were his buddies. He couldn’t rat on them. That would be breaking the code of silence.

  “If you think these boys are your friends, you’re wrong. They ran off and left you to take the blame. Come on,” Mr. Goldman said, lifting him to his feet. “It’s almost closing time. I’ll take you home.”

  “Are you really the manager of Kaufman’s now?” Sammy asked as he and Mr. Goldman walked up Broadway toward Delancy. It was getting dark, and the streetlamps were winking on along the boulevard.

  Mr. Goldman laughed. “I’m still only the assistant manager. But I was on duty when my saleslady reported the theft and the policeman brought you into the store. I said I’d take care of you.” He patted Sammy’s shoulder. “I didn’t want Malka to have to bail you out of jail.”

  Sammy fought back tears. “They’re my friends. With them I’m strong. They call me the Babe,” he added, hoping Mr. Goldman would understand the bond that kept him tied to these boys.

  “Babe Ruth only steals bases. If you want to be like him, you need to act like him—strong and honest.”

  Mr. Goldman spun Sammy around so hard he almost lost his balance. “Listen to me. Roaming the streets, stealing, and skipping school does not make you an American. Working hard, being honest, and getting an education is why your father brought you here.

  “Think about what you really want,” Mr. Goldman said, as they turned onto Orchard Street. “Tell Malka you were helping me in the store today,” he ordered as they reached the tenement. He pressed a quarter into Sammy’s hand.

  “No.” Sammy tried to give it back, but Mr. Goldman shook his head.

  “You’ll earn it. Come on Saturday night after Shabbos, when we unpack boxes. You can work a few hours every week and earn spending money.”

  “Don’t you want to come upstairs and see Malka?” Sammy asked.

  Mr. Goldman looked up at the front room window and shook his head. “It’s not a smart idea. Good night, Sammy. I’ll see you on Saturday.” Sammy walked to the tenement door, clutching Mr.

  Goldman’s quarter in his fist. As he reached it, he turned. Herschel was leaning against the lamppost across the street. He caught Sammy’s eye, winked, and raised his fist.

  The next day, Sammy told Herschel he was quitting.

  “You don’t quit the gang!” Herschel shouted.

  “You ran off and left me to get in trouble with the police.”

  “We didn’t leave you,” Moishe sneered. “We expected you to come with us.”

  “Yeah—with a policeman and a saleslady blocking my way. Besides, I don’t want to steal,” Sammy said, hoping his voice sounded stronger than he felt.

  “How’d you get away from that policeman, anyway?” Herschel’s eyes narrowed.

  “He gave me a warning.” Sammy breathed deeply, hoping the lie wouldn’t show.

  Herschel’s lips twisted into an ugly scowl. “Okay, Sammy. I’ll tell you what. We’re gonna give you one more chance.”

  Sammy looked at Herschel. The guys were supposed to be his pals, but they had deserted him at the first sign of trouble. Maybe Mr. Goldman was right, and they were bums.

  “I don’t need you or your gang. I can get along on my own.”

  “You think so? Try it,” Herschel sneered.

  Sammy marched off. He felt Herschel’s eyes burning holes in his back. He was scared, but he forced himself to walk away, step by step.

  CHAPTER 17

  A Long Sad Winter

  The days got shorter and colder. Sammy’s father took on even more work at the coat factory. He came home late, tired, and hungry. Then he ate a quick supper and went to sleep.

  Max continued to deliver piecework, and Malka kept sewing. After Thanksgiving, Sammy had gone to Max’s apartment to see if he was all right. His stepfather had chased Sammy away. So now, the boys only met at school and in the mornings, when Max brought Malka’s daily workload.

  For the next three weeks, Sammy went to school and to cheder after school, and worked two hours at Kaufman’s every Saturday night.

  The Monday after his first night at Kaufman’s, Sammy
arrived at school ten minutes before the first bell.

  Miss O’Malley turned from the blackboard. “Sammy! You are bright and early this morning.”

  Sammy shuffled his feet. “I wanted to see you before everyone else came in.” He handed her a quarter. “This is for the book I lost,” he said. I know it isn’t enough, but I have a job and I can pay you more every week.”

  Miss O’Malley accepted the money and smiled. “That is very honorable of you, Sammy. Is this all the money you made this week?”

  “Yes,” Sammy nodded.

  “Then why don’t we call this the down payment? You can pay the rest in ten-cent installments each week. The book was one dollar, so you can give me seven dimes and a nickel at the end. That way you can keep some spending money. Would that be all right?”

  “Yes.” Sammy smiled. “Thank you, Miss O’Malley.”

  “And would you like another book to read?” She walked to the bookcase and danced her fingers along the book spines. “Here,” she said. “I think you’ll like this one.”

  Sammy took the book and examined the cover. “The Adventures of Robinson Crusoe,” he read. “I’ll take very good care of it. I promise.”

  “I know you will.”

  After that, Sammy gave Miss O’Malley a dime a week and the rest went into his tin box, under his mother’s picture. Sammy felt good as he watched the small pile of coins begin to grow.

  After he finished reading Robinson Crusoe, Miss O’Malley gave him a second book to read.

  “It’s called Tom Sawyer,” she said. “It’s a fine American book.”

  Sammy and Maria still met at the library, but since that day at Kaufman’s, they didn’t walk home together or meet on the fire escape. Maria said it would make Luigi angry.