Ice Cream Town Page 9

  After Thanksgiving dinner, the Levins didn’t see Aunt Pearl’s family. Sammy didn’t miss them. But he looked forward to his Aunt Tsippi’s weekly visits. Sometimes before cheder, he popped into the hat store for a talk and a cup of hot chocolate.

  On the second Saturday in December, Malka and Sammy were sitting in the front room after Shabbos lunch. Papa was napping in his room. Music from the Baldanis’ phonograph leaked through the walls, and Sammy recognized a singer called Al Jolson. He was singing about a bluebird.

  “Malka, why doesn’t Mr. Goldman come over anymore?” he asked.

  Malka looked sad.

  “He always asks about you.”

  “I can’t see him.” Malka picked up the book she’d been reading and turned a page.

  “Just because Papa doesn’t like him, does that mean you can’t see him?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” Malka flipped another page.

  “Don’t you like him anymore?”

  “It’s none of your business. Besides, I have to stay home and take care of the apartment.”

  “I can help,” he said.

  “You? I’m the one who shops and cooks and cleans. I’m the one who makes sure you and Papa eat, and that you go to school.” Malka threw down her book. “I’m sick and tired of my whole life.”

  She jumped to her feet, put on her coat and wound her red scarf around her throat. “I’m going for a walk,” she said, and she disappeared into the hallway.

  Sammy sat in his chair and listened to the music from the Baldanis’ phonograph. “When the red, red robin comes bob, bob, bobbin’ along,” a man’s voice sang. He walked over to the window and stared down into the street. Red robins? The only birds Sammy ever saw were pigeons. Why, he wondered for perhaps the hundredth time, had they fought so hard to come to America?

  CHAPTER 18

  The Festival of Lights

  During the third week of December, the family celebrated Chanukah. Father lectured Sammy about the Festival of Lights. He told Sammy about how a small group of Jews fought off the whole Assyrian army that wanted to enslave them. Papa said the lesson of Chanukah was that every person can make a difference if they fight hard enough for what they believe.

  Aunt Tsippi came over, and the family lit candles. Sammy sang the blessing, and Aunt Tsippi told him that he had a wonderful voice. He grinned. He didn’t hate to sing anymore. Singing made him happy, and it made the people around him happy. Sammy decided he would try to sing more often.

  Malka made Sammy’s favorite dish, potato latkes— delicious pancakes of grated potatoes fried in hot oil. Aunt Tsippi gave him two quarters for Chanukah. Malka gave him a whole dollar. She said it was from her and Papa. He added it to the small pile of nickels and dimes in his tin box.

  Sammy thought Aunt Tsippi looked especially pretty in her leaf-shaped hat made of green feathers. Her dress, in matching green wool, ended just below her knees.

  “So short?” Papa asked, pointing to her skirt.

  “It’s the style, Rubin,” Aunt Tsippi laughed. “Malka, you should shorten your skirts to be more fashionable.”

  Malka lifted her skirt, exposing her ankles. “It feels good,” she giggled.

  “Higher,” Aunt Tsippi said. She raised the skirt to Malka’s knees. “Things are changing. It’s almost 1921. Women are throwing away their corsets and wearing clothes that let them move.”

  Aunt Tsippi wiggled her hips and did a little dance. Papa turned beet red and started to sputter. Sammy thought he was going to choke.

  “Your aunt needs a husband to keep her respectable,” Papa said after Aunt Tsippi had left. “Malka, if I ever see you wear such a disgusting outfit, I will lock you in your room until you change into sensible clothes.”

  Malka started to say something, then burst into tears. What a wonderful end to another family holiday, Sammy thought, as he got ready to go to bed.

  Winter dragged on. Sammy was lonely. He hardly saw Max, who was always working after school. At cheder, Rabbi Lichtstein told him that he was doing well with his Hebrew. But Sammy didn’t really care. It was English he wanted to learn, and his favorite place now was the library. He brought home a new book every week. After supper he would sit on the sofa with the book open on one knee, his dictionary on the other, and read until Malka came in and turned off the gaslight.

  A whole world opened up to him: a world of kings, queens, and knights; buried treasure; and boys who sailed on river rafts. Miss O’Malley told Sammy how proud she was that he was reading, and she even had him read out loud to the class one day.

  Sammy missed being part of Herschel’s gang. He would miss the stickball games starting up again in the spring. And he already missed their friendship. But hadn’t they run away and left him to take the rap at Kaufman’s? What kind of friendship was that?

  Real friends were like Max. He and Sammy hung out together at school, but Max never had time to play. He raced off every day to pick up his piecework and deliver it to the factory. So Sammy kept reading books, working for Mr. Goldman, and saving the quarters he earned.

  Life plodded along this way until the middle of April. Then one day, something happened that changed everything.

  CHAPTER 19

  Fire!

  Sammy was the first to smell the smoke. It crept up the stairwell and seeped under the apartment door like an evil fog.

  “Malka, Malka!” He shook her awake.

  “Sammy, go away.” Malka pulled the blanket over her head.

  “Malka, get up!” Sammy yanked off the cover. “The building’s on fire!”

  Suddenly Malka was wide awake. “Smoke. Oh, Sammy. Papa’s at a union meeting.”

  They grabbed their shoes and dashed into the living room. It was filled with smoke. Sammy thought he smelled burning chicken feathers.

  “Go to the fire escape!” Sammy shouted to Malka. “Cover your mouth!”

  They dashed to the front window. They could hardly see through the smoky haze. Malka went ahead and opened the window. They clambered through and stood there gulping deep breaths of air.

  Sammy looked down. Tongues of flame were shooting out of Lowenstein’s Butcher Shop. So he had smelled chicken feathers! Smoke billowed into the street. A fire engine was parked at the curb, and the firemen were aiming a thick hose at the building. Water gushed out.

  People ran out of their tenements. The street filled with those escaping the fire and with others watching them escape.

  “Climb down, climb down!” people shouted at Sammy and Malka.

  Malka started shaking. “I can’t go down there,” she moaned, looking at the narrow iron steps.

  “You have to.” Sammy took her hand. “Come, Malka, I’ll help you.”

  “No!” She pulled back. “I’ll fall.”

  “No, you won’t. Here.” Sammy stepped onto the first rung, then down another rung. He held up his hand. “I’ll help you.”

  Slowly, they backed their way down. Sammy held onto Malka as his foot felt for each step. Suddenly, Malka slipped. Her elbow hit Sammy’s nose, his head snapped backward, and he almost lost his balance.

  Malka screamed.

  Sammy grasped the railing to stop their fall.The sleeve of Malka’s nightgown caught on a sharp piece of metal that stuck out of the railing. Sammy clung to Malka and the fire escape as she tore her sleeve loose. They were panting for breath as they reached the street.

  Papa ran them, his eyes wild with fear. “Thank God you are all right.” He grabbed them, kissing each of them. “They wouldn’t let me into the building. I didn’t know where you were—if you were hurt. It was like in the war, when I couldn’t get news.”

  His face crumpled, and for a minute Sammy thought he was going to cry.

  “You are all right, Sammy?” Papa touched his face, his hair, his hands.

  Sammy’s eyes stung and his chest hurt from inhaling smoke. “I’m fine, Papa,” he said, burying his face in the rough wool of his father’s coat. His father stroked his hair
and Sammy let his own tears flow. He really was afraid for us, he thought. Papa wants us here. He doesn’t want to be without us.

  Sammy lifted his head and gave his father a wobbly smile. “Malka and I are both okay.”

  “This time.” A fireman standing beside them shook his head. “Firetraps, these tenements! This blaze was more smoke than fire, but it’s a miracle more of them don’t go up in flames.”

  At that moment, Mrs. Baldani screamed. “Maria, I no find Maria!” She folded her arms across her chest and rocked back and forth, as her voice rose into an ear-splitting wail.

  Sammy turned to see a crowd gathering around her, asking questions.

  “Was she in the apartment?”

  “Did she leave with you?”

  “When did you see her?”

  Mr. Baldani ran up, his nightshirt flapping around his ankles. “Carlo and Dino—I brought them down and they are safe.” He pointed across the street where two boys huddled in a doorway in their pajamas.

  “But Maria?” his wife looked at him with eyes reddened by smoke and tears.

  “She was with Luigi. Luigi said he would bring her to the street.” Mr. Baldani looked up at the fire escape from which he had just descended.

  Sammy followed his gaze. Smoke from the butcher shop curled up the front of the building, draping the sooty walls with a dirty brown haze. Squinting, he shielded his eyes with his hand. A flash of red, near the Baldani’s window caught his eye.

  Pulling away from his father, Sammy ran to the fire escape and bolted up the stairs.

  “Hey!” shouted the fireman. “You can’t go up there!” Sammy ignored him and climbed faster. The railings and steps were slick with water from the fire hose. Smoke stung his eyes and made him cough. He glanced over his shoulder and saw his father frantically waving at him to come down. People on the street were shouting. Sammy kept climbing.

  By the time he got to the Baldani’s floor, his eyes were streaming, and his pajamas stuck to his sweaty body like wallpaper to a wall.

  “Maria!” He scrambled onto the landing, where she was huddled in her crumpled red nightgown. Her eyes were dark with fear.

  “Why are you still here?” he asked her.

  Maria sniffed and wiped her nose with a sooty hand. “Luigi forgot me.”

  Sammy was so angry at Luigi he wanted to scream. But he knew it would frighten Maria. So instead, he held out his hand. After a moment’s hesitation, she took it, and he helped her to her feet.

  “The fire is over,” he said. “But we can’t stay up here.”

  “I’m scared.” Maria looked at the ladder-like iron steps and started to cry. “I don’t want to fall down.”

  “I’ll get you down safe,” Sammy promised. “I helped Malka, and she’s a lot bigger than you.”

  “Really?” Maria smiled a shaky smile, showing the gap in her teeth.

  “Really.” Sammy stepped onto the top rung and motioned for her to follow. “See,” he said, holding her waist. “You can’t fall because I’m holding onto you.”

  Slowly, carefully, they descended the four levels to the street. As they touched the sidewalk, Mrs. Baldani grabbed Maria and hugged her so tight that Sammy was afraid the woman would smother her daughter.

  People gathered around Sammy, slapping him on the back and telling him he was a hero. He grinned, enjoying the attention. Malka hugged him. Even Papa’s normally serious face was wreathed in a smile.

  Then Sammy looked up the street and saw Luigi. He was standing in the doorway of Schwartz’s Bakery, and something in his posture reminded Sammy of a lion waiting to spring on its prey. And Sammy had no doubt what that prey would be. Luigi’s gaze was directed straight at him.

  CHAPTER 20

  After the Fire

  The firemen said the fire was a warning for the owners to clean up the tenements. No one was hurt, but there was lots of damage from water and smoke. The Levins went to stay with Aunt Tsippi until they could get back into their apartment. Aunt Pearl brought over two roasted chickens and a potato pudding. She told them how glad she was that they were all alive.

  I’ll bet she is, thought Sammy. If we’d disappeared in the fire, she could stop feeling guilty about ignoring us.

  Malka was delighted with Aunt Tsippi’s apartment on Hester Street. It was smaller than theirs, with a front room, kitchen, and one bedroom. But it had electric lights and a private toilet inside the apartment. Malka shared Aunt Tsippi’s bedroom, Sammy slept on the sofa, and Papa slept on a rollaway bed in the front room.

  Malka oohed and aahed over the way Aunt Tsippi had furnished her apartment. She gushed over the red and green shawl and green velvet cushions on the sofa, and gently fingered a ruffled yellow lampshade.

  “Look at these,” she said, bending over a low table by the sofa, where a glass vase filled with white and yellow daisies sat next to a stack of magazines called Vanity Fair. The magazines, which were arranged into a fan shape, had pictures of women in fancy dresses on the covers.

  “Aunt Tsippi, you have such pretty things,” said Malka.

  “I like pretty things. They make me feel happy. And those,” Aunt Tsippi pointed to the magazines, “are about fashion.”

  “Can I read them?” Malka asked Aunt Tsippi.

  “Of course you can.” Aunt Tsippi placed an arm over Malka’s shoulders. “We’ll pick out a picture of a dress you like—you know, something modern.” She lifted Malka’s ankle-length skirt to just below her knees. “And I’ll make it for you.”

  Malka giggled. “Papa will be scandalized.”

  “He’ll get used to it,” Aunt Tsippi laughed. “Someday I’m going to have my own business and make beautiful dresses for women. Without corsets.” She put her hands on her hips and puffed out her chest, imitating Aunt Pearl’s stiff, corseted posture.

  Malka giggled. “Don’t ever say corset in front of Papa. He says it’s indecent to talk about women’s undergarments.”

  Tsippi turned Malka around to face her. “My dear child, you are not in Poland anymore. This is America in 1921. Women are free. We even got the vote last year. So,” she said, puting her hands on Malka’s shoulders, “if you want to talk about corsets or silk stockings, just go ahead.”

  Malka blushed. “I can’t do that,” she said, lowering her eyes. I’m not like you.”

  Aunt Tsippi patted her shoulder. “You will be, dear. A little longer in America and you will learn that you can be anything you want.”

  “Why can’t the rest of the family be like you?” Sammy asked Aunt Tsippi as they made up the rollaway bed. “Why does everyone treat us like we smell bad?”

  Aunt Tsippi sat on the bed and pulled him down beside her. She cupped his cheek with her hand. It was soft and smooth, and felt like silk against his skin. “Your Aunt Pearl wants to be a real American and put the old country behind her. You and your family remind her of herself when she first came from Poland, and that is something she very much wants to forget.”

  “You came from Poland, and you’re nice to us.”

  “That’s because I like you,” Aunt Tsippi smiled.

  “And Aunt Pearl treats you awful, too—and you’re not a greenie.”

  Aunt Tsippi shook her head. “I don’t have a husband. I make my own living, and I like living alone. They can’t accept anyone who has different ideas from theirs.”

  “Why aren’t you married, Aunt Tsippi?” Sammy asked, and then clapped his hand over his mouth. He didn’t want to insult her.

  Aunt Tsippi laughed. “It’s all right, Sammy. I don’t mind the question. The man I was going to marry in Poland got sick and died. My parents brought me here to marry Uncle Milton’s brother, Mendel. ‘He’s a dentist, a good catch,’ they said. But when I met him, I didn’t like him. He had little eyes, like a rat. And he always smelled of garlic.” She wrinkled her nose. “Aunt Pearl was furious, but I refused to spend my life with a man I didn’t love.”

  Sammy thought of Max’s mother, slaving away at her sewing machine whil
e Max carried her piecework back and forth to the factory.

  “I think you were smart not to marry Mendel, Aunt Tsippi.”

  “I do, too,” she smiled, ruffling his hair.

  Sammy sighed. “Aunt Tsippi, there is something I don’t understand.”

  His aunt studied him. “You look so serious, Sammy. It must be a very heavy matter.”

  “It’s about Papa. He brought us to America, yet he wants us to live like we did in Poland.”

  Aunt Tsippi closed her eyes and pinched her lips as if she were deep in thought. When she opened her eyes, Sammy thought they looked sad. “Your father is angry,” she said. “In Poland, everyone lived the same. We all ate kosher food, no one worked on Shabbos, and children grew up and married the people their parents chose for them. Somehow, even though we were poor, we were happy.

  “Here everything is upside down. He works very long hours at a job he does not like, Malka is miserable, and you don’t listen to him. Have patience.” She patted his shoulder. “Learning to live in America takes time.”

  But Sammy knew they did not have time. He thought about Malka, who seemed to get sadder every day; and about himself, wandering the streets. Then he thought of Herschel and his gang, leaving him to take the rap at Kaufman’s. And he thought of Luigi, glowering at him after the fire.

  No. Life in America was not getting easier. And time, he suspected, was only going to make things worse.

  CHAPTER 21

  Back to the Gang?

  A week after the fire, the family moved back to the tenement. Their apartment was a mess from the smoke and water. The first thing Sammy did was look under the bed for his treasure box. His stash of quarters was safe. Four dollars and fifty cents—a fortune! He took out the money and shined every coin.

  Malka’s sewing machine was ruined, so she couldn’t work at home anymore. She said it didn’t matter. Besides, she would rather work in a factory, where she had the company of other women. Papa was working longer than ever, and when he wasn’t working he was at union meetings. Max’s deliveries had stopped, and now Sammy only saw him at school. So, with nothing to do and no one at home, he went back to the street.