Letters from Cuba Read online

  Meals are terrible too. There’s rye bread, but it’s not soft and chewy like Yoelke’s bread in Govorovo. It’s hard as a brick and must be soaked in tea or it will break your teeth. We also get watery pea soup and old potatoes. The meat tastes like shoe leather, but they say it’s kosher. All I can hold in my stomach are sweet things—tea laced with sugar cubes and the coffee cakes they offer in the afternoon. Maybe it is my body’s way of preparing me for the sugar fields of Cuba!

  Sorry to be complaining so much. I guess that’s the thing about writing. Once you start, all kinds of thoughts and feelings spill out! But I did keep the best news for last—the other day I was roaming the aisles of the ship and heard what sounded like mooing. I followed the sound and found stables filled with cows, sheep, and goats. It felt as if I’d stumbled onto Noah’s ark! I greeted the animals and they looked at me with the saddest eyes. Then I heard footsteps coming up behind me. It was a young sailor I’d seen mopping the floors in steerage. His name is Casper and he’s Dutch but speaks some Polish. I thought he’d scold me, but instead he smiled.

  “Do you like the animals?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I told him. “And I feel sorry they can’t wander around the ship. They must hate being trapped in here. They don’t see the light of the sun. Poor things.”

  “I know what you mean. They suffer during the journey. But please don’t tell anyone you have seen the animals. It is a secret they are down here.”

  He let me help him arrange fresh hay for the cows, goats, and sheep.

  Then Casper showed me a picture of his wife that he keeps in his pocket. He held his palm against his heart to show me how much he misses her. The life of a sailor and his wife must be difficult, being far apart for so long. Now I too am like a sailor, far from everyone I love.

  I would be so miserable on this ship if not for Casper letting me come back each day to help with the animals. There’s a soft, cuddly baby lamb that I get to hold as long as I like. When I hug the lamb, I realize how much I miss you, sweet sister, and my beloved bubbe. And I miss my dear angry mother and even my brothers, who might miss me a little? With the baby lamb in my arms, I have faith I will make it to dry land and you’ll hear good news from me.

  Your older sister,

  who loves you very much,

  ESTHER

  PORT OF MÉRIDA

  February 1, 1938

  Dearest Malka,

  A cry of joy rose from the deck when we approached land! I rushed to join Rita and her friends as they gathered around the railing. Today I will see Papa, I thought. Today I will kiss his cheek and feel the tickle of his dark beard. Today I will begin a new life in Cuba! But then I learned we had arrived in Mexico first, not in Cuba, as everyone had expected. The port city I was seeing was Mérida, not Havana. How much longer would I have to wait to be reunited with Papa? Why must everything take so long?

  I pushed past people to return to steerage, where I could sulk by myself. On my way, I bumped into the kind old couple who had shared their herring and potatoes with me in Rotterdam. They both looked pale and weakened from the journey, even though they had made the voyage in first class.

  “One more day on this rotten ship and I would not have survived,” the old woman moaned.

  The old man added, “A day is a lifetime, and being on the ship for all these days felt like I used up several lifetimes.”

  “But wasn’t it worth it?” I asked them. “You will see your children at last!”

  The old woman looked so sad. “Of what use will we be to them? I hope we are not a burden. But we are here and there is no turning back now.”

  “I am certain your children love you deeply and are waiting eagerly to place a kiss on your cheeks. Your presence will be a blessing to them,” I said.

  The old man smiled. “You are very wise for such a young girl. And I see you have no bitterness in your heart.” He reached inside his black suit and pulled out a gold pocket watch.

  The old woman gasped. “Hershel, what are you doing?”

  “I know what I am doing, Bluma,” he replied sharply. Then he turned to me. “Child, this is my gift to you. I know our paths will never cross again. We will stay in Mexico and you will go on to Cuba. But even long after you have forgotten our chance encounter, hold on to this watch, and may it bless you with many hours of happiness and hope.”

  I hesitated to accept such a precious gift. “Thank you, but if I take this from you, how will you tell the time?”

  He pressed the pocket watch into my hand. “Child, you cannot refuse this gift. I want you to have it. I am old and do not have many years left. You have all the time in the world before you.”

  I stared at the Roman numerals, then I closed the clasp. It’s good I wear dresses with deep pockets on both sides. I slipped the watch into my right pocket to have it handy. When I looked up, the old man and his wife had disappeared into the crowd.

  One by one, all the passengers got off in Mérida. Rita was the last to leave, and I gave her a hug. She was so afraid of what her fiancé would think of her. I hope she won’t end up like a stray dog roaming the streets of Mexico.

  I returned to steerage, until a policeman came to check if anyone was still on board. When he spotted me in my berth, he said, “Vamos.”

  I didn’t know what that meant, so I shook my head and said, “Cuba, Cuba.”

  He laughed and said, “México, México.” I showed him my ticket, pointed to where it said Cuba.

  He sighed and walked away, then came back with Casper. Between the two of them, they explained: The animals are going on to Cuba, and I would be the only human passenger going with them. We’d set sail the next day. “Mañana,” as the policeman said. Tomorrow.

  I felt such desperation all alone on the ship, wanting so badly to get off and set foot on dry land. I cannot describe how huge my sorrow was that day. May you never know such sorrow, dear Malka, to be so far from everyone you care about.

  Soon after, Casper returned with fresh hay for the animals, and he brought me a marvelous gift—a cluster of bananas! He saw me about to bite into the thick yellow outer crust and quickly stopped me and showed me how to peel it and eat only the soft, creamy fruit inside. It was delicious! I couldn’t stop and ate one after another. The bananas filled me up, and I thought if there were nothing else to eat ever again, I could live on bananas for a long time.

  With love always from your older sister,

  ESTHER

  PORT OF HAVANA

  February 4, 1938

  Dearest Malka,

  I awoke and it was still dark out. I looked in on the animals. They were sleeping peacefully, except the lamb, who looked up at me and seemed to say, “We’re almost there.”

  I washed up and then packed my things and put on the dress that was a little cleaner, tucking the pocket watch away on the right side. I wanted to be ready to dash into Papa’s arms as soon as we docked in Havana.

  I climbed to the deck and looked out at the sea. The air was warm and comforting like a bowl of soup. There was the slightest sliver of a moon. Then I heard wings flapping. I heard that wistful song and knew it was a seagull. A Cuban seagull! I could not yet see firm land, but I was getting closer. The seagull had come to tell me.

  The sailors and stewards came up from their rooms and stood next to me on the deck. Casper arrived, carrying the baby lamb, which he placed in my arms. Soon a shrine came into view. “¡La Virgen de Regla!” they yelled. Casper and the other sailors looked out toward the shrine and bowed their heads in prayer. I heard them thanking the Virgin for bringing them safely to Cuba. I had arrived with Jacob’s blessing, the man who looked like Papa whom I met on the way to Rotterdam. I hope he crossed the border and is on his way to being reunited with his brother.

  We came into the port just as the first rays of the sun bathed the city in a soft pink glow. I looked every whic
h way, taking in the beauty of Havana. It was not a jungle at all, despite what Mama always says! A flash of light drew my eyes to the other side of the bay, where a tall lighthouse stood by a stone castle perched high on a crag. I turned back to face the city and saw mansions lining the coast and, in the distance, a huge building with many columns and a golden dome reflecting the rising sun. Two fishermen on a small rowboat held up a big fish they’d caught and waved to us.

  As we approached the pier, Casper took the lamb from me to bring her back to her mother in the stable, and that was the last I saw of her. I hope the lamb and the rest of the animals will go to a farm somewhere in Cuba with green pastures and sunny hillsides where they will feast on grasses and flowers and never be trapped again in the dark belly of a ship. I hope that I too will only see the light of day from now on.

  With all my love,

  your sister,

  ESTHER

  TRISCORNIA

  February 4, 1938

  My dear sweet Malka,

  As soon as we landed in Havana and the ship was being secured with thick ropes, a policeman appeared and whisked me onto a small boat. He spoke to me in Spanish and I didn’t understand a word.

  “Papa, Papa,” I said. He shook his head and I began to cry. Where was he taking me? How would Papa know where to find me?

  I soon learned that on the other side of the harbor is a place called Triscornia, where they bring immigrants. In a crowded office that smelled of sweat, a health inspector checked my hair for lice and made sure I didn’t have a cough while a policeman looked through my things. Then they pointed to a chair in a corner. It was next to an open window, and the strong wind that blew in felt like it could lift me into the air and take me back to Poland. But I was far, far away now. I sat down and started writing to you, hoping that putting words on the page would calm my worries and bring Papa to me. I hoped nothing bad had happened to him. Otherwise I’d be in the same situation that poor Rita had feared if her fiancé didn’t like her—all alone in a foreign land.

  After a while, they shooed me outside. That was when I discovered I wasn’t the only Jewish refugee in Triscornia. As I walked around the fenced-in yard, I heard Yiddish being spoken and learned there were people who’d been here for months. They had illnesses they caught on the journey, or their families hadn’t yet come for them, or they didn’t have money for the entrance fee that the government requires. Their clothes were dirty and wrinkled and hung heavily on their bodies in the tropical heat. They looked lost among the lost. They were in Cuba but could not enter Cuba. How horrible to make such a long journey and end up stuck in a camp with other helpless refugees!

  I said hello to a group of men and women sitting on blankets in the shade. They greeted me in Yiddish, and I decided to entertain them with the story of my journey.

  I rose to my feet and began to speak as if I were on a stage.

  “I crossed the ocean on a ship that was like Noah’s ark—full of cows and sheep and goats. There was a baby lamb too. The Dutch sailor who took care of the animals let me cuddle with the baby lamb every day. That’s what kept me from losing faith on my journey.”

  “That’s impossible!” a man said. “They don’t bring animals aboard the ships that are carrying immigrants.”

  A woman added, “The animals would create a big stinky mess. No one would tolerate it!”

  “You’re a good storyteller,” another woman said.

  Then the man spoke to me in a nicer voice. “Child, are you sure you didn’t imagine all those animals?”

  “I saw the animals every day. They were in a secret corridor. No one knew except me. The animals didn’t bother anyone. They were my companions.”

  “If you say so, child, if you say so. Maybe it was all a dream that was so vivid it seemed real.”

  “It was not a dream! I saw the animals with my own eyes and I held the baby lamb in my own arms!”

  “Yes, child, of course.”

  I was enraged. Why didn’t they believe me?

  “It’s true, it’s true!” I shouted.

  “What is true, dear one? Can you tell me?”

  I looked up, and there was Papa, holding his arms open toward me! I was so shocked I couldn’t speak. I sunk into his embrace. Tears flowed from his eyes and from my eyes. They were all the tears I’d held in the three years we’d been apart.

  “Papa, Papa! You found me!”

  “Of course, my Esther.”

  Papa still had his kind smile and playful wink, but he was thinner and worry lines creased his brow. His beard was gone too.

  He reached into his satchel and pulled out a loaf of challah and a cluster of bananas to share with the group.

  “There is challah in Cuba, Papa?”

  “Here in Havana there is. There are Jews from all over Europe, and they have a very good Jewish bakery, La Flor de Berlín. Enjoy the challah, my friends. And Shabbat Shalom.”

  I had forgotten it was Friday and the Sabbath would start at dusk. Together we said the prayer for the challah and then the Shehecheyanu blessing to celebrate our new beginning. The challah was rich with eggs, and the bananas were even sweeter than the ones I had in Mexico.

  Then Papa and I got ready to leave. He had an official-looking document that was covered in stamps and seals, as well as the letter I had written begging him to let me come to Cuba first. He also had a picture of him and Mama with the five of us children taken in Govorovo before he came to Cuba. He showed these things to one of the immigration officers at Triscornia to prove he was my father. The man held up my letter, turning it this way and that, trying to make sense of it. He asked Papa what language it was written in. Papa said it was Yiddish and that it was from me, his stubborn daughter, who wanted to come to Cuba. The man smiled at me and said, “Bienvenida,” which I learned meant “Welcome.”

  Passing through the gate with Papa, I turned and waved to the people who were stuck in Triscornia, wondering if they would ever get out.

  I am learning how difficult it is to cross borders. Misfortune or illness can leave a person stranded with nowhere to go.

  I gripped Papa’s hand and felt blessed that I had arrived safely and we’d found each other. That is a miracle, isn’t it?

  With love from your older sister, who always remembers you,

  ESTHER

  ON THE TRAIN FROM HAVANA TO MATANZAS

  February 4, 1938

  Dearest Malka,

  Papa said he’d take me to see a little bit of Havana. Then we’d go to the small town where he lived because the rent was cheaper than in the city.

  We climbed aboard a ferry that went from Triscornia to the port of Havana. Papa had his satchel and I carried my bag and ragged winter coat. It was hot—my dress stuck to my body like a postage stamp and my legs burned inside my woolen stockings. I looked around at the women and girls on the ferry; they wore dresses that were as thin as tissue paper, showing their arms. Their legs were also uncovered, and their feet, in sandals, were visible to everyone. The men wore loose pants and light suit jackets. Some wore long shirts with pockets down the front that they did not tuck into their pants. Papa wore a black suit and a white shirt as always, but the cloth was a thinner material than what he used to wear in Poland. I stayed close to Papa, listening to the sprightly rhythm of Spanish words being spoken all around us. Everyone nodded in a polite way in my direction, and I wondered if it was because I stood out with my pale skin and woolen clothing. On the ferry, there were people with darker skin than I’d ever seen in Poland.

  Papa grasped my elbow and whispered to me in Yiddish, “We’re almost there, Esther. Now, don’t be staring so much. That’s not polite.”

  “I’m not staring, Papa. I’m admiring the beautiful faces of the people!”

  Papa smiled and gave my shoulders a squeeze. “You’ve always been very curious, my daughter. It’s so good y
ou are here. I feel fortunate my prayers were answered and you arrived safely.”

  “Me too. I can’t even believe I’m in Cuba and we’re riding together on a ferry! But, Papa, you never used to travel on the eve of the Sabbath.”

  “I know, Esther. But we’re in Cuba now and must adjust to the style of life here. As you can see, I have shaved off my beard. But I still pray every morning and evening. And I still carry the prayer book I received when I was a boy.” He pulled the worn book from his pocket to show me.

  That reminded me about what I had in my pocket. I pulled out the gold watch and it shone in the sun.

  “Look, Papa, an old man who was traveling with his wife on the same ship gave me his pocket watch as a gift. He said I was wise for my age.”

  “That was a generous gift. But don’t be showing it off in the streets of Havana. There are excellent pickpockets here and they’ll snatch it right out of your hand. Now, let’s go.”

  I pushed the watch deeper into my pocket and followed Papa off the ferry. We had arrived at the port of Havana. The wide avenue along the coastline was filled with people strolling back and forth as if they hadn’t a care in the world.

  “This avenue is called the Malecón,” Papa told me.

  I repeated the word in my head to remember it.

  “Papa, let’s go for a stroll!” I said.

  “I’m sorry, there’s no time,” Papa replied. “We have two trains to catch and I have to take care of some business first.”

  Papa led me across the busy avenue and through a maze of streets, holding my hand as he used to do when I was little. We were soon in a leafy plaza where people sat on benches reading newspapers and street peddlers sold roasted peanuts. We passed cafés that opened to the street where women in wide straw hats sipped coffee from tiny cups. A pleasant smoky scent filled the air. Papa told me it was from the cigars made from the fine tobacco leaves that grow in Cuba. We kept walking through the narrow streets and wide plazas, till we came to the largest plaza of all.