When I returned to the front of the store, Zvi Mandelbaum had arranged several pairs of sandals around a chair.
“Try these on. Let’s see what fits.”
I didn’t have to try on all the sandals. The first pair, made of soft brown leather, was perfect.
Zvi Mandelbaum wouldn’t let Papa pay for my sandals.
“How can I charge you for the sandals, Avrum? You’re helping me so much with sales in the countryside. I admire all of you peddlers who are willing to go deep into the hills of Cuba where there’s not another Jew for miles and miles.”
Zvi Mandelbaum towered over Papa as he placed his arm around Papa’s shoulders. “Come now,” he told Papa. “Let me give you a few more things to sell and we will both make some money.”
Papa disappeared into another private room with Zvi Mandelbaum. He returned with his satchel stuffed to the brim. When I saw Papa bent over from the weight of his bag, I said, “Papa, I didn’t know you were a peddler. I thought you owned a store.”
“I do own a store, Esther. I carry it on my back.”
“What do you sell, Papa? Let me see.”
“Not now, Esther. We have a train to catch. I’ll show you when we get home.”
“Goodbye, Esther. Enjoy your sandals,” Zvi Mandelbaum said as we left his store.
Even with the satchel on his back, Papa could walk fast, and I hurried to keep up. He pointed out some of the landmarks of the city, which made me sorry to be leaving so soon. “See, that’s the Parque Central! The statue in the middle is José Martí. He was a poet and independence leader. Cubans adore him. Don’t ever say anything bad about him to anyone.” And then he pointed to the building I had seen from the ship. “That domed building is the Capitolio. It looks like the American Capitol in Washington, but larger and more spectacular, so they say here.”
We arrived at the station and Papa got our tickets. He said we would go to a large town called Matanzas and from there we’d catch another train to a small town called Agramonte. It won’t be as magnificent as Havana, but it will be home, and it will be beautiful because I will be with Papa. I would go with him to the ends of the earth.
Poor Papa was so tired he fell asleep as soon as the train started chugging along. He’s snoring as I write to you. Dear Malka, I imagine you’re reading a book, Moshe is studying Talmud and complaining, the twins are wrestling, Mama is sewing, and Bubbe is embroidering another special handkerchief.
I am getting sleepy like Papa, so I will write more on the next train.
Your sister, who loves you very much,
ESTHER
ON THE TRAIN FROM MATANZAS TO AGRAMONTE
February 4, 1938
My dear sister!
I ended up taking a long nap together with Papa on the first train from Havana to Matanzas. It felt so good to curl up next to him and not be alone anymore! We might have kept on sleeping, but thankfully we were startled awake by the slamming of the brakes as the train pulled into the station in Matanzas.
Everyone rushed to get off the train. For a moment, I was separated from Papa and I fell into a panic. “Papa, Papa!” I yelled, unable to find him.
People turned and asked, “Niña, ¿qué pasa?” which I later learned meant “Little girl, what’s wrong?” Cubans didn’t look at me with hatred in their eyes. It was the strangest sensation to realize I was no longer in Poland, where the word “Jew” hung on the lips of strangers like a curse.
A few steps ahead, Papa came into view. I ran to him and everyone around me smiled.
We sat on a bench in the station to wait for our next train. It was late in the afternoon and the warm air had thickened like porridge. I was glad I’d taken off my stockings in Havana. I hope I can find a bit of cloth to make myself a lighter dress. All the girls and women here wear sleeveless dresses. It’s not proper for Jewish girls in Poland, but the Cuban heat is very strong, so I don’t think Papa will mind.
Papa pulled out more challah and bananas from his satchel for a snack. We said the prayer again before we ate. “If you eat without thanking God, you are no better than a beast,” Papa told me. He cut up slices of the challah with his pocketknife and we ate it gratefully with the bananas.
I couldn’t help asking, “Papa, did you miss us all these years?”
He sounded so sad when he answered, “Of course I missed you. I don’t know how three years slipped by so quickly. It feels like I arrived in Cuba only yesterday. And after working so hard, I’ve only managed to bring you to Cuba, while my dear wife, my mother, and my four other children suffer in Poland. I’m a terrible failure.”
“Please don’t think that way, Papa. I’m here now to help.”
Papa sighed. “I am glad you’ve come, Esther. I think Cuba agrees with you. Now let’s see what you think of Agramonte.”
The next train arrived and we climbed aboard. It was a smaller train filled with people in dusty clothes and shoes, their hands rough and callused.
“They are sugarcane workers,” Papa explained. “There are many sugar mills around here. They cut the cane with machetes and boil it to make the molasses that becomes sugar. The work is bitter, but the result is sweet.”
We both stayed awake, sitting side by side, gazing at the sugarcane fields that dotted the landscape. The cane grows tall and forms huge thickets that dance in the breeze. Leaving Matanzas, the train moved on a track parallel to the river. Then it curved around and turned into some tree-covered hills. It reminded me a little of the forest between Govorovo and Vishkov, but with tall palm trees instead—can you imagine?!
The train stopped at lots of little villages, then there was one big one called Unión de Reyes. One side of the track was filled with sturdy wooden houses where the better-off people must live, and on the other side, there were rickety shacks, probably where the peasants who cut the sugarcane live.
At last we stopped at a station with a sign that read AGRAMONTE. It was a town no bigger than Govorovo! I said I would follow Papa to the ends of the earth and I have done just that. Now I will finish writing to you, beloved sister. It is time to know my new home in Cuba.
With love from Cuba,
ESTHER
AGRAMONTE
February 6, 1938
Dearest Malka,
The countryside is so alive in Cuba! On my first night in our little wooden house, I fell asleep to the sound of crickets chattering in the darkness, then woke to the brightest sunshine I’ve ever seen and birds singing and roosters crowing so loudly it seemed they were right next to me.