Rachel's Hope (9 page)

Anna asked if there were any questions before she finished. One row ahead of Rachel, a man identified himself as a reporter for the
San Francisco Bulletin
. He asked what Anna hoped to achieve in Russia, and scribbled furiously in his notebook as she explained how she wanted to bring attention to Russia and its ordinary citizens, who had none of the rights Americans enjoyed.

‘Though Russia is far in distance,” said Anna, “its people are no different from us in their desire to feed, clothe, and educate their children. They want to live in a free society where leaders are elected and where laws are made in a democratic fashion.”

Anna's speech will be in the newspaper
, thought Rachel.
Not only did Anna write the news, now she was the news.

“Before concluding, I want to introduce you to one of our newest residents who has come to San Francisco all the way from Russia,” said Anna. “Rachel Paskar.”

“What?” gasped Rachel. She shook her head at Anna.

“It's all right, Rachel. Please come up here to the stage,” said Anna.

Feeling as if she had rocks in her shoes, Rachel plodded up to the front and stood, frozen. She winced as pain cut through her back. One hundred pairs of eyes stared at her as if she were an important person. Anna put her arm around Rachel, slightly easing the tension in her shoulders.

“Rachel and her family endured a terrible massacre in their small Russian town, just like the one I described. But afterwards they were fortunate enough to escape to Shanghai. Rachel had to give up going to school to help provide for her family and to save for passage to America. Now she lives here in San Francisco, still working hard but also going to school,” explained Anna. “She has great ambitions to become a writer and has even had an article published in a local paper. Her strength humbles me, and I'm proud to call her my friend.”

Rachel's stomach flip-flopped as a thunderous applause broke out, and the audience stood to honor her. She had done as Mr. Ezra had suggested, rewritten her article about Jewish women in San Francisco and sent it to the weekly
Emanu-El
newspaper. The editor had responded within a week, sending her a dollar for the story and advising her that he would make the necessary corrections to her English. “In spite of your grammatical and spelling errors,” he wrote, “I can see you are a talented writer, and I encourage you to submit again in the future to our
Emanu-El
publication.” As she listened to the applause, Rachel felt proud of her accomplishment.

People began funneling down the aisles toward Rachel and Anna to shake their hands. Rachel found herself looking into their eyes, seeing compassion and respect reflected back at her. “Proud to know you,” said one man. “You have the courage of ten men,” said another. She wanted to say that she had done nothing extraordinary, that thousands of people had endured even worse circumstances; that she was grateful to be in America. But she was overcome with shyness.

As the crowd filed by, they contributed generously to the donation bucket held by the chairman. By the time the building had emptied, the bucket was filled to the brim with money.

“I'm so happy that you were successful,” said Rachel to Anna. “But hearing you speak and seeing this money means you will be leaving soon.”

“In two weeks,” said Anna.

“I don't know what I'll do without you,” said Rachel.

“You're not rid of me just yet,” said Anna. “And there are still a couple of things I want to do with you.”

“What?”

“Meet me tomorrow at three o'clock, and you'll see.”

“I'll have to leave work early.”

“Just say it's a matter of life and death,” said Anna.

“I did hurt my back today.”

“Then you shouldn't be working at all tomorrow. Take the day off and spend it with me. Noon at 1010 Fillmore Street.”

“I will.” Rachel embraced Anna and headed outside to the trolley stop. For the entire way home, all she could think about was Anna and her mysterious plans for the next day.

9

K
oblik's Bookstore stood prominently at 1010 Fillmore Street. It was eleven-thirty and Rachel stood outside the shop, peering through the window at the books on display. Mr. Koblik himself was outside as well, unfurling the off-white awning so that it stretched across the sidewalk. A light rain had begun, gently wetting Rachel's face and hands.

She'd done as Anna had suggested, sending word with Nucia that she was too sore to work today. With the flat to herself that morning, she'd read the newspaper and worked on an essay for her English course. For the first time in a long time, Rachel felt relaxed, not racing to get everything done. Her back even felt less painful.

“Why don't you come inside and have a look,” suggested Mr. Koblik, a lean man in a freshly pressed suit and tie. “You'll get drenched if you stay out here much longer.”

The rain had increased, so Rachel walked into the shop behind Mr. Koblik and headed directly to the magazine racks. She opened the latest edition of
California Women's Magazine
and scanned the contents, looking for Anna's most recent article. There it was, “National Council of Jewish Women Votes No for Suffrage” by Anna Strunsky. Rachel ran her index finger over Anna's name, and read the article, paying particular attention to how Anna had structured the piece. She noted how the first sentence, which Anna had explained was the most important, captured the discord of the meeting. In fact, from the powerful quotes Anna used, it was clear that the women's inability to agree on what needed to be done had led to the unsuccessful vote. Reading this, Rachel felt as if she were back at the Emanu-El meeting. Anna had not only given a vivid description of the women, but of the synagogue as well.

“You're early!” Anna squeezed Rachel tightly, scrunching the magazine.

“Oh, no!” cried Rachel. “I don't have enough money to buy it and it's all wrinkled.”

Anna snatched it from Rachel's hands. “I'll get it for you.”

“No, Anna!” Rachel tried to grab the magazine but Anna held it over her head.

“You need to study magazine pieces, especially mine, to learn how to write,” said Anna.

“Especially yours?” laughed Rachel. “Nobody could ever accuse you of being modest.”

“Modesty will get you nowhere.” Anna dropped the magazine on the counter. “Now, you listen to me, Rachel Paskar. I am going to buy this magazine for you today, and I am going to buy a book for you, too.”

Rachel opened her mouth to object.

“Don't say a word,” ordered Anna. “Just listen. I want to buy a book for you, any one you want, to thank you for helping me with my Russian. This is not charity. It is a gift; the kind that people give one another to say thanks.”

“Really?” said Rachel “Any book I want?”

“Well,” Anna put her hands on her slim hips. “That was easier than I thought.”

“Nobody has given me a book since my father…” Rachel paused. “He bought me
Anna Karenina,
my favorite book. It was destroyed in the massacre.”

Anna touched Rachel's shoulders gently. “I would be honored if you'd let me buy
Anna Karenina
for you.”

“I don't know what to say,” said Rachel.

“Don't say anything,” said Anna. “Just accept the book. Your father would want you to have it.”

Mr. Koblik moved out from behind the counter and went straight to a shelf in the middle of his shop. He peered at the spines and pulled out a blue-gray book with gold lettering. “
Anna Karenina
by Leo Tolstoy,” he said.

“I'll take it and the magazine,” said Anna.

Rachel's hands shook when Anna handed the book to her. She lifted the cover delicately, as if it were fragile, and caressed the title page. The one her father had given her had been written in Russian. This English edition would be a challenge, reading it in her new language, but she could hardly wait to start.

“This is the best gift you could give me,” said Rachel, once they were out of the bookstore. “I can't think of a better surprise.” She held the book and magazine to her chest.

“I'm glad,” said Anna. “But there's more.”

“Oh, no.” Rachel shook her head. “I won't let you spend another cent on me.”

“That's too bad. I was going to take you to lunch.”

Rachel pondered this idea. “Only if you let me take you to supper one day, when I can afford it.”

“I would be delighted.” Anna locked arms with Rachel and led her down the street to a restaurant with curtains in the windows. A man wearing a white apron over black trousers seated them at a table by the window. Rachel watched the people strolling outside with satisfaction on her face.

“This is the first time I've ever been to a restaurant here,” she told Anna. “I feel like royalty with everyone outside looking at me.”

Anna lifted her eyes above the paper menu. “Did you eat in restaurants in Russia?”

“Once. My father took us for my mother's birthday. He thought it would be nice to have someone else cook for her.”

“Did she like it?”

“Not at all. She found fault with everything: the food, the cleanliness. I felt terrible for my father, but he didn't seem to mind.”

Anna dropped her menu and folded her hands together. “Let me order for you. I want you to try real American food.”

Rachel glanced at the menu. She had been trying to figure out what passed for kosher, but Anna had a way of persuading her to do what she wanted. Besides, Rachel had wanted to try more American food for a while. That was difficult because Nucia did most of the cooking and refused to venture far from their traditional fare. Rachel agreed to have Anna order for her.

Leafy greens on a white plate appeared minutes later.

“Granada salad,” Anna explained. “Lettuce with pomegranate seeds.”

Using her fork, Rachel picked up some lettuce and the small, red seeds. The lettuce was crisp and mild, but the pomegranate seeds burst with unexpected tartness in her mouth.

“You like it?” asked Anna.

“Very much,” said Rachel. She continued eating, savoring the new flavors that awakened her taste buds. She had never eaten raw lettuce before. Normally, her meals started with hot soup.

Next, came a circular piece of meat in a bun with Saratoga chips—crisp, strangely shaped things that tasted like salty potatoes—on the side.

“These are delicious,” said Rachel.

“Try the hamburg steak,” said Anna. She took a bite out of the bun with the meat inside.

Rachel did the same and found it was unlike any type of meat she'd ever eaten. It tasted a bit like meatloaf, but the texture of the meat was different, crumbly inside and crusty on the outside. The rich, beefy flavor lingered on her tongue.

“Marty would love this,” Rachel said to Anna between bites. “He would eat meat for breakfast if he could.”

Anna smiled. “Hamburg steaks are my favorite, but my mother refuses to serve them at home.”

“Why?”

“She says they're for working people; people who can't afford steaks.”

Rachel's stomach tightened. For the first time since she'd met Anna, she felt the economic inequality between her family and the well-to-do Strunskys.

“I'm sorry,” said Anna. “I didn't mean anything by that. My mother can be a real snob, but you know I'm not.”

“It's all right,” said Rachel, pasting a fake smile on her face. “It's not like my family's poverty is a secret.”

“Just remember, my parents brought us over from Russia with only a few dollars in their pockets,” said Anna. “My father worked at two jobs, just like Jacob. It took years for him to save enough money to open his first liquor store. And though I don't like the fact that he sells alcohol, it is legal, and it has enabled us to live a comfortable life.”

“I know it will take time for us to get where we want to be,” said Rachel. “I just don't have much patience.”

“You're exactly like me,” laughed Anna. “My father says I have the patience of a starving tiger. Now, hurry and finish eating. I have another surprise for you.”

⚓ ⚓ ⚓

Rachel pressed her face to the trolley window and watched the city roll by as she and Anna headed toward the business district. It had stopped raining, but the streets still had a silvery sheen to them. They passed familiar landmarks—a Polish delicatessen, an Italian barbershop, a German bakery, a Ukrainian hardware store—before reaching more unfamiliar buildings in the financial center of the city. The spire of the Ferry Building jutted higher than any other building. Beyond the skyline was the bay, a flat, light blue expanse. Beyond it, the Berkeley Hills stretched up into the murky clouds.

“We get off here,” said Anna, pulling Rachel to her feet when they reached Folsom Street.

“Where are we going?” asked Rachel.

“You'll see,” said Anna giving her an evasive smile.

A few minutes later, Anna stopped outside a five-story brick building with dark windows.

“This is it,” said Anna in a buoyant voice. “The
San Francisco Bulletin
.”

Rachel creased her brow. “Do you have to hand in a story?”

“No.” Anna opened the door and marched inside as if she owned the building.

A young man greeted Anna. He sat at a spacious desk, located underneath a chandelier. A spiral staircase with iron railings was behind him.

“Good afternoon, George,” said Anna. “This is my friend, Rachel Paskar.”

“Pleased to meet you,” he replied.

“Yes. I mean, good to meet you, too,” said Rachel. She brushed a stray piece of hair from her eyes.

Anna continued up the stairs to the second floor, one enormous room that hummed with the sound of typewriters and smelled of tobacco. People worked at desks in the center of the room, heads bent over their Underwood typewriters, oblivious to Anna and Rachel. A mist of cigarette smoke hung in the air. Rachel could not peel her eyes away from the reporters, mostly men in suits and a few women in dark, tailored dresses. Anna walked briskly past the desks to the far side of the room and knocked on a door in the corner with EDITOR written in block letters. A muffled voice told them to enter.

“Anna, good to see you.” Rising from his desk, a white-haired, bespectacled man greeted Anna effusively.

Framed covers of
Bulletin
issues lined two walls, and newspapers and books were stacked all over the floor.

“Hello, Hugh. This is my friend, Rachel, whom I've told you about,” said Anna.

Hugh took Rachel's hands and clasped them in a friendly manner. “I've heard so much about you, Rachel.”

Rachel, was speechless, meeting the editor of such an important mainstream newspaper.

“Rachel had no idea I was bringing her here today,” said Anna. “She's a bit overwhelmed.”

“I promise I won't bite,” teased Hugh. He let go of Rachel's hands and gestured to the chairs facing his desk. “Sit down, please.”

Rachel sat down gratefully, placing her book and magazine on her lap. Anna dropped into the chair beside Rachel, giving her an encouraging smile.

“You're all booked for your trip?” Hugh asked Anna.

“I've got my tickets and my papers,” Anna replied.

“No second thoughts?” asked Hugh.

“None. In fact, I feel more confident than ever, thanks to Rachel.” Anna turned and smiled at her. “Because of her help with the language, I might even pass as a Russian citizen.”

“I'm not sure whether to thank you for assisting Anna, or to be angry with you for helping her leave us,” said Hugh in a stern voice.

Rachel's shoulders tightened and her eyes shifted from Hugh to Anna.

“Don't take anything he says seriously,” said Anna. “Hugh, behave. Rachel is not used to your sarcasm.”

Hugh held out his hand to Rachel. “My apologies. I am truly grateful to meet you.”

Heat crawled up her neck as Hugh studied her with penetrating eyes.

“Anna has shown me your article in the
Emanu-El
weekly,” he continued, leaning back in his chair and clasping his hands behind his head. “Well done.”

“Rachel's also written for a newspaper in Shanghai,” said Anna. “What's it called, Rachel?”

“
Israel's Messenger
,” said Rachel, her voice getting stronger.

“What kind of articles?” asked Hugh. He removed his spectacles, breathed on each lens, and rubbed them with a wrinkled cloth.

Rachel cleared her throat. “It's a local Jewish newspaper, written in Yiddish, reporting on international news. While I lived in Shanghai, I wrote about Jews leaving Russia and what it was like for the Jewish refugees arriving in Shanghai.”

“Rachel's been reading the
Bulletin
since she arrived here,” said Anna. She turned to Rachel and nodded at her, urging her to say something.

Hugh returned his spectacles to his face and looked at Rachel expectantly.

“I…I really like the articles about politics and women. I was particularly interested in the recent story about Bertha Suttner, the first woman to win the Nobel Peace Prize.”

“Well, I can certainly see Anna's influence on you,” said Hugh.

“Rachel has her own opinions,” said Anna. “All I've done is help her with English. She's a fast learner. You should see the books she's reading after just learning English.”

“Anna has also taught me a lot about writing,” added Rachel.

“You couldn't have a better teacher,” said Hugh. “Anna is an excellent journalist.”

“Rachel hopes to be a full-time writer one day,” said Anna.

“After I finish university,” added Rachel.

“Good, good,” said Hugh. He got to his feet and moved toward a stack of newspapers in the corner of his office. “You represent a growing segment of the population; young, educated female immigrants. I'd be delighted to have you write for me one day.”