Threads and Flames (30 page)

“What?” The question startled her. “I haven't been sad.”

“And a fish doesn't notice the water. My dear, you used to light up our home, but lately it's like having a poor little ghost who drifts in and out of the place.”

Raisa pressed her lips together. “I wish they'd give me a different job at the shop, that's all.”

Mr. Kamensky gently touched her chin and made her meet his eyes. “I was right to call you an honest girl, Raisa. You're not a very good liar. I don't think your job is the only thing that's been troubling you, though I believe it does bear the guilt for a lot of your problems. How much time have you had to search for your sister since you began working at Triangle?”

“Why bother?” Raisa replied dully. “I've run out of places to look. I've been trying to find her for months, and I hardly know more now than when I first arrived. Suppose I did have all the time in the world to go to every department store in this city—what am I supposed to ask? If the owner has a son who's run off with a poor girl? Even if I knew his name, what good would it do? It's useless. It's over.”

“This is what's devouring your spirit, this hopelessness. Listen to me, my dear. I know what it is to believe that everything is lost. I came to this country because back in Russia, I saw my whole life go up in flames and blood—my parents, my brothers and sisters, all slaughtered in a pogrom. The priests would not stop spewing hate, preaching to the peasants that we killed their god, turning them into bloodthirsty wild beasts and setting them loose to murder us. My baby brother, Gavrel, was yanked out of his cradle and smashed against the wall, and for what? For killing
God
? He couldn't even feed himself!

“My father was cut down trying to protect him. My mother grabbed me by the neck and shoved me out the back door along with the rest of the children. When I looked back, I saw the drunken peasant who killed her. I saw others catch my little sisters, Fruma and Pesha, and my brother Velvel and drag them back into our house before they burned it to the ground. I hid in a ditch all night until dawn, when, God have mercy, my uncle found me. I came to America with him and what was left of his family. What reason did I have to hope I could ever know joy again? And yet”—he spread his hands—“here I am, a husband, a father, a man who is able to feed his family, a
person
!”

He dropped his hands onto Raisa's shoulders and spoke softly. “Why stop hoping? The world spins and things change, good to bad, bad to good. If you give up, it spins you away. Maybe someday you will have the time to go looking for that young man. You might come across some person in one of the department stores who has reason to sympathize with you and who
will
tell you something to bring you closer to what you seek. But if you give up, you could be walking right past that same person on the street and never know how close you were to finding your sister.”

“What's the use?” Raisa said. “I don't even know if she's dead or alive.”

“That is true,” Mr. Kamensky said. “But only because you don't want to know.”

His words wounded her to the heart. “How can you say that?”

“I'm sorry; I spoke badly. I know how brave you are, how strong, but I also understand that even the bravest soul sometimes hides from the truth, if that truth is cruel. I understand why you haven't sought information about your sister everywhere possible.”

“And how can you say
that
? I've gone to every synagogue, I've asked at the settlement house, I've spoken to as many people as I can, I've gone back to the Protective and Benevolent Association so many times!”

“But when you were there, you never asked to see the records of the
chevra kidusha,
the burial society. And you never went to the city morgue, or the hospitals. I think you would have told us if you had. I can't blame you for it. How can you go to such places to ask a question when you fear that the answer will break your heart? You couldn't.” Mr. Kamensky took a deep breath. “I did.”

“No.” Raisa was aghast. “Oh, no.
No.
Henda is—?”

“Shhh, shhh!” Mr. Kamensky took her hands, speaking as quickly as he could to drive the look of horror out of her eyes. “That's what I'm trying to tell you. She is
not
dead. She is
not.
When the members of your
chevra kidusha
said they hadn't buried any young woman who fit your sister's description, I went to others, all the others I could find. She wasn't one of their people, but they might have buried a stranger out of charity. I had to know, one way or the other. I even went to the city morgue. But I found nothing, thank God! I didn't tell you any of this until now because it wasn't as if I'd learned where Henda was, only where she wasn't. Also, I didn't want you mad at me for minding your business.”

Raisa threw her arms around Mr. Kamensky's neck. “How could I be mad at you for giving me such a precious gift?”

“So you don't think I'm an old busybody, a yenta in trousers?” he asked. Raisa shook her head. “Good, because that makes it easier to tell you this: I also wrote a letter or two to the
Forward
on your behalf. I put in as much about your sister as I knew. Who can say? If they publish one of my letters, she might read it and come running.”

“Henda doesn't know how to read,” Raisa said.

“Neither did I, when I first came here. Neither did you, yes? Ah, but
now
...” He made an expansive gesture. “This is a wonderful country for making changes.”

“In that case, I'll start hoping she reads the
Forward,
” Raisa said, giving Gavrel's father a fond smile.

“Who
doesn't
read the
Forward
?” he responded. “And even supposing she can't or doesn't read the
Forward,
maybe someone who knows her
will
read it, and will tell her about it. Now, Raisaleh, isn't it better to be worrying about whether or not your sister reads the
Forward
than whether or not she's still alive?” He pinched her cheek.

Raisa hugged him harder and kissed him on the forehead. “How can I ever pay you back for so much of your time?”

Mr. Kamensky shrugged. “As long as I can rely on Louis to mind the store on his own—a
little
—my time is my own. You'll pay me back by getting your head out of the shadows. Here.” He reached into his pocket and pressed some coins into her hand. “Go to the moving-picture show. Laugh. Cry about things that aren't real tragedies. Enjoy yourself. You're too young to act so old and broken.”

“Mr. Kamensky, I can't.” Raisa tried to give back the money, but he pulled away, hands held high.

“Don't insult me! I'm not doing this out of pity. I'm looking out for my own happiness. As glad as I'd be to see you and Gavrel together, I don't want you thinking that marriage and children are the only possible escape from your sorrows. My son deserves better than that and so do you. So you see, I am a very selfish man.” He gave her a quick peck on the forehead. “Take Brina and go see a nice show.”

 

 

Purim came and went with all the festivities and rejoicing anyone could desire. Brina surprised everyone by
not
eating herself sick on hamantaschen, though Raisa suspected it was because Mrs. Kamensky had promised her additional treats if she behaved well. At services, Gavrel was given the honor of reading from the Scroll of Esther. Whenever he mentioned Haman's name, all the children twirled their
groggers
energetically, using the rattling noisemakers to blot out the name of their ancient enemy. Between the joy of the holiday and her sense of renewed hope thanks to Mr. Kamensky, Raisa was in a good mood as she joined Zusa and Luciana for their English class the following evening.

Sometime during the first half of class, Raisa looked up from her book just as her teacher, Miss Bryant, was hearing one of the other students, a girl who worked in her parents' fish market, recite a grammar exercise. Raisa found herself making the same corrections under her breath that Miss Bryant was making aloud. When the girl became confused and lost her place in the recitation, Raisa knew exactly how Miss Bryant would help her find her way back.

It's not that different from when I teach Brina,
she thought.
Or when I help Luciana.
She returned her eyes to the open book in front of her, but her ears held the ghostly echoes of the conversation she'd shared with Gavrel when they'd walked home arm in arm on Thanksgiving.

That was when she made her decision.

When Miss Bryant announced it was time for the class break, Zusa and Luciana joined the rest of their classmates in the mass race out the door to the water fountain, but Raisa stayed behind. Squaring her shoulders, she walked up to the teacher's desk and said in her best English, “Miss Bryant, may I speak with you, please?”

Miss Bryant was a tall, slender woman whose tight chignon of raven hair was never out of place and who always dressed modestly in simple, unstylish dresses. A red-gold wedding ring gleamed on her left hand, but she still insisted that the class call her Miss. Raisa, Zusa, and Luciana often speculated over the possible reasons for this. Her name and accent clearly marked her as Irish, which led the three girls to wonder what had brought such a woman to teach English in an institution created by and primarily for Jews.

“You may, Raisa,” Miss Bryant said. “Please sit down. However, do remember that the interval is short. You would do well to speak with all dispatch.”

“Yes, Miss Bryant.” Raisa often didn't recognize the fancy words her beloved teacher used when speaking to her, but she liked the challenge of trying to understand them. She was disappointed if a class went by without the need for her to hunt down new vocabulary in the fat dictionary on the teacher's desk. “Thank you very much. I have a question of ...” She searched her mind for the phrase she'd heard her teacher use more than once in class. “Of pressing importance.”

“
Very
good, Raisa.” Miss Bryant was obviously pleased to hear her stretching her use of English. “Please feel free to ask it.”

“Miss Bryant ...” Raisa pressed her lips together for a moment, then let her dream fly. “Miss Bryant, do you think that someday
I
can be a teacher, too?”

 

 

Yes! She said yes!
Miss Bryant's approval and support sent Raisa's heart dancing all the way through the second half of the class. The teacher's words surrounded her like clouds of purest gold:
“You have made remarkable progress in this class. You seem to have a natural aptitude for learning, and I have overheard you taking an interest in your classmates' progress. If you are willing to accept the fact that achieving your ambition will take time, I will do whatever lies within my power to assist you. In short, it is my belief that someday you will become not only a teacher, but a
good
teacher, and I promise you that when that day comes, I will rejoice.”

I wish I knew all of the words she used,
thought Raisa,
but, oh, I know what she meant! She meant yes! Yes! Yes!

Raisa could hardly wait to tell Gavrel. She wanted him to be the first to know, because he was the only one who'd shared her dream, the one who'd encouraged her to follow it. And so she had to endure a thousand prying, nagging questions from Zusa and Luciana all the way home that night. Both of them were ferociously curious to learn why Raisa had stayed in the classroom for most of the break. Raisa tried to put them off the scent by saying she'd only wanted to ask Miss Bryant to suggest some additional English readings from beyond the classroom texts that a student of her level might enjoy—stories, poems, even novels. (And it
was
true, in a way; she
had
gone on to ask the teacher for more demanding work, as eager to speed her education as she was hungry to read more interesting English than “The boy has nine apples” or “The girl will buy a new broom.”)

Luciana was willing to accept this, but Zusa had an instinct for knowing when her friend was not telling
quite
the whole story. She refused to let the matter drop. When her questions didn't turn up answers that satisfied her, she turned to sarcastic remarks about “Miss Professor” all the way home, until Raisa was ready to slap her.

Zusa relented and begged Raisa's pardon just before they parted, but her apology sounded thin. Raisa was still steaming when she returned to the apartment. Gavrel and his mother were the only two family members still awake, drinking hot tea and sharing a plate of apple slices. Mrs. Kamensky took one look at her boarder's frowning face and remarked, “What's wrong? You didn't study enough? You answered wrong too much? Your teacher scolded you?”

“My teacher says
I
could be a teacher someday!” The words burst from Raisa's mouth as if they were a curse.

“She did? Mazel tov!” Gavrel exclaimed. “But why is that making you so mad?”

“It isn't. I'm not. It's only ...” Raisa took off her hat and coat, then sat down at the table. “I wanted to keep it a secret until I got home, but Zusa kept picking and
picking
at me every step of the way until—”

“Tsk. That girl.” Mrs. Kamensky poured a glass of tea for Raisa. “So smart, so pretty, but she can't stand for anyone else to be smart and pretty, too. She should stop hungering after what's on your plate and enjoy what's on her own.”

 

 

The next morning as Raisa and Gavrel were walking toward Zusa's house, he took advantage of their small measure of time alone together to give her a big kiss on the cheek. A gang of boys loitering near the gutter saw the gesture and began hooting and making rude suggestions. Men and women from the neighborhood took notice. Raisa recognized some of them from other apartments in the Kamenskys' tenement and feared they also recognized her.