“Come, Papa,” I whispered, and we ducked out of the store. “Let’s go to Rifka Rubenstein’s store. I want to show her the dresses.”
We wove through the crowds that formed on Calle Muralla in the middle of the day, people strolling not just on the sidewalks but in the middle of the street, their voices sounding musical, rising into the air like joyful melodies.
When we entered the store, Rifka Rubenstein was sitting behind the counter as before, this time reading a Yiddish newspaper. She looked up and greeted us in her chatty way.
“Here you are again, the sweet girl who reminds me of my granddaughter in Poland.” Then she sighed. “Have you seen the news? Look at this! It says the crowds cheered the Nazis as they arrived in Vienna.”
She passed the newspaper to us. It was chilling to see the news confirmed in Yiddish, the same news Doctor Pablo had told us about.
“What is going to become of the world?” Rifka Rubenstein exclaimed as she brought her hands to either side of her head and rocked back and forth, a gesture that reminded me of Bubbe.
Papa told her, “We must not lose faith. There is much good in the world too. But we’re worried about our loved ones in Poland. We’re a long way from having enough savings to bring six members of our family here.”
Rifka Rubenstein nodded. “I know how it is. You take food from your own mouth and save and save and it barely adds up to pennies. My husband worked as a peddler for years when we arrived in Cuba, and with much sacrifice, we finally bought this store. We thought our future looked so bright, and then one day he was on top of a ladder getting a bolt of fabric down from a high shelf and fell to the ground, breaking his skull. It was the saddest day of my life. I have my son and his wife and three grandchildren in Poland, but they don’t want to come to Cuba. They say if I go to New York, then they’ll come and live with me. So I’ve applied for a visa to the United States. Who knows if it will ever arrive? If it does, I will go immediately, and then I will send for my family, and finally we will be together.” She paused before she asked, “But tell me, what can I do for you? Have you come for more fabric?”
I reached into my satchel and pulled out the three dresses. I held one up at a time, starting with the smallest and moving to the biggest.
Rifka Rubenstein watched in wonder. “You made these yourself? My, oh my, you have blessed hands.”
“Our neighbor gave me a sewing machine and I have been experimenting,” I said.
She examined the seams and collars and buttons and belts and sashes. “Such original designs you’ve come up with. And pockets too!”
“These are samples,” I told her. “I want to buy more fabric and make dresses to sell in the countryside. I think they’ll sell if I keep the prices low.”
“These dresses are elegant. You don’t need to sell them in the countryside, my dear,” Rifka Rubenstein replied. “I am sure they’d sell here in Havana. Why don’t I give you some fabric and you can make dresses I can sell in my store? I’ll hang these three dresses up in the window, and I’m sure customers will come.”
That was such an exciting idea, I leaped with joy. With Papa’s help, we hung the dresses in the shop window and Rifka Rubenstein added a for-sale sign: A LA VENTA.
Within half an hour, passersby were stopping and peering at the dresses. I thought I was dreaming! Then they started to come in and ask for prices. We had not even discussed that. I had thought to sell them for fifty cents in Agramonte. But Rifka Rubenstein thought they were worth more. She said they cost two pesos for the children’s sizes and five pesos for the women’s. I guess those prices were a bargain in Havana! Rifka Rubenstein took orders for ten dresses and promised they would be ready by the following week.
I was going to have a lot of work, but I was thrilled. The more dresses I make, the faster we’ll get you to Cuba!
When it was time for lunch, Rifka Rubenstein closed up the store and invited us to eat with her. “You won’t have to go far. I live in the apartment right above the store.”
Papa and I agreed and followed her to the apartment. It had colorful Spanish-tiled floors, a living room, three small bedrooms, a small kitchen with a refrigerator, and an indoor toilet with running water. What I liked the best was the balcony. I stood there with Papa, looking out over the narrow streets of Havana. On the horizon, the sea glittered like a row of sequins. The enormous sea that separates us.
Soon we smelled delicious aromas from the kitchen. Rifka Rubenstein invited us to her table and served us chicken soup with kreplach, brisket with potatoes, and even a raisin kugel. We ate like beggars, not so much because we were ravenous, though we were, but because we hadn’t eaten food like this for so long, food that tasted like Bubbe’s cooking—which reminded us of home.
Afterward we sat by the balcony, feeling the breeze from the sea. Papa said, “Thank you, Rifka. We have enjoyed your lunch and are grateful for your generosity. But I don’t know if my daughter can make all the dresses you have promised. She is only a girl of twelve.”
Why was Papa saying such things? Of course I could make all the dresses that Rifka Rubenstein promised. And many more too! I tried not to feel angry. Papa cared about me and wanted to make clear I was still a young person and shouldn’t be taking on the burdens of an adult. But in times of emergency, a child must rise up and act older than her years, don’t you think?
“Papa, I can do it! Please don’t worry, Mrs. Rubenstein. I can sew quickly—and I like doing it. But it’s true that I am only one person. Papa, do you think you could cut the fabric? I have the patterns already made. If we work together, I can finish all the orders in a week. Then we can take more orders.”
“Of course I will cut the fabric, Esther,” Papa said. “That’s a wonderful plan. We can be a team.”
Rifka Rubenstein smiled at us. “I will gladly take all the dresses you can make. And on this first order from today, to show my goodwill, I will not take a commission. All the earnings will be for the two of you. And afterward, I promise I will only ask for a small amount so that you can save and bring your family to Cuba.”
“Thank you, thank you!” I said in Yiddish. Because we were in Cuba, I then said, “Muchas gracias.”
Papa stood. “Now we must be going. We have a train to catch.”
Rifka Rubenstein smiled. “It’s time to open the store again. Come, let’s choose some fabric before you go.”
She gave me lots of light cotton fabric, plus some miracle cloth that doesn’t wrinkle, and we squeezed it into our satchels. And she gave me more buttons and needles and thread and a bit of lace.
Then Papa and I ran off to catch the last train back to Agramonte. Papa slept the whole way, but I wanted to guard over the fabric and supplies. I stayed awake, squeezing my satchel to my heart. It contained the most precious gem of all—hope and hope and hope.