It was then that a sophisticated lady walked into the store. She wore a beige dress with a beige jacket and a belt cinched tightly at her waist. She carried a beige purse, no bigger than an envelope, in one hand and sunglasses in the other.
I knew Rifka Rubenstein would have liked for Papa and me to disappear, not to be standing at the counter with our sweaty faces and our dusty satchels. Papa bowed his head and stepped aside, trying his best to be invisible. But I stayed put. Rifka Rubenstein would have to pick me up and move me herself if she didn’t want me there. Sure enough, glancing at Papa and me from the corner of her eye, she said, in her best Yiddish-accented Spanish, “My friends, you have made such a long trip to come visit me, maybe you’d like to rest in the back room while I take care of the lady?”
Before Papa or I could reply, the lady spoke. “I’ve heard from friends that there are some very well-designed dresses being sold here. Who, may I ask, is the designer?”
Rifka Rubenstein replied, “The designer is from New York.”
“I know all the designers in New York. You see, I come from El Encanto. What is the designer’s name?”
Rifka Rubenstein raised both eyebrows. “El Encanto?”
The sophisticated lady nodded. “I am Isabel de la Fuente, and I work at the salon de señoritas of El Encanto. I want to see if the dresses would be right for our young ladies. We choose only the most original designs at El Encanto.”
I felt my entire body trembling at her words. Mutely, I picked up a dress and pointed to the label.
“What is this?” she said. “‘Designs by Esther’? Who is Esther?”
In the clearest Spanish I could muster, I said, “Yo soy Esther.”
“You are the designer?”
I nodded.
“And these dresses are made by you?”
I nodded again.
She turned to Rifka Rubenstein. “Is this true?”
Rifka Rubenstein sighed. “I cannot hide the truth anymore. The dresses are designed and sewn by this talented young girl you see standing here, who is accompanied by her father, Señor Abraham Levin.”
“You have an air of someone from another part of the world. Where are you from, Esther?”
“I am polaca,” I said. “But really I am judía.” I used the word “Jewish” rather than “Hebrew” so she would not think I was anything but what I am.
“None of that really matters to me. I want to see the dresses. May I look at them more closely?”
I passed her a batch of dresses that I had made for young girls and one for an adult woman. She examined them slowly and then turned to me. “These are beautiful and very original. I would like to take them to show to my boss at El Encanto. How much are they?”
Papa, who stood watching and barely breathing, suddenly said, “Please just take them and show them to your boss. We’ll settle the price later.”
Rifka Rubenstein gasped. She had not responded quickly enough and she was regretting it. I was so glad Papa had spoken for us.
But I had made the dresses for Rifka Rubenstein to sell in her store, and it would have been rude not to ask her for permission. In my sweetest voice, I said, “Would you mind if Señorita Isabel takes a few of the dresses to El Encanto?”
Trying not to seem annoyed, Rifka Rubenstein responded, “Of course I don’t mind. Please take the dresses, señorita. It’s thanks to me that this girl has been sewing since the day she arrived in Cuba!”
The lady looked at Papa and me with curiosity. “And where do you live? How will I find you?”
Papa smiled. “We live in Agramonte.”
“Don’t tell me! Isn’t that somewhere in the countryside of Matanzas?”
“It’s a little far, but we’ve gotten used to taking the train, and the people have been kind to us there.”
Rifka Rubenstein couldn’t stay quiet. “But you had your money stolen in Agramonte. How can you say the people have been kind to you there?”
“Most everyone is kind. There is only one bad pineapple,” Papa responded, making a silly joke.
The lady laughed. “You are very gracioso,” she said. “I am so glad I have met you and your talented daughter. It would be easiest if you both came to El Encanto in a few days. How about Thursday? What do you say?”
Papa and I smiled at each other.
“We will be delighted to come on Thursday,” Papa said.
She replied, “I will be waiting for you.” Then she took my dresses with her, dresses I had held next to my heart, and said adiÓs as she slipped out the door.
Rifka Rubenstein paid us for the rest of the dresses, and I was happy that she no longer seemed to mind about my label. Again, we put most of the money in her safe box.
“You are a lucky girl,” Rifka Rubenstein said to me.
I remembered how Bubbe always feared the evil eye when someone gave her too big a compliment. “Pooh, pooh,” she’d say to ward off the evil spirits. “Pooh, pooh,” I whispered to myself. But come rain or shine, Papa and I would be at El Encanto on Thursday. This time I would not allow anyone to make me feel like a fly being swatted away.
In the meantime, we agreed to make thirty more dresses for Rifka Rubenstein, plus an additional five dresses to make up for the ones we had given to Isabel de la Fuente. As usual, she gave us fabric and supplies to fulfill the orders she had taken—and some extra for myself.
The whole ride back to Agramonte, I could only think about the day we’d return to Havana and go to El Encanto.
And I kept saying “pooh, pooh.” I was afraid to dream, afraid to be lucky.
With all the love a sister can give another sister,
ESTHER
AGRAMONTE
May 26, 1938
Dear Malka,
Time seemed to pass much too slowly as I waited to go to El Encanto. I decided I must make a special dress for the visit. I pulled out some white cotton fabric that was soft like a handkerchief. I cut the cloth into the wraparound style that no one had worn yet except Manuela and me and added lace trim around the edge of the hem.
Finally the Thursday we had agreed upon arrived and we set off for Havana. Papa carried his empty satchel so we could bring back challah and a few other things. The trains were crowded as usual, and I sat stiffly with my arms on either side of my lap to protect my dress.
We arrived early, and Papa and I set off at a leisurely pace to El Encanto, winding our way through Havana’s streets and plazas. As we passed by the Capitolio, its dome shimmering in the sun, one of the street photographers came up to us and asked if we wanted a picture. I assumed Papa would say no, as we never spend money on anything but essentials, but he asked the photographer to take a picture of me.