We both laughed and kept walking, feeling the sea pulling us forward.
Then there it was—the beautiful sea! And stretching around it, like a necklace, the seawall the Cubans call the Malecón. We strolled along it, feeling the salty mist on our faces, enjoying the breeze.
“Be careful!” Papa yelled as I pulled myself up on top of the wall and dangled my feet over the side.
It was scary to be up so high, staring down at the wide blue sea. But I took a deep breath and felt a little braver.
I thought of you, Malka, and Mama and Bubbe and my brothers, how far you all still are from us. I wanted to stretch out my arms and give you a hug. But my sorrows were mixed with my joys. The sea was calm and peaceful and seemed to be whispering to me, I will bring your family to you. Soon, soon, soon.
Then I turned back around and said to Papa, “Thank you for the stroll on the Malecón. Now let’s go home to Agramonte. I have many more dresses to make!”
Sending you all my love,
ESTHER
AGRAMONTE
June 14, 1938
Dear Malka,
We returned to Havana today, as I had finally finished making all the dresses I owed to Rifka Rubenstein. When we walked into her store, she complimented me for getting a contract for my designs with El Encanto, but also reminded me that she had seen my talent before anybody else.
“And I’m so grateful you gave me my start,” I told her. “I can still make some dresses for your lady customers, if you’d like. How about thirty dresses a month? I’ll sew a unique design for your store that they won’t find at El Encanto!”
“You are a good girl, Esther. That is kind of you. I’m happy for your good luck, but don’t let it go to your head. Remember you are a Jew and a refugee.”
“I never forget. My sewing is to help my family. Thanks to my work for you and the designs for El Encanto, we’re making money faster than we expected. We thought it might take years before we could even imagine being reunited again. Hopefully we will bring our family to this beautiful island soon!”
“Yes, let’s hope that day comes quickly.” Rifka Rubenstein sighed. “For some, Cuba is a paradise, but I don’t want to be in the tropics forever. The sun gives me headaches and the humidity is turning my bones to mush. I want to be in New York, where I can wear a winter coat and mittens and the snow makes everything quiet. And if we stay here too long, we’ll start to think we are Cuban and forget who we really are.”
“But I want to be Cuban!” I exclaimed.
“A Jew can never be anything but a Jew.”
“That’s what Hitler and the Nazis want us to believe, but it’s not true. We can be anything we want to be.”
Oh, Malka, I truly believe this. On the train home, I thought about how much I’ve learned being a refugee in Cuba. And I’ve made the most wonderful friends. But I understood what Rifka Rubenstein was trying to say. I will not forget our Jewish customs and traditions, but that doesn’t mean I can’t learn about other ones, does it?
With all my love,
ESTHER
AGRAMONTE
June 23, 1938
Dear Malka,
Every time we visit Rifka Rubenstein, she gives Papa a stack of Yiddish newspapers from New York that she’s finished with. Papa has spent days reading and rereading them. The news is getting more and more frightening, with such awful things happening to the Jews in Austria ever since the Nazis invaded. Papa read aloud stories about people being beaten in the streets and thrown out of their homes. I asked Papa if such terrible things could happen in Poland, and he said he hoped not, since so many Jews have lived there for a such long time. Every day Papa and I hope you are all safe.
And now, Malka, it pains me to tell you what has happened here.
We were just getting ready for bed a few nights ago when we heard knocking on the door. Papa cracked it open and Señor Eduardo pushed his way inside. He saw the Yiddish newspaper in Papa’s hand and said, “Is that some secret alphabet only you people can understand? I bet that newspaper contains information that is a threat to Cuba. How did you get it?”
“A friend in Havana gave it to us,” Papa replied.
“So you have friends in Havana? Why don’t you go and live there? I see you coming and going on the train. Why have you come here? Did they send you here to spy on us?”
Papa said, “We are from a small town in Poland. We wanted to live in a small town in Cuba.”
Señor Eduardo snickered. “My sister, Graciela, is a fool to let you rent this house for pennies. If it were up to me, you’d be in the street.”
“What do you want from us?” Papa asked.
“Let me see what’s in your pockets.”
He moved closer to Papa, and Papa pulled out all the money in his pockets. It was a small amount to pay for the things we needed every day.
“That’s all? Where’s the rest?”
He raised his hand. He hit Papa and knocked him to the floor.
“No!” I screamed.
I went to the front door and opened it wide.
“¡Por favor! ¡Por favor! ¡Por favor!”
I didn’t know how else to call for help. It was night and Calle Independencia was deserted. Then I caught sight of someone in the darkness—a man hurrying toward me. Fortunately, it was Mario José.
“Papa!” I said, and it was enough for him to understand.
He rushed into the house and helped Papa to his feet. Papa had a bump on his forehead and was dizzy. We sat him down in one of the rocking chairs and I sat next to him, whispering, “Papa, Papa, it will be all right.”
“What have you done to this innocent man?” Mario José asked.
Señor Eduardo said, “Go now, Mario José. This is none of your business.”
“You have hurt Señor Abraham and frightened Esther.”
“I told you to leave. So get going.”
“I am not leaving until you promise to stop attacking Señor Abraham and Esther. They’re our neighbors and they deserve to be treated with respect.”
“Neighbors? They are judíos who have come here to make money, to take away jobs from Cubans. The girl is making dresses to sell in Havana. It’s against the law. She’s a refugee. They should be arrested, father and daughter!”
“They aren’t taking anything from anyone. They have come to Cuba because they can no longer live in the country they are from. All they want is to live in peace here and bring their family to be with them.”