Mitla Pass - Leon Uris [109]
In addition, Moses lived on the waterfront. He knew about too many voyages to America where unscrupulous agents had crammed emigrants on death ships. There were terrible tales of epidemics and deaths at sea, almost as bad as during the slave-trading and famine days. Moreover, there would be further privation in the promised land itself. He knew that most Jews landed in New York, where an enormous hellhole of a ghetto emerged on the Lower East Side, which was already overflowing with tailors.
So he continued to sew and pray and save his pennies and yell at his sons, while holding a high opinion of himself for his unwavering piousness.
LATE FRIDAY afternoon, Commodore Percy Poindexter Holifield buckled on an ornate belt holding a gleaming saber as Moses affixed the commodore’s hat on his head.
He stood before the three-way mirror, stunned by his dazzling appearance and steeped in self-admiration. Moses Balaban had created a miracle! What was more, the masterpiece was completed with three hours to spare before the Jewish Sabbath began. He turned and pumped the little tailor’s hand with gusto. “Moses, how can I ever thank you!”
Moses offered his small version of a smile. The kids yelled in the back room.
“Now let us settle our account,” Holifield said, thrusting forward a bag of gold coins. “I think you will find this quite generous.”
To his utter surprise, he saw Moses hold up his hand.
“No charge,” he said.
“I say, old fellow, you can’t be serious.”
“The Talmud says we must make one great gesture of this sort in our lifetime. You happened into my shop at precisely the right moment.” Having performed few sincere acts of contrition in his lifetime, Moses was playing it safe.
“But ... but,” the commodore stammered.
“So go and be a jim-dandy for the Queen and knock her eyes out.”
THE USS QUINNEBAUG slipped from her berth just before sunset. Moses Balaban and his two boys waved to the skipper, who waved back, choked with emotion.
In the next fortnight of celebrations in England, Commodore Percy Poindexter Holifield acquitted himself more than adequately to represent his country among the most elegant admirals of Europe.
Returning to America and assuming his post at the Naval Academy in Annapolis, he never forgot the little Jewish tailor, or his debt to him.
His new position involved him in a great deal of socializing, parties, dinners, trips to Washington, and the like. This required a higher standard of dress than that of an officer on sea duty. As superintendent, he was entitled to a number of privileges, among them the right to appoint a civilian as chief tailor. But alas, his new uniforms did not have the quality and flair of Moses Balaban’s work. Several months later, Moses received a letter from the commodore.
My dear friend Moses,
I have never forgotten your great kindness to me when I needed you. What is more, my present chief tailor, who does the officers’ uniforms, is simply not in your class.
If you are of a mind to immigrate to America, consider this letter to be an offer for you to assume the position of chief tailor at the Naval Academy. It will afford you a modest but steady income, good housing, and other benefits. I understand there is a large, thriving Jewish community in Baltimore, just a short train ride away.
If you are inclined to make this journey, simply take this letter to the American consul in Cork, who has instructions to arrange decent passage for yourself and your sons, in the first ship coming directly to Baltimore.
I hope you will consider this offer in a positive way and allow me to repay the gratitude I have felt all these months.
I look forward, hopefully, to a transatlantic cable informing me you are en route.
With kindest regards,
P. P. Holifield, Commodore, USN
Superintendent
U.S. Naval Academy
Annapolis, Maryland
Annapolis, 1888
AS PROMISED, Moses Balaban and his sons, Lazar and