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By Root 1966 0

better, but the hand grew colder, and then it became stiff and he screamed out, “My mother is dead.” No one took any notice. There were plenty of other dead people, mothers, fathers, children, infants … they were too sick to care. His father died a few hours later and Zev covered them both with the blue cloth, talking to them, pretending at first they were still alive. Then he broke down, wailing and sobbing until he was sick and his eyes were red and swollen. The next day the trapdoors above the hold were flung open and the captain ordered them onto the deck. Zev was filled with fear. He was alone and he did not know what to do, but the captain left no option. After kissing his mother and father, he put the silver candlesticks in his pocket and climbed the ladder after the others.

He smelled the salty breeze and the fresh easterly wind and saw that they were sailing up a broad river lined with tall, dark buildings. He watched to see what the others would do next. Sailors were pushing them toward the gangplank, their hands rough, their voices filled with disgust. He saw stern, official-looking men in peaked caps waiting for them, just like the police at home in Russia, and his stomach sank and his knees trembled as he waited silently for them to take him away. He listened to the questions they were asking other people, knowing he had no answers. He had no parents, nobody who knew him, no money … nothing. They would send him back to the ship, to death.

The family in front of him was large, five, six, seven children, no one could count they were running around so much, the baby screaming, the infants plucking at the tired mother’s dress. “If there are no relatives waiting you will remain on Ellis Island and await deportation,” he heard the official say. Zev held his breath, waiting for their answer. There were relatives, the man said, showing some papers. The official was impatient, eager to get rid of them and their smell; he barely looked. It was easy for Zev to tag along behind them, just another child among many….

The big hall was filled with hundreds of people, all wailing and crying and laughing at the same time, but there was no one to greet him, no one who knew him. No one even noticed the small seven-year-old boy running from the hall, terrified they would catch him and send him back. He stopped, still as a frightened hare, staring up at the tall, dirty brick buildings, hearing new sounds, smelling new smells. Then he stared down at his feet in the new leather shoes his uncle had given him. He was standing on America.

Always at this point Zev would slam down the piano lid and pace his tiny room, unwilling to remember that small boy alone in a new country whose language he did not even understand, and the events that had happened next. After grabbing a book from one of the many piles, he would hurl himself into the sagging armchair with the stuffing spilling from its threadbare upholstery and immerse himself in the story of someone else’s life so he would not have to think about his own.

To his customers, Zev was a soft-spoken young Jew with an accent and a reputation for honesty in his dealings. Sure, like any other pawnbroker he offered only a minimum price on their goods, but unlike the others, he charged a reasonable rate of interest—and he didn’t hurry to snatch away their possessions when they begged for another few days that gradually grew into weeks, until they could find the money to repay him. Zev Abramski did not smile much, but he was fair and the entire neighborhood gave him their business.

From behind his brass cage, Zev watched the world go by his window. He knew everyone, from the pushcart vendors to the rent collectors, the housewives and the whores, Father Feeny and Rabbi Feinstein. He knew which boy out playing stickball on the street belonged to which family, which man had work and which didn’t, and which woman was cheating on her husband. He had noticed the pretty young girl with the shiny brown hair hurrying along the street. Sometimes she would be holding a blond child by the hand and a