The Featherbed. Джон Миллер

not take them both, and I tried to refuse, but she persuaded me to take one with me.

      “I never thought before that she would care if I gave her a thought after I left, and I certainly never thought she would miss me at all, but when she offered me the featherbeds, I realized that she did as best she could, but when she finished with all her duties, she had nothing left for me.

      “The day I left for Kiev, my mama packed the featherbed, along with my clothes, in a bundle of cloth that she tied to my back. She made a criss-cross with the four corners over my shoulders and under my arms, and tied the knot between my bosoms. Then she turned me around, adjusting the bundle so that it would carry properly and wouldn’t give me a sore back. When I turned to hug her goodbye, I saw she had already started down the road. She walked quickly away, and I could see her shoulders heaving up and down. That was the last time I saw my mother.”

      Rebecca squirmed uncomfortably in her chair, trying to think of what to say. Her mother was breathing deeply with her eyes closed, and her father was stroking her forearm.

      “Beckeleh,” she continued once she had composed herself, “I went to Krakow the day after my nineteenth birthday. It seemed that everybody was on the move. It took me four weeks to get there what with the poor transportation, all the people going here and there, and my stopping to earn some money. When I got to Krakow, I took the money I had saved, and I looked up a man about whom my friend Ilana had told me.

      “I paid him some money to arrange for immigration to America. He took my papers and then took me in a buggy and said we needed to go to the settlement office, but after an hour, when we arrived outside of the city at a big fancy house, I felt something was wrong. He took me by the arm, and we went in the door.

      “Inside, there were other women standing and sitting just here and there, some of them in only underclothing. I remember one of them looked at me with the saddest eyes. Another also looked at me, but she looked at me with worry — from my eyes to the door, and back to my eyes. I asked the man what was this place. What were we doing there? He laughed, and said not to worry, that everything would be all right. I looked back at the woman, and her eyes went wide and flickered a little to the left.

      “I don’t know how I knew to do this, or how I did it, but I pulled my arm away from his and ran out the front door. I shot off to the side of the house and into some bushes. I ran and ran, my bundle flopping about on my back, until I was sure they could not follow me anymore. I ran until I found a farmer who took me to a police station. It turned out this man was selling girls into white slavery in Argentina. Now, whenever I am feeling sorry for myself, I think of that girl who saved my life with her eyes.”

      Rebecca couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Her mother had been a moment’s hesitation away from being a prostitute in Argentina. “Mama! You were so brave!”

      She dismissed the comment with a wave. “Not so brave. Just scared to death. The important thing is that I got away, and that I met your papa at the police station. He was there with his friend Yekl, you know, the same Yekl with whom he does business here. They were complaining about a business associate who had cheated them.

      “Your father saw me there crying. When I heard him turn to his friend and speak in Jewish, I was so relieved. What did I know from his character; I only saw in him someone who could help. And he did help. He helped me find a place to stay, and he helped me find some work. Eventually, he asked me to marry him. Your papa was a cap-maker then, same as here, but there he had his own shop. Someday here you will too, won’t you, Papa?”

      Her father grunted.

      “I convinced your papa to come to America with me. It took us two years to earn the money for the passage and to arrange the details. The second year we saved more money because we were married by then, and we lived together. You were born, Beckeleh, four weeks before we left. I bundled you on my back wrapped in your bubbe’s featherbed — you were warmer than any of us on that boat!”

      “Mama, Papa, I didn’t know. You never told me any of this before. I had no idea...”

      “Well now maybe you will have some — what is the word?” Her mother scratched at her wig.

      “Guilt?”

      “Don’t be smart. The word meaning better way of looking.”

      “Perspective?”

      “Something like that.”

      Her father interceded. “You’re not happy in the factory, Rebecca?” he said, looking at her sweetly. His eyes were squinting, and he smiled faintly. “Your mama and I have been talking. Yekl knows a boy, a good boy who has been doing work for him. Hard worker, observes the Sabbath. His father is from Poland, from a village next to where I come from. I knew his father’s cousin back home.”

      “Oh, Papa, I don’t think...”

      “I talked to them, and he’s willing to take what we’ve saved for you. Considering who he is, with no business of his own, I think this is fair.”

      Rebecca’s heart started racing. “Papa, no. I don’t want to marry someone I haven’t seen. I want to marry for love, like you and Mama.”

      He harrumphed, then looked at Rebecca. “This way is much better — a boy we know, who works hard. You will like him, Beckeleh. Anyway, it’s all agreed. The arrangements are made. You will get to meet him before the wedding. We have arranged that too.”

      She began to panic. “Arranged? You talked to him without asking me? How could you do that? No, Papa! I won’t marry him. I won’t!”

      Her father’s voice boomed. “Don’t you raise your voice like that to your father, little girl! This is arranged, and you will marry him!”

      “I am not a little girl anymore, Papa!” Then realizing the danger of what she said, added, “But I’m also not as old as Mama was when she married. I’m sixteen! You were both much older when you were wed.”

      Her mother came over and stroked Rebecca’s hair. “Sweetheart. That is only because we didn’t have parents to look after our interests. Other girls are married younger than you. There is nothing to worry about, my darling. Everything will be fine.”

      Rebecca’s mind raced. She knew that she needed to change strategy, because she could see her father getting angry, and when her father got angry, there was no hope for reason. He had already begun to speak when she said suddenly, “Okay, I’ll marry him.”

      Her father was obviously taken off guard by his daughter’s rapid capitulation because he had started to say something, but stopped in the middle of his sentence.

      “But Papa, please don’t make me marry him yet. Not just yet. Let me first finish my classes at the night school. Didn’t you always say education is the key to getting ahead in this country?” She looked into her father’s eyes for some hope of concession.

      “For boys, yes. For girls, more important you should get married, and to someone who can put bread on your table.”

      “Please, I’m begging you, Papa! Put off the wedding. At least until I’m nineteen.”

      She looked at her parents’ faces. They were tight and silent. Then her mother turned to her father. His eyes were bugging out, but she raised an eyebrow at him. In the nuance of this gesture, her family always knew what she was thinking.

      “One year,” he said, still looking at his wife.

      “Two.” Rebecca’s heart beat faster.

      “Two?! I should have you marry him tomorrow!”

      “Sholem,” her mother tilted her head to the side.

      Silence. Then he said, “Eighteen months,” and got up from the table. Under his breath, he muttered, “She should bargain so well with the pushcart vendors.” He retreated into the bedroom and shut the door behind him.

      Rebecca smiled at her mother, but she frowned back, got up, and went to the wash basin. Alone at the table,