Life, After Page 8

  After the bridge, there was more highway, and my eyelids drifted shut. The next thing I knew, Mamá was shaking me awake.

  “Come, Dani. We’re here! Help with the luggage!”

  We were in front of a small, nondescript-looking redbrick building on a quiet, leafy street. “Welcome to Twin Lakes, New York,” Tío Jacobo said. “I called Mrs. Ehrenkranz, from Jewish Family Services, and she should be here any minute with the key to the apartment.”

  I looked around. It was nothing like the Alpine village of my imagination. There were no mountains, no cool, crystalline lake. Heat shimmered off the sidewalk in the sunny patches between the shade of the trees.

  We’d unloaded most of the bags when a car pulled up and a well-dressed woman emerged.

  “¡Buenos días! I’m Jane Ehrenkranz, from Jewish Family Services. Welcome to the United States, and to Twin Lakes,” she said, shaking hands with Papá and Mamá. “You must be exhausted from your trip. Let’s get you inside, so you can get settled.”

  We all carried suitcases—even Sarita took some of the hand luggage—up two flights of stairs. Mrs. Ehrenkranz stopped to open the door, and then we crowded into the hallway of what would be our new home in America.

  It was hot and smelled of something unfamiliar.

  “Let me get the air conditioner going,” said Mrs. Ehrenkranz. “It hasn’t been running while the apartment was empty.”

  She went to a box on the wall and started to fiddle with the controls. Tío Jacobo said, “Eduardo, why don’t you come look at this to see how it works?”

  Papá shuffled over, leaving Mamá and Sarita and me to survey our new surroundings. The living room was decorated, if you could call it that, with a large sofa that had seen better days, a large rectangular coffee table, and two end tables with mismatched lamps on them. The carpet was a nondescript beige that had clearly just been cleaned but was worn in places. At least the walls looked okay—the living room smelled of fresh paint.

  We followed Mamá down the short, dark hallway. There was one medium-sized room with a double bed, and a smaller room with two twin beds. The compact bathroom contained a shower and a toilet. No bathtub.

  Sarita said what I was thinking. “Mamá, I don’t like this place. I want to go home.”

  “Quiet, Sari!” Mamá said. “It’s a roof over our heads. It will do just fine.”

  “But…why can’t we stay with Tío Jacobo?”

  “Because he lives in a tiny studio apartment and there is no room for us. We’re lucky that because of the Crisis in Argentina, Jewish organizations are willing to provide help to immigrants like us.”

  “But, Mamá,” Sari whined. “It’s…”

  “Shush!”

  Sarita’s eyes filled with tears and I put my arm around her shoulders.

  “I know how you feel,” I whispered into her dark curls. “I’m not exactly in love with this place, either.”

  She buried her face in my side.

  “Come on, let’s go choose which will be your bed,” I said.

  Mamá looked back at me gratefully, on her way to go investigate the tiny kitchen.

  Sarita chose the bed closest to the window. Not that it really mattered. There were only about six inches between the two beds. It was going to be a tight squeeze. So much for having any privacy.

  Tío Jacobo stuck his head in the room.

  “I’m leaving now. I have to get to work. Mrs. Ehrenkranz will stay for a while to help you get settled in. Tomorrow we will get you registered for school.”

  He came over to give us each a kiss and a hug. “I’m so happy to have my nieces living nearby. I’ve missed you so.”

  We followed him out to the living room, where Mamá and Papá were sitting on the sofa talking to Mrs. Ehrenkranz. Mamá looked worried and Papá…

  “What do you mean, counseling?” he exploded. “How dare you suggest that we need counseling, like we’re locos, just because we’ve come from Argentina!”

  “Mr. Bensimon, I wouldn’t dream of suggesting…It’s nothing to do with that, it’s merely a suggestion because sometimes when people have made such a big transition, especially after having been through a difficult situation like you have—”

  “Get out! Get out of here. Let us unpack our bags in peace with some dignity, without you insulting us!”

  “Eduardo,” Mamá pleaded, “basta, enough. She didn’t mean anything by it…”

  “Out!”

  “Eduardo, basta!” Tío Jacobo said sternly. “Stop this.”

  But Papá wouldn’t be stopped. He continued to rant, telling Mrs. Ehrenkranz to leave. Sarita was clinging to me, hiding her face in my T-shirt. I wanted to sink into the floor when I saw the look on Mrs. Ehrenkranz’s face—the combination of pity, fear, and shock.

  Finally, Mamá ushered her out the door. Sarita and I followed them to get away from Papá.

  “I’m sorry,” Mamá said in a low voice. “When he gets like this…”

  “Please don’t apologize,” Mrs. Ehrenkranz said. “I realize that you’ve been under a great deal of pressure and that you’ve just had the stress of a very big move.” She handed Mamá a card. “Feel free to call me. Anytime.”

  Tío Jacobo was talking to Papá in a low, angry voice when we got back into the living room.

  “Girls, take your suitcases and go get unpacked,” Mamá said.

  As I put my meager supply of clothes into the scratched wooden dresser, and helped Sarita do the same, I heard Papá’s and Tío Jacobo’s raised voices through the thin walls.

  We might have moved five thousand miles, but we were still living with the same angry man. We were just doing it in a smaller apartment, in a strange country where we didn’t know anyone except Tío Jacobo. What fun.

  Chapter Seven

  TÍO JACOBO PICKED US UP the next morning to take us to register for school. We went to the elementary school first. It was much bigger than the day school in Buenos Aires, but the corridors were bright and cheerful, even in the summer with no artwork hanging on the walls. There was at least one computer in every classroom, and an entire room of them in a special lab off the well-stocked library, or “media center.” But none of this impressed Sarita as much as the playground outside.

  “Look, Dani!” she said, climbing up the side of a huge wooden boat, and then sliding down a circular slide. “Isn’t this estupendo?”

  The only thing that was estupendo about Twin Lakes High School, where I was to attend school, was its size. It was enormous. I couldn’t imagine how I would ever manage to find my way around. You could fit most of my old school in Buenos Aires into the gymnasium.

  “Too bad your school doesn’t have a playground like my school,” Sarita said, as we piled into Tío Jacobo’s car.

  “No, instead I just have a long list of books to read—in English!”

  “Jacobo, can we stop at the library on the way home so Dani can get the books she needs?” Mamá asked. “She better get started right away if she’s going to get through that list before school begins.”

  In some ways, it was a good thing I had no friends and no life, because it meant I had no distractions from my schoolwork. At least after our visit to Twin Lakes Memorial Library, I was the proud owner of my very own library card, which meant I could use the computers there free of charge if I wanted to go online. I couldn’t wait to get back there so I could write a long e-mail to Roberto, or try to IM him even. I had a feeling I’d be spending a lot of time at the library.

  When Tío Jacobo dropped us back at the apartment, Papá told us “that woman, Mrs. Ehrenkranz” had stopped by and left some bags of clothing for Sarita and me. We rushed into our room and sure enough, there were two large black garbage bags, one on each bed.

  Sarita dumped hers out onto the floor and started dancing around in ecstasy. “Look, Dani! Look at this skirt! Look at this sweater!”

  She put on the sweater and the skirt over the clothes she was wearing, and then picked up a pink dress with a ruffled h
em and held it close to her body. “Look at this! Isn’t it pretty?”

  I opened my bag and started taking out clothes. There were jeans and shirts and skirts and dresses, some of them from designer labels that were recognizable even to me. Big names. Global names. Names I’d only ever dreamed of being able to wear on my rear end, especially since Papá lost the clothing store.

  “Try them on!” shouted Sarita. “Let’s do a fashion show for Mamá!”

  I pulled out a bright green sundress, embroidered with little pink flamingos. The colors were so flamboyant, so unlike what I was used to wearing, that I couldn’t picture myself in it. But I was in a new country, living a new life. Couldn’t I create a new me to go with it? I could be an American girl, someone who would feel at home in a dress like that. A girl with friends. Lots of new American friends.

  I pulled off my shorts and T-shirt and pulled the dress over my head.

  “So, what do you think?”

  Sari jumped up and down, clapping.

  “Pretty! You look so pretty! Come, let’s show Mamá!”

  I hummed a song as we strutted down the hallway to the kitchen.

  “Look, Mamá!” Sari cried.

  She did a twirl for Mamá, and then sashayed into the living room to show off for Papá.

  “Don’t I look pretty, Papá?”

  Papá scowled. “It’s bad enough we have to take charity. You don’t have to go around flaunting it.”

  Sari had been prancing around the living room on her tiptoes like a little sprite, but at my father’s words it was as if someone turned off a light switch inside her. Her face crumpled, and she ran out into the hallway toward our bedroom.

  At that moment, I felt a rush of hatred toward Papá, so powerful that it frightened me. My fists clenched as if to hit him. I knew Papá hated taking charity; seeing his children in hand-me-down clothes was especially painful for someone who used to own a clothing store and dress them in the latest fashions. But still.

  “Eduardo,” Mamá said. “Did you have to? She’s just a child, for heaven’s sake! Let her enjoy herself.”

  “What is there to enjoy? Living in this tiny apartment in a strange country, taking charity from strangers.”

  Mamá sighed. “Eduardo, please. Querido, I know it’s hard for you, but we’ve talked about this. It’s a new beginning, with new opportunities. You need to change your attitude.”

  “What opportunity? Who is going to hire a middle-aged Argentinean man who ran a family business? What am I going to do here? Tell me that, Estela! What am I going to do?”

  It was hard to believe I’d actually felt optimistic when I put on that stupid flamingo dress. I ran down the hall to join Sarita in our room.

  She was lying on the bed, curled up in a ball. She’d taken off her cute new outfit, and shoved all the clothes back into the big black garbage bag.

  I lay down on the bed next to her and curled myself around her, drawing comfort from the warmth of her body.

  “W-will Mamá tell Mrs. Ehrenkranz to take the clothes back?” Sarita said, the tremor in her voice giving away the fact she was on the verge of tears.

  I tucked one of her curls behind the pink shell of her ear.

  “No, Sari, I’m sure she won’t. Mamá is way too sensible for that. She knows we need new clothes, and these are much nicer than what we could afford to buy ourselves.”

  I tickled her, and she started to squirm.

  “Besides, you looked way too adorable in that outfit to even think about giving it back.”

  One great thing about Sarita is that she doesn’t sulk for long. The mention of her adorableness was like a magic wand. She leaped out of my arms and danced to the end of the bed to catch a glimpse of herself in the mirror perched on top of the chest of drawers.

  We spent the next hour trying on the rest of the clothes, but we kept the fashion show to ourselves. And I ended up having to fold them all and put them away at the end of it.

  But it was worth it, just to see the smile back on my little sister’s face.

  Mrs. Ehrenkranz found Mamá a job as a personal care assistant for a wealthy elderly couple in Twin Lakes. To get there, Mamá had to take a bus and then walk half a mile, but we couldn’t afford to get a car yet. It also meant that once school started, I would have to come straight home, meet Sarita at her bus, make sure she did her homework, and make dinner, because Mamá didn’t get home until after six o’clock.

  There was a part of me that wanted to ask, Where’s Papá in all of this? Why can’t he do any of the work? But the words stayed stuck in my throat, even though it felt at times like they were choking me.

  Mamá liked the couple she worked for, Mr. and Mrs. Binen. She said we wouldn’t believe their house—marble sinks and floors in the bathrooms, closets as big as the bedroom I shared with Sarita, and a big outdoor swimming pool, even though both of them were too infirm to use it. They kept it open for their children and grandchildren when they came to visit, Mamá said.

  “Can we go swimming there?” asked Sarita. “Please, Mamá?”

  “No, Sari, we can’t,” I told her. “It’s not like that. Mamá’s kind of…you know, like a servant in their house.”

  I missed Mamá’s warning glance, but it was impossible to miss Papá’s fist smashing down on the kitchen table.

  “Don’t you ever call your mother a servant!” he shouted. “Bensimons are not servants to anyone!”

  I bowed my head and mumbled, “Sorry, Mamá,” then escaped to my room.

  It was impossible to know what was allowable to say or do in our house, what would trigger the next explosion from Papá. I wished I could be the one to go out to work and let Mamá be home with Sarita. Why did I have to be the one stuck in the apartment with Papá?

  In the few weeks before school started, Sari and I took walks around the neighborhood to get familiar with our surroundings. One day we rode the bus from one end of the route to the other, just to get out of the apartment and away from Papá. But our favorite place to go was the library, because we could walk there easily and it was air-conditioned. I would take Sari to the children’s section and read her books, then let her choose a few to take home. Then I’d go to the public computers and send e-mails to Gaby and Beto. One day, I logged into MSN and Beto was online, too, so I actually got to chat with him.

  Beto!

  Hola Dani!

  I’ve missed you soooooooooooooooooo much!

  Me too. Everyone OK?

  It’s been crazy. Mama’s started her new job. Sari and I have been busy exploring.

  Made friends yet?

  No. Haven’t met anyone. But school starts next week, so hopefully…

  Yeah, you’ll meet people there for sure. I start tomorrow. Can’t believe summer is over already.

  I’m still getting used to the fact that it IS summer. In August!

  I know. Had to get used to that whole Northern Hemisphere thing.

  I miss you.

  I know. Me too.

  “Can we go now?” Sarita whined. “I’m bored.”

  “In a minute. I’m chatting to Beto,” I said.

  “How? He’s not here. And I don’t hear you talking. Anyway, you’re not supposed to talk in the library.”

  “No, silly, I’m chatting to him online. Just wait a minute, okay? Read your books.”

  Sorry, Beto, Sari here and getting restless. Using computer in the library.

  My dad just got one at home, because he needs it for work. Hopefully he’s going to pass medical boards soon and then he can get started working as a doctor again.

  Lucky you! And that’s great about your dad.

  I didn’t mention that my papá was still depressed and I hoped he wouldn’t ask.

  I still have all your letters, Beto.

  Me too. But easier to e-mail now that you can go to the library.

  I know. But I still love your letters

  Sari pulled at my arm. “Dani, I’m hungry and I have to pee. Can’t we go now?�
��

  I sighed. “One more minute.”

  Sari started whispering: “One, two, three, four, five, six…”

  I wanted to scream.

  Beto, amor, I have to go. Sari is driving me crazy.

  Okay. Well, talk to you soon. Muchos besos.

  Besos xoxox

  Somehow, even though Beto and I were in the same country, it didn’t feel like it. He felt so far away at that moment he could have been on the moon.

  Chapter Eight

  IWOKE UP AT SIX on the first day of school, because I had to be at the bus stop at seven. It seemed inhumanly early, but I was so nervous about making a good first impression that even though I’d picked out what to wear the night before, I tried on another few choices just in case. I started to long for my old school uniform, something I never thought I’d do, ever.

  In the end I went with the original outfit, a pair of jeans and an embroidered cotton shirt with French labels. Whoever donated the clothes to Jewish Family Services didn’t just have good taste—they had lots of money.

  Sarita was still curled up in bed, but Mamá was waiting for me in the kitchen.

  “You have to eat breakfast, Dani,” she said.

  “I’m too nervous to eat anything. I feel sick.”

  She made me a cup of tea and two pieces of toast anyway, and stood over me until I forced them down.

  “I know this is hard, amorcita, but you’ll be fine,” Mamá said. “Tío Jacobo says that Twin Lakes High is a very good school, despite being so big. I know you miss your friends, but you’ll make new ones. You’re so smart and beautiful.”

  She was fiddling with my hair.

  “Okay, Mamá, basta. You’re just making me more nervous.”

  I grabbed my book bag, which was filled with what seemed like a fortune’s worth of new notebooks and pens, all required, according to the supplies list, and headed for the door.