A Cobbler's Tale Read online

  “Yes, yes.” Manny laughed. “You’ll be paid based on how you do. I take care of my people.” He smiled, leaned forward and shook Jakob’s hand firmly.

  The long wall of Katz’s Deli provided a good place to post announcements. While patrons waited their turn for a table, they browsed the wall. Jakob stood in the line with about a dozen other people. Hungry for a quick bite to eat, he stood staring at a large poster with a photo of a white-bearded man singing. The poster announced that Yoselle Rosenblatt, the world’s greatest cantor, would be performing that Sunday night at The Grand, a Yiddish theater at the corner of Grand and Chrystie Street.

  The words “excuse me” startled Jakob as he turned his attention to a waiter pointing out an open stool at the counter. “Do you want it?” he asked.

  Jakob took the stool and opened the enormous food-stained menu. He was searching the assortment of overstuffed sandwiches when someone caught his eye. At first he could see only her long red hair, which swirled down her straight back. She sat perfectly upright, which encouraged Jakob to stop slouching. She was looking for a waiter. As the waiter moved in her direction she raised her hand to attract his attention.

  Using the motion of her bar stool, she spun to follow his path closer and closer and then sadly farther and farther away. Disappointed, she let her summoning hand drop to the counter.

  “Dammit!” she yelled, now face to face with Jakob. “Oh, excuse me.”

  “That’s okay. Let’s see if I can help.”

  He stood up, took a step around the counter, leaned over to the waiter, and slipped a coin into his palm. He nodded and was taking the young lady’s order moments later.

  “Wow, that was amazing. What did you say to him?”

  “I just told him that we were on our first date and I wanted to impress you.”

  “Is that so?” she said, trying to hold back a smile.

  “My name is Jakob Adler.”

  “Nice to meet you, Jakob.”

  “And you are?”

  “I am not in the habit of giving my name to strangers.”

  Jakob offered his most charming smile. “Very wise. A girl so pretty should be careful.”

  “You are a charmer, Mr. Adler.”

  “Please call me Jakob.” He was devouring every detail of her exquisite face. He had never seen eyes so blue or skin so pale.

  “Okay, Jakob,” she relented.

  “I have just immigrated here from Warsaw. Where are you from?”

  “Ireland. Have you heard of it?”

  “No, where is Ireland?”

  “It’s an island in the Northern Atlantic not far from England.”

  “Oh, yes, I’ve heard of England,” Jakob said. “So, then, you are not a Jew?”

  “A Jew, no,” she chuckled. “Like I said, I am from Ireland—that makes me Irish.”

  Jakob looked around and then leaned in to whisper, “I’ve never met an Irish person before.”

  “And you won’t, if you never leave the Lower East Side. There’s a world beyond these few blocks where you’ll find many Irish, Germans, and Italians.”

  As he searched for some witty reply, she rose from the stool. “I must go. It was nice meeting you, Jakob. Perhaps our paths will cross again one day.”

  Jakob watched her saunter away, her hips swaying enticingly. As Hashem intended, he thought.

  As Yoselle Rosenblatt took his final bow that Sunday night, Pincus and Jakob, along with the rest of the audience at The Grand Theater, jumped to their feet in a standing ovation.

  “So what did you think, Pincus?” Jakob asked.

  “Remarkable—what a voice. He’s as good as advertised. The world’s greatest cantor.”

  Surrounded by hundreds of people exiting the theater, Jakob directed Pincus down the wide staircase.

  “Pincus,” Jakob shouted, “come to the center, it’s less crowded.”

  A few steps from the main level of The Grand, Jakob noticed a crowd gathering. “What’s going on? Let’s look.”

  Jakob used his strength to maneuver through the pack, with Pincus in tow.

  “It’s Nita Naldi,” people buzzed.

  “She’s an actress on Broadway,” said others.

  “Oh my god, I know her,” Jakob said.

  “Who is she?” asked Pincus.

  “I met her at Katz’s Deli a few days ago. Isn’t she beautiful?”

  Skilled at working her adoring fans, she smiled and posed for their pleasure.

  With Pincus following, Jakob powered his way through the crowd and tapped Nita’s shoulder. She turned around and gave Jakob a smile that nearly melted him.

  “Well, hello, Jakob. Don’t you look nice this evening? Did you enjoy the performance?”

  Jakob was suddenly sharing the spotlight with the Broadway actress Nita Naldi. “Who is he?” the spectators buzzed.

  “Yes, we liked it very much.”

  “We, Jakob? Please introduce me to your date.”

  “Oh, you mean Pincus? He’s not my date, he’s my friend,” he said and awkwardly pulled him forward.

  “Nice to meet you, Pincus.”

  Pincus smiled and said nothing.

  “Nita, please tell me how I can find you again,” Jakob said.

  A moment later, someone grabbed her wrist, pulling her into the crowd and toward the exit.

  “Come to the Winter Garden Theater on Broadway,” she shouted and was gone from sight.

  CHAPTER 16

  MENDEL ARRIVES

  Pincus took a few minutes from his busy morning to read a favorable review of Yoselle Rosenblatt’s concert two nights earlier. When he heard his name shouted from the street, he folded the paper, set it down on the counter, and walked out to the sidewalk. Murray was admiring his handiwork. He pointed to the sign swinging in the gentle morning breeze:

  P. POTASZNIK

  COBBLER

  REPAIRS & SHINE

  95 LUDLOW

  “That looks wonderful, Murray,” Pincus said, admiring the simple black-lettered sign.

  “Yes, I must say that I agree.” Murray looked pleased with himself.

  “Murray, perhaps you can help me with something else,” he asked as they walked into the shop. “I am looking for my cousin Hersch Rubenfeld. He’s a carpenter and should be living here in the Lower East Side. Any idea how I can find him?”

  “Sure, I know Hersch—we work on jobs together. Sometimes I use him for large signs that need a carpenter. Would you like me to take you to his workshop? It’s only a ten-minute walk.”

  Pincus thanked Murray for his directions, but he wanted to surprise Hersch. Before stepping in through the front door that was propped open with a tree stump, Pincus looked up to read the sign:

  H. RUBENFELD

  WOODWORKER

  FURNITURE AND FINISHING

  110 HESTER

  Pincus stepped through the door and onto a carpet of sawdust. Hersch stood only a few feet away, busy sanding a tabletop, and didn’t notice the visitor.

  “Hello, Hersch.”

  Hersch looked up and smiled. “Pincus Potasznik, is that really you?”

  The cousins embraced.

  “It’s so good to see you, Hersch.”

  “This is wonderful, Pincus, let’s go celebrate.”

  “They serve the best Vishniak in the city,” Hersch said, walking into the New Bridge Liquor Store. Besides selling bottles, they also provided a few tables for patrons to congregate and drink.

  “L’chaim!” the men toasted.

  “It’s so good to see you, Hersch.”

  “Yes, yes, you too.”

  After a few drinks, Pincus grabbed Hersch’s hand, which rested on the table. “I’m starting a Landsman Society for our village. Would you be able to help me?”

  “I don’t know,” Hersch said, slipping his hand out of Pincus’s grip and running his fingers nervously through his thick, curly black hair. “I’m so busy with my business. I don’t think I have the time.”

  “I’m
busy too, Hersch, but this is important work. Remember when you first immigrated? It’s not easy. We can make a big difference in our people’s lives. Help them find a job and a place to live, and most important, provide a Jewish burial.”

  “Yes, I’m aware of what these societies do. But I must say no. Please understand. You can find someone else to help you, I’m sure.”

  “Really, you think it will be easy to find someone from our village to help me? You’re the only person I know from Krzywcza, and you’re my first cousin.”

  Hersch said, “I’m sorry, but my answer is no.”

  Pincus stared at Hersch in disbelief. “This is outrageous,” he said, slamming the bottle of Vishniak on the table, which startled the nearby patrons.

  He knocked his chair over as he rose, causing even more of a disturbance. “Goodbye, Hersch.”

  Pincus walked home, the flickering lamps along Delancey Street lighting his way. By the time he arrived at the apartment, he couldn’t even remember how he got there. Jakob had left the door open and was seated in one of the two chairs at the kitchen table as Pincus entered.

  “My damn cousin said no. Can you believe that?” Pincus closed the door and sat down in the empty chair across from Jakob.

  “I’m sorry. Maybe someone else will arrive here soon from Krzywcza who can help you,” Jakob said.

  “I hope so. This is too much work for one person to do alone.”

  Still reeling from his cousin Hersch’s betrayal, Pincus thought he should find a synagogue to attend on Shabbat mornings. With over 500 synagogues to choose among, Pincus found himself at the nearby Congregation Chasam Sopher at 10 Clinton Street, a few blocks north of Delancey. Thoughts of Hersch’s disloyalty distracted him from the rabbi’s service.

  A few men rose for the Yizkor, the prayer for the dead. Pincus scanned the mourners, curious to see who had lost a loved one, when his eyes fell upon someone he thought he knew. Was that Mendel Beck?

  Pincus sat through the rest of the evening service with his knees bouncing in excitement. The moment it ended, he forced his way down the center aisle and put his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Mendel, is that you?”

  “Pincus, I’ve been looking for you,” Mendel said and hugged him.

  As they pulled apart, Pincus asked, “When did you get here?”

  “I’ve been here for two weeks. There was no longer a reason to stay.”

  “Sara passed?” Pincus said.

  Mendel nodded. “Yes, she never improved after the last time I saw you. She died in my arms.”

  “I am very sorry, Mendel. Sara was a lovely woman and a good mother. How are your boys doing? Did they come with you?”

  “Yes, Dovid and Hersh are here. We found a room over on Broome Street.” In a whisper he continued, “It’s terrible—no running water, no heat, and a single toilet down the hall for over twenty people.”

  “What about Shmuel? He didn’t come?”

  “No, Pincus, he wouldn’t leave. He said that Clara and your children needed him to run the cobbler shop. He wants to wait for you to return for your family. Then he’ll come.”

  “He’s a good boy,” Pincus said.

  “Yes he is. We need to help each other.”

  “Come with me. I want to show you something,” Pincus said, leading the way down the center aisle and out the front doors to the shul.

  “Is this really your place?” Mendel asked, as they stood in front of the shoemaker’s shop.

  “Look at the name,” Pincus said, pointing to the sign swinging gently in the evening breeze.

  “How did you manage this so quickly?”

  “Come upstairs, I’ll show you where I live.”

  “You’ve done very well in such a short time,” Mendel said as they walked into the empty apartment.

  Pincus told Mendel about the voyage on the SS Amerika and how he had met Jakob. He continued with the story of how Jakob had met a man on a train who’d given him the name of a man here in the Lower East Side, and how that man had set them up in this apartment and the shop downstairs.

  “Why would he do this?” Mendel asked, bewildered by his friend’s good fortune.

  “I’m not too sure. Maybe he thinks we will be good tenants and pay the rent on time. Anyway, tell me more about yourself, Mendel. What are your plans?”

  “I need something to do. Apparently, there is no work in America for a scholar of the Torah. All of those years of study mean nothing now. What was respected back home is laughed at here. Would you have ever imagined that our way of life would be turned completely upside down?”

  “This is true, and it’s why we need a way to help our people when they arrive in America. I want to start the Landsman Society of Krzywcza. I asked my cousin Hersch, who refused me. Can you imagine the nerve?”

  “I’ll help you with the Landsman Society,” Mendel blurted out.

  Pincus looked up into his friend’s eyes. “That would be wonderful. Would you really do that?”

  “Yes, I want to. It will give me a purpose, and I can help our fellow Jews make a life here in America.”

  “This is wonderful news. Just a few hours ago I was feeling hopeless about this. You’ve answered my prayers.”

  CHAPTER 17

  JAKOB MEETS GORPATSCH

  Jakob poked his head into the workroom and found Pincus busy replacing a leather sole on a boot and humming one of Yoselle Rosenblatt’s songs, the one that had brought down the house at the previous week’s performance. He noticed how Pincus’s mood had improved since seeing his cousin Mendel yesterday. With the lunchtime rush over, Jakob thought it okay to take off for a short while.

  “I’ll be back in a few hours,” Jakob said, capturing a quick glance from Pincus before walking out the front door.

  With resolve in his heart, he found his way to the Winter Garden Theater on Mercer Street. She did invite me to visit, he thought.

  The theater took up an entire block. The building offered a white limestone facade with large windows and black painted wooden shutters. A small group of four or five people stood examining a poster on the wall. Jakob approached to see what had captured everyone’s attention. He couldn’t believe his eyes—there she was.

  “Glorious,” he whispered.

  Nita Naldi, tall and elegant, had struck a perfect pose for the photo. Jakob would swear that the breeze blowing down Mercer Street caused the embroidered lace scarf draped off her delicate shoulders to flutter a bit.

  The large letters along the top of the poster read:

  STARRING NITA NALDI AS THE YANKEE GIRL.

  “What’s a Yankee?” Jakob asked aloud.

  A skinny teenage boy with pimples standing behind him replied, “A Yankee is a real American, and Nita Naldi is a real American dream girl.”

  “Yes, she is,” Jakob agreed.

  With the next performance scheduled for later that evening, the theater’s main entry doors were locked. There has to be another way in, Jakob thought. He ran around the corner and down to the rear of the theater where an alley led to an open pair of doors. Surveying the scene, he saw a small sign posted above:

  STAGE DOOR—ACTORS AND STAGE HANDS ONLY

  He cautiously took a step inside, stopped, and caught a glimpse of the inner workings of the theater.

  “Sir, are you coming in or going out? Rehearsals are about to begin, and I need to close these doors,” said a young man carrying a clipboard.

  “I’m coming in,” Jakob said.

  The doors slammed shut. It took a few seconds for Jakob’s vision to adjust to the sudden change from the natural daylight to the few swinging gas lanterns. Looking up into the cavernous space, he saw what reminded him of a sailing ship. He followed the path of the thick ropes that snaked their way through pulleys and ended at boards supporting velour curtains towering above him.

  Muffled sounds of indistinguishable musical instruments filled the space. Unsure of their source, he walked along a series of the staggered long curtain panels. The sounds
of the strings, brass, and percussion instruments lured him to the edge of a giant stage. Straining for a peek without being caught, he leaned in just far enough to see the orchestra assembled in a deep well below the edge of the stage.

  Just at that moment, Nita Naldi glided onstage. She spun to face the hall and smiled. Jakob leaned out a little farther this time, craning his neck to see her.

  A tap-tap-tap from the conductor’s baton silenced the musicians. Then, at once, the sounds of a well-rehearsed orchestra rose from the pit. On cue, Nita burst into song. Jakob stood mesmerized, stunned by the beauty of her voice. The conductor acted as the conduit between the singer and the musicians, following Nita’s lead as she glided across the stage. She ended the song a cappella, and left Jakob teary-eyed. From this day forward, I will never love anyone as much as I love this woman, he proclaimed silently.

  A few claps from a lone audience member ended the rehearsal. Nita smiled, offered a dramatic full curtsy, and exited stage left, directly into Jakob, who was applauding silently.

  “Jakob, how did you get in here?” Nita whispered.

  “I walked in through the stage door.”

  “Come with me,” she said. She grabbed his hand and led him off the stage.

  Moments later they stood before a door adorned with a sign that read: NITA NALDI.

  “That’s you,” Jakob said, surprised.

  “Yes, that’s me, this is my dressing room. Come inside quickly,” she said, closing the door behind them.

  Nita turned and looked up into his eyes. “You have to leave. You can’t be here.”

  “I wanted to see you. You invited me. Don’t you remember?”

  “Yes, I remember, but this is not a good time.”

  At that moment someone tapped a few times on the dressing room door. “Nita, open up, it’s me, Leo.”

  “You have to hide,” Nita whispered. “Here,” she said, pointing to a rack of costumes standing along the wall.

  Jakob squeezed in through the colorful array of dresses on wooden hangers. He crouched down and waited.

  “I’m coming, one moment,” Nita said.