3
SATURDAY WAS THE BEST DAY OF THE WEEK for Maisie Robinson. On Saturday Papa got paid. Tonight there would be meat for supper, and new bread.
She sat on the front doorstep with her brother, Danny, waiting for Papa to come home from work. Danny was thirteen, two years older than Maisie, and she thought he was wonderful, even though he was not always kind to her.
The house was one of a row of damp, airless dwellings in the dockland neighborhood of a small town on the northeast coast of England. It belonged to Mrs. MacNeil, a widow. She lived in the front room downstairs. The Robinsons lived in the back room and another family lived upstairs. When it was time for Papa to arrive home, Mrs. MacNeil would be out on the doorstep, waiting to collect the rent.
Maisie was hungry. Yesterday Maisie had begged some broken bones from the butcher and Papa had bought a turnip and made a stew, and that was the last meal she had had. But today was Saturday!
She tried not to think about supper, for it made the pain in her stomach worse. To take her mind off food she said to Danny: “Papa swore this morning.”
“What did he say?”
“He said Mrs. MacNeil is a paskudniak.”
Danny giggled. The word meant shitbag. Both children spoke English fluently after a year in the new country, but they remembered their Yiddish.
Their name was not really Robinson, it was Rabinowicz. Mrs. MacNeil had hated them ever since she discovered they were Jews. She had never met a Jew before and when she rented them the room she thought they were French. There were no other Jews in this town. The Robinsons had never intended to come here: they had paid for passage to a place called Manchester, where there were lots of Jews, and the ship’s captain had told them this was Manchester, but he had cheated them. When they discovered they were in the wrong place, Papa said they would save up enough money to move to Manchester; but then Mama had fallen ill. She was still ill, and they were still here.
Papa worked on the waterfront, in a high warehouse with the words “Tobias Pilaster & Co” in big letters over the gate. Maisie often wondered who Co was. Papa worked as a clerk, keeping records of the barrels of dyes that came in and out of the building. He was a careful man, a taker of notes and a maker of lists. Mama was the reverse. She had always been the daring one. It was Mama who wanted to come to England. Mama loved to make parties, go on trips, meet new people, dress up and play games. That was why Papa loved her so much, Maisie thought: because she was something he could never be.
She was not spirited anymore. She lay all day on the old mattress, drifting in and out of sleep, her pale face shiny with sweat, her breath hot and odorous. The doctor had said she needed building up, with plenty of fresh eggs and cream, and beef every day; and then Papa had paid him with the money for that night’s dinner. But now Maisie felt guilty every time she ate, knowing she was taking food that might save her mother’s life.
Maisie and Danny had learned to steal. On market day they would go into the center of town and pilfer potatoes and apples from the stalls in the square. The traders were sharp-eyed but every now and again they would be distracted by something—an argument over change, a dogfight, a drunk—and the children would grab what they could. When their luck was in, they would meet a rich kid their own age; then they would set on him and rob him. Such children often had an orange or a bag of sweets in their pockets as well as a few pennies. Maisie was afraid of being caught because she knew Mama would be so ashamed, but she was hungry too.
She looked up and saw some men coming along the street in a knot. She wondered who they were. It was still a little too early for the dockworkers to be coming home. They were talking angrily, waving their arms and shaking their fists. As they came closer she recognized Mr. Ross, who lived upstairs and worked with Papa at Pilasters. Why was he not at work? Had they been sacked? He looked angry enough for that. He was red in the face and swearing, talking about stupid gits, lousy bleeders and lying bastards. When the group drew level with the house Mr. Ross left them abruptly and stomped inside, and Maisie and Danny had to dive out of the way to avoid his hobnailed boots.
When Maisie looked up again she saw Papa. A thin man with a black beard and soft brown eyes, he was following the others at a distance, walking with his head bowed; and he looked so dejected and hopeless that Maisie wanted to cry. “Papa, what’s happened?” she said. “Why are you home early?”
“Come inside,” he said, his voice so low that Maisie could only just hear.
The two children followed him into the back of the house. He knelt by the mattress and kissed Mama’s lips. She woke up and smiled at him. He did not smile back. “The firm’s bust,” he said, speaking Yiddish. “Toby Pilaster went bankrupt.”
Maisie was not sure what that meant but Papa’s tone of voice made it sound like a disaster. She shot a look at Danny: he shrugged. He did not understand it either.
“But why?” Mama said.
“There’s been a financial crash,” Papa said. “A big bank in London failed yesterday.”
Mama frowned, struggling to concentrate. “But this isn’t London,” she said. “What’s London to us?”
“The details I don’t know.”
“So you’ve got no work?”
“No work, and no pay.”
“But today they’ve paid you.”
Papa bowed his head. “No, they didn’t pay us.”
Maisie looked at Danny again. This they understood. No money meant no food for any of them. Danny looked scared. Maisie wanted to cry.
“They must pay you,” Mama whispered. “You worked all week, they have to pay you.”
“They’ve no money,” Papa said. “That’s what bankrupt means, it means you owe people money and can’t pay them.”
“But Mr. Pilaster is a good man, you always said.”
“Toby Pilaster’s dead. He hanged himself, last night, in his office in London. He had a son Danny’s age.”
“But how are we to feed our children?”
“I don’t know,” Papa said, and to Maisie’s horror he began to cry. “I’m sorry, Sarah,” he said as the tears rolled into his beard. “I’ve brought you to this awful place where there are no Jews and no one to help us. I can’t pay the doctor, I can’t buy medicines, I can’t feed our children. I’ve failed you. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He leaned forward and buried his wet face in Mama’s breast. She stroked his hair with a shaky hand.
Maisie was appalled. Papa never cried. It seemed to mean the end of any hope. Perhaps they would all die now.
Danny stood up, looked at Maisie, and jerked his head toward the door. She got up and together they tiptoed out of the room. Maisie sat on the front step and began to cry. “What are we going to do?” she said.
“We’ll have to run away,” Danny said.
Danny’s words gave her a cold feeling in her chest. “We can’t,” she said.
“We must. There’s no food. If we stay we’ll die.”
Maisie didn’t care if she died, but a different thought occurred to her: Mama would surely starve herself to feed the children. If they stayed, she would die. They had to leave to save her. “You’re right,” Maisie said to Danny. “If we go, perhaps Papa will be able to find enough food for Mama. We’ve got to go, for her sake.” Hearing herself say the words, she was awestruck by what was happening to her family. It was worse even than the day they had left Viskis, with the village houses still burning behind them, and got on a cold train with all their belongings in two sailcloth bags; for then she had known that Papa would always look after her, no matter what else happened; and now she had to take care of herself.
“Where will we go?” she said in a whisper.
“I’m going to America.”
“America! How?”
“There’s a ship in the harbor that’s bound for Boston on the morning tide—I’ll shin up a rope tonight and hide on deck in one of the boats.”
“You’ll stow away,” Maisie said, with fear and admiration in her voice.
“That’s right.”
Looking at her brother, she saw for the first time that there was the shadow of a moustache beginning to show on his upper lip. He was becoming a man, and one day he would have a full black beard like Papa’s. “How long does it take to get to America?” she asked him.
He hesitated, then looked foolish and said: “I don’t know.”
She understood that she was not included in his plans, and she felt miserable and scared. “We’re not going together, then,” she said sadly.
He looked guilty, but he did not contradict her. “I’ll tell you what you should do,” he said. “Go to Newcastle. You can walk there in about four days. It’s a huge city, bigger than Gdansk—no one will notice you there. Cut your hair, steal a pair of trousers and pretend to be a boy. Go to a big stables and help with the horses—you’ve always been good with horses. If they like you, you’ll get tips, and after a while they might give you a proper job.”
Maisie could not imagine being totally alone. “I’d rather go with you,” she said.
“You can’t. It’s going to be hard enough anyway, to hide myself on the ship, and steal food and so on. I couldn’t look after you too.”
“You wouldn’t have to look after me. I’d be quiet as a mouse.”
“I’d feel worried about you.”
“Won’t you worry about leaving me all on my own?”
“We’ve got to take care of ourselves!” he said angrily.
She saw that his mind was made up. She had never been able to talk him round when his mind was made up. With dread in her heart she said: “When should we go? In the morning?”
He shook his head. “Now. I’ll need to get aboard the ship as soon as it’s dark.”
“Do you really mean it?”
“Yes.” As if to prove it, he stood up.
She stood up too. “Should we take anything?”
“What?”
She shrugged. She had no spare clothes, no souvenirs, no possessions of any kind. There was no food or money to take. “I want to kiss Mama good-bye,” she said.
“Don’t,” said Danny harshly. “If you do, you’ll stay.”
It was true. If she saw Mama now she would break down and tell everything. She swallowed hard. “All right,” she said, fighting back the tears. “I’m ready.”
They walked away side by side.
When they got to the end of the street she wanted to turn around and take a last look at the house; but she was afraid that if she did she would weaken; so she walked on, and never looked back.