Across Seward Park by Gail Lehrman

Author:Gail Lehrman [Lehrman, Gail]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gail Lehrman

Four weeks later, hauling brooms, mops, buckets, and scrub brushes, I march into my new building, my brother Irving at my side.

“If only Artie could see this, Miri. You started with nothing, now look at you.”

“It’s stays nothing until it doesn’t smell.” I hand him a bucket. “The apartment. Don’t come down ’til it’s done.”

“My boss two minutes and already a sweatshop.” He nudges my shoulder and tromps upstairs as I push open the alley door. It’s chilly, but with the front door also ajar, the air flow will help fumigate. I’m in my apron, sweeping and picturing the place crawling with customers, when in traipses my husband, a tool bag hanging off his arm.

“I told them at the union hall I had to go help my wife become a capitalist.”

He’s so cocky and proud of himself, I can’t resist. “And they didn’t denounce you as a traitor?”

Out comes his big Leo grin. “I assured them that, if you get more than one employee, I’ll organize a union.” He drops his tools and rubs his hands together. “So, where do we start?”

Twelve years we’re married, I never knew Leo the garment cutter is also Leo the carpenter. He says it’s the same idea only wood instead of fabric. Soon, instead of pickles, the place smells of sawdust and fresh wood. He brings volunteers from among his comrades. They do it all—sturdy shelves on all the walls, three rows of square display tables, wood and curtains for a fitting booth, and a gorgeous oak counter in the back where will sit my shiny new brass cash register. A few days later a workman hauls in two mannequins with a note attached. “Use these in your window. I’ll get my money back faster. Harry.”

Leo, busy shellacking the counter, takes one look and dubs the dummies Karla and Freida. “After Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels. So, when you’re a rich tycoon, you’ll remember where wealth really comes from.”

The night before we open, I make a brisket and tzimmes, our first meal in the new apartment. Irving brings the gift of a bottle of schnapps, which Leo happily cracks open. He raises his glass.

“To my brilliant wife. May she be the first person in the world to get rich without exploiting the poor.”

“L’chaim.” Irving tosses back his shot and they’re off.

They toast pickles and Jake Feigenbaum’s stupidity.

They toast the comrade carpenters.

They toast Karla and Freida.

They toast the lucky customers to come.

I don’t go in for tippling, but they both insist this is a special occasion. With each of their shots, I take a sip. By the time Irving pours the end of the bottle, I’m feeling silly, so when Leo commands, I make the final toast, standing, glass in hand.

“To the future. At last, we know where we’re going.”

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