The Son from America
By David
The Son
America, the place of dreams, but Poland will always be my home. After I had
made enough money settle I settled on the idea to return home for a trip back to
Lentshin, I saved up some money and received some more from the Lentshin society
in New York to lend a hand to the people of Lentshin. I arrived at Zakroczym and as I
got there, I hired a coachman as soon as I could. We left for Lentshin on a Friday
morning and we arrived at my home. The door was no longer as tall as I had
remembered and I had to stoop in order to enter my old house. I entered and saw my
mother, who I haven’t seen since I was fifteen. I said, “Mother, it’s me, your son
Samuel-Sam.” Mother became pale as she heard my words. I leaned forward and
hugged her and kissed her forehead, then both of her cheeks. She began to laugh and
chuckled, My son!” At this very moment my father, Berl, came in lugging a stack of
logs. He dropped his stack of logs and cry out, what is this,” in confusion and
amazement. I quickly let go of my mother and I embraced my father. He remained
silent and then quietly asked, “Are you Samuel?” I replied, “Yes, Father, I am
Samuel.” He grasped my hand and asked, Why didn’t you tell us you were coming?” I
was surprised by his question, since I remembered that I had sent a cable prior to my
jouerny. And when I asked about it, father replied that he did not know what a cable
was. I kissed mother and asked her whether she had received the cable. Yet she
exclaimed instead, “What? If I had lived to see this, I am happy to die.” I was
surprised by this sudden remark but remained silent. Father said, “Pescha, you will
have to make a double Sabbath double Sabbath pudding in addition to the stew.” I
wasn’t ready for my father’s apparent change in speech and was taken aback by how
he called mother. She started to cry and tears ran from her eyes. She began to prepare
for the Sabbath. I understood her urgency and hurriedly went over to help. The winter
days were short at home and supper had to be prepared whilst there was still light. I
expressed my willingness to help, but mother blurted out, “What are you saying? God
forbid.” I explained to her that I was a baker in New York for many years; I then
proceeded to take off my vest. I rolled up my sleeves, approached the trough and
began to knead the dough. She astonished me once more, by starting to weep
hysterically and sob from happiness. Soon after that she fainted onto the bed. Father
sighed and uttered, “Women will always be women,” and shuffled out of the house.