Portraits Read Free

but on Esther’s hard-earned money. However, their anger was assuaged when a ticket and a little money arrived, shortly after Jacob’s departure, to take him to America. Unfortunately, Jacob would not be the recipient. How could he be? So they chose their Mottel, to carry the torch of freedom to the golden shores of America.
    If Mottel and his family were jubilant about his imminent departure, it was no more than Jacob felt at this moment. He had finally arrived at the train station. It really didn’t matter how long it had taken or what he had gone through; he was here and the last leg of his journey to freedom was at hand.
    He waited in the shadows until the train was about to move out, then he jumped aboard and darted, unseen, to the first row of unoccupied seats. He crouched beneath it in the corner, praying he would not be detected. From that position all he saw were feet and all he heard was the sound of the giant wheels grinding along the railroad tracks.
    For hours he remained immobile, then something terrible happened. He had to urinate. Unable to hold back, he wet his pants. He spent the night feeling cold and uncomfortable, but he consoled himself with the thought that as the night wore on it brought him closer to his destination.
    The next morning, when he awoke from the screech of brakes, he was in Frankfurt. He had scarcely changed his position all night and he felt too stiff to move. But with sheer animal determination, he willed himself to stretch his legs, and with the same instinct, he sensed when it was safe to crawl out. When the last of the feet were seen, walking slowly down the aisle, he peered out cautiously, got up and walked rather closely next to a young couple, as if they were his parents. At last he stood on the platform, watching people coming and going, embracing and kissing, and he felt a surge of happiness, as if he belonged among them. He knew he was free at last.
    After many inquiries, Jacob found himself in front of his grandparents’ house. His pulse racing, his breathing staccato, he knocked on the door and waited expectantly. At last he had come home to love and be loved. He had dreamed of this moment for so long. Grandparents were…so special. He had never met them, only seen them in the faded photograph he carried, but still the feeling within him was overwhelming. He waited, knocked again, still no answer. This time he pounded.
    He looked at the door for a long moment. For some reason he could not fathom, his hand shook as he turned the knob and opened the door.
    All the furnishings had been removed. Frantically, he walked from room to room, opening closets, praying there would be some clue as to what had happened to his grandparents. But the house offered no answers. Slowly, he walked back to the front room and stood in the middle, trembling. Then he noticed that there were some old papers and letters in the fireplace. Quickly, he retrieved them. Sitting down on the bare floor, his pulse raced as he picked out the first one. It was a letter written by his mother, but since he could scarcely read, he was only able to make out a few of the words and the date, January 7, 1899.
    Suddenly he became aware that he was not alone. He looked up and saw an old man framed in the doorway. Frightened, Jacob got up, putting his hand on the hidden knife, and asked, “Who are you?”
    “I live in the house next door and saw the door open. What are you doing here, young man?”
    Jacob looked at the old man, whose face wore a thousand folds and creases.
    “I’m looking for my grandparents,” he replied, his voice quavering.
    The old eyes softened. Quietly he answered. “From the looks of you, you must have come a long way.”
    Jacob nodded. “Yes, a very long way.”
    The old man shook his head sadly. He took so long in answering that Jacob finally whispered, “Where are they?”
    Without looking at the boy, he said, “Dead…I’m sorry.” He could not stand the agony in Jacob’s eyes.