Yossi's Goal Read Free Page A

“Papa, what’s the matter with you? You never used to be like this.”
    A shamed look passed over Papa’s face. “It’s different now, Yossi. If you go after him, I could get in trouble—”
    â€œSo? He deserves it—” Yossi strained against Papa’s arms.
    â€œYossi! I could lose my job! Then what would we do?”
    Yossi stopped straining. His body went slack. So that was it. That was why Papa hadn’t said anything to Mr. Steiner. That was why he wouldn’t let Yossi go after Steiner’s son.
    And with a bitter sigh, he realized that Papa was right—the family needed every single penny. If Papa lost his job, it would be a disaster.
    But to be shamed so! And not to be able to fight back!
    â€œIt’s not fair, Papa,” Yossi said angrily.
    â€œI know, Yossele,” Papa said.
    Suddenly Yossi understood what Daniel had meant the night Mrs. Belnick came, when he’d said he didn’t want to take handouts from the rich owners. Especially when the owners treated them like this. And they were their own people, fellow Jews! That made it even worse.
    Furiously, Yossi unfastened the toggles, threw the coat on the ground and started walking away.
    â€œYossi, no!” Papa cried.
    â€œI won’t wear it, Papa.”
    Coughing, Papa stooped to pick up the coat. “Yossi, please, it’s cold.”
    â€œI don’t care,” Yossi said. “I’d rather freeze.” Daniel’s words. The other night he’d tried them out. Now he meant them.
    Yossi stormed ahead, fuming. Maybe he couldn’t get back at Max Steiner right now, but someday, somehow, he’d bring that Uptowner down a notch.

Chapter Three
    Papa’s hand nudging his shoulder woke Yossi up. Fighting the sleepiness that he longed to give in to, he rose from his thin cotton mattress on the floor, grabbed his clothes and tiptoed into the kitchen, trying not to wake Miriam. It was still black outside. By the light of a candle, Yossi dressed quickly in the chilly room. A moment later, Daniel joined him and dressed silently.
    Mama lit a fire in the coal stove and put the kettle on. Yossi shrugged on his old winter coat, trying vainly to pull the sleeves down to cover his wrists, then tugged on his woolen cap. He counted outeight pennies from a cup on the mantel and put them in his pocket, along with a hunk of rye bread. As he headed for the door, Mama whispered, “Yossi, wait. Have a cup of tea first.”
    Before she could say anything more, he was out the door. The first newsboy to hit the street sold his papers the quickest, Yossi knew. Tea could wait.
    Although the sun had not yet risen when Yossi stepped outside, the milk-man’s horse clip-clopped down the street, a freight car clanged from the railyard several blocks away and a tugboat hooted on the Saint Lawrence. Montreal was waking up.
    Minutes later, Yossi turned in at an office door marked
Die Zeit
. He placed the eight pennies on the counter, and a man slid a dozen Yiddish newspapers toward him. “The early bird catches the worm, eh, Mendelsohn?”
    â€œYes.”
    Yossi tucked the papers under his arm and left. Ducking his head against thewind blowing north off the river, he headed south and west, toward his corner at The Main and Des Pins. This, he was convinced, was the best corner in Montreal for selling newspapers. It was at the center of where three garment factories were located, and men streamed past from all directions on their way to work. Even the poorest could afford a penny for a paper.
    Men started walking by, first a trickle, then a few more, then a flood. “Paper! Get your paper!” Yossi hollered. One by one, he sold his newspapers, pocketing twelve pennies. Four cents profit. The coins jingled satisfyingly in his pocket.
    By now the sun was a faint brightening in the eastern sky. Munching on the hunk of rye bread, Yossi walked up to Rue Marie-Anne, Abie’s