-1Ellis Island, where do I start? The gateway to the land of opportunity? No. The last obstacle before reaching America? No. The last place you may see your family? Perhaps, yes. In our tiny village, it was spoken of highly. At Ellis Island they would feed and clothe you. They would accept you with open arms and welcome you to America where your pockets would get fat with money and your stomach full of the most wonderful food you've ever tasted.
But what of the tests? What of the medical examinations? Those, perhaps, must have slipped their minds while they sung the praises of their port of immigration. Maybe if they had mentioned this earlier, Papa would have decided against selling off all of our possessions to sail to a country where our life as a family was not actually guaranteed. Mama was worried about the voyage, I remember that clearly, but not even her worries would change Papa's mind.
Time flew by and, before my sister and I knew it, we found ourselves packed into a tiny berth in the steerage class with our meager possessions taking up the majority of what little floor space we had. All of this clutter made Mama uncomfortable, so my sister and I spent much of our time with her in the common area with the other passengers while Papa conversed excitedly with the other men.
Now that I think about it, I wish that we did not spend so much time in the common area. Perhaps the outside decks would have been better. Three days into the crossing, Mama developed a cough. Elena and I worried about her, but she promised that it was just a cold and that she would be well before the ship docked. By the end of the week, she hadn't gotten better. Instead, her condition worsened. Even Papa's excitement had died down and the three of us spent many hours trying to nurse her back to health. Time, again, went far too quickly and we soon saw Ellis Island on the horizon, along with that cursed Statue of Liberty. For a brief moment, the excited spark in Papa's eyes returned and he rushed us back into our berth to retrieve our things.
The docking process was long and I remember Elena constantly complaining of aching feet. Papa told her to stand tall and quiet, even in his nervous moments he liked to appear proud. It seemed like hours had passed by the time we finally set foot on dry land. All Mama wanted to do was sit, I remember how exhausted she was during that time. Imagine our surprise when they lined us up for a picture instead of taking us to the Great Room to wait! Although we were tired, Elena and I were excited to have our picture taken, it made me feel like one of those men you read about in the papers. Mama and Papa, however, were less than amused. She kept her hands clasped in front of her the entire time we posed, a less-than-happy look on her face. Papa stood just behind her with his hand protectively on her shoulder, but even that could not change her feelings.
Days had gone by since our ship docked and we had not yet been allowed to leave the island. The officials said that we needed to take tests first to see if we could hold jobs. This made Papa angry, he said he did not come to America to draw diamonds. He said that he came to America to work. Papa, Elena, and I took the tests anyway. We wanted to be accepted, even if it meant answering questions about how we would wash stairs.
Mama, however, would not fare as well. Her coughing had worsened and, during the physical examination, the doctor had whispered something about "consumption." At the time, I did not know what that meant, but now the word strikes something inside of me that I never wish to feel again. Mama asked the doctor if this would keep them from letting her in and, after pushing his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose, he told her that it was. I had never seen Mama cry so much in my life. The country with open doors and endless possibilities had just shut her out while we three were allowed to continue.
She was silent for the rest of the day. To pass the time, Elena and I found some other children from the ship to play with upon Papa's request. We returned hours later to find the two of them still sitting on the bench overlooking the harbor, his hand resting protectively on her shoulder once more. "I won't let them take you," he whispered softly. Before then, I had never seen him act like he was. His usual pride was gone and, for the first time in my life, I saw him for what he really was. I saw the man who wanted to do the best for his wife and children. I saw the man who sold our possessions in pursuit of a common dream. I saw a man who felt that he had failed all of us. It was more than I could bear to see and, quickly, I ushered Elena away once more.
The following week, we were finally allowed to leave for New York City. Mama, sadly, would not make the journey with us. She, the officials said, would remain behind for another two days until the next ship came to bring her home. I remember telling Papa that I wished to go back with Mama, but he would not let me. He told me that she would be back. He promised that we would see her again. Reluctantly, I believed him, though something in the back of my mind told me just the opposite.
Teary-eyed, I gave Mama a quick hug before stepping aside to make room for Papa to say his goodbyes. "Remember," he whispered as he gently took her hands, "you will see us again." She remained silent, her head simply nodding as they announced the boarding of the ferry to Manhattan. Elena and I went on ahead towards the line, our hearts heavy and broken as we heard Papa cry out to our lost mother one last time;
"I won't let them take you."