“
Never send a boy to do a man's job!” he smiled.
The carriage crew erupted into gales of laughter and merriment, caught completely off-guard. He tripped the shutter, and stood back smiling with satisfaction.
“
That will do them nicely, Sir.”
Everyone watching was staggered. The injured photographer on the ground extended his hand to Yousep and smiled a tremendous smile.
“
I could never have caught a better pose! It is impossible just getting them all still. Who the hell are you?”
“
Yousep, Sir. Our shop…where I work, it is just three streets over. Reisman Portraits. Please stop by if convenient. We can help you with this, and it might save you the camera.”
“
Tell you what, Yousep…that's Jewish, right? Well, tell you what, if this photograph is as good as I think it should be, I'll come by tomorrow right after class.”
He clapped his hand around Yousep’s shoulder and said with admiration in front of the carriaged louts, “Who would have thought it would take two men to catch an image of a team of little girls?”
Again, there was more activity in the carriage than it could hardly bear.
Yousep walked hurriedly to the shop, as he was probably late, and surprisingly, found himself suddenly on the basement side of the street, across from his shop, and halted his stride, petrified. He stood at the stoop wondering how he had forgotten to cross again.
Looking into the gloom under the stoop, he wished the mysterious girl would appear. Yet, he was so terrified the brute would come up those steps; he rushed almost headlong into a wagon before he came to his senses. He was still trembling at the shop door when Papa Reisman let him inside, wondering why Yousep should be cold on a perfectly beautiful May morning.
A delivery wagon occupied the curb outside the shop, and filled the window the entire morning. When the horses were each led away and the wagon remained, Yousep was glad of it. Eventually it was loaded, and when it finally went on its way Yousep shuddered, remembering with shame the terror he felt at the top of the basement stair.
He felt as he had, standing as a child, with his father at the open casket of his grandfather. He was afraid to stand next to the box, he could not see in but he knew the body was someone he loved, someone who could not hold him now.
The body lying in the box was a dread thing; he did not want to see it. He tore away in panic when his father reached to lift him at the casket side. He dreamed it would speak to him, not as a living thing, but as something appalling, for many months after. The stair across from the shop held something as dreadful as the casket in his nightmares, and, more horrible to him, it also held something he felt a growing longing to know.
So distracted, Yousep dropped an unexposed glass pane he was coating in the darkroom. Papa Reisman rushed in distress to the closet and asked if it were a portrait glass that had been ruined. Papa’s relieved exclamation was still awful for Yousep to bear. He would pay for the glass, and no customer would be lost for the want of an attentive clerk, but his day continued, shrouded in fear and shame, and the window did not lure him at all.
Still, he was missed.
Caraliza stole a moment at the basement door, after the brute had gone out to seek his day’s work. When a boy rushed to a teetering halt on the walk moments later, and seemed about to burst headlong into the stair, she pushed the door shut to a slit, more startled than he. She could see only the boy’s feet now, his shoes beneath his hemmed trousers. When he turned and disappeared, she waited several breaths, before daring to venture out of the door again.
So sure he nearly came to her door, she crept only to the level of the walk behind the rail, and looked in the direction the boy had turned. The only boy within view stood across the street; beautiful small boxes of wood and brass in the window of the shop behind him. She knew they were cameras, she remembered seeing them used as a child. That boy wore the shoes she had noticed above the stair. She looked again at them to be sure.
She looked at his face and was suddenly drawn to him because of it. He was let into the shop and the window stared out to the empty walk again. She looked to see him in the window because of what she saw on his face. She recognized his terror, and understood it.
Caraliza would look to see him again, each time she dared go out into the air.
The next day brought some luck to Yousep he did not know he had. The carriage photographer was outside the window, looking at the cameras in the display. Polished and warm, they showed the care Papa Reisman gave them each day; none looked as though they indeed waited perhaps even a year to be held and discussed.
Yousep was needed in the closet for some waiting plates, and could not say hello. He entirely forgot to mention the broken camera to Papa and now regretted it. So very anxious to chat, and perhaps get a chance to repair the broken lens, he closed the closet door reluctantly, but strained as he worked, to hear what discussions might transpire; he heard nothing.
Disappointed that perhaps the photographer had not been pleased with the displays in the window, he turned back to his waiting plates, and resigned himself to the work. Nearly finished, a gentle rap at the closet door surprised him.
“
Yousep? Did you speak with a photographer yesterday about a broken lens?”
His heart raced and he eagerly answered, he had.
“
Please come out when you have dried the plates. He wishes to speak to you again.”
It was more unexpected than the strange chance to make the photograph at the carriage! With a customer waiting, Papa Reisman would be cross if Yousep took longer than was polite, so he dried each plate carefully, and placed them between the heavy papers and into their box.
Papa was smiling broadly, the photographer at his elbow, when Yousep crept out. The broken camera was, sadly, nowhere to be seen. Quizzically, Yousep offered his hand to make a very polite introduction. The photographer, Martin Bryant, took his offered hand and shook it warmly.
“
Your photograph was superb, Yousep!” he said with a clap to the boy’s shoulder. “A single exposed plate, and perfectly done! I wanted to thank you. You saved more than just a camera with that chance encounter.”
Menashe Reisman raised an eyebrow and beamed at his clerk.
“
Did you bring the Waterbury, Sir? I should really like the chance to put it right for you. They are excellent instruments and it would be a shame for you to lose it.”
“
It is already lost to me young fellow,” Martin replied. He noticed the disappointed look in Yousep’s face. “Wouldn’t you rather make a sale of a new one?”
The boy looked timidly at his employer and made a bold statement for a shop clerk who needed to sell cameras; he was about to discourage a good purchase.
“
I truly regret the loss of such an expensive camera, wanting only for new lens. I would not assume your money was so easily spent, Sir,” he was quite afraid to look up at his employer, and was surprised when Papa chuckled at him and walked away.
“
Today is a good day for us both, Mr. Yousep the Clerk,” Martin boasted. “I have need of another camera, whether the Waterbury is ruined or not.
And
-,” he said with a flourish, “-I have five fellows in my photographers class at University who will need instruments as well!”
He stuck out his hands and gathered Yousep’s into his, shaking it with some vigor. The clerk just stared in disbelief. Hoping to sell a single camera was bold enough; selling five other cameras because of it? He was incredulous! Menashe Reisman rejoined the two again, with a package wrapped and tied, which he handed to Martin with a wink.
“
This Kodak Autographic is a fine pocket camera. We stock the films and will soon do the developing as well. For your beginners, such a camera would do nicely. Beginners can be so clumsy with plates.”
“
Don’t I know that? Our darkroom lessons are often a disaster. Shards of ruined glass fly everywhere!” Martin said with a knowing smile. “But, Sir, this is a portrait shop, are you the portrait master? Where is your studio?” Mr. Reisman nodded, and gently shook his head immediately after.
“
We
were
a portrait shop. When we lost the beautiful morning sun in our windows-,” he indicated towards the wall behind them; windows looking into a dark, brooding brick wall across the narrow alley outside, “-we were unable to make the room bright enough for good sittings. The studio is this way if you care to visit?”
Martin and Papa Reisman wandered back to the corner doorway behind the counter, and Yousep stood watching them, wondering what became of the Waterbury.
He was busy dusting the display cameras, and adjusting to fill the spot the little Kodak once occupied, when the two men returned, chatting excitedly, grasping hands. Martin walked to the clerk, shook his hand again for a warm goodbye, and promised to return the next afternoon with the student photographers in tow. Martin was walking passed the shop window with a smile, when Yousep saw the girl looking at him, from just below the rail on the basement stair.
It sent a shiver into his back and he suddenly felt either very hot, or very cold, but he silently rejoiced.
“
Yousep! Lad, my very fine lad! Come here boy, come here!”
Papa was bouncing on his toes behind the counter, too anxious to stand still. Yousep stopped his cleaning and hurried to hear what might have put his employer in such high spirits.
“
Outstanding work dear boy! That very young gentleman is actually the graduate assistant to the Professor of Photography at the University. They indeed have students who must purchase cameras to join the studies! He is going to instruct them to each purchase a different model, so they may learn the use of them all!” Papa beamed. “He is bringing them here directly, all at great thanks to you and your talents!”
Yousep smiled, and hoped it was not too prideful to do so.
Still, his employer had another surprise waiting.
“
They are in need of good portrait instructions and have invited me to discuss my possible use for those lessons. I am to visit this very afternoon, and see how I might be of help.”
He stood next to Yousep, repeatedly clapping and holding the boys shoulders as he spoke, but he turned and stepped behind the counter curtain to the back shelves, continuing to explain as he disappeared.
“
Our good Mr. Bryant has a gift for you, Yousep!”
He returned, with the injured Waterbury, held in his hand like a great prize. Only slightly chipped on the side of the case, its lens sleeve was dented on the edge; the plate slide looked crippled and useless.
“
He tells me if you can fix this…it is yours, as a reward for your skill with the plate you made yesterday!”
He almost dared not touch the box. He never once dreamed to own such a camera, as the one in Menashe Reisman’s hands. The lens alone would be more than he received in a month’s pay.
To his employer’s endless mirth, they actually haggled about the gift.
“
You are too honest by a year, dear boy! This is a genuine gift.
Farschtein
? And for the sale of the students’ tools and a few good sittings at the University, I will provide the lens as a gift as well.”
Menashe became very still with sudden emotion. He placed the Waterbury gently on the counter and grasped Yousep with both hands.
“
You are a good clerk. You are helpful to me here in this shop, Yousep, and a blessing to your parents. Accept this and be happy. It is well earned. Well earned!”
Yousep completed his work with a smile on his face the remainder of the day. He would indeed have something important to share with his mother and father tonight at dinner. He had won a camera! his first; with no more than the luck of his step, and the courtesy they taught him to always show.
Papa Reisman said the camera was his; he earned it well. He would use it photograph his parents, in their finest clothes; the fee of a sitting they could not afford, but a plate would be only a few days’ pay, and they owned no such image since he was a child of but three. He would surprise them, perhaps on the Sabbath.
The idea warmed his heart.
He would have to work hard to find the time, but the Waterbury only needed a lens, and the slide repaired; it should take no longer than his usual lunchtime. Distracted as he was, with his new laid plans, he found enough time to look across that street, and wonder. Why was the girl looking across at him when Martin passed out of the shop, as if she sought him out? Did she want him to stop and speak? Might the courage to give her hello and hear back the sound of her voice, be forever impossible to find?
He was troubled and happy, terribly confused with the feelings in his heart, but could not wait to tell his parents about his good fortune - about the hello to the girl? He would wait a bit longer for that.
CHAPTER TWO