The Beauty Queen of Jerusalem by Sarit Yishai-Levi Page B

successful. He’s already found a bride, one of ours, and he’s going to get married and one day he’ll bring you to America too.’”
    â€œUncle Moshe?” I interrupted Tia Allegra. “Our rich uncle from America?”
    â€œThe very same, querida. In the years they lived together in New York, he and Gabriel were like brothers, and they forged a bond they nurtured all their lives. Moshe became very wealthy and came to own women’s clothing factories and shops all over America.”
    â€œHe sent us packages from America!” Again I interrupted Tia Allegra. “Thanks to him I was the first girl in school to have real jeans.”
    *   *   *
    I knew the story of the rich uncle from America very well, the uncle who, a short time after Nono Gabriel’s return to Jerusalem, had married, had children, and established a fine family in New York. I’d heard many times how, as the years passed, Uncle Moshe’s dream had come true and he’d become a millionaire. The packages from America arrived every three months in big boxes, and Father and Mother even saved a particularly pretty green one and used it to store bed linen.
    One time, a long silk and lace bridal gown arrived with a photograph of the bride Reina, Uncle Moshe’s youngest daughter, pinned to it.
    â€œTronchos de Tveria, cabbageheads from Tiberias,” Mother said, “they’ve made a Purim costume out of it? Isn’t it a pity, such an expensive dress?”
    â€œPurim costume?” Becky said. “They’ve sent it for Gabriela.”
    â€œ Pishcado y limon, ” said Nona Rosa. “No time soon.”
    â€œIf it’s for Gabriela, then I’m taking it,” Mother said, and nobody opposed her because nobody had any need for a bridal gown.
    That night, when everyone was asleep, I got up quietly and crept into the living room. The bridal gown lay on the couch, shining in the darkness. Awestruck, I moved over to it and started stroking the soft silk and the pearl buttons that adorned the front. I lifted it gently and undid the buttons one at a time. It took a while because there were so many of them. Then I wiggled my little body into the dress, very slowly, so, God forbid, I didn’t rip this dress that was so huge I drowned in it. When I eventually managed to get my arms into the sleeves, I tried to stand up so I could button it, but then my feet got tangled in the hem and I fell onto the floor, and at the last minute I grabbed at the low side table on which sat a vase of flowers. The table rocked, the vase smashed into pieces, and the dress and I found ourselves drenched with water and covered in shards of glass. Soon enough my mother was standing over me, screaming, “What the hell do you think you’re doing!” And before checking to see if I was hurt, she ran her hands over me to see if the dress was damaged, and then stood me up and smacked my bottom.
    â€œDestructive child! What are you doing in the living room at twelve o’clock at night? And who gave you permission to touch the dress? Go straight back to bed!”
    Her yelling woke up Father and Ronny. Right away Father started yelling at Mother. “Why are you waking the whole neighborhood!” He picked me up as I cried and took me to the bathroom, washed my face, and changed my pajamas while he murmured, “It’s okay, good girl. Everything will be okay.” Then he put me into bed and covered me and sang right into my ear, “Sleep, sleep, my little one,” and the moment before I closed my eyes I heard my mother whispering angrily, “She ruins everything, the ruffian.”
    The next day Mother took the bridal gown to her seamstress and had a dress made for the army veterans ball at the Menorah Club, where she and Father had been married. This time she didn’t have a matching dress made for me. The dress was a dizzying success, and Mother, so Aunt