Gail Langer Karwoski - Quake!: Disaster in San Francisco, 1906

For my daughter Leslie,
who turned nine in San Francisco
and loves the citys spirit as much as I do.

GLK

A t first he didnt notice the dog. Late afternoon sun bathed the cobblestones as Jacob Kaufman trudged up Washington Street to finish the deliveries from his fathers meat stand. On such an unusually warm April day, the bustling streets of downtown San Francisco should have been a delight for a boy of thirteen. But since his mothers death, Jacob hardly noticed his surroundings. His mind was blanketed by troubling thoughts, like the fog that sometimes blew in from the bay and blocked out the sky.

Something bumped against Jacobs leg, and he stopped and looked down. It was a young dog with a springy step and golden brown fur. Jacob had never seen a dog carry its tail like this one, curled into a perfect letter C over its rump.

Jacob watched the dog nose a grape that had fallen on the ground. The animal licked the little fruit, then tried to pick it up with its teeth, but the grape rolled into the dirt between the cobblestones. Eyes alert and muscles tense, the dog pounced. When the grape wedged in a hole, the dog began to paw at it, but the lumpy stones stuck up too far. Frustrated, the dog made a sound that was part whine, part howl.

Jacob picked up the sticky, grit-covered grape and held it out on his palm. The dog opened its mouth in what looked like a grin and wagged its tail. Taking a cautious step toward Jacob, it nuzzled the boys palm, then enclosed the grape in its sparkling white teeth. Instead of biting down, the dog rolled the rubbery grape around in its mouth, tilting its head from side to side. Finally the puzzled dog spit the unbroken grape onto the street and sniffed it curiously.

Laughing out loud, Jacob petted the animals soft head. The dog twisted its mouth into that odd little grin again.

Tell you what, fella, Jacob said. You probably wouldnt like that grape even if you could figure out how to eat it. Try this instead. He reached into his sack and tore a greasy chunk of fat off the meat inside. The dog gulped down the fat, then licked Jacobs fingers until every trace of grease was gone.

Whats going on here? boomed Uncle Avram. I ask my brother the butcher to send me some meat for supper, and here my nephew is giving it away to a stray dog?

Jacob looked up. Avram Kaufmans big hands were planted on his narrow hips and the muscles in his arms bulged beneath his rolled-up sleeves. Although he spoke in a loud, stern voice, his dark eyes sparkled with laughter.

Jacob grinned at his uncle as he stood up and handed over the sack.

Avram was the younger of the two Kaufman brothers. Short and slim, he had dark, curly hair and a good-natured if homely faceunruly eyebrows, thick nose, and fleshy lips. Jacob called him Uncle Avi, and his uncles deep, hearty laugh was what he always associated with the man.

Avi tousled Jacobs hair and asked, How goes it at my brothers home, nephew?

Suddenly the fog seemed to wrap around Jacobs mind again. Home. Jacob pictured the dark boardinghouse south of Mission Street where he and his father and sister lived. He could practically smell the familiar odorscabbage boiling on the stove, latkes sizzling in the pan. With the memory, Jacob felt an ache deep inside, an indescribable longing and emptiness. Oh, Uncle Avi, Jacob wanted to say, theres no such thing as a home without a mother!

All right, I guess, Jacob mumbled, avoiding his uncles eyes. He knew that if he tried to describe his feelings, his uncle would stare at him with eyes full of pity. Then Jacobs voice would crack, and he was afraid hed start crying like a baby. He would not let himself cry. Not in front of his uncleand certainly not in front of strangers on a public street. On Jacobs last birthday he had celebrated his Bar Mitzvah. So in the eyes of his Jewish forefathers, wasnt he already a man?

Avi shifted his weight from one foot to the other. I see youve made friends with this little dog, he said. Hes a foolish animal, dont you think? A dog that comes begging on the street of the fruit and vegetable peddlers. Wouldnt you think his nose would lead him to the street of the butchers? Or to the wharves, where fishermen bring in their catch?

Maybe he belongs to one of the peddlers?

Uncle Avi shook his head. He belongs to nobody, Jacob. And how do I know this? Because for three days and three nights, this foolish animal follows me around like hes my shadow. I ignore him, but he follows me anyway. So last night I take pity on him and bring out a little bowl of scraps for him to eat. And what do you think he does? He gobbles them up so fast that Im afraid hes going to choke, like he hasnt eaten in a month!

Jacob smiled and leaned over to stroke the dogs velvety ears. So this dog does belong to somebody, Uncle Avi. He belongs to you.

Nah! Avi exclaimed, waving his hand through the air. What am I going to do with a dog? What am I going to feed him? Apple peels? And your Aunt Rosedont even ask! She let me have it! When I came back in the house, Rose grabbed the empty bowl and started hollering. What do you think youre doing, Avram Kaufman? We have three babies to feed, and all of a sudden you decide to bring home stray dogsNoo! Is this what I need? She yelled so loud I thought my ears would burst!

Jacob grinned. Most of the Jews who had moved from Poland to San Franciscolike his father and uncleknew one another. Among them, Rose Kaufman had a reputation. Everybody said her tongue was sharper than a butchers knife. Over the years, Jacob had often heard his parents discussing Aunt Rose. Mamma used to defend her sister-in-law by saying that Rose means well. But Papa always replied, Rose has a mouth as big as a whale, and who worries about what a whale means as it swallows you?

Rose says she has enough to do, with an infant to nurse and twins still in diapers, Avi continued. She told me if I wanted to share my home with a stray dog, I could take my blanket out to the street and use my cart for my bed and a bunch of bananas as my pillow!

So what will you do with the dog? Jacob asked.

Avi rubbed his chin. I dont know, he said. I thought maybe I would ask your father if he wants a dog... for his children to play with. Maybe a dog would take their minds off their sorrow.

Jacobs dark eyebrows shot up. Really?

Avi nodded.

Jacob knelt and scratched the white fur on the dogs chin and chest. The dog made that odd little grinning face and wiggled its whole body. Then it licked Jacobs eyelids. Jacob rolled the dog onto its back and scratched its dirty belly until the animal wriggled with pleasure.

As he played with the dog, Jacob glanced at his uncle. A smile lit up Avis face, and Jacob guessed what his uncle was thinking. You look just like I remember your father looked when he was a boy, Avi always said. The same black, curly hair. The same skinny arms and long fingers, even the same laugh. Whenever they sat around the table at family gatherings, Avi told stories about the Kaufman brothers childhood, about all the times they got into mischief playing on the muddy paths of their village in Poland.