Part 30 (1/2)
”What's the use to think so much? It only eats up the flesh from your bones. Better rest ...”
”How can I rest when my choked-in thoughts tear me to pieces? I need school more than a starving man needs bread.”
Yetta's eyes brooded over me. Suddenly a light broke. ”I got an idea. There's a new school for greenhorns where they learn them anything they want ...”
”What--where?” I raised myself quickly, hot with eagerness. ”How do you know from it--tell me only--quick--since when--”
”The girl next door by my house--she used to work by cigars--and now she learns there.”
”What does she learn?”
”Don't get yourself so excited. Your eyes are jumping out from your head.”
I fell back weakly: ”Oi weh! Tell me!” I begged.
”All I know is that she likes what she learns better than rolling cigars. And it's called 'School for Immigrant Girls.'”
”Your time is up. Another visitor is waiting to come in,” said the nurse.
As Yetta walked out, my mother, with the shawl over her head, rushed in and fell on my bed kissing me.
”Oi weh! Oi weh! Half my life is out from me from fright. How did all happen?”
”Don't worry yourself so. I'm nearly well already and will go back to work soon.”
”Talk not work. Get only a little flesh on your bones. They say they send from the hospital people to the country. Maybe they'll send you.”
”But how will you live without my wages?”
”Davy is already peddling with papers and Bessie is selling lolly-pops after school in the park. Yesterday she brought home already twenty-eight cents.”
For all her efforts to be cheerful, I looked at her pinched face and wondered if she had eaten that day.
Released from the hospital, I started home. As I neared Allen Street, the terror of the dark rooms swept over me. ”No--no--I can't yet go back to the darkness and the stinking smells,” I said to myself. ”So long they're getting along without my wages, let them think I went to the country and let me try out that school for immigrants that Yetta told me about.”
So I went to the Immigrant School.
A tall, gracious woman received me, not an employee, but a benefactress.
The love that had rushed from my heart toward the Statue in the Bay, rushed out to Mrs. Olney. She seemed to me the living spirit of America. All that I had ever dreamed America to be shone to me out of the kindness of her brown eyes. She would save me from the sordidness that was crus.h.i.+ng me I felt the moment I looked at her. Sympathy and understanding seemed to breathe from her serene presence.
I longed to open my heart to her, but I was so excited I didn't know where to begin.
”I'm crazy to learn!” I gasped breathlessly, and then the very pressure of the things I had to say choked me.
An encouraging smile warmed the fine features.
”What trade would you like to learn--sewing-machine operating?”