Dear America: Hear My Sorrow

by Deborah Hopkinson

  As we passed by the small barbershop on the corner, Teresa pulled on my sleeve. “Look, there’s Babbo.”

  Teresa was right. There he was, sitting inside with a group of men. But he didn’t see us. He was bent forward, listening closely to a young man whose hands were moving wildly as he talked.

  Babbo seemed so interested. Of course, it wouldn’t be proper for a girl to question her father. But I couldn’t help wondering what they were talking about. And who was that young man?

  Saturday, October 2, 1909

  The end of my first week! Tonight we left the shop at five. Her eyes sparking, Rosa linked her arms into Luisa’s and mine. “Let’s celebrate your first week of work, Angela.”

  Rosa pulled us into a shop and bought us pieces of almond candy with pennies she’d saved. She gave me two pieces, but I saved one for Teresa. Oh, was she pleased!

  Mama was happy, too. I felt so proud as I gave her my first pay envelope. I don’t make as much as Luisa, but at least I’m doing my part.

  Sunday, October 3, 1909

  My day off. I helped Mama clean the apartment and now I’m back in my own special place — the fire escape. It’s fun to look down at the crowds rushing by. I hope my sparrow will visit, since I remembered to bring some crumbs to feed him.

  I feel so tired. Yesterday as we rushed out of the shop, I heard a girl named Clara sing softly, “I would rather sleep than eat.” Even though I’ve only worked one week, I can understand this song. Some nights my whole body has ached so much, I didn’t care about eating. And in the morning it begins all over again.

  At least Babbo’s shoulder is better. Tomorrow he’ll go see his friend, Mr. Rizzo, who works as a mason. Mr. Rizzo often helps him find work. Maybe he’ll get a job soon.

  I wonder if Babbo once dreamed of having a lot of money, the way Vito does. He doesn’t talk about such things anymore, but I know he still thinks we’re better off here in America.

  Just last evening, as I served coffee to Babbo and Zi’ Vincenzo in the kitchen, I heard them talking about how bad things are in Sicily, and how hard the workers and farm laborers have been fighting for change.

  Miss Kelly always talked to us about the importance of reading. Mama and Babbo may not be able to read, but they still seem to know about everything that goes on — even back in Sicily. It’s almost as if our neighborhood itself is a newspaper.

  Tuesday, October 5, 1909

  This morning, Clara Ruben, the girl I heard singing the other day, had an accident on her machine. The sewing needle went right through her finger and pierced her bone. Clara turned white as the cloth under my hand. She put her head down. I thought for sure she would faint.

  Mr. Klein did nothing. “Go back to work,” he growled.

  I kept cutting threads, but I couldn’t keep my eyes still. Already I’ve gotten good at watching everything around me and still doing my work. Of course, whenever Mr. Klein turns my way, I pull my eyes away fast. Luisa’s warned me never to draw attention to myself.

  Suddenly I sensed a movement near me. It was Sarah Goldstein, the girl who showed me how to cut threads on my first day. Sarah stood up and walked over to Clara.

  I was shocked. What would happen next? Would Sarah get fired for leaving her machine?

  Sarah bent over Clara, then straightened up. I could see beads of sweat on Clara’s forehead. She looked like she might be sick. Sarah said something in Yiddish to Mr. Klein. He frowned and began to yell, waving his arms.

  Sarah ignored him and helped Clara out of her chair. She happened to look my way and our eyes met, just for an instant. Then they walked out, with Sarah supporting Clara. Straight out the door. I could hardly believe it.

  “Go back to work. What are you looking at?” Mr. Klein growled. Quickly I ducked my head. Snip! Snip!

  I couldn’t wait for the bell to ring at the end of the day so I could talk to Rosa and Luisa about it. As we walked home I asked, “Why was Mr. Klein so mean? Wasn’t he worried about Clara?”

  Luisa turned to me with a fierce expression. She said this had nothing to do with us. “Don’t get involved, Angela,” she warned. “Those Russian Jewish girls like to make trouble, especially that Sarah Goldstein. Stay away from her.”

  I stammered, “But, Luisa … she only wanted to help.”

  Luisa gave me a dark look. She was about to say more when Rosa came between us and took each of our arms.

  “Come, my friends,” she said. “I have a few pennies for candy today.”

  But even the sweet candy did not make the bad taste of the day go away.

  Wednesday, October 6, 1909

  I couldn’t help looking around as I walked to my table this morning. I didn’t see Clara anywhere. When Sarah came in, our eyes met. I started to open my mouth to ask her a question, but even from across the room I could sense Luisa’s disapproval.

  When the bell rang for lunch, Sarah got up from her chair and looked my way. I stood up and our eyes met again. I followed her into the hallway. I couldn’t control my curiosity any longer.

  “Is that girl, Clara, all right?” I whispered.

  “Her finger will be fine. But Clara isn’t strong. She’s only nineteen, and already she’s worn down with work,” Sarah answered in a low voice. She shook her head. “What Clara really needs is a good, long rest. But she’ll be here tomorrow. Clara needs this job — she’s the only support her mother has.”

  “Oh,” I breathed. I didn’t know what else to say. Would that happen to me in five years, I wondered? Would I already be worn down?

  “That’s why we have to work for better conditions,” Sarah went on in a whisper. “Do you know about the union?”

  But even before I could answer, Sarah was telling me about the union she’d joined, Local 25 of the International Ladies’ Garment Workers’ Union, the ILGWU. She said the time had come to fight for our rights, and she hoped something might happen this fall.

  When the lunch break was over, I sat down, picked up my scissors, and began to snip threads as usual. Snip snip, snip snip. But with every snip my thoughts flew. What did Sarah mean: Something might happen?

  Later

  Tonight as we sat at the table, helping Mama make flowers, I told Luisa what Sarah had said about Clara’s health, and how her mother needed her so much. I thought that would make her change her mind about Sarah. After all, Sarah had just been trying to help her friend.

  “I think it was a brave thing to do,” I said softly, when Mama had gone upstairs to visit Zi’ Caterina for a while. But Luisa only shrugged and pressed her lips together.

  Luisa is so hardheaded. She’s decided that Sarah Goldstein likes to make trouble, and that’s that. Nothing I say will make her change her mind.

  Friday, October 8, 1909

  Oh, how I wanted to stay snuggled in bed this morning. But I pulled on my clothes and followed Luisa down the dark, smelly stairway, barely opening my eyes. I trudged past a scrawny cat curled in a tight ball under a box. I felt so tired, I wanted to lie down beside him.

  Luisa was cross with me all the way to the shop. She’s still mad because yesterday at lunch I stayed in my chair and chatted with Clara and Sarah instead of eating with Rosa and her. I guess because she’s my older sister she likes to be in charge of me.

  I told Luisa I was too tired to move, and that talking to Sarah gives me the chance to practice my English. Clara still seemed a little pale, but she didn’t complain about her energy. Instead, she wanted to work on her English, too. But of course that’s not the only reason I like talking to Sarah — and Luisa knows it. Sarah is like no one else I’ve ever met. She seems to burst with ideas and energy the way Elizabeth Street bursts with people.

  Just yesterday, when Clara said she was having trouble learning to read English, Sarah told us how she’d learned to read novels in English.

  “Once, soon after we came here, I bought a copy of a novel by a man named Charles Dickens from a pushcart vendor on Hester Street,” Sarah said, her eyes glowing. “It
was called Great Expectations. My English was so poor then, but I made myself finish the whole book. After each page, I wrote down every word I didn’t know and looked them up in the dictionary. Then I read the pages again.

  “And that’s how I did it, page by page. I learned more from reading that book than from school. My favorite part is the beginning, when Pip meets the convict on the dark, empty moor.”

  Sarah laughed. That’s just the way she is. She gets so excited about things, it makes you excited, too. And even though I don’t think I’ll ever be able to read a long book in English, listening to her makes me want to try.

  I would have liked to talk to Sarah again today, but I don’t want Luisa to get too angry with me. So I took my roll and ate with Luisa and Rosa. It’s a good thing Luisa can’t read English or understand this diary — then she would really be mad.

  Mama asked me to take some bread to Zi’ Caterina tonight. Rosa’s mother was lying in bed in the back bedroom, with two neighbors beside her, mending and chatting. I stood in the doorway to give Mama’s greetings. Then Alfio and Pietro, who are seven and nine, begged me to stay and help them with their schoolwork. Like Luisa, Rosa hasn’t been to school in America, so she seemed glad when I said yes.

  “You are so smart. Isn’t she?” Rosa beamed.

  I blushed. “I like reading and numbers and I help Teresa all the time.”

  As we sat at their small kitchen table, we could hear Zi’ Caterina coughing through the thin walls. Alfio flinched every time his mama coughed.

  Suddenly I had an idea. “Rosa, maybe Pietro and Alfio can come down to our flat in the evenings. Then I can help all the children together.”

  Rosa’s eyes strayed to the bedroom. “Grazie, Angela,” she said softly.

  Saturday, October 9, 1909

  Today Sarah and I talked for a few minutes during our lunch break. Sarah told me about herself and her family. She’s eighteen and went to school for six years in America. For the last three years, though, she’s worked so her younger brother, Joseph, can stay in school.

  Sarah’s family came to America from Russia about nine years ago. “I was only nine years old when we left, but I remember being afraid. The government had many rules for Jews — where we could live, and what kinds of jobs we could have.”

  Sarah was silent for a minute. “We lived in a shtetl, a village only for Jews,” she went on softly. “People were poor, and many families struggled to survive. And then there was a pogrom.”

  “A pogrom?” I repeated. The word sounded familiar.

  “Soldiers came,” Sarah said flatly. “They burned houses. They killed innocent people. My uncle died.”

  I thought about Sarah’s words all afternoon. More than half the girls who work here are Jewish. I wonder what their lives were like before they came to America.

  After work, Luisa and Rosa wanted to walk to the park at Washington Square. “Just for a little while. It’s Saturday, after all, and tomorrow we’re off,” said Luisa.

  The park was crowded with girls, laughing and talking. The Triangle Waist Company is just one block away, in the tall Asch Building, at the corner of Washington Place and Greene Street.

  Outside the Triangle factory, girls with signs were pacing up and down on the sidewalk. I pulled at Luisa’s sleeve. “What are they doing?”

  “Picketing. The workers there are on strike.”

  Rosa stopped to look, too. “It’s not a strike anymore. I heard Sarah Goldstein, that girl from our shop, say it’s a lockout.”

  “What’s a lockout?” I wanted to know.

  Rosa wasn’t exactly sure, but she thought that, after the girls went on strike, the owners closed the factory. When they opened it again they hired new girls instead of the striking workers. That meant these girls were locked out, and had lost their jobs.

  I looked at the girls with their signs. “So they’re being punished for going on strike.”

  Luisa pulled me away, frowning. “They’ve lost their jobs. You see what happens, Angela, when you talk to girls like Sarah.”

  I was just about to answer when a young man with a thin, strong face came up and greeted Rosa. Luisa smiled, then grabbed my hand and pulled me back behind them as we walked along.

  My mouth fell open. It’s not proper to walk and talk with strange men on the streets. Surely Luisa and Rosa know that.

  Luisa whispered his name: Audenzio Maniscalco. “If you’d get your head out of your little book, Angela, you’d realize you’ve seen Audenzio before. His father has the barbershop on the corner, where Babbo often goes to meet his friends. Audenzio isn’t a barber, though. He works as a cloakmaker, making fine ladies’ cloaks.”

  The barbershop! I looked at him more closely. Yes, he was the same young man Teresa and I had seen Babbo talking with so earnestly. The one with the wild, moving hands.

  Just then Audenzio turned around and caught me looking at him. He gave a quick nod, but he didn’t smile. His eyes were bright and sharp, a little like Sarah’s.

  In a low voice, Luisa told me that Audenzio’s mother is a distant cousin of Zi’ Caterina, so their families have known each other for a long time. I should have realized Rosa would never get a boyfriend on her own. She would never violate the onore di famiglia, the family honor. Luisa told me that Rosa’s parents, Zi’ Caterina and Zi’ Vincenzo, approve of Audenzio. She feels sure Audenzio and Rosa will become engaged someday, but this isn’t a good time, while Zi’ Caterina is so sick.

  Later

  As usual, our kitchen is full of friends and neighbors, including Zi’ Maria. As I slipped out to the fire escape, I made sure to hide this diary in my skirts.

  My sparrow flew right up next to me just now. He hops about and cocks his head at me. Soon he will fly off. I wonder where he sleeps at night.

  Even though it’s almost dark, Elizabeth Street is still full of people. I wonder where they’re all going. Sarah told me she sometimes attends lectures at the Educational Alliance in the evenings. She’s even been to the theater to see a play. It sounds exciting, but I know Mama needs me home at night.

  Sunday, October 10, 1909

  The toilet in the hall was plugged today, for the second time in a week. Mama and Zi’ Maria (naturally!) don’t think Mrs. Cassio does a very good job of being the building manager.

  “You should be the manager, Mama,” said Vito. “You would do a good job. When I own a tenement building, I’ll hire you.” Mama shook her head at his nonsense. Then she smiled, licked her finger, and tried to pat Vito’s hair into place. He laughed and squirmed out of her grasp.

  Vito is right, though. Mama would be a good manager. Although I don’t think it can be easy to take care of a tenement building. So many people moving all the time. When we first moved here, we didn’t pay rent for the last month at our old building. Sometimes I think Mama would like to move and do that again. But she won’t leave so long as Rosa’s family needs us. Besides, so many of our paesani live here now.

  Tomorrow is Monday — laundry day. Mama will be up by six, to wash clothes in water made boiling hot on our big black stove. Then she’ll hang everything out on lines outside the rear window. Before long it’ll be cold and rainy or even snowy, and then we’ll have to hang the clothes in the kitchen to dry. Doing laundry is one job I don’t like! Still, as Mama always says, washing clothes is easier here than having to trudge to the town well for water.

  Mama and Zi’ Maria will also do laundry for Rosa’s family in the morning. Rosa has to work, and Zi’ Caterina is too weak these days. Nobody has told me, but I’ve overheard enough to guess the truth. Zi’ Caterina has the disease everyone dreads: tuberculosis.

  Thursday, October 14, 1909

  Can it be Thursday already? I’ve been too tired to even open my diary this week. But I just had to write today. I can’t stop thinking about what I saw this morning. Right outside our shop there was a man whipping an old workhorse, trying to get her to pull a wagon. The man looked almost as old and tired as the horse. The ho
rse seemed to just give up, and stood with her head hanging down and her sides trembling.

  I passed by, hardly stopping to look. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sarah coming down the street from the other direction. To my surprise, she went up to the man and spoke to him in a low, intense voice.

  Luisa grabbed my arm and pulled me up the stairs into the shop. But she can’t stop me from thinking about what I saw. Sarah is like no one I’ve ever met before. She seems on fire inside, and wants to fight all the injustices in the world, starting right here.

  “Angela, if we don’t speak up for ourselves, who will speak for us?” Sarah said later, at lunch. “We will be like that poor, dumb animal in the street. That is why we must all join the union.”

  I didn’t answer. I’m curious, but I’m not really sure what to think about all of Sarah’s ideas. Besides, Luisa says the union is only for Jewish girls, not us.

  Friday, October 15, 1909

  Good news. Babbo worked today! Mama was so pleased, she hummed to herself as she made the macaroni tonight. As I worked beside her, taking out plates and forks from the cupboard for our meal, I couldn’t help smiling. I liked the sound of her low voice.

  “I remember how you sang Teresa to sleep back home, when she was just a baby,” I told Mama.

  But at that, Mama became quiet and stopped humming. I wondered if she was thinking of her own mother, who died last year. How hard it must have been for Mama to say good-bye to her family and everything she had known, and come to a strange, new place.

  At least mio padre was able to travel with us. We were lucky that way. Sarah told me her father had come to America more than a year before the rest of her family. He couldn’t send for them until he’d earned enough money to pay for their steamship tickets.