Bread Givers. Anzia Yezierska

      Chapter III. The Burden Bearer

      But Mother did not dream always about how good she had it as a young girl. If she had less to worry for the rent, so she had more time to worry for a man for Bessie, who was already nine years older than Mother was when she got married. And there was no sign of a man yet. And no dowry to help get one.

      What Muhmenkeh said about the boarders didn’t turn out that way, because all the boarders, the minute they gave a look on Mashah, fainted away for her. And they didn’t see at all Bessie, who carried the whole house on her back. Their eyes turned only on Mashah and their ears didn’t hear anything but what Mashah said.

      The men didn’t know that if Mashah was always shining like a doll, it was because Mashah took first her wages to make herself more beautiful and left the rest of us to worry for the bread and rent. They didn’t know that Mashah, on her way home from work, always looked on the shop windows for what was the prettiest and latest style. They didn’t know that all her time home, instead of helping with the housework, Mashah was always before the mirror trying on her things, this way and that way, so as to make them more and more becoming to her, while Bessie would rush home the quicker to help Mother with the washing or ironing, or bring home another bundle of night work, and stay up till all hours to earn another dollar for the house.

      The men didn’t know that Bessie gave every cent she earned to Father and had nothing left to buy herself something new. All they saw was that Mashah was a pleasure to look on, while Bessie was so buried, with her nose in the earth helping the family, that they had no more eyes on her than on Mother.

      Even Fania, the third sister, got herself a young man before Bessie did. In the air-shaft, facing our kitchen, he lived. He was a boarder with Zalmon, the fish-peddler. Once, when Fania put her head out of the window to dry her hair, the young man began to talk to her. Then he told her about the night school where he was going and he showed her the books he took from the free library.

      And soon, every evening, Fania began to go to the same night school where the young man went. And he began writing her every day love poems, such grand, beautiful thoughts that read like from a book. And sometimes, Fania would read the poems the young man sent her to the girls on the stoop. And nobody would believe that such burning high thoughts came from that pale-faced, quiet-looking man that lived in that dark air-shaft hole with Zalmon the fish-peddler, and who was only a sweeper and cleaner in the corner drugstore.

      And so the neighbors saw Mashah always with a bunch of men, buzzing around her like flies around a pot of honey. They saw Fania go to the night school and to the library with the writing young man. But Bessie had nobody. And you could see it in her face, how it ate out her heart to have the younger sisters go out with men, and she had nobody. Nobody.

      And then it happened!

      Once, when it was the night for the wages, Bessie came home with three packages, a new oilcloth for the table, a remnant from a lace curtain to tack around the sink, to hide away the rusty pipes, and a ten-cent roll of gold paper for the chandelier to cover up the fly dirt that was so thick you couldn’t scrub it away.

      Mashah wanted to go to hear the free music in the park, but Bessie begged her to stay home. “Help me only, this once, to shine up the house a little. You, too, will feel good if somebody should come in and find the house looks decent, like by other people.”

      And so excited was Bessie to clean up the house that she made us pull out everything to the middle of the room and scrub out the corners and under the bed. And when we packed all the junk away where it wouldn’t show itself, the crowded kitchen got bigger and there was more room to move around without knocking things over.

      And when we tacked the lace curtain around the sink, and fixed fancy the chandelier with the gold paper, and we spread out the new, white oilcloth on the table, it looked like a new house.

      We were sitting like company, taking pleasure in our new, cleaned-up kitchen. Ach! I was thinking to myself, if only we didn’t have to pull out the torn bedding from its hiding place to sleep—the rags to dress ourselves—if only we didn’t have to dirty up the new whiteness of the oilcloth with the eating, then it would shine in our house always like a palace. It’s only when poor people begin to eat and sleep and dress themselves that the ugliness and dirt begins to creep out of their black holes.

      Just then, Mother came in. She looked around, her eyes jumping out of her head. “What happened!” she cried. “Gold shines in our house! Lace hangs on our walls!” Then she touched the white oilcloth on the table as if she was afraid to touch it with her hard-worked hand. “White marble to eat on!”

      “It’s too grand for every day. Quick only! Let’s cover up the oilcloth with newspapers and save the lace curtain for company.”

      “No!” Bessie stamped her foot like a new person. “We won’t cover up the beautiful whiteness. Now that we’re working ourselves up, let’s have it beautiful for ourselves, not only for company.”

      “Nu—nu—don’t fly away with yourselves in fairyland,” laughed Mother. “We’re poor people yet. And poor people got to save——”

      “Save—save!” cried the new Bessie. “I’m sick of saving and slaving to choke myself in the dirt. I want to live while I’m yet alive.”

      We opened wide our eyes to give a look on Bessie. What had suddenly happened to her? Father called her the burden-bearer, because she was always with her nose in the earth slaving for the family. And now she suddenly wanted to lift up her head in the world and live.

      Mother threw her hands up. “Have it your way! American children always want things over their heads.”

      The next evening, when we came home, Mother was away at a sick neighbor’s that was dying. And Father was yet in the synagogue. Fania never had time to wait for supper on the evenings she went to night school. So she grabbed a piece of bread and herring and, still eating it, hurried downstairs, where her young man was waiting for her to take her to school.

      Bessie hurried to get the supper and rushed Mashah and me to eat it quick. I was wondering why Bessie was so excited to get the supper, as if she was starving hungry, and yet didn’t eat much herself. All the time she gave quick glances on Mashah and quickly turned her eyes away when Mashah looked up.

      “I’ll wash the dishes, Mashah, if you want to go out,” said Bessie, the minute we were done eating.

      “But it’s raining,” said Mashah.

      “Then why don’t you go the Grand Street vaudeville?”

      “I haven’t the money.”

      Then think only! Bessie took from her stocking a quarter. “Here, you got it.”

      Mashah took the money and stared on it hard, as if to see if it was lead. Then looking upon Bessie with her innocent, wondering eyes, she asked, “What makes you so good to me all of a sudden?”

      “Oh, well——” Bessie got red and looked away. “Oh, well—you stayed in last night to help fix up the house, so I thought you’d want to go somewhere.”

      Mashah didn’t need to be begged to go to the theatre. She grabbed her hat and coat and out she went.

      The minute the door closed behind Mashah, Bessie pushed the dirty dishes under the sink behind the curtain. With the quickness of a cat she jumped on the bed. She grabbed the hanger with Mashah’s pink dress, that was covered around with a white sheet, like a holy thing. Crazy with excitement, she pulled off her skirt and waist. And, like lightning, the pink princess dress was over her head.

      “Quick, Sara,” she called, “help me. I can’t squeeze my arms into the sleeves.”

      “Oi