people who were inside. They were funny peopleâsometimes they wore strange clothes, and sometimes the women had hardly any clothes on, but they were very beautiful. She would take Euga to look at the pictures.
She grasped Eugaâs hand even more tightly and started across the street. The noise shocked her, it was all around her, a great clamorâscreeches and screaming and Euga was crying and people all around were yelling at Bella. She looked around, but things were blurred and she felt dizzy. After a few minutes, things settled down into forms, and she gasped at the streetcar that was standing just beside them. If it had moved a few inches farther, it would have hit Euga, who was still holding Bellaâs hand as she sobbed.
The conductorâs uniform had gold on it, and he had a gold tooth in his mouth too. Bella shrank: what would he do to her? He was waving his arm round and yelling. What was he saying? âStupid kid! Stupid! Why donât you watch where youâre going? You want to get your baby sister killed? Heh?â All around her people were murmuring: Bellaâs face was hot, she could hear the disapproval in their tone. She was bad, terrible. She tugged at Eugaâs arm and pulled her out of the street, then ran, almost dragging her, down the block past their house, away from all the people. She glanced back once and saw the trolley moving on; the crowd of people was smaller, although some still stood there, talking and gesticulating. She wondered if they would tell Momma on her. What would Momma say? Terror invaded her heart at this new Momma.
She sat Euga down on the curb, and sat uneasily beside her. They did not speak. Would Momma get like Poppa now, and Poppa get like Momma? Bella wondered. Would the people tell Momma? Bella felt she couldnât bear it if Momma spoke angrily to her about it; she felt she would have to die if that happened. Momma said take care of her and I almost killed her, she kept saying to herself, over and over, until her heart slowed again to its normal rhythm.
4
T WO DAYS LATER, ON May 26, 1913, Michael Brez died in the hospital of uremic poisoning, his dream of returning to Poland unfulfilled, his business near bankruptcy, and leaving no life insurance. He didnât believe in it: he used to say over the dinner table to his fawning friends that he wasnât going to leave behind a rich widow who would turn over his hard-earned money to some new man.
In the week after his death, Frances, desperate for money to bury him, sold whatever she could for whatever price. The business, already in trouble, simply disappeared. The counters, the chandeliers, the bolts of serge and twill, fine cotton and silk shirtings, the ties, all of it went for whatever she could get. She sold even the furniture from the houseâall that was salable. She kept the old couch, the round table and chairs, a sewing machine from the shop, and her marriage bed.
Time passed in a daze for Bella, who saw nothing, heard nothing, remembers nothing. Only a few pictures remain in her mind:
She is standing at the kitchen window in the almost empty apartment, looking down at the sidewalk where Momma is standing talking to the used-furniture man. His horse-drawn wagon is heaped high with carved-wood chairs inlaid with mother-of-pearl and cushioned in crimson brocade; a mahogany sideboard; a Persian carpet; a carved-wood brocade couch; two mattresses; and several boxes of dishes, silver serving pieces, flatware, and ornaments. Momma is arguing now; the used-furniture man has tried at the last minute to cheat the Polack widow out of a dollar. Momma is losing, and looks around her in despair. The neighbors gather round, and Frances explains the situation to them with charming helplessness. They crowd the man in a tight circle, angrily yelling, the men raising their fists. The man looks contemptuously at them, pulls a dollar off his roll of bills and thrusts the bill toward Momma. The
She grasped Eugaâs hand even more tightly and started across the street. The noise shocked her, it was all around her, a great clamorâscreeches and screaming and Euga was crying and people all around were yelling at Bella. She looked around, but things were blurred and she felt dizzy. After a few minutes, things settled down into forms, and she gasped at the streetcar that was standing just beside them. If it had moved a few inches farther, it would have hit Euga, who was still holding Bellaâs hand as she sobbed.
The conductorâs uniform had gold on it, and he had a gold tooth in his mouth too. Bella shrank: what would he do to her? He was waving his arm round and yelling. What was he saying? âStupid kid! Stupid! Why donât you watch where youâre going? You want to get your baby sister killed? Heh?â All around her people were murmuring: Bellaâs face was hot, she could hear the disapproval in their tone. She was bad, terrible. She tugged at Eugaâs arm and pulled her out of the street, then ran, almost dragging her, down the block past their house, away from all the people. She glanced back once and saw the trolley moving on; the crowd of people was smaller, although some still stood there, talking and gesticulating. She wondered if they would tell Momma on her. What would Momma say? Terror invaded her heart at this new Momma.
She sat Euga down on the curb, and sat uneasily beside her. They did not speak. Would Momma get like Poppa now, and Poppa get like Momma? Bella wondered. Would the people tell Momma? Bella felt she couldnât bear it if Momma spoke angrily to her about it; she felt she would have to die if that happened. Momma said take care of her and I almost killed her, she kept saying to herself, over and over, until her heart slowed again to its normal rhythm.
4
T WO DAYS LATER, ON May 26, 1913, Michael Brez died in the hospital of uremic poisoning, his dream of returning to Poland unfulfilled, his business near bankruptcy, and leaving no life insurance. He didnât believe in it: he used to say over the dinner table to his fawning friends that he wasnât going to leave behind a rich widow who would turn over his hard-earned money to some new man.
In the week after his death, Frances, desperate for money to bury him, sold whatever she could for whatever price. The business, already in trouble, simply disappeared. The counters, the chandeliers, the bolts of serge and twill, fine cotton and silk shirtings, the ties, all of it went for whatever she could get. She sold even the furniture from the houseâall that was salable. She kept the old couch, the round table and chairs, a sewing machine from the shop, and her marriage bed.
Time passed in a daze for Bella, who saw nothing, heard nothing, remembers nothing. Only a few pictures remain in her mind:
She is standing at the kitchen window in the almost empty apartment, looking down at the sidewalk where Momma is standing talking to the used-furniture man. His horse-drawn wagon is heaped high with carved-wood chairs inlaid with mother-of-pearl and cushioned in crimson brocade; a mahogany sideboard; a Persian carpet; a carved-wood brocade couch; two mattresses; and several boxes of dishes, silver serving pieces, flatware, and ornaments. Momma is arguing now; the used-furniture man has tried at the last minute to cheat the Polack widow out of a dollar. Momma is losing, and looks around her in despair. The neighbors gather round, and Frances explains the situation to them with charming helplessness. They crowd the man in a tight circle, angrily yelling, the men raising their fists. The man looks contemptuously at them, pulls a dollar off his roll of bills and thrusts the bill toward Momma. The
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