The Featherbed. Джон Миллер

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      “I don’t know how I knew to do this, or how I did it, but I pulled my arm away from his and ran out the front door. I shot off to the side of the house and into some bushes. I ran and ran, my bundle flopping about on my back, until I was sure they could not follow me anymore. I ran until I found a farmer who took me to a police station. It turned out this man was selling girls into white slavery in Argentina. Now, whenever I am feeling sorry for myself, I think of that girl who saved my life with her eyes.”

      Rebecca couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Her mother had been a moment’s hesitation away from being a prostitute in Argentina. “Mama! You were so brave!”

      She dismissed the comment with a wave. “Not so brave. Just scared to death. The important thing is that I got away, and that I met your papa at the police station. He was there with his friend Yekl, you know, the same Yekl with whom he does business here. They were complaining about a business associate who had cheated them.

      “Your father saw me there crying. When I heard him turn to his friend and speak in Jewish, I was so relieved. What did I know from his character; I only saw in him someone who could help. And he did help. He helped me find a place to stay, and he helped me find some work. Eventually, he asked me to marry him. Your papa was a cap-maker then, same as here, but there he had his own shop. Someday here you will too, won’t you, Papa?”

      Her father grunted.

      “I convinced your papa to come to America with me. It took us two years to earn the money for the passage and to arrange the details. The second year we saved more money because we were married by then, and we lived together. You were born, Beckeleh, four weeks before we left. I bundled you on my back wrapped in your bubbe’s featherbed — you were warmer than any of us on that boat!”

      “Mama, Papa, I didn’t know. You never told me any of this before. I had no idea...”

      “Well now maybe you will have some — what is the word?” Her mother scratched at her wig.

      “Guilt?”

      “Don’t be smart. The word meaning better way of looking.”

      “Perspective?”

      “Something like that.”

      Her father interceded. “You’re not happy in the factory, Rebecca?” he said, looking at her sweetly. His eyes were squinting, and he smiled faintly. “Your mama and I have been talking. Yekl knows a boy, a good boy who has been doing work for him. Hard worker, observes the Sabbath. His father is from Poland, from a village next to where I come from. I knew his father’s cousin back home.”

      “Oh, Papa, I don’t think...”

      “I talked to them, and he’s willing to take what we’ve saved for you. Considering who he is, with no business of his own, I think this is fair.”

      Rebecca’s heart started racing. “Papa, no. I don’t want to marry someone I haven’t seen. I want to marry for love, like you and Mama.”

      He harrumphed, then looked at Rebecca. “This way is much better — a boy we know, who works hard. You will like him, Beckeleh. Anyway, it’s all agreed. The arrangements are made. You will get to meet him before the wedding. We have arranged that too.”

      She began to panic. “Arranged? You talked to him without asking me? How could you do that? No, Papa! I won’t marry him. I won’t!”

      Her father’s voice boomed. “Don’t you raise your voice like that to your father, little girl! This is arranged, and you will marry him!”

      “I am not a little girl anymore, Papa!” Then realizing the danger of what she said, added, “But I’m also not as old as Mama was when she married. I’m sixteen! You were both much older when you were wed.”

      Her mother came over and stroked Rebecca’s hair. “Sweetheart. That is only because we didn’t have parents to look after our interests. Other girls are married younger than you. There is nothing to worry about, my darling. Everything will be fine.”

      Rebecca’s mind raced. She knew that she needed to change strategy, because she could see her father getting angry, and when her father got angry, there was no hope for reason. He had already begun to speak when she said suddenly, “Okay, I’ll marry him.”

      Her father was obviously taken off guard by his daughter’s rapid capitulation because he had started to say something, but stopped in the middle of his sentence.

      “But Papa, please don’t make me marry him yet. Not just yet. Let me first finish my classes at the night school. Didn’t you always say education is the key to getting ahead in this country?” She looked into her father’s eyes for some hope of concession.

      “For boys, yes. For girls, more important you should get married, and to someone who can put bread on your table.”

      “Please, I’m begging you, Papa! Put off the wedding. At least until I’m nineteen.”

      She looked at her parents’ faces. They were tight and silent. Then her mother turned to her father. His eyes were bugging out, but she raised an eyebrow at him. In the nuance of this gesture, her family always knew what she was thinking.

      “One year,” he said, still looking at his wife.

      “Two.” Rebecca’s heart beat faster.

      “Two?! I should have you marry him tomorrow!”

      “Sholem,” her mother tilted her head to the side.

      Silence. Then he said, “Eighteen months,” and got up from the table. Under his breath, he muttered, “She should bargain so well with the pushcart vendors.” He retreated into the bedroom and shut the door behind him.

      Rebecca smiled at her mother, but she frowned back, got up, and went to the wash basin. Alone at the table, Rebecca heard her speaking softly into her scrub pot. She only faintly made out the words. “I hope you’re happy at your factory now.”

      Rebecca couldn’t sleep. Her mind swam with the possibilities of what might have occurred had the conversation gone the other way. Married? She couldn’t imagine it. Not yet. Still, she had agreed to the wedding, and only delayed it a year and a half. Perhaps there would be another time to convince her father to postpone for longer.

      After an hour of tossing in bed, listening to Ida snoring beside her, Rebecca needed to relieve herself. She hated when this happened. If she had only had to urinate, she could have used the chamber pot, but her stomach was twisted and jumping. The pit toilets were down in the yard behind the tenement, and all the residents from three buildings used four stalls.

      Rebecca got up and lit a candle, which she took with her into the stairwell. She heard noises as she reached the bottom flight. As she approached the back door, she could make out the sound of men talking. Opening the back door and stepping outside, her nostrils were assaulted with the terrible odour of human feces.

      The toilets always stank, but this was worse. The structures that usually covered the pits had been lined up at the back of the yard, and four men stood down in the uncovered holes.

      Night-soilers.

      They had shovelled most of the contents into crates placed СКАЧАТЬ