The Jungle, Upton Sinclair [good e books to read .TXT] 📗

door. He had by this time divined what sort of a place he was in; and he had seen a great deal of the world since he had left home, and was not easy to shock⁠—and yet it gave him a painful start that Marija should do this. They had always been decent people at home, and it seemed to him that the memory of old times ought to have ruled her. But then he laughed at himself for a fool. What was he, to be pretending to decency!

“How long have you been living here?” he asked.

“Nearly a year,” she answered.

“Why did you come?”

“I had to live,” she said; “and I couldn’t see the children starve.”

He paused for a moment, watching her. “You were out of work?” he asked, finally.

“I got sick,” she replied, “and after that I had no money. And then Stanislovas died⁠—”

“Stanislovas dead!”

“Yes,” said Marija, “I forgot. You didn’t know about it.”

“How did he die?”

“Rats killed him,” she answered.

Jurgis gave a gasp. “Rats killed him!”

“Yes,” said the other; she was bending over, lacing her shoes as she spoke. “He was working in an oil factory⁠—at least he was hired by the men to get their beer. He used to carry cans on a long pole; and he’d drink a little out of each can, and one day he drank too much, and fell asleep in a corner, and got locked up in the place all night. When they found him the rats had killed him and eaten him nearly all up.”

Jurgis sat, frozen with horror. Marija went on lacing up her shoes. There was a long silence.

Suddenly a big policeman came to the door. “Hurry up, there,” he said.

“As quick as I can,” said Marija, and she stood up and began putting on her corsets with feverish haste.

“Are the rest of the people alive?” asked Jurgis, finally.

“Yes,” she said.

“Where are they?”

“They live not far from here. They’re all right now.”

“They are working?” he inquired.

“Elzbieta is,” said Marija, “when she can. I take care of them most of the time⁠—I’m making plenty of money now.”

Jurgis was silent for a moment. “Do they know you live here⁠—how you live?” he asked.

“Elzbieta knows,” answered Marija. “I couldn’t lie to her. And maybe the children have found out by this time. It’s nothing to be ashamed of⁠—we can’t help it.”

“And Tamoszius?” he asked. “Does he know?”

Marija shrugged her shoulders. “How do I know?” she said. “I haven’t seen him for over a year. He got blood-poisoning and lost one finger, and couldn’t play the violin any more; and then he went away.”

Marija was standing in front of the glass fastening her dress. Jurgis sat staring at her. He could hardly believe that she was the same woman he had known in the old days; she was so quiet⁠—so hard! It struck fear to his heart to watch her.

Then suddenly she gave a glance at him. “You look as if you had been having a rough time of it yourself,” she said.

“I have,” he answered. “I haven’t a cent in my pockets, and nothing to do.”

“Where have you been?”

“All over. I’ve been hoboing it. Then I went back to the yards⁠—just before the strike.” He paused for a moment, hesitating. “I asked for you,” he added. “I found you had gone away, no one knew where. Perhaps you think I did you a dirty trick, running away as I did, Marija⁠—”

“No,” she answered, “I don’t blame you. We never have⁠—any of us. You did your best⁠—the job was too much for us.” She paused a moment, then added: “We were too ignorant⁠—that was the trouble. We didn’t stand any chance. If I’d known what I know now we’d have won out.”

“You’d have come here?” said Jurgis.

“Yes,” she answered; “but that’s not what I meant. I meant you⁠—how differently you would have behaved⁠—about Ona.”

Jurgis was silent; he had never thought of that aspect of it.

“When people are starving,” the other continued, “and they have anything with a price, they ought to sell it, I say. I guess you realize it now when it’s too late. Ona could have taken care of us all, in the beginning.” Marija spoke without emotion, as one who had come to regard things from the business point of view.

“I⁠—yes, I guess so,” Jurgis answered hesitatingly. He did not add that he had paid three hundred dollars, and a foreman’s job, for the satisfaction of knocking down “Phil” Connor a second time.

The policeman came to the door again just then. “Come on, now,” he said. “Lively!”

“All right,” said Marija, reaching for her hat, which was big enough to be a drum-major’s, and full of ostrich feathers. She went out into the hall and Jurgis followed, the policeman remaining to look under the bed and behind the door.

“What’s going to come of this?” Jurgis asked, as they started down the steps.

“The raid, you mean? Oh, nothing⁠—it happens to us every now and then. The madame’s having some sort of time with the police; I don’t know what it is, but maybe they’ll come to terms before morning. Anyhow, they won’t do anything to you. They always let the men off.”

“Maybe so,” he responded, “but not me⁠—I’m afraid I’m in for it.”

“How do you mean?”

“I’m wanted by the police,” he said, lowering his voice, though of course their conversation was in Lithuanian. “They’ll send me up for a year or two, I’m afraid.”

“Hell!” said Marija. “That’s too bad. I’ll see if I can’t get you off.”

Downstairs, where the greater part of the prisoners were now massed, she sought out the stout personage with the diamond earrings, and had a few whispered words with her. The latter then approached the police sergeant who was in charge of the raid. “Billy,” she said, pointing to Jurgis, “there’s a fellow who came in to see his sister. He’d just got in the door when you knocked. You aren’t taking hoboes, are you?”

The sergeant laughed as he looked at Jurgis. “Sorry,” he said, “but the