“Is the matron in?” I asked, faintly.
“Yes, she’s in; she’s busy. Go to the back parlor5,” answered the girl, in a loud voice, without one change in her peculiarly matured face.
I followed these not overkind or polite instructions and found myself in a dark, uncomfortable back-parlor. There I awaited the arrival of my hostess. I had been At the temporary home for women. seated some twenty minutes at the least, when a slender woman, clad in a plain, dark dress entered and, stopping before me, ejaculated inquiringly, “Well?”
“Are you the matron?” I asked.
“No,” she replied, “the matron is sick; I am her assistant. What do you want?”
“I want to stay here for a few days, if you can accommodate me.”
“Well, I have no single rooms, we are so crowded; but if you will occupy a room with another girl, I shall do that much for you.”
“I shall be glad of that,” I answered. “How much do you charge?” I had brought only about seventy cents along with me, knowing full well that the sooner my funds were exhausted6 the sooner I should be put out, and to be put out was what I was working for.
“We charge thirty cents a night,” was her reply to my question, and with that I paid her for one night’s lodging7, and she left me on the plea of having something else to look after. Left to amuse myself as best I could, I took a survey of my surroundings.
They were not cheerful, to say the least. A wardrobe, desk, book-case, organ, and several chairs completed the furnishment of the room, into which the daylight barely came.
By the time I had become familiar with my quarters a bell, which rivaled the door-bell in its loudness, began clanging in the basement, and simultaneously8 women went trooping down-stairs from all parts of the house. I imagined, from the obvious signs, that dinner was served, but as no one had said anything to me I made no effort to follow in the hungry train. Yet I did wish that some one would invite me down. It always produces such a lonely, homesick feeling to know others are eating, and we haven’t a chance, even if we are not hungry. I was glad when the assistant matron came up and asked me if I did not want something to eat. I replied that I did, and then I asked her what her name was. Mrs. Stanard, she said, and I immediately wrote it down in a notebook I had taken with me for the purpose of making memoranda9, and in which I had written several pages of utter nonsense for inquisitive10 scientists.
Thus equipped I awaited developments. But my dinner-well, I followed Mrs. Stanard down the uncarpeted stairs into the basement; where a large number of women were eating. She found room for me at a table with three other women. The short-haired slavey who had opened the door now put in an appearance as waiter. Placing her arms akimbo and staring me out of countenance11 she said:
“Boiled mutton, boiled beef, beans, potatoes, coffee or tea?”
“Beef, potatoes, coffee and bread,” I responded.
“Bread goes in,” she explained, as she made her way to the kitchen, which was in the rear. It was not very long before she returned with what I had ordered on a large, badly battered12 tray, which she banged down before me. I began my simple meal. It was not very enticing13, so while making a feint of eating I watched the others.
I have often moralized on the repulsive14 form charity always assumes! Here was a home for deserving women and yet what a mockery the name was. The floor was bare, and the little wooden tables were sublimely15 ignorant of such modern beautifiers as varnish16, polish and table-covers. It is useless to talk about the cheapness of linen17 and its effect on civilization. Yet these honest workers, the most deserving of women, are asked to call this spot of bareness-home.
When the meal was finished each woman went to the desk in the corner, where Mrs. Stanard sat, and paid her bill. I was given a much-used, and abused, red check, by the original piece of humanity in shape of my waitress. My bill was about thirty cents.
After dinner I went up-stairs and resumed my former place in the back parlor. I was quite cold and uncomfortable, and had fully18 made up my mind that I could not endure that sort of business long, so the sooner I assumed my insane points the sooner I would be released from enforced idleness. Ah! that was indeed the longest day I had ever lived. I listlessly watched the women in the front parlor, where all sat except myself.
One did nothing but read and scratch her head and occasionally call out mildly, “Georgie,” without lifting her eyes from her book. “Georgie” was her over-frisky boy, who had more noise in him than any child I ever saw before. He did everything that was rude and unmannerly, I thought, and the mother never said a word unless she heard some one else yell at him. Another woman always kept going to sleep and waking herself up with her own snoring. I really felt wickedly thankful it was only herself she awakened19. The majority of the women sat there doing nothing, but there were a few who made lace and knitted unceasingly. The enormous door-bell seemed to be going all the time, and so did the short-haired girl. The latter was, besides, one of those girls who sing all the time snatches of all the songs and hymns21 that have been composed for the last fifty years. There is such a thing as martyrdom in these days. The ringing of the bell brought more people who wanted shelter for the night. Excepting one woman, who was from the country on a day’s shopping expedition, they were working women, some of them with children.
As it drew toward evening Mrs. Stanard came to me and said:
“What is wrong with you? Have you some sorrow or trouble?”
“No,” I said, almost stunned22 at the suggestion. “Why?”
“Oh, because,” she said, womanlike, “I can see it in your face. It tells the story of a great trouble.”
“Yes, everything is so sad,” I said, in a haphazard23 way, which I had intended to reflect my craziness.
“But you must not allow that to worry you. We all have our troubles, but we get over them in good time. What kind of work are you trying to get?”
“I do not know; it’s all so sad,” I replied.
“Would you like to be a nurse for children and wear a nice white cap and apron24?” she asked.
I put my handkerchief up to my face to hide a smile, and replied in a muffled25 tone, “I never worked; I don’t know how.”
“But you must learn,” she urged; “all these women here work.”
“Do they?” I said, in a low, thrilling whisper. “Why, they look horrible to me; just like crazy women. I am so afraid of them.”
“They don’t look very nice,” she answered, assentingly, “but they are good, honest working women. We do not keep crazy people here.”
I again used my handkerchief to hide a smile, as I thought that before morning she would at least think she had one crazy person among her flock.
“They all look crazy,” I asserted again, “and I am afraid of them. There are so many crazy people about, and one can never tell what they will do. Then there are so many murders committed, and the police never catch the murderers,” and I finished with a sob26 that would have broken up an audience of blase27 critics. She gave a sudden and convulsive start, and I knew my first stroke had gone home. It was amusing to see what a remarkably28 short time it took her to get up from her chair and to whisper hurriedly: “I’ll come back to talk with you after a while.” I knew she would not come back and she did not.
When the supper-bell rang I went along with the others to the basement and partook of the evening meal, which was similar to dinner, except that there was a spaner bill of fare and more people, the women who are employed outside during the day having returned. After the evening meal we all adjourned29 to the parlors30, where all sat, or stood, as there were not chairs enough to go round.
It was a wretchedly lonely evening, and the light which fell from the solitary31 gas jet in the parlor, and oil-lamp the hall, helped to envelop32 us in a dusky hue33 and dye our spirits navy blue. I felt it would not require many inundations of this atmosphere to make me a fit subject for the place I was striving to reach.
I watched two women, who seemed of all the crowd to be the most sociable34, and I selected them as the ones to work out my salvation35, or, more properly speaking, my condemnation36 and conviction. Excusing myself and saying that I felt lonely, I asked if I might join their company. They graciously consented, so with my hat and gloves on, which no one image had asked me to lay aside, I sat down and listened to the rather wearisome conversation, in which I took no part, merely keeping up my sad look, saying “Yes,” or “No,” or “I can’t say,” to their observations. Several times I told them I thought everybody in the house looked crazy, but they were slow to catch on to my very original remark. One said her name was Mrs. King and that she was a Southern woman. Then she said that I had a Southern accent. She asked me bluntly if I did not really come from the South. I said “Yes.” The other woman got to talking about the Boston boats and asked me if I knew at what time they left.
For a moment I forgot my role of assumed insanity37, and told her the correct hour of departure. She then asked me what work I was going to do, or if I had ever done any. I replied that I thought it very sad that there were so many working people in the world. She said in reply that she had been unfortunate and had come to New York, where she had worked at correcting proofs on a medical dictionary for some time, but that her health had given way under the task, and that she was now going to Boston again. When the maid came to tell us to go to bed I remarked that I was afraid, and again ventured the assertion that all the women in the house seemed to be crazy. The nurse insisted on my going to bed. I asked if I could not sit on the stairs, but she said, decisively: “No; for every one in the house would think you were crazy.” Finally I allowed them to take me to a room.
Here I must introduce a new personage by name into my narrative38. It is the woman who had been a proofreader, and was about to return to Boston. She was a Mrs. Caine, who was as courageous39 as she was good-hearted. She came into my room, and sat and talked with me a long time, taking down my hair with gentle ways. She tried to persuade me to undress and go to bed, but I stubbornly refused to do so. During this time a number of the inmates40 of the house had gathered around us. They expressed themselves in various ways. “Poor loon42!” they said. “Why, she’s crazy enough!” “I am afraid to stay with such a crazy being in house.” “She will murder us all before morning.” One woman was for sending for a policeman to take me at once. They were all in a terrible and real state of fright.
No one wanted to be responsible for me, and the woman who was to occupy the room with me declared that she would not stay with that “crazy woman” for all the money of the Vanderbilts. It was then that Mrs. Caine said she would stay with me. I told her I would like to have her do so. So she was left with me. She didn’t undress, but lay down on the bed, watchful43 of my movements. She tried to induce me to lie down, but I was afraid to do this. I knew that if I once gave way I should fall asleep and dream as pleasantly and peacefully as a child. I should, to use a slang expression, be liable to “give myself dead away.” So I insisted on sitting on the side of the bed and staring blankly at vacancy44. My poor companion was put into a wretched state of unhappiness. Every few moments she would rise up to look at me. She told me that my eyes shone terribly brightly and then began to question me, asking me where I had lived, how long I had been in New York, what I had been doing, and many things besides. To all her questionings I had but one response–I told her that I had forgotten everything, that ever since my headache had come on I could not remember.
Poor soul! How cruelly I tortured her, and what a kind heart she had! But how I tortured all of them! One of them dreamed of me-as a nightmare. After I had been in the room an hour or so, I was myself startled by hearing a woman screaming in the next room. I began to imagine that I was really in an insane asylum45.
Mrs. Caine woke up, looked around, frightened, and listened. She then went out and into the next room, and I heard her asking another woman some questions. When she came back she told me that the woman had had a hideous46 nightmare. She had been dreaming of me. She had seen me, she said, rushing at her with a knife in my hand, with the intention of killing47 her. In trying to escape me she had fortunately been able to scream, and so to awaken20 herself and scare off her nightmare. Then Mrs. Caine got into bed again, considerably48 agitated49, but very sleepy.
I was weary, too, but I had braced50 myself up to the work, and was determined51 to keep awake all night so as to carry on my work of impersonation to a successful end in the morning. I heard midnight. I had yet six hours to wait for daylight. The time passed with excruciating slowness. Minutes appeared hours. The noises in the house and on the avenue ceased.
Fearing that sleep would coax52 me into its grasp, I commenced to review my life. How strange it all seems! One incident, if never so trifling53, is but a link more to chain us to our unchangeable fate. I began at the beginning, and lived again the story of my life. Old friends were recalled with a pleasurable thrill; old enmities, old heartaches, old joys were once again present. The turned-down pages of my life were turned up, and the past was present.
When it was completed, I turned my thoughts bravely to the future, wondering, first, what the next day would bring forth, then making plans for the carrying out of my project. I wondered if I should be able to pass over the river to the goal of my strange ambition, to become eventually an inmate41 of the halls inhabited by my mentally wrecked54 sisters. And then, once in, what would be my experience? And after? How to get out? Bah! I said, they will get me out.
That was the greatest night of my existence. For a few hours I stood face to face with “self!”
I looked out toward the window and hailed with joy the slight shimmer55 of dawn. The light grew strong and gray, but the silence was strikingly still. My companion slept. I had still an hour or two to pass over. Fortunately I found some employment for my mental activity. Robert Bruce in his captivity56 had won confidence in the future, and passed his time as pleasantly as possible under the circumstances, by watching the celebrated57 spider building his web. I had less noble vermin to interest me. Yet I believe I made some valuable discoveries in natural history. I was about to drop off to sleep in spite of myself when I was suddenly startled to wakefulness. I thought I heard something crawl and fall down upon the counterpane with an almost inaudible thud.
I had the opportunity of studying these interesting animals very thoroughly58. They had evidently come for breakfast, and were not a little disappointed to find that their principal plat was not there. They scampered59 up and down the pillow, came together, seemed to hold interesting converse60, and acted in every way as if they were puzzled by the absence of an appetizing breakfast. After one consultation61 of some length they finally disappeared, seeking victims elsewhere, and leaving me to pass the long minutes by giving my attention to cockroaches62, whose size and agility63 were something of a surprise to me.
My room companion had been sound asleep for a long time, but she now woke up, and expressed surprise at seeing me still awake and apparently64 as lively as a cricket. She was as sympathetic as ever. She came to me and took my hands and tried her best to console me, and asked me if I did not want to go home. She kept me up-stairs until nearly everybody was out of the house, and then took me down to the basement for coffee and a bun. After that, partaken in silence, I went back to my room, where I sat down, moping. Mrs. Caine grew more and more anxious. “What is to be done?” she kept exclaiming. “Where are your friends?” “No,” I answered, “I have no friends, but I have some trunks. Where are they? I want them.” The good woman tried to pacify65 me, saying that they would be found in good time. She believed that I was insane.
Yet I forgive her. It is only after one is in trouble that one realizes how little sympathy and kindness there are in the world. The women in the Home who were not afraid of me had wanted to have some amusement at my expense, and so they had bothered me with questions and remarks that had I been insane would have been cruel and inhumane. Only this one woman among the crowd, pretty and delicate Mrs. Caine, displayed true womanly feeling. She compelled the others to cease teasing me and took the bed of the woman who refused to sleep near me. She protested against the suggestion to leave me alone and to have me locked up for the night so that I could harm no one. She insisted on remaining with me in order to administer aid should I need it. She smoothed my hair and bathed my brow and talked as soothingly66 to me as a mother would do to an ailing67 child. By every means she tried to have me go to bed and rest, and when it drew toward morning she got up and wrapped a blanket around me for fear I might get cold; then she kissed me on the brow and whispered, compassionately68:
“Poor child, poor child!”
How much I admired that little woman’s courage and kindness. How I longed to reassure69 her and whisper that I was not insane, and how I hoped that, if any poor girl should ever be so unfortunate as to be what I was pretending to be, she might meet with one who possessed70 the same spirit of human kindness possessed by Mrs. Ruth Caine.
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1
maidens
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| 处女( maiden的名词复数 )； 少女； 未婚女子； （板球运动）未得分的一轮投球 | |
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nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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memoranda
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| n. 备忘录, 便条 名词memorandum的复数形式 | |
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inquisitive
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| adj.求知欲强的，好奇的，好寻根究底的 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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enticing
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| adj.迷人的；诱人的 | |
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repulsive
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| adj.排斥的，使人反感的 | |
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sublimely
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| 高尚地，卓越地 | |
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16
varnish
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| n.清漆；v.上清漆；粉饰 | |
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linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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18
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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20
awaken
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| vi.醒，觉醒；vt.唤醒，使觉醒，唤起，激起 | |
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hymns
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌( hymn的名词复数 ) | |
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22
stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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23
haphazard
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| adj.无计划的，随意的，杂乱无章的 | |
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apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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blase
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| adj.厌烦于享乐的 | |
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remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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adjourned
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| （使）休会， （使）休庭( adjourn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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parlors
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| 客厅( parlor的名词复数 )； 起居室； （旅馆中的）休息室； （通常用来构成合成词）店 | |
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31
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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32
envelop
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| vt.包，封，遮盖；包围 | |
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hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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sociable
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| adj.好交际的，友好的，合群的 | |
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salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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condemnation
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| n.谴责; 定罪 | |
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insanity
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| n.疯狂，精神错乱；极端的愚蠢，荒唐 | |
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38
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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39
courageous
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| adj.勇敢的，有胆量的 | |
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40
inmates
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| n.囚犯( inmate的名词复数 ) | |
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41
inmate
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| n.被收容者；(房屋等的)居住人；住院人 | |
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42
loon
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| n.狂人 | |
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43
watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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44
vacancy
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| n.（旅馆的）空位，空房，（职务的）空缺 | |
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45
asylum
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| n.避难所，庇护所，避难 | |
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46
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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47
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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48
considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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49
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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50
braced
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| adj.拉牢的v.支住( brace的过去式和过去分词 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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51
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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52
coax
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| v.哄诱，劝诱，用诱哄得到，诱取 | |
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53
trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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54
wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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55
shimmer
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| v./n.发微光，发闪光；微光 | |
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56
captivity
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| n.囚禁；被俘；束缚 | |
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57
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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58
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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59
scampered
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| v.蹦蹦跳跳地跑，惊惶奔跑( scamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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60
converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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61
consultation
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| n.咨询；商量；商议；会议 | |
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62
cockroaches
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| n.蟑螂( cockroach的名词复数 ) | |
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63
agility
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| n.敏捷，活泼 | |
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64
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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65
pacify
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| vt.使(某人)平静(或息怒)；抚慰 | |
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66
soothingly
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| adv.抚慰地，安慰地；镇痛地 | |
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67
ailing
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| v.生病 | |
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68
compassionately
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| adv.表示怜悯地，有同情心地 | |
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69
reassure
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| v.使放心，使消除疑虑 | |
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70
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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