Part I- Chapter 2

In this chapter Mary comes home to an unwelcome announcement from her husband, Symon.

Chapter 2

            The sun had long retreated behind the towering New York City skyline by the time Mary had made her way back home.  She wearily turned her key in the lock and pushed open the door of the apartment where she was met by the welcome smell of borscht bubbling on the stove.  

            “Now that’s what I love about you” she called out to Symon as she dropped her bag on the floor by the door and kicked off her shoes.  “Half of New York is standing in breadlines but I’ll never have to go hungry as long as I’ve got you.”

            Mary’s husband poked his head out of the kitchen and grinned. 

            “It’s what I do.”

            A mop-topped two year old in a chartreuse jumper and stockinged feet raced out from the kitchen where she had been helping to stir the soup and leaped into Mary’s arms with an excited yelp.  Mary settled down on the sofa with her daughter in her lap and nodded along halfmindedly as Hannah chattered away and Symon returned to his post at the stove.

            “How was court today?” he called back to her.

            Mary had finally convinced a reluctant mother of four to file a complaint against her abusive husband.  The court hearing had been scheduled for that afternoon.

            “Mrs. C. never showed” she called back.  Social workers referred to their clients using only their initials to protect their confidentiality. 

            “Is she alright?”

            “It was just a case of cold feet.  I waited at court for two hours and when she didn’t show I went to her apartment, worried as hell�"I mean I was awfully worried about her” she checked herself and glanced down at Hannah.  “But it turned out she had just changed her mind about the whole thing.  She said it’s been hard since her man’s lost his job and she and the kids have just got to be more supportive of him.”

            Simon came out of the kitchen and held out a spoonful of the soup for her to sample.  “That’s too bad.”

Mary swallowed the spoonful of hot broth.  It was just the right balance of sweet and tartness.  “Damn, that's good.  What are you doing home by the way?” she said, licking her lips.  “I thought you were working until eight tonight.”

Symon smiled mischievously.  “What kind of mood are you in right now?”

“Why?” She asked suspiciously.

“Well,” Symon sat down next to her and twisted one of Hannah’s golden-brown curls around his finger.  “I don’t want to worry you too much.  But my career at Bowings has come to an end.”

She eyed him warily, as though he might be pulling a joke over on her.  “What do you mean?”

“The factory’s been shut down.  The foreman told all the workers this afternoon.”

Mary stood up.  “How is that possible?” she asked incredulously.

“Apparently in this economy there’s no market for electric dishwashers.”  He said with a shrug.  He rose from the sofa and calmly walked back to the kitchen, followed by Mary who was in turn tailed by Hannah.

“That’s ridiculous!  How could they do this?” she said, although she had to admit to herself that they both had been expecting it would come to this sooner rather than later.  People could scarcely afford to pay their utility bills nowadays, let alone purchase new energy consuming electric dishwashers.  There were more than three-hundred people in the so-called Hooverville across from Wall Street living in tumbledown shacks made from salvaged tin and tar paper.  They would have more use for the cardboard packing boxes than the machines themselves.

“Don’t worry about it” Symon with an air of acceptance as he ladled the borscht into three bowls and they all sat down at the kitchen table.  “I’ll find something else to do.  This is still the land of opportunity, after all.”

The land of opportunity.  Mary knew he only used that phrase with the highest caliber of sarcasm.  The second-youngest of five children, Symon came from a working-class family in Kiev.  At the tender and optimistic age of fourteen he and a brother had booked one-way tickets in steerage class on a ship bound for New York, the first step towards their dream of escaping a future under the opressive and condescending thumb of Mother Russia. 

Like generations of eager young immigrants before them, they had no trouble finding work in the ever-growing industrial hub that was New York, but to say their observation at the American social hierarchy was disappointing would be a severe understatement.  If they had been hoping to rise above their destined status as second-class citizens in a Russian-dominated Ukraine, they were bitterly unamused to discover that in America they were still at the bottom of the proverbial totem pole.  Lowly foreigners like themselves were crowded into dirty factories, crowded into slum-like tenements, and crowded out of the very world of which they had hoped to become part.  Life in the land of promise was not much different from that of so-called Little Russia.

Disheartened, Symon’s brother had moved north to Nova Scotia to try his hand at farming.  But Symon was determined to prove to himself and their family back home that he could make it and decided to stay in New York, working twelve-hour shifts first at a furniture manufacturer and using the his precious free time in the evenings to try to adapt to his new home.  He attended free English classes offered at the Educational Alliance and entertained hopes of eventually proving himself capable of a better job and a better life.

His life’s plans found a sympathetic ear in his attractive volunteer English teacher, Mary Edwards.  In the three years since, Symon had often joked that he had never really had a true desire to learn English, but was forced to study out of necessity so he could flirt with Mary.  She would counter with the observation that she had only shown interest in his advances because she knew the only way to further horrify her old money, snobbish parents, who were already dismayed at her spending her nights teaching the basics of grammar to foreign factory workers, would be to marry one them.

 “I’m sorry Symon.” 

He shrugged and spooned borscht into his mouth.  “It can’t be helped" he said heavily.

“Will we go hungry?” Hannah chirped anxiously.  “Will we have to live on the streets like Mister Randy and eat rats?”  Randy Evans was the schizophrenic street bum who camped out next to the dumpster at the end of the street. 

“Mister Randy doesn’t eat rats and neither will we” said Mary.  “We’ve still got my paycheck for the time being.”  She glanced apologetically at Symon across the table.  Even though she had a degree, the salary she was afforded by her job at the agency was pitiful.  Symon had always been the breadwinner of their family.  

Symon sighed and reached behind him to turn on the radio sitting on the kitchen counter.  It was easier to let someone else fill the uneasy silence that permeated the apartment.  George Bernard Shaw’s voice filled the room and everyone listened intently.

 “If you are a skilled workman, especially in machine industry, and are of suitable age and good character … you will not have much difficulty; they will be only too glad to have you: proletarians of all lands are welcome if they can pull their weight in the Russian boat.”

“Proletarians of all lands are welcome” Mary repeated.  She raised an eyebrow and stared over the tabe at Symon.