looked at Papa. Papa looked at the bag and the dark stain slowly spreading on it. He stood up, picked up the bag of pig and pig ... stuff, tipped his hat, and got off the streetcar." The orphans at my feet began laughing and slapping their knees—quietly, so as not to arouse Mr. Szprot again.
I finished my story. "He walked all the way home with that sack stinking in the sunshine. Even on Honore Street we could smell him coming. We ate on that pig for a month and laughed every time."
"I never heard of a sack full of pig before," said Mickey Dooley, "but I once knew a man had a sack full of snew."
"What's snew?" Lacey asked.
"Nothing. What's new with you?"
That Mickey Dooley. You never could get anything out of him but a joke. He was happy as a fly in a pie. He could be mighty annoying with his jokes, but I thought he must be the happiest kid I ever saw.
Everyone started telling funny stories then about their folks. "My pa," said Spud, "was so lazy, he used to hire someone to do his snoring!"
Sammy said, "We was so poor, even the cockroaches were starving."
"My ma was the knittingest woman you ever saw," Mickey Dooley put in. "She'd take yarn to bed with her at night, and every once in a while she'd throw out a sock."
And another day passed on the train, taking me from a lonely Chicago to who-knows-where. I ate jelly sandwiches, washed faces, stopped fights, and told stories.
Toward suppertime all was quiet and I had a few minutes to myself. I watched out the window. Soon we would be in Cheyenne, and someone else might want to take me, and I would not want to go. What would happen to me? Through the growing dusk, I could see distant tepees, herds of grazing animals, dark unknown shapes. My thoughts were as gloomy as the night.
The train stopped at an eating station but, occupied with our cold potatoes and wrinkled apples, we did not get off. The water tower, painted with an advertisement for Stonebreaker's Indian Gum Syrup for the Gut, was ringed by emigrant wagons. As I watched, families tended horses, pitched tents, and unloaded big iron kettles, rocking chairs, and old battered trunks tied with rope.
I imagined Mama and Papa there with them, going west. "My Rodzina," Papa would say, "my little jelly doughnut. Come down from that train and join us in our wagon. We will all go west together and open a restaurant, where we will sell your mama's egg noodles and poppyseed cake."
"Polish girl," Mr. Szprot called to me from the door of our car. "Come here."
What now? I got up and plodded over to him. "I do have a name," I told him.
"What?" Mr. Szprot asked.
"Me. I have a name. Rodzina. My name is Rodzina."
He and Miss Doctor stepped off the train and motioned me to follow.
Mr. Szprot said, "Polish gi—" but Miss Doctor interrupted. "Miss Brodski," she said, "we must send some telegrams from the station here. We want you to keep the children quiet and orderly."
"Make everyone stay put," Mr. Szprot added.
I nodded and climbed back on the train. I was completely in charge. My chest swelled with importance.
"All right, you guttersnipes," I said to the orphans under my command. "Pipe down and stay put."
The car was full of giggles and snorts. I gave them the stink face. "What's so funny?" Not a word. I looked around. "Where's Lacey?" The whole car exploded into laughter.
Spud pointed out the window at the covered wagons. "I told that copperknob those was circus wagons," he said through his guffaws, "and there was clowns and acrobats and an elephant. And the dummy believed me!"
"WHERE IS SHE?" I bellowed.
"Out there," he said, "going to the circus."
Radishes! I wasn't even in charge for five minutes and one of the orphans was missing!
"I'll go get her. All of you stay here!" The girl
was
feebleminded. A circus indeed! I tore out the back door and over to the wagons.
It was a mild evening for early April, not quite dark yet. Folks were sitting around a fire, and there was Lacey in the middle, eating
I finished my story. "He walked all the way home with that sack stinking in the sunshine. Even on Honore Street we could smell him coming. We ate on that pig for a month and laughed every time."
"I never heard of a sack full of pig before," said Mickey Dooley, "but I once knew a man had a sack full of snew."
"What's snew?" Lacey asked.
"Nothing. What's new with you?"
That Mickey Dooley. You never could get anything out of him but a joke. He was happy as a fly in a pie. He could be mighty annoying with his jokes, but I thought he must be the happiest kid I ever saw.
Everyone started telling funny stories then about their folks. "My pa," said Spud, "was so lazy, he used to hire someone to do his snoring!"
Sammy said, "We was so poor, even the cockroaches were starving."
"My ma was the knittingest woman you ever saw," Mickey Dooley put in. "She'd take yarn to bed with her at night, and every once in a while she'd throw out a sock."
And another day passed on the train, taking me from a lonely Chicago to who-knows-where. I ate jelly sandwiches, washed faces, stopped fights, and told stories.
Toward suppertime all was quiet and I had a few minutes to myself. I watched out the window. Soon we would be in Cheyenne, and someone else might want to take me, and I would not want to go. What would happen to me? Through the growing dusk, I could see distant tepees, herds of grazing animals, dark unknown shapes. My thoughts were as gloomy as the night.
The train stopped at an eating station but, occupied with our cold potatoes and wrinkled apples, we did not get off. The water tower, painted with an advertisement for Stonebreaker's Indian Gum Syrup for the Gut, was ringed by emigrant wagons. As I watched, families tended horses, pitched tents, and unloaded big iron kettles, rocking chairs, and old battered trunks tied with rope.
I imagined Mama and Papa there with them, going west. "My Rodzina," Papa would say, "my little jelly doughnut. Come down from that train and join us in our wagon. We will all go west together and open a restaurant, where we will sell your mama's egg noodles and poppyseed cake."
"Polish girl," Mr. Szprot called to me from the door of our car. "Come here."
What now? I got up and plodded over to him. "I do have a name," I told him.
"What?" Mr. Szprot asked.
"Me. I have a name. Rodzina. My name is Rodzina."
He and Miss Doctor stepped off the train and motioned me to follow.
Mr. Szprot said, "Polish gi—" but Miss Doctor interrupted. "Miss Brodski," she said, "we must send some telegrams from the station here. We want you to keep the children quiet and orderly."
"Make everyone stay put," Mr. Szprot added.
I nodded and climbed back on the train. I was completely in charge. My chest swelled with importance.
"All right, you guttersnipes," I said to the orphans under my command. "Pipe down and stay put."
The car was full of giggles and snorts. I gave them the stink face. "What's so funny?" Not a word. I looked around. "Where's Lacey?" The whole car exploded into laughter.
Spud pointed out the window at the covered wagons. "I told that copperknob those was circus wagons," he said through his guffaws, "and there was clowns and acrobats and an elephant. And the dummy believed me!"
"WHERE IS SHE?" I bellowed.
"Out there," he said, "going to the circus."
Radishes! I wasn't even in charge for five minutes and one of the orphans was missing!
"I'll go get her. All of you stay here!" The girl
was
feebleminded. A circus indeed! I tore out the back door and over to the wagons.
It was a mild evening for early April, not quite dark yet. Folks were sitting around a fire, and there was Lacey in the middle, eating
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