Halstead Street Chapter 3
By Simahoyo
Giovanna had studied hard, and by now, 1891, the entire Amari family spoke some English. Alas, poor Papa and Francesco just didn't have the head for it, so their English was halting and they often needed Giovanna, Tomasso or Mama to translate for them. Now Giovanna had a new goal. She wanted to learn to read and write. No, that was too weak. She was obsessed with learning to understand the squiggles on the signs all around her on the street. She craved knowing what was inside the books she saw in shop windows. And she had heard there was something called a library, where anyone could read a book if they went there and got something called a library card.
The latest news in her tenement was that a man who had just moved in to the attic had been a teacher in Hebrew school, and a scholar, who could read and write English. Her goal in life was to meet him and ask if he would teach her in exchange for her doing work for him. Giovanna didn't ask her parents for permission–she knew they worried about young women getting enticed or kidnaped into a life of White Slavery. She shivered as she walked up the stairs to the attic rooms. She heard a baby cry in the first room, and someone coughing in the second. That sounded like an older person. Giovanna knocked on the door. There was a shuffling sound, more coughing and a wheeze, then the door opened.
There stood an old man dressed in thread bare pants, and shirt that had seen better days. His reddened eyes sported blue pupils, and he wore glasses as Giovanna had expected. He wore his hair short everywhere but the side curls, while his long beard was neatly combed. On his head was a yamuka. He looked up at her quizzically.
"Are you Mr..Libovitz, the teacher?" Giovanna was pretty sure he was.
"Yes, I am Rabbi Libovitz. What is it you want with me?"
"My name is Giovanna Amari, I live downstairs, and I am looking for someone to teach me to read and write." Giovanna knew she had spoken too quickly, but she was so excited to possibly find a teacher.
The Rabbi looked at her, considering. "There is an old story about Rabbi Hillel. One day a student came to him and asked that he teach him. For the first lesson, Rabbi Hillel took his student to the river and without a word, pushed his head under. While the student fought and struggled for air, the Rabbi finally let him up. The student was very angry. 'Why did you try to drown me?' The Rabbi said, 'until you want to learn as much as you wanted air, I do not want you for a student.' So, what do you think of this story?"
"That is how much I want to learn to read and write–in English. Will you teach me?"
The Rabbi stroked his beard. "And how do you plan to pay me?"
"I, um, I don't have money. I mean, I live here. But I could maybe cook or clean for you–or something like that."
"Are you afraid of a dirty job?"
Giovanna's mind flashed to the stories about ruined girls. "What do you mean by dirty?"
He turned and opened the door wider. "This pot belly stove. I cannot get it to work, and without it, I have no way to cook, to keep kosher, or even keep warm in the winter. Please. Do you know how to fix it?"
Giovanna grinned. She and Papa had often tinkered with their cantankerous pot bellied stove.
"Yes. It is not so hard as it looks–just very dirty. Do you have rags? And newspapers. Do you have newspapers?"
The Rabbi looked puzzled. "Rags, yes–but newspapers?"
"To use on the floor to keep it clean" , explained Giovanna. "Never mind, I know Mama has some for covering the floor after she washes it. I will ask her for some. I will be back very soon."
Giovanna was down the stair and in their room, stepping carefully over the piles of gloves and people. "Mama, have you any newspapers I may use? The Rabbi upstairs wants me to help him to fix his pot bellied stove."
Mama held up her hand for quiet. She and Tomasso were sewing gloves, and Giovanna was supposed to be helping them. Papa and Francesco had factory jobs by now. Mama was not happy looking at the moment.
Giovanna took her Mother's hands in hers and poured out her soul. "Oh Mama, the Rabbi said that if I will help him with his stove, he will teach me to read and write, and then I can teach everyone–just as we did with the English. If I can learn, I can get a good job, and no more gloves. In only a year we all learned the English–What if we were all educated? Mama, please, let me do this, for all of us."
"It sounds good, but we need money. The rent has been raised.. If you are reading and writing, you are not sewing. Maybe we can't afford your dreams."
Giovanna was ready to cry. She crossed herself."Mama, I promise I will go to Hull House and ask if they know of any jobs I can do. Many of my friends there work in factories, making even enough to live in nicer places. I will do anything to learn to read and write."
"Take the newspapers–but don't tell your Papa. And you must clean your own clothes so you are presentable to look for a good job."
Giovanna hugged and kissed Mama, picked up the newspapers, and thanking her every step of the way, went back upstairs to the Rabbi's.
Giovanna covered the floors with news papers, opening the stove and looking inside. It was very dirty indeed, and Giovanna knew that dirt could cause fire, killing everyone in the crowded building. She tried the damper, which was stuck. No wonder the stove didn't work. The damper needed to be open for air to reach the fire. It was stuck closed. Giovanna started by cleaning out the grate, and stove body from the ashes. They were cold, so the cleaning was messy, but easy. She wrapped them in some of the newspapers. Now came the hard part. She cleaned out the stove itself, removing the creosote–black as coal.
By now the Rabbi had candles lit. Giovanna would have to be very careful with the next step. She eased apart the stove pipe, cleaning the creosote out carefully. She scrubbed the damper, then noticed an area around the part that opened and closed it was bent. Giovanna took off her shoe and beat it back into shape. Now it moved under her control. Everything was clean except for Giovanna. As the stove grew cleaner, she grew filthier. Papa would be very angry. Still, she remembered the young man in the story. Giovanna would learn to read and write, then go the Public Library–her idea of paradise on earth.
She put all the parts together again, and started a tiny fire with some of the newspapers. The Rabbi had Lucifers on a shelf not far from the stove. He looked up from the book he was reading, walked over to examine the stove, and smiled. "This is beautiful, Giovanna. You have a logical and orderly mind. You will be a good student. You are now in charge of this stove. You will make the fires, keep it clean and learn to read and write."
Giovanna nearly jumped up and down, but she could see the mess, and only half of her cleaning was done. Not to mention cleaning herself. She poured out her thanks, then started to clean the floor, gather up the newspapers and rags. She raised an eyebrow to the Rabbi. "Do you want the rags cleaned?" He shook his head."
"It appears you have enough to clean when you get home. Members of my congregation will help me to find rags. Will your mother and father forgive you this mess on your clothes?"
Giovanna was no liar. "I don't know. If you hear a noise, it is Papa, roaring. I will see when I get home." She would have shaken hands, but she was covered in black–creosote and ash. Instead she nodded, and left, sneaking down the stairs now, and keeping an eye out for Papa or Francesco. So far, good luck. She opened the door to their room, where Mama had prudently made a path in newspaper for Giovanna to the stove with water ready to heat. Giovanna started the water, and saw that Mama had set out soap, and the washing board. Giovanna stripped to her underdress, putting the filthy clothes into the washtub. She had cleaned the worst of the grime from her hands while waiting for the water to boil. She had just poured hot water into the washtub when the door opened, and Papa walked in.
(A/N: RE: The great Irish debate. My ancestors lived in the Northwest of Ireland. They were slightly darker skinned, with black hair and eyes. The light ones tended to come from the cities–which were built by the Vikings. These are the blonde, blue eyed Irish. Turn of the Century Irish tended to marry Germans. Thus we get the blonde, blue-eyed Irish in the USA.)