The Hired Girl(45)

“But your whole life is being a hired girl,” Mimi protested. “Don’t you hate being a servant?”

“I won’t always be a servant.”

“What will you be, then?”

“A teacher,” I said, but she wasn’t impressed. In fact, she rolled her eyes and moaned. “Or maybe a great writer, like Charlotte Bront?. What are you going to be?”

“A concert pianist,” said Mimi. “Maybe. I’d rather sing opera, but my voice isn’t very big. But I could be a concert pianist — except I hate practicing — and wear beautiful dresses and be very famous. Or I could be an actress, like Sarah Bernhardt. She’s a Jewess, you know. She’s Catholic, but her mother was a Jewess, so she’s really a Jew. Or I could run Rosenbach’s Department Store. I’d like that. Solly won’t take over the store, and I don’t believe David will, either. Why can’t girls run department stores?”

“I don’t know,” I said, “but if you’re going to run a department store, you’re going to have to learn arithmetic.”

She wrinkled her nose at me. “That was a low-down, grown-up thing to say,” she said accusingly. “How would you like it if you had to do this horrible arithmetic? I bet you couldn’t.” She shoved her paper in my direction.

I took it. The sums weren’t difficult; there were long columns of large numbers, but it was simple addition, nothing more. “I could do it with one hand tied behind me. And the first one’s wrong. You carried the numbers in the wrong column.”

She made a noise like fffftttt and snatched the paper out of my hands. Her cheeks were pink, and I was sorry I’d been so boastful, because I saw that she was ashamed. Then her face lit up. “I know what! If you’ll do my sums for me, I’ll give you a quarter.”

I shook my head. “That wouldn’t be honorable.” I’ve never been offered a bribe before, and I must say it made me feel superior to decline it. Of course, she only offered me a quarter. I might have been tempted to sell my integrity for a great fortune, but I’d certainly never sell it for a quarter.

Then I relented. “I could help you with your arithmetic,” I offered. “It isn’t difficult. It’s just facts. Once you know your numbers —”

“I do know them!” she said irritably. “I can say them; I just can’t get them right on the paper. Oh, now, don’t get cross and leave —” because I had picked up the tray and was halfway to the door. “We were getting on so well! If you must teach me, I suppose I could put up with a little of it — only you’ll have to let me try new things with your hair. I think we should be friends. Neither of us wants to get married, and I’m interested in you. I bet you’d like to have a friend your own age, wouldn’t you?”

“You’re not my age,” I said. But I was taken aback. It was uncanny how easily she seemed to see inside me. I had enjoyed talking to another girl. “I’m eighteen, remember? That’s six years older than you.”

“All right, so you’re eighteen,” Mimi said impatiently. “We’ll agree on that. But we’re still both girls, and neither of us is going to get married. Will you agree to call me Mimi, and be my friend?”

I smiled at her; I couldn’t help it. “Mimi,” I answered, like a promise, and I was still smiling as I went downstairs.



Friday, July the fourteenth, 1911

Another long day preparing for Shabbos, and more fancy cooking in honor of Mr. Rosenbach. My feet ache. I can’t imagine how Malka’s feet must hurt — she has a terrible bunion. She’s been surprisingly cheerful these past few days — I suppose because her little Moritz is home, and she likes spoiling him with all his favorite foods.

I have seen her little Moritz. He’s a Bantam rooster of a man — short and stout and loud. He always seems to be shouting. I can’t distinguish the words, but the sound thunders and reverberates. No wonder Mimi is worried about doing badly at school. And no wonder Mr. Solomon is afraid to tell his father that he wants to be a scholar.

I wonder if all fathers are tyrants.

I feel for Mr. Solomon, because now that I know he’s in love, I notice things I hadn’t seen before. For example, he is absentminded and leaves books all over the house — some of them in Hebrew and German, but also books of poetry. Malka fussed one night because he forgot to change for dinner and came in his regular clothes. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but now I can see that these are signs of lovesickness. True lovers are careless like that. Either they dandify themselves, like Mr. Toots in Dombey and Son, or they forget what they have on.