“america and i” by anzia yezierska

1、“America and I” by Anzia YezierskaAs one of the dumb, voiceless ones I speak. One of the millions of immigrants beating, beating out their hearts at your gates for a breath of understanding.Ach! America! From the other

2、end of the earth from where I came, America was a land of living hope, woven of dreams, aflame with longing and desire.Choked for ages in the airless oppression of Russia, the Promised Land rose up—wings for my stifled s

3、pirit—sunlight burning through my darkness—freedom singing to me in my prison—deathless songs tuning prison-bars into strings of a beautiful violin.I arrived in America. My young, strong body, my heart and soul pregnant

4、with the unlived lives of generations clamoring for expression.What my mother and father and their mother and father never had a chance to give out in Russia, I would give out in America. The hidden sap of centuries woul

5、d find release; colors that never saw light—songs that died unvoiced—romance that never had a chance to blossom in the black life of the Old World.In the golden land of flowing opportunity I was to find my work that was

6、denied me in the sterile village of my forefathers. Here I was to be free from the dead drudgery for bread that held me down in Russia. For the first time in America, I’d cease to be a slave of the belly. I’d be a creato

7、r, a giver, a human being! My work would be the living job of fullest self-expression.But from my high visions, my golden hopes, I had to put my feet down on earth. I had to have food and shelter. I had to have the money

8、 to pay for it.I was in America, among the Americans, but not of them. No speech, no common language, no way to win a smile of understanding from them, only my young, strong body and my untried faith. Only my eager, empt

9、y hands, and my full heart shining from my eyes!God from the world! Here I was with so much richness in me, but my mind was not wanted without the language. And my body, unskilled, untrained, was not even wanted in the f

10、actory. Only one of two chances was left open to me: the kitchen, or minding babies.My first job was as a servant in an Americanized family. Once, long ago, they came from the same village from where I came. But they wer

11、e so well-dressed, so well-fed, so successful in America, that they were ashamed to remember their mother tongue.“What were to be my wages?” I ventured timidly, as I looked up to the well-fed, well-dressed “American” man

12、 and woman.They looked at me with a sudden coldness. What have I said to draw away from me their warmth? Was it so low for me to talk of wages? I shrank back into myself like a low-down bargainer. Maybe they’re so hig

13、h up in well-being they can’t any more understand my low thoughts for money. From his rich height the man preached down to me that I must not be so grabbing for wages. Only just landed from the ship and already thinking

14、about money when I should be thankful to associate with “Americans.”The woman, out of her smooth, smiling fatness assured me that this was my chance for a summer vacation in the country with her two lovely children. My g

15、reat chance to learn to be a civilized being, to become an American by living with them. So, made to feel that I was in the hands of American friends, invited to share with them their home, their plenty, their happiness,

16、 I pushed out from my head the worry for wages. Here was my first chance to begin my life in the sunshine, after my long darkness. My laugh was all over my face as I said to them: “I’ll trust myself to you. What I’m wo

17、rth you’ll give me.” And I entered their house like a child by the hand. The best of me I gave them. Their house cares were my house cares. I got up early. I worked till late. All that my soul hungered to give I put in

18、to the passion with which I scrubbed floors, scoured pots, and washed clothes. I was so grateful to mingle with the American people, to hear the music of the American language, that I never knew tiredness. There was such

19、 a freshness in my brains and such a willingness in my heart I could go on and on—not only with the work of the house, but work with my head—learning new words from the children, the grocer, the butcher, the iceman. I wa

20、s not even afraid to ask for words from the policeman on the street. And every new word made me see new American things with American eyes. I felt like a Columbus, finding new worlds through every new word. But words alo

21、ne were only for the inside of me. The outside of me still branded me for a steerage immigrant. I had to have clothes to forget myself that I’m a stranger yet. And so I had to have money to buy these clothes. The month w

22、as up. I was so happy! Now I’d have money. My own, earned money. Money to buy a new shirt on my back—shoes on my feet. Maybe yet an American dress and hat!Ach! How high rose my dreams! How plainly I saw all that I w

23、ould do with my visionary wages shining like a light over my head!darkness of the sweat-shop, I had at least the evening to myself. And all night was mine. When all were asleep, I used to creep up on the roof of the tene

24、ment and talk out my heart in silence to the stars in the sky. “Who am I? What am I? What do I want with my life? Where is America? Is there an America? What is this wilderness in which I’m lost?”I’d hurl my questions an

25、d then think and think. And I could not tear it out of me, the feeling that America must be somewhere, somehow—only I couldn’t find it—my America, where I would work for love and not for a living. I was like a thing foll

26、owing blindly after something far off in the dark!“Oi weh.” I’d stretch out my hand up in the air. “My head is so lost in America. What’s the use of all my working if I’m not in it? Dead buttons is not me.”Then the busy

27、season started in the shop. The mounds of buttons grew and grew. The long day stretched out longer. I had to begin with the buttons earlier and stay with them till later in the night. The old witch turned into a huge gre

28、edy maw for wanting more and more buttons.For a glass of tea, for a slice of herring over black bread, she would buy us up to stay another and another hour, till there seemed no end to her demands. One day, the light of

29、self-assertion broke into my cellar darkness. “I don’t want the tea. I don’t want your herring,” I said with terrible boldness “I only want to go home. I only want the evening to myself!”“You fresh mouth, you!” cried the

30、 old witch. “You learned already too much in America. I want no clock-watchers in my shop. Out you go!”I was driven out to cold and hunger. I could no longer pay for my mattress on the floor. I no longer could buy the bi

31、te in my mouth. I walked the streets. I knew what it is to be alone in a strange city, among strangers.But I laughed through my tears. So I learned too much already in America because I wanted the whole evening to myself

32、? Well America has yet to teach me still more: how to get not only the whole evening to myself, but a whole day a week like the American workers.That sweat-shop was a bitter memory but a good school. It fitted me for a r

33、egular factory. I could walk in boldly and say I could work at something, even if it was only sewing on buttons.Gradually, I became a trained worker. I worked in a light, airy factory, only eight hours a day. My boss wa

34、s no longer a sweater and a blood-squeezer. The first freshness of the morning was mine. And the whole evening was mine. All day Sunday was mine. Now I had better food to eat. I slept on a better bed. Now, I even looked

35、 dressed up like the American-born. But inside of me I knew that I was not yet an American. I choked with longing when I met an American-born, and I could say nothing.Something cried dumb in me. I couldn’t help it. I did

36、n’t know what it was I wanted. I only knew I wanted. I wanted. Like the hunger in the heart that never gets food.An English class for foreigners started in our factory. The teacher had such a good, friendly face, her ey

37、es looked so understanding, as if she could see right into my heart. So I went to her one day for an advice: “I don’t know what is with me the matter,” I began. “I have no rest in me. I never yet done what I want.” “

38、What is it you want to do, child?” she asked me. “I want to do something with my head, my feelings. All day long, only with my hands I work.” “First you must learn English.” She patted me as if I was not yet grown up.

39、 “Put your mind on that, and then we’ll see.” So for a time I learned the language. I could almost begin to think with English words in my head. But in my heart the emptiness still hurt. I burned to give, to give somethi

40、ng, to do something, to be something. The dead work with my hands was killing me. My work left only hard stones on my heart.Again I went to our factory teacher and cried out to her: “I know already to read and write the

41、English language, but I can’t put it into words what I want. What is it in me so different that can’t come out?”She smiled at me down from her calmness as if I were a little bit out of my head.“What do you want to do?”“I

42、 feel. I see. I hear. And I want to think it out. But I’m like dumb in me. I only know I’m different—different from everybody.”She looked at me close and said nothing for a minute. “You ought to join one of the social cl

43、ubs of the Women’s Association,” she advised.“What’s the Women’s Association?” I implored greedily.“A group of American women who are trying to help the working-girl find herself. They have a special department for immig