Hanneh Breineh bristled. “I wish I should only be cursed with an education. It’s only by the Americans education is nothing. It used to be an honour in Russia to shine a doctor’s shoes for him.”
“So you’re for education, after all?” I ventured, trying the impossible—to pin Hanneh Breineh down.
“Bloodsuckers!” Hanneh Breineh hissed. “Moisheh dries out the marrow from his head worrying for the dollar, and these high-educated brothers sit themselves on top of his neck like leeches. Greenhorns—opera—the world is coming to an end!”
Work with the Immigration Department took me to Washington for almost a year. As soon as I returned to New York I went to the only home I knew—Hanneh Breineh’s lodging-house.
My old friend, Moisheh, greeted me at the door. “Teacherin!” he cried, with a shout of welcome, and then called to his mother. “Come quick. See only who is here!”
Sleeves rolled up and hands full of dough, the little soul hurried in. “The sky is falling to the earth!” she cried. “You here? And are you going to stay?”
“Sure will she stay,” said Moisheh, helping me remove my things.
“And where are Hanneh Breineh and the boarders?” I questioned.
“Out on a picnic by Coney Island.”
“And why didn’t you and your mother go?”