A Child of the Orient

by Demetra Vaka

I had just sixty dollars, and my courage—robbed a little of its effervescence. Since I had had only two English lessons a week, and no practice whatever, because all the people we met spoke French to us, my vocabulary was very limited, but I managed to get about pretty well. Once in a shop I asked for “half past three sho-es,” and obtained them without trouble.

Before my friends left New York for Constantinople they gave me a certificate saying that I was qualified to be a governess—for which I was really as qualified as to drive an engine. Since I had had no chance to modify my opinion about the origin of Americans, I still looked upon them as inferiors, and considered myself quite good enough for them. Taking a small room in a small hotel, I applied to an agency for a position. It did not prove quite so easy to obtain as I had thought it would. In the first place, I was not French born; secondly, I was ridiculously young looking; and then of course I had to admit that I had been a governess in a way only.

How amusing it was to be presented as a governess! Most of the ladies spoke such comical French, and asked questions which I thought even funnier than their French. I could have found a place at once, if I had been willing to accept twenty-five dollars a month as a nursery governess, and eat with the servants.

Meanwhile most of my money was spent, and to economize I walked miles and miles rather than take the street cars; and then came the time when all my money was gone, and I was in arrears with my rent, and had no money for food.

I do not wish anyone to suppose that I was miserable. On the contrary, I liked it: I was at last living the life I had so often read about. I was one of the great mass of toilers of the earth, whom in my ignorance I held far superior to the better classes. I had romantic notions about being a working girl, and my imagination was a fairy’s wand which transfigured everything. Besides, I was a heroine to myself. Those who have even for one short hour been heroes to themselves can understand the exaltation in which I lived, and can share with me in the glory of those days.

At this time I happened to apply to the Greek newspaper for a position, not because I thought there was any chance for me, but because it was so interesting to apply for work. Every time I applied to a new person, it was a new adventure; and I had applied so many times, and been rejected so often, that I did not mind it any more. I knew that if the worst came to the worst I could for a time become a servant. I was well trained in domestic work and could cook pretty well; for, when we Greek girls are not at school, a competent person is engaged to come into the house and train us systematically in all branches of housekeeping. The idea of becoming a servant, of entering an American home and obtaining a nearer view of my half-breeds within their own walls appealed to me. What I objected to, was being hired as a governess and treated as a servant.

To my surprise, the Greek newspaper, a weekly then, took me at once on its staff. I was delirious with joy, not so much because I was going to earn money as at the idea of working on a newspaper. It seemed so glorious, so at the top of everything.

Just at this time—at the agency, I think—I heard of a French home, far out on the West Side in the vicinity of Twenty-third Street, where French working girls stayed while seeking positions. I went there, and made arrangements to stay a few months; and from there sought my hotel proprietor. I told him that the Greek newspaper had engaged me at a salary which did not permit me to live at his hotel, and what was more that I could not at the moment pay him what I owed him—three weeks’ rent, I believe—but that I would pay him as soon as possible. He was very nice about the matter, and said it would be “all right,” though I doubt very much if he ever expected to see his money.

My work on the newspaper was hard and tedious. I am a bad speller, and can write a word in five different ways on one page without discovering it. On account of this failing I was often taken to task by the editor in chief, who was the proprietor, and had some black moments over it, until one of the type-setters quietly suggested to me that I should pass over my stuff to him and he would correct the spelling before the editor saw it, which I did ever after, and was very thankful to him.

My newspaper work was not only of long, long hours, but it absorbed all my time, as well as my energy and strength, and shortly after undertaking it I had to give up my English studies. I was too worn out physically and mentally to continue them.