The Jungle - Upton Sinclair (books to read in your 20s female .txt) 📗

to the door, opening it about an inch, and gazing at him suspiciously.

“What do you want?” she demanded.

“Does Marija Berczynskas live here?” he inquired.

“I dunno,” said the girl. “What you want wid her?”

“I want to see her,” said he; “she’s a relative of mine.”

The girl hesitated a moment. Then she opened the door and said, “Come in.” Jurgis came and stood in the hall, and she continued: “I’ll go see. What’s yo’ name?”

“Tell her it’s Jurgis,” he answered, and the girl went upstairs. She came back at the end of a minute or two, and replied, “Dey ain’t no sich person here.”

Jurgis’s heart went down into his boots. “I was told this was where she lived!” he cried.

But the girl only shook her head. “De lady says dey ain’t no sich person here,” she said.

And he stood for a moment, hesitating, helpless with dismay. Then he turned to go to the door. At the same instant, however, there came a knock upon it, and the girl went to open it. Jurgis heard the shuffling of feet, and then heard her give a cry; and the next moment she sprang back, and past him, her eyes shining white with terror, and bounded up the stairway, screaming at the top of her lungs: “Police! Police! We’re pinched!”

Jurgis stood for a second, bewildered. Then, seeing blue-coated forms rushing upon him, he sprang after the negress. Her cries had been the signal for a wild uproar above; the house was full of people, and as he entered the hallway he saw them rushing hither and thither, crying and screaming with alarm. There were men and women, the latter clad for the most part in wrappers, the former in all stages of deshabille. At one side Jurgis caught a glimpse of a big apartment with plush-covered chairs, and tables covered with trays and glasses. There were playing-cards scattered all over the floor⁠—one of the tables had been upset, and bottles of wine were rolling about, their contents running out upon the carpet. There was a young girl who had fainted, and two men who were supporting her; and there were a dozen others crowding toward the front-door.

Suddenly, however, there came a series of resounding blows upon it, causing the crowd to give back. At the same instant a stout woman, with painted cheeks and diamonds in her ears, came running down the stairs, panting breathlessly: “To the rear! Quick!”

She led the way to a back staircase, Jurgis following; in the kitchen she pressed a spring, and a cupboard gave way and opened, disclosing a dark passageway. “Go in!” she cried to the crowd, which now amounted to twenty or thirty, and they began to pass through. Scarcely had the last one disappeared, however, before there were cries from in front, and then the panic-stricken throng poured out again, exclaiming: “They’re there too! We’re trapped!”

“Upstairs!” cried the woman, and there was another rush of the mob, women and men cursing and screaming and fighting to be first. One flight, two, three⁠—and then there was a ladder to the roof, with a crowd packed at the foot of it, and one man at the top, straining and struggling to lift the trapdoor. It was not to be stirred, however, and when the woman shouted up to unhook it, he answered: “It’s already unhooked. There’s somebody sitting on it!”

And a moment later came a voice from downstairs: “You might as well quit, you people. We mean business, this time.”

So the crowd subsided; and a few moments later several policemen came up, staring here and there, and leering at their victims. Of the latter the men were for the most part frightened and sheepish-looking. The women took it as a joke, as if they were used to it⁠—though if they had been pale, one could not have told, for the paint on their cheeks. One black-eyed young girl perched herself upon the top of the balustrade, and began to kick with her slippered foot at the helmets of the policemen, until one of them caught her by the ankle and pulled her down. On the floor below four or five other girls sat upon trunks in the hall, making fun of the procession which filed by them. They were noisy and hilarious, and had evidently been drinking; one of them, who wore a bright red kimono, shouted and screamed in a voice that drowned out all the other sounds in the hall⁠—and Jurgis took a glance at her, and then gave a start, and a cry, “Marija!”

She heard him, and glanced around; then she shrank back and half sprang to her feet in amazement. “Jurgis!” she gasped.

For a second or two they stood staring at each other. “How did you come here?” Marija exclaimed.

“I came to see you,” he answered.

“When?”

“Just now.”

“But how did you know⁠—who told you I was here?”

“Alena Jasaityte. I met her on the street.”

Again there was a silence, while they gazed at each other. The rest of the crowd was watching them, and so Marija got up and came closer to him. “And you?” Jurgis asked. “You live here?”

“Yes,” said Marija, “I live here.”

Then suddenly came a hail from below: “Get your clothes on now, girls, and come along. You’d best begin, or you’ll be sorry⁠—it’s raining outside.”

“Br-r-r!” shivered someone, and the women got up and entered the various doors which lined the hallway.

“Come,” said Marija, and took Jurgis into her room, which was a tiny place about eight by six, with a cot and a chair and a dressing-stand and some dresses hanging behind the door. There were clothes scattered about on the floor, and hopeless confusion everywhere⁠—boxes of rouge and bottles of perfume mixed with hats and soiled dishes on the dresser, and a pair of slippers and a clock and a whiskey bottle on a chair.

Marija had nothing on but a kimono and a pair of stockings; yet she proceeded to dress before Jurgis, and without even taking the trouble to close the