Twenty tales by twenty women: From real life in ChicagoAnonymous
General
Twenty tales by twenty women: From real life in Chicago
Anonymous
Chicago (Ill.) -- Moral conditions; Prostitution -- Illinois -- Chicago
“‘Oh, ma’m, I—I—don’t want to tell you, it isn’t a bit nice place, but
you see, we can’t help it; mamma, she is sick and papa don’t have work
all the time, and grandma, she is sick and papa he has to go stay at her
house three nights a week, and that leaves mamma and me awful lonesome
sometimes, but mamma told me to-day that she guessed she’d die before
long, then I would go and live with grandma, then I could see papa every
day. But, please, ma’m, I don’t want mamma to die; I don’t want to live
with grandma, and I des know if mamma had somethin’ to eat she wouldn’t
die, either.’
“I went with the child. I thanked God for having found her. Such a
wretched place to live; four dingy rooms on an alley, a poor, miserable
cook stove, made all the heat the apartment had. A grimy, smoking
kerosene lamp in the hands of the child, led me to a coop of a bedroom
and there, amid a pile of soiled and torn rubbish that had at some time
been entitled to the name bed clothing, lay a half starved, pain-racked
wretch, called woman, in filth too great for a beast, in pain too intense
for a strong man to bear, burning with fever and shivering with chills,
and at the same time moaning, tossing and suffering only as a neglected
soul and body can suffer.
“I spoke to her; she tried to sit up in bed, but fell back with a wild
stare which told that it would require but little excitement to bring
an end to all her suffering. I went out and bought everything I could
think of; I can even now feel a tinge of happiness, as I think of how
I ordered the best imported delicacies; I bought coal, a new lamp, and
sent a doctor. That night, when I arrived at my elaborately furnished
apartments, I sat in my satin house robe and slippers and as my maid
brushed my hair I compared my surroundings with those I had visited
earlier in the evening, and became happy.
“At midnight the Prof. came; I had concluded I would not tell him of my
experience of the evening; it was none of his business and now that mamma
was gone, I had no one to care for and I could spend some of my salary in
helping some poor soul.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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