ROSE
M.
STEIN
48
PARTISAN REVIEW
at the window, I saw a woman motioning to me through the glass door
leading into the hallway. When I asked her what she wanted she mo-
tioned for me to be quiet, led me into "the other room," which served
as a fitchen, dining room, and bedroom, closed the door so that no
disturbance would reach the studio, then shook my hand with feeling
and said, "that was great, that was great. You come all the way from
Pittsburgh to speak to these people. That's great, that's great." She did
not seem to know what else to say, but just then the need for saying
anything disappeared for the host, who turned out to be this woman's
husband, came tearing up the stairs and into the room with a bottle of
coco-cola. "Here," he said, breathlessly, overcome by his rapid ascent.
"Your throat must be dry after that fine speech." I had spoken only
about ten minutes, my throat was not in the least dry, and I was totally
unprepared for such solicitude from my audience. However, I took the
drink and began to sip away. "Maybe you want sandich?" he said sud·
denly, rushing toward the door. "I go get you one downstairs." "No,
no," I pleaded. I was not in the least hungry. He seemed disappointed
that I would not let him do something for me. He finally began to tell
the reason why he was eager to see
J
&
L licked.
He had not worked in any mill for a number of years, and had no
particular desire to. But a brother of his had been fired for union activity,
and his brother's son, just turning twenty, had never been able to get a
job. The family had been on relief for a long time. "And," added the
host, "thasa why I wanna get even with
J
&
L." He suddenly got a
bright idea. "I gonna take 'nother picture. This sure big crowd."
With him out of the room, the wife became more talkative. "How
do you like this dress?" she asked, pointing with pride to a lavender
two-piece affair with shiny black buttons, which she was wearing. "I
made it myself. Last night I stayed up real late to finish it, because I
wanted to have it for the strike." Later that day, close to midnight,
when some 10,000 people crowded into the Wye, defying a heavy down·
pour of rain, and when my own clothes were drenched, I ran up to the
studio to dry off a bit. The husband was not there. He was "somewhere
on the picket line," and the wife sat at the window, her hands clasped,
her lips pursed, her colorless eyes absorbed in watching the crowd. "It's
wonderful, ain't it?" she gasped. "They all came out. My husband says
there's 'nobody inside. And they're going to stay out too. You know,"
she said, finally turning her eyes away from the window in order
to' address me, "I sure am glad I've got my washing and sewing all done,
because I wanna watch this. I wouldn't get away from here for anything.
I don't care if I don't sleep or cat. I want to watch this." During the
following day, as I passed through the Wye, I looked up several times,
and ran up twice to rest a bit. Through it all she sat there in her lavender
dress, her hands clasped, lips pursed, staring tirelessly, endlessly, watching
Aliquippa "get even with
J
&
L."
