The other women grew uncertain at these remarks, almost frightened. What was wrong with going out and having a little fun at the end of a fourteen-hour shift?
Wanda saw the look on their faces out of the corner of her eye. For a moment she felt a mixture of respect for their bravery and sympathy for their cause. But she was so upset about her own situation that the feelings died away as quickly as they had come.
Meanwhile the strike leader was still speechifying. “If you’re serious about the struggle, learn solidarity!”
Small drops of spittle flew through the air and landed on Wanda’s face and dress.
“Listen to me: attend the Socialist Women Workers’ meetings. Don’t waste your time with lollipops and dance floors when you could be reading Tolstoy!”
A few of the women clapped.
The leader turned to look at Wanda. She was clearly spoiling for a fight.
“What are you doing here?” she asked quietly. “This is no place for the likes of you.”
Wanda wiped away the last of her tears. The fit of laughter was gone now, as were her dreams of earning her own money and taking responsibility for her own life.
“I admit it: I don’t know all the details of what you’re striking for, and perhaps you’re right that I don’t belong here,” she said. She felt a dull pang of pain as she thought, So where do I belong? “But I know one thing for sure: You won’t win an inch of ground if you go about it like this, all dour and joyless. You can’t forbid these women to laugh—you may as well forbid them to breathe!”
She looked at the woman disdainfully.
The others standing around them began to mutter quietly.
Wanda was happy to see that the strike leader didn’t know what to say next.
She began again. “The way you’re bossing them about, you’re no better than the ones you’re fighting against! That’s what I think, anyway. Make it more positive, even fun, and you’ll have a lot more people join in, don’t you think?”
She turned abruptly and walked off through the crowd, her head held high.
“So why don’t you take her place if you’re so much better at it?” called a voice from the back.
“Yeah, come on, why don’t you join us? We can always use someone with a big mouth. And we can use a bit of fun too.”
Wanda’s mouth went dry. Her tongue was glued to the roof of her mouth. Should I . . . ? But she had no idea what the strike was even about—she didn’t know the first thing about workers’ rights.
“Leave the poor baby alone; I can see from here that she’d give up at the first hurdle!” one of the older women called.
And Wanda slunk off with her tail between her legs.
Another hope dead and buried.
9
As they walked over the rubble, Marie had to lift the hem of her skirt several times to avoid snagging it on a particularly big stone. I wouldn’t have all this trouble if I were in trousers, she thought as she picked her way after Pandora, who had hurried on ahead. The air smelled of smoke and engine oil, and seagulls wheeled in the sky above, so she knew they must be somewhere near the harbor. There were no shops or restaurants, no tenement blocks or children’s playgrounds, just an endless sprawl of huge warehouses. They had been walking between the vast buildings for half an hour now.
“Are you quite sure the reading is happening here? It’s the back of beyond!” Marie said at last. She would never find her way home on her own, that much was certain.
Pandora turned and looked at her. “Have you already lost the taste for adventure, darling?” She marched on, undismayed. “Listen, anyone can stand up with a book in their hand at a reading in a café. But never mind, we’ll be there soon.”
Marie raised her eyebrows. All of a sudden she wished Wanda had been able to come along. But her niece had to supervise the garment workers. She smiled at the thought. Wanda was probably feeling just as uncertain as Marie, but she would never admit it.
It was even hotter in the warehouse than it had been outside in the blazing July sun. The building was roofed with sheet steel, and the trapped air was baking hot. Marie’s hair stuck to the nape of her neck as soon as they walked in.
She looked around while Pandora bustled off to find a drink.
The venue was nothing more than a vast lumber room; over to one side was a huge stack of old chairs and tables, suggesting that the place had been used previously for meetings. On the other side was a heap of folded cardboard boxes, tin canisters, and rusty iron bars. Marie had no idea what they were for. The floor was covered with pigeon droppings, and the birds fluttered about in the rafters every time the door opened. Marie figured there must be fifty people there already, and more were arriving every minute.