They had been poor all their lives. The neighbors said: "It's a wonder how
the Sikoras get along."
They lived in a rear flat. Four rooms that were dark and three children
that were noisy. The three children used Wabansia Avenue as a playground.
Dodging wagons and trucks was a diversion which played havoc with their
shoes, but increased their skill in dodging wagons and trucks.
The neighbors said: "Old man Sikora is pretty sick. It's a wonder where
they'll get money to pay the doctor."
Then old man Sikora, who wasn't so old (but poverty and hard work with a
pick give a man an aged look), was taken to the county hospital. The
Sikora children continued to dodge wagons and trucks and Mrs. Sikora went
out three days a week to do washing. And the milkman and the grocer came
around regularly and explained to Mrs. Sikora that they, too, had to live
and she must pay her bills.
Then the neighbors said: "Did you hear about it? Old man Sikora died last
night in the hospital. What will poor Mrs. Sikora do now? They ain't got a
thing."
And old man Sikora was brought home because his widow insisted upon it.
The neighbors came in and looked at the body and wept with Mrs. Sikora,
and the children sat around after school and looked uncomfortably at the
walls. And some one asked: "How you going to bury him, Mrs. Sikora?"
"Oh," said Mrs. Sikora, "I'm going to have a good funeral."
* * * * *
There was an insurance policy for $500. The Sikoras had kept it up,
scraping together the $10 premiums when the time came. Mrs. Sikora took
the policy to the husband of a woman whose washing she had done. The
husband was in the real estate business.
"I need money to bury my man," she said. "He died last night in the
hospital."
She was red-eyed and dressed in black and the real estate man said: "What
do you want?"
When Mrs. Sikora explained he gave her $400 for the policy and she went to
an undertaker. Her eyes were still red with crying. They stared at the
luxurious fittings of the undertaker's parlors. There were magnificent
palms in magnificent jardinières, and plush chairs and large, inviting
sofas and an imposing mahogany desk and a cuspidor of shining brass. Mrs.
Sikora felt thrilled at the sight of these luxuries.
Then the undertaker came in and she explained to him.
The neighbors said: "Are you going to Mr. Sikora's funeral? It's going to
be a big funeral. I got invited yesterday."
Wabansia Avenue was alive with automobiles. Innumerable relatives of Mr.
and Mrs. Sikora arrived in automobiles, their faces staring with surprise
out of the limousine windows as if they were seeing the world from a new
angle. There were also neighbors. These were dressed even more
impressively than the relatives. But everybody, neighbors and relatives,
had on their Sunday clothes. And the unlucky ones who hadn't been invited
leaned out of the windows of Wabansia Avenue and looked enviously at the
entourage.
There was a band--fifteen pieces. And there was one open automobile filled
with flowers, filled to overflowing. The band stopped in front of the
Sikora flat, or rather in front of the building, for the Sikora flat was
in the rear and Mrs. Sikora didn't want the band to stop in the alley.
Then the envious ones leaning out of the windows couldn't see the band and
that would be a drawback.
The band played, great, sad songs. The cornets and trombones sent a muted
shiver through the street. The band stopped playing and the people leaning
out of the windows sighed. Ah, it was a nice funeral!
Inside the Sikora house four men stood up beside the handsome black coffin
and sang. Mrs. Sikora in a voluminous black veil listened with tears
running from her face. Never had she heard such beautiful singing
before--all in time and all the notes sweet and inspiring. She wept some
more and solicitous arms raised her to her feet. Solicitous arms guided
her out of the flower-filled room as six men lifted the black coffin and
carried it into the street.
* * * * *
Slowly the automobiles rolled away. And behind the open car heaped with
flowers rode Mrs. Sikora. The dolorous music of the band filled her with a
gentle ecstasy. The flower scents drifted to her and when her eyes glanced
furtively out of the back window of the limousine she could see the
procession reaching for almost a half block. All black limousines filled
with faces staring in surprise at the street.
And in front of the flower car in an ornamental hearse rode Mr. Sikora.
The wheels of the hearse were heavily tired. They made no sound and the
chauffeur was careful that his precious burden should not be joggled.
Slowly through the loop the procession picked its way. Crowds of people
paused to stare back at the staring ones in the automobiles and to listen
to the--fine music that rose above the clamor of the "L" trains and the
street cars and the trucks.
The sun lay over the cemetery. The handsome black coffin went out of
sight. The fifteen musicians began to play once more and Mrs. Sikora,
weeping anew, allowed solicitous arms to help her back into the limousine
and with a sigh she leaned back and closed her eyes and let herself weep
while the music played, while the limousine rolled smoothly along. It was
like a dream, a strange thing imagined or read about somewhere.
* * * * *
The neighbors sniffed indignantly. "Did you hear about Mrs. Sikora?" they
said. These were the same ones who had leaned enviously out of the
Wabansia Avenue windows.
"She spent all her insurance money on a crazy funeral," the neighbors
said, "and did you hear about it? The Juvenile Court is going to take her
children away because she can't support them. The officer was out to see
her yesterday and she's got no money to pay her bills. She spent the whole
money--it was something like $2,000--on the funeral. Huh!"
Mrs. Sikora, weeping, explained to the Juvenile Court officer.
"My man died," she said, "and--and I spent the money for the funeral. It
was not for myself, but for him I spent the money."
It will turn out all right, some day. And in the meantime Mrs. Sikora,
when she is washing clothes for someone, will be able when her back aches
too much to remember the day she rode in the black limousine and the band
played and the air was filled with the smell of flowers.