Mrs. Rodjezke scrubbed the corridors of the Otis building after the
lawyers, stenographers and financiers had gone home. During the day Mrs.
Rodjezke found other means of occupying her time. Keeping the two Rodjezke
children in order, keeping the three-room flat, near the corner of
Twenty-ninth and Wallace streets, in order and hiring herself for half-day
cleaning, washing or minding-the-baby jobs filled this part of her day. As
for the rest of the day, no fault could be found with the manner in which
Mrs. Rodjezke used that part of her time.
At five-thirty she reported for work in the janitor's quarters of the
office building. She was given her pail, her scrub brush, mop and bar of
soap and with eight other women who looked curiously like herself started
to work in the corridors. The feet of the lawyers, stenographers and
financiers had left stains. Crawling inch by inch down the tiled flooring,
Mrs. Rodjezke removed the stains one at a time. Eight years at this work
had taken away the necessity of her wearing knee pads. Mrs. Rodjezke's
knees did not bother her very much as she scrubbed.
* * * * *
In the evening Mrs. Rodjezke usually rode home in the street car. There
were several odd items about Mrs. Rodjezke that one could observe as she
sat motionless and staring in her seat waiting for the 2900 block to
appear. First, there were her clothes. Mrs. Rodjezke was not of the
light-minded type of woman that changes styles with the season. Winter and
summer she wore the same.
Then there were her hands. Mrs. Rodjezke's fingernails were a contrast to
the rest of her. The rest of her was somewhat vigorous and buxom looking.
The fingernails, however, were pale--a colorless light blue. And the tips
of her fingers looked a trifle swollen. Also the tips of her fingers were
different in shade from the rest of her hands.
Another item of note was her coiffure. Mrs. Rodjezke was always
indifferently dressed, her clothes looking as if they had been thrown on
and pinned together. Yet her coiffure was almost a proud and
careful-looking thing. It proclaimed, alas, that the scrubwoman, despite
the sensible employment of her time, was not entirely free from the
vanities of her sex. The deliberate coiling and arranging of her stringy
black hair must have taken a good fifteen minutes regularly out of Mrs.
Rodjezke's otherwise industrious day.
These items are given in order that Mrs. Rodjezke may be visualized for a
moment as she rode home on a recent evening. It was very hot and the
papers carried news on the front page: "Hot Spell to Continue."
Mrs. Rodjezke got off the car at 29th and Halsted streets and walked to
her flat. Here the two Rodjezke children, who were 8 and 10 years old
respectively, were demanding their supper. After the food was eaten Mrs.
Rodjezke said, in Bohemian:
"We are going down to the beach to-night and go in swimming."
Shouts from the younger Rodjezkes.
* * * * *
When the family appeared on the 51st Street beach it was alive with people
from everywhere. They stood around cooling off in their bathing suits and
trying to forget how hot it was by covering themselves in the chill sand.
Mrs. Rodjezke's bathing suit was of the kind that attracts attention these
days. It was voluminous and hand made and it looked as if it might have
functioned as a "wrapper" in its palmier days. For a long time nobody
noticed Mrs. Rodjezke. She sat on the sand. Her head felt dizzy. Her eyes
burned. And there was a burn in the small of her back. Her knees also
burned and the tips of her fingers throbbed.
These symptoms failed to startle Mrs. Rodjezke. Their absence would have
been more of a surprise. She sat staring at the lake and trying to keep
track of her children. But their dark heads lost themselves in the noisy
crowds in front of her and she gave that up. They would return in due
time. Mrs. Rodjezke must not be criticized for a maternal indifference.
The children of scrubwomen always return in due time.
* * * * *
Mrs. Rodjezke had come to the lake to cool off. The idea of going for a
swim had been in her head for at least three years. She had always been
able to overcome it, but this time somehow it had got the better of her
and she had moved almost blindly toward the water front.
"I will get a rest in the water," she thought.
But now on the beach Mrs. Rodjezke found it difficult to rest. The dishes
weren't washed in the kitchen home. The clothes needed changing on the
beds. And other things. Lots of other things.
Mrs. Rodjezke sighed as the shouts of the bathers floated by her ears. The
sun had almost gone down and the lake looked dull. Faintly colored clouds
were beginning to hide the water. It was no use. Mrs. Rodjezke couldn't
rest. She sat and stared harder at the lake. Yes, there was something to
do. Before it got too dark. Something very important to do. And it wasn't
right not to do it. The scrubwoman sighed again and put her hand against
her side. The burn had dropped to there. It had also gone into her head.
But that was a thing which must be forgotten. Mrs. Rodjezke had learned
how to forget it during the eight years.
* * * * *
A girl saw it first. She was laughing in a group of young men from the
hotel. Then she exclaimed, suddenly:
"Heavens! Look at that woman!"
The group looked. They saw a middle-aged woman in a humorous bathing
costume crawling patiently down the beach on her hands and knees. Soon
other people were looking. Nobody interfered at first. Perhaps this was a
curious exercise. Some of them laughed.
But the woman's actions grew stranger. She would stop as she crawled and
lift up handfuls of water from the edge of the lake. Then she would start
scratching in the sand. A crowd collected and the beach policeman arrived.
The beach policeman looked down at the woman on her hands and knees.
She had stopped and her face had grown sad.
"What's the matter here?" the policeman asked of her.
The woman began to cry. Her tears flooded her round worn face.
"I can't finish it to-night," she sobbed, "not now anyway. I'm too tired.
I can't finish it to-night. And the soap has floated away. The soap is
gone."
* * * * *
Mrs. Rodjezke was taken up by the policeman with the two Rodjezke
children, who had, of course, returned in due time. They cried and cried
and the group went to the police station.
"I don't know what's wrong with the poor woman," said the beach policeman
to the Hyde Park police sergeant. "But she was moving up and down like she
was trying to scrub the beach."
"I guess," said the sergeant, "we'll have to turn her over to the
psychopathic hospital."
There's a lot more to the story, but it has nothing to do with Mrs.
Rodjezke's last job.