"She's a--problem," he said. Mr. Fredericksohn was always a little chary
of saying anything that might be construed as derogatory to a client,
even in the privacy of professional conversation.
"I'm sure we'll be able to work things out," Gloria said.
"Well," Mr. Fredericksohn said, and paused. Then he nodded. "You do what
you can," he said. His voice sounded doubtful.
She beamed up at him. "I certainly will," she said with enthusiasm.
Mr. Fredericksohn nodded and muttered something, and went on by.
Gloria smiled. Oh, she was going to show Mr. Fredericksohn, all right!
He just wasn't sure she could handle Mrs. Wladek--and the old woman
certainly did represent a problem. Her folder was full of notations by
case worker after case worker. But Gloria's smile broadened just a
trifle.
My goodness, everything was going to be all right. She was sure Mr.
Fredericksohn would be happy with her work.
Though the important thing wasn't her own success, but the people
themselves. If you could help them to be bright, and happy, and
successful, then that was the best job in the world.
And she could.
My goodness, yes.
* * * * *
Mrs. Wladek looked at the door for a long time without opening it. She
didn't want to go in--certainly not. But there was her appointment, and
money was needed; she had no choice. The cossacks of America had forced
her to this pass, and she was an old woman; what could she do? Fight
them?
One had to give in.
She reached for the doorknob and turned it and opened the door.
There were all the desks, and the men and women working. And near the
far corner, on the left, the girl sat studying a sheet of paper. Mrs.
Wladek looked at the blond hair and the pretty face and the slight
figure, and shivered.
But she had no choice; she went across the room and when she had almost
reached the desk the girl said: "Good morning, Mrs. Wladek."
How had she known? Mrs. Wladek had made no sound in walking to the desk.
Yet the girl had known someone was there, and who that someone was,
before her head had been raised. Truly, the girl was frightening.
Mrs. Wladek eased herself, feeling her bones creak, into a chair at the
side of the desk. She said nothing.
"How are things going?" the girl said in her pleasant smooth voice.
"I am fine," Mrs. Wladek said deliberately. She did not inquire about
the girl's health. That would show her; that impoliteness would show her
what an old woman thought of her!
"That's good," the girl said. "That's very good. And how is Rudi?"
"Rudi is my son," Mrs. Wladek said.
"I know that," the girl said, and smiled. "We met last week, don't you
remember?"
"I remember you," Mrs. Wladek said. Then, grudgingly, she added: "Rudi
is the same. He is fine."
"That's fine," the girl said. "And has he found a job yet?"
Here it was necessary to lie, Mrs. Wladek knew. One could not say that
Rudi did not look for work. One had to say: "Work is difficult to find.
He tries, but there is no job."
"And how about yourself?" the girl said.
"I am an old woman," Mrs. Wladek said. "Who would hire an old woman?"
The girl nodded. "It's been a long time since your husband died," she
said.
"In an accident with an automobile," Mrs. Wladek said. "I remember that
time. It is sad to think of."
"And Rudi hasn't found any work in all that time," the girl said.
"He looks hard," Mrs. Wladek said earnestly. This was a game that had to
be played, she knew, a conversation that started and finished each time
she came for an appointment. "He looks but work is difficult to find,"
she said.
"I understand," the girl said. "But I'm sure you and Rudi will both find
work soon." She paused and her eyes closed.
Mrs. Wladek felt something happen.