Chapter 12 about the teacher, part two

He was eight years old at the time.There was a telegram from the hospital, and since his father was a Russian immigrant and could not read English, Murray had to read the news of his mother's death, as if asking a student to bite the bullet and stand in front of the class to read: We regret that we must inform you On the morning of the funeral, Murray's relatives walked down the steps of his rented home on Manhattan's poor Lower East Side.Men wear black suits, while women wear black veils.At this time, the children nearby were going to school. When they passed by, Murray lowered his head, for fear of being seen by his classmates.A fat aunt of his hugged Murray tightly, crying: What will you do without your mother?Who will take care of you?

Murray cried, and his classmates ran away. In the cemetery, Murray watched the adults shovel dirt into his mother's grave and tried to remember the closeness of mother and son when she was alive.She used to run a candy shop, but when she was sick, she spent most of her time either sleeping or sitting by the window, pale and emaciated.Sometimes she would call for her son to bring her medicine, but little Murray was playing ball in the street and pretended not to hear her, because he thought in his heart that if he just pretended to be all right, she would pass. In what other way could a child face death?

Murray's father, whom everyone calls Charlie, came to the United States to escape the Russian conscription.He was in the fur trade, but was constantly out of work because he was uneducated and knew little English.Their family is very poor and they live on relief money most of the time.There was a candy store in front of where they lived, and the back was small, dilapidated and dark, where the whole family lived.Their house is bare and they don't have a car to commute.Sometimes Murray and his brother David would help the family by cleaning other people's front steps for a small change.

After the death of their mother, the two boys were sent to a small boarding house in the Connecticut woods, where several families shared a large log cabin and held a gang together.Their relatives feel that the fresh air here is good for the children.Murray and David had never seen such lush nature before, running and playing in the wild all day long.One evening after dinner the two of them went for a walk, and it began to rain, but instead of going inside, they splashed and played for hours in the heavy rain. When Murray woke up the next morning, he jumped out of bed.He called his brother and said: Come on, get up.

I can't get up. What's the meaning? David looked panicked.I can't even move. He has polio. Of course, polio wasn't caused by the rain, but a kid of Murray's age didn't understand that.Murray felt guilty for several years when his younger brother went to the home for sick children many times, and finally had to wear iron rings on his feet and walk with a limp. That's why Murray would go to the synagogue in the morning (alone by himself, since his father wasn't particularly religious), and stand with men in black robes swaying back and forth, praying for God to take care of his dead mother and sick brother.

In the afternoon, he stood under the steps of the subway, hawking and selling various magazines, and the little money he earned was used to subsidize his family. After returning home at night, he watched his father eating in silence. In his young heart, he hoped for a little love, care or communication from him, but the hope was always in vain. Only nine years old, he felt a mountain-like burden on his shoulders. Fortunately, in the second year, a savior appeared in Murray's life, and that was his stepmother Eva.Eva is a petite Romanian immigrant, with plain features and curly brown hair, but with a lot of energy, one person is worth two.The energy she radiated was just enough to counteract the gloom his father had created in the house.When her new husband-in-law was silent, she could make witty remarks and sing songs to the children at night.Her gentle voice, her homework, and her strong personality were all Murray's spiritual comforts.When his younger brother came home from the home for the sick, wearing a pediatric hoop on his feet, and the two of them slept at night on a trundle bed that was pushed into the kitchen, Eva would come and kiss them on the cheek. Good night, Murray waits for this moment every night, like a cub waiting to be fed.He felt from the bottom of his heart that he had a mother again.

It's just that the poverty at home has not improved.They've moved to the Bronx now, living in a one-bedroom red brick apartment building on Tremont Avenue next door to an Italian brasserie where old folks play Italian on the turf on summer evenings bowling.It was the Great Depression, which made it harder for Murray's father to find work in the fur industry.Sometimes when the family sat down at the table, all Eva could serve was coarse bread. David would ask: What else is there to eat? Eva replied: Nothing else. When she put Murray and David to bed, she sang to them in Yiddish, and even the songs were about the sorrows of the poor.There's a song about a little girl selling cigarettes:

Please buy a pack of cigarettes. The cigarettes were dry, untouched by the rain. Have pity on me, have pity on me. Although his family was poor, Murray still learned how to care for others and how to work hard.Eva attaches great importance to her children's school work. She knows that education is the only way for them to get rid of poverty. She herself goes to the school's evening refresher class to learn English.It is to her influence that Murray later devoted himself to education and teaching. Murray sat at the kitchen table at night, studying hard by the lamp.In the morning he still went to the synagogue and said a prayer for his biological mother, who he didn't want to forget.Incredibly, his father told Murray not to mention her again, because he wanted David to think that Eva was his real mother.

This is a great psychological burden for Murray.After many years, the only evidence he knew of his biological mother's existence was the death telegram from the hospital, and Murray put it away the day he received it. He treasured the telegram throughout his life. When Murray was a teenager, his father took him to the fur factory where he worked, during the Great Depression, and Charlie wanted to find a job for Murray. Murray walked into the factory and immediately felt that he was about to be overwhelmed.The factory building is dark and hot, the windows are full of dirt, and the machines are close together, spinning like train wheels.Animal dander is flying all over the sky, making the air thick and stuffy. Workers are busy sewing pieces of fur together, bending over and lowering their heads to focus on the needle thread. The factory boss is patrolling between rows of machines, shouting for Workers hurry up.Murray could hardly breathe, so he could only stand close to his father, struggling with fear, fearing that the boss would scold him at the top of his voice.

During the lunch break, his father took Murray to see the boss, who pushed Murray forward and asked if there was any work for his son at the factory.It's just that the factory doesn't even have enough errands for adults, and the employees work hard. No one wants to reduce their working hours. For Murray, this is a blessing in misfortune.He hated the factory so much that he made a lifelong oath to himself: he would never do any work that exploited others, and he would never allow himself to make money from other people's blood and sweat. Eva asked him: What are you going to do in the future?

He replied: I don't know.He didn't consider studying law because he didn't like lawyers, and he didn't consider studying medicine because he couldn't bear to see blood. What do you want to do in the future? The best professors I've ever met came into teaching when they had no other choice. What the teacher is doing is the long-term work of cultivating people for a hundred years; his influence on future generations will never end. Henry.Adams