Ma whose name is Kristin, gave all three of her daughters names that begin with the letter "K," just like her name. Katrina, Kristina, and Kaja. My little sister, Kristina, is eleven and so annoying she makes me want to scream. My youngest sister, Kaja, is technically my half sister because Ma had an affair outside of wedlock. That's one of the reasons we had to come to the United States. Anyway, Kaja is four years old and seems to be happy at every single waking moment. Sometimes I just can't stand her constant giggling; it gives me a headache.
I cannot believe Ma made us leave our home and come to this filthy place. Just because she couldn't help herself and now I have another sister. Kristina and I had a hard time adjusting to this annoying addition to our family. The Catholic Church and our neighbors back in Norway were just as happy about Kaja as Kristina and I were-- not very. So she dragged me away from our home, our friends, and our family, just because people didn't like her. Life is so unfair. Here in the United States it's so... dull. It seems so gray compared to our home town of Jølster, where people dressed in bright colors and there were festivals and parties. Here, people dress in brown pants and black overcoats2. The people have absolutely no poise and slouch and chew with their mouths open. It's disgusting, really.
Kristina was happy about coming here. I don't know how she could possibly have thought it would be better here than in Jølster. Come to think of it, I do know how. She had one so-called friend, but she couldn't stand her. I suppose she just wanted a fresh start. I'm not sure if Kaja wanted to come. She seemed happy, but that doesn't tell you much.
If anyone had cared about my opinion, we would still be eating three meals a day, talking with friends, and living in our decent house in Jølster. But no, we had to spend three weeks on a smelly ship crammed full of people and now we can't even afford to have running water or buy bread. Great plan, Ma. Life is so much better.
Ma works nine hours, from nine in the morning to six in the afternoon, six days a week.3 I don't think washing the windows of black Model Ts is a very stressful job; my job of watching Kaja and Kristina seems harder. Henry Ford has such a stupid motto: "The customer can have any color as long as it's black." 4
Ma comes home every day irritable and depressed. She expects me to take care of our family when I'm only fourteen years old. She's supposed to be in charge. I remember the first day we walked into this fifthly factory in Detroit, Michigan.
* * * * * 2 Weeks Earlier * * * * *
It was a cold and dreary looking day, and we had just spent twenty-four hours on a stuffy train from New York City to get here. "Here" was the Highland Park plant owned by Henry Ford, in Detroit.5 It had taken us thirty minutes to find Piquette Avenue, where the factory was located.6 We were in a hurry to get inside because the usually cheerful Kaja was whining about the wind. This time, however, I couldn't blame her. It had to be forty degrees outside, and the wind was nipping at our exposed skin.
The smell in the factory could knock you off your feet. It smelled like sweat, oil, and hot metal.7 You could hear the noise emitted by the plant from miles away. 8 When we got inside, however, the noise was deafening. It sounded like thousands of stampeding elephants. The wood floors with randomly slanting panels were covered in dust.9 I figured the slants were a style of some sort, because we had seen it in train stations and other places. Hundreds of workers were pounding away at car parts supported by sawhorses.10 We hurried to what looked like the front desk to inquire about a job for Ma and me. Ma said I was old enough to work,11 and that we needed the money. Ma cleared her throat and began in Norwegian.
"Hello. My name is Kristin Hanson and I'm looking for a job here for my daughter and me. I was---" She was interrupted by a loud sigh and a rolling of eyes from the woman at the desk. The irritable-looking woman held up her hand and shouted something to a boy about my age who was rolling a ball to a little girl that looked about two years old.
"Mark! Come here and translate. These folks speak Norwegian," the woman called, beckoning the boy with her hand. I couldn't understand what she was saying. She was speaking English, but I figured it had something to do with her not speaking our language. The boy, whose name was apparently Mark, picked up the little girl he was playing with and came over to us.
"Hello. What brings y'all to the Highland Park plant?" Mark asked in Norwegian. It was such a relief to hear our native language spoken for the first time in the United States by someone other than ourselves.
"My daughter and I are looking for a job here. I heard the factory taught its immigrant workers English.12 Is that true?" Ma responded quickly, chewing on her lip.
"Yes, we've got an English program.13 If you want a job, you'll have to see Mr. Ford. He's in his office right now. It's the first door on your left. Be sure to knock first," Mark recited, as if he'd said it a plethora of times before. He lifted the little girl on his side a little so he could shift his weight. Ma nodded and motioned for us to follow her to the office. I complied grudgingly, and trudged off behind her. I'd been hoping to talk to Mark, since he spoke our language and was roughly my age. I could feel Mark's eyes on my retreating back as he watched us walk away.
Ma led the way, followed by Kristina and then me. Kaja was trailing, not used to all the walking. I stopped, sighed, and picked up Kaja so Ma wouldn't get angry at Kaja for walking slowly. When Ma gets mad at one of us, she's in a volatile mood the rest of the day and none of us can breathe easily.
We found the first door on the left. Kristina knocked softly, then shook her hand vigorously and quietly cried, "Ouch!"
"Come on, Kris, you barely touched the door. Watch," I scoffed, rapping on the door pretty hard. A loud booming voice hollered something in English, the same thing the woman at the front desk had said to Mark to make him come to her. We opened the door slowly and walked hesitantly into the well-lit room.
The heavy door swung shut behind us and the noise of the factory was lessened slightly. I looked carefully at Henry Ford. He was a middle-aged man14 with light brown hair and brown eyes.15 Although he wasn't much taller than Ma,16 his sheer presence seemed to tower over me.17 I didn't put Kaja down like I had planned, but clutched her close to me because the heat of her small body made me feel safe. Kristina, looking slightly terrified, stood as close to Ma as she could. Before she lost the courage, Ma took a deep breath and started her speech.
"Mr. Ford, my name is Kristin Hanson. I'm the single mother of three and I just immigrated here from Norway. I'm looking for a job for my daughter and I so we can afford to support our family. I admit we do not know much about cars, but we are fast learners and I can clean very well, if that helps. I read about your factory teaching English to its workers and I was wondering if my children might learn to speak the language also. These are my daughters, Katrina, Kristina, and Kaja, and---"
I was watching Mr. Ford carefully. He opened his mouth as if to refuse to hire us, but clamped his jaws closed temporarily. A strange look comes across his face, and he stares off into space thoughtfully. I couldn't decide what his expression was; it looked like a combination of sadness and concern. Then it hit me: pity. He pitied us, our petrified expressions and caged-in look. He started whispering to his translator, and then the translator spoke in Norwegian.
"Mrs. Hanson, I have heard enough of your speech and have decided to hire you because a few of our 1,300 workers18 quit in the last few days. As you know, our factory is the largest in the United States 19 so we can never have too many workers. I don't think, however, that your daughter is old or strong enough to help in our factory. Your children will stay in my back room with some of the other children where they will learn to read and write English. Your job will be to shine the windows of the Model T automobiles, averaging 100 per day.20 Mr. Smith will be your boss, and he will show you what to do. Report to him at 9:00AM every weekday. I have a Sociological Department that watches to make sure my workers do not spend their hard-earned five dollars a day on booze and such, 21if that was your intention, which I doubt. If you have any further questions, ask Mr. Smith,"
"Thank you, sir. Thanks so much!" Ma said cordially, smiling widely.
* * * * * Back To Present * * * * *
For the last two weeks Kristina, Kaja, and I have been spending most of our time in the factory's small back room. There are eight of us that cram into that room. Kristina, Kaja, and me, plus Mark, two-year old twins, an eight-year old boy, and a seventeen-year old girl. It turns out Mark is fourteen, too. His parents came here from Norway, so he speaks Norwegian. The twins are two years old, and their names are George and Cora. Peter, the eight-year-old, immigrated from Spain last year. Lillie, who is seventeen, hates being "cooped up all day with all these children." She says this last word as though she holds us all in contempt for being younger than her. She sneaks off to meet her friends at the ten-cent movies22 so they can gossip and drink five-cent Coca-Colas from the new marble soda fountains.23 I've never had Coca-Cola, but I liked flavored soda water24 a lot the one time I was allowed to have a sip.
Life here is so much different from in Jølster. Yes, there are people and yes, they have heads, but they just aren't the same. They obsess about how the stock market's down,25 and how William Taft doesn't like Republicans.26 Back home, we savored every moment we were living, and tried not to worry about tomorrow. That's probably the main difference: the focus. We focus on today and don't worry about tomorrow, while the Americans seem to focus on what will happen tomorrow and forget about living today.
Spending two weeks cooped up in a little room with my sisters is not really my idea of fun. They're always shouting, "Come play with me Katrina! Come on!"
This arrangement is a lot different from back home. I used to be able to leave Kaja and Kristina with one of the neighbors and go talk to my friends. Now they're always in the same room as me, never giving me time to think. I can really relate to Lillie, who leaves almost every day to go to the movies and such with her friends. She tells me I'm the only one with a good head on my shoulders. She says I'm the only one with my priorities in order. She likes me so much that she's letting me sneak out with her next week to the premier of the play "The Red Widow," starring Raymond Hitchcock.27 She says it'll be easy to sneak in once it's started, she's done it before.
"Only bad thing 'bout it is you have to miss the first ten minutes," Lillie offered. "Other than that, it's smooth sailing. We just slip right in with the middle-class citizens that come to the show,28 Katrina."
I've been really excited for the play for a week and a half. There's no way I'm gonna miss it. Nothing can stop me. Mark says I have to stay here with my sisters, but I don't want to. Don't I spend enough time with them already?
I've started reading the newspaper, which shows that my boredom level is going through the roof. I can read almost all the English words now, and it helps me learn more of the new language. Mark says some man named Richard Hoe had made it possible to print lots of papers,29 and now they deliver a couple of extras to the factory. Today the headline says:
Spring Training To Start in April: Teams Gear Up For 9th Annual World Series In October
This year's teams are inspired by the chance of winning the title of "Best Baseball Team in the World," the same title the Red Sox won in the first World Series on October 13, 1903, when they beat the Pittsburgh Pirates.30 They also are motivated by the thousands of fans that will be watching the World Series or listening to it on the radio.31 With training starting this April, teams are going to have to whip back into shape for the Pre-Season games. The teams are trying to beat the Philadelphia Athletics, the reigning title holders. Edward ("Cocky") Trowbridge Sr., one of the best players on the Philadelphia Athletics, says "I've been sitting in my air conditioned house,32 listening to the radio,33 picking corn-on-the-cob out of my teeth with a wooden toothpick34 for hours on end. I need to get back into shape, both physically and mentally." For more details, see page 3A.
I read the article, even though I couldn't care less about baseball's World Series. I skim the rest of the sports-related headlines and finally get to my favorite part: the comics. My favorite one is Little Bears and Tigers.
"Hey Kat!" Mark shouts to me. "Can you help me get these guys started on drawing or something? Please!" He sounds pretty desperate, but I want to finish reading the comics.
"Hold on a second, Mark," I call over to him. He sighs and turns around to try and calm Kaja, Cora, George, Kristina, and Peter. I sit back and read the rest of the comics, trying to block out the yelling and pounding. I finish, fold the paper, and amble over to the scene.
"Took you long enough," Mark mutters darkly. I decide to ignore his comment. The four younger ones are drawing with the broken crayons that were in the small room.
"I'll be right back, I have to go to the bathroom," Mark says tonelessly.
I let out a sigh of relief as soon as he is out of earshot. He makes me feel lackadaisical; he's always ready to do or help with everything. Since he's gone, I settle myself against the wall with a broken pencil and paper and start drawing. I'm not sure what I'm drawing, just doodling and thinking. My mind wanders back to when we first arrived in Detroit on the train...
* * * * * 2 Weeks Earlier (Again) * * * * *
It had been twenty-four hours of sitting, standing, sitting some more, and sleeping. There was a prompting ring over the train car and a man's voice said in a monotone in several different languages, "The train is now approaching Detroit, Michigan. Please remain seated until the train has come to a complete stop."
"I don't know about you, but that's the best thing I've heard all day," I breathed, my cheeks flushed with excitement. I wanted so badly to get off that moving circus.
"Me too, Kat," Kristina replied, wiggling in her seat.
We pulled into the train station and the train stopped. As soon as the doors opened, Kristina, Kaja and I ran out into the open air. Ma walked quickly out after us, looking angry.
"WHAT do you all think you're doing, running carelessly out of the train into a station full of people? You COULD HAVE gotten lost or hurt! Katrina, you should KNOW better than that! WHY didn't you stop them?" Ma screeched, seething. I hate being the oldest sometimes. We all ran out of the train, yet it is somehow my fault. I always have to be the responsible one, the one who can do no wrong, but I can't always be responsible for everything. It seems like even trying to be responsible for everything would be like writing my own death wish. Why bother?
"Why is it ALWAYS my fault? I can't be responsible all the time! I'm only human, just like everyone else! What do you want me to do?!?" I yelled back at her, unable to keep the control and tone expected of me when talking to my Ma.35
"I expect you to at least TRY and take some responsibility for your sisters. Just TRY," Ma explained in a dangerously calm tone.
"I am trying. If it's any comfort to you, I'll try harder." I responded, trying to match her dangerous calm. I knew I shouldn't be arguing with her, but I couldn't stop. I wince slightly, with a sense of foreboding about the loud shrill screech that would soon be emitted from her lips. To my surprise, she spoke softly.
"That's all I ask, Kat. All I ask," she sighed, shaking her head sadly.
* * * * * Back To Present * * * * *
Pulling out of my reverie, I hear Kaja shouting. She is yelling at Peter, who is yelling right back at her. Something in the back of my mind warns me of danger. I know from experience that Kaja won't be able to hold out in a yelling match for long.
"IT'S A MOOSE!" Kaja bellowed, her face turning red.
"IT CAN'T BE A MOOSE, IT DOESN'T HAVE ANTLERS!"
"IT'S A SPECIAL KIND OF MOOSE!"
"IS NOT!"
"IS TOO!'
"IS NOT!"
"Is--" Kaja stops and bursts into tears. She turns on her heels and sprints out of the room. I sigh, but I know she'll be back later... I hope. Something tells me to go after her, and it's not like I have anything better to do. Rolling my eyes, I walk out the door after her. I can see her small form and light brown hair tearing through the aisles of machinery and workers doing their assigned tasks. 36 In her anger, she runs straight towards a half-finished car with the still-exposed metal insides still glowing red hot. 37
Everything seems to go in slow motion. She pulls out of her trance just as she's about to hit the hard, hot metal. A look of pure terror takes over her face and she starts screaming. It feels like my heart's getting pulled out with every inch closer she gets to the car.
"KAJA!" I scream. Kaja puts out her left hand in front of her just milliseconds before the crash we are both dreading. She collides with the car, and there is a sickening crack as her small arm breaks upon impact. The air is thick with the scent of her burning flesh. I run over to her as fast as I can. She looks awful, all curled up. I can barely see her through my tearstained face. I hadn't even realized I was crying.
* * * * * The Next Day * * * * *
Ma got let off work early so she could take Kaja to the hospital. They put these two inch pins in her arm and put salve on her burns. 38 I spent the three hours they were at the hospital sitting on the floor, thinking. I thought about what I could have done, what I could have helped with. Why hadn't I been watching her? Why did she have to get hurt? The terrible image of Kaja crumpled up on the group replayed in my mind. The crash... the scent.... why did I have to watch that horrible moment?
The more I thought about it, the more I realized how important seeing Kaja's accident had been. It made me realize how self-centered I'd been acting. When my sisters needed me most I had been more concerned with the comics. What if it had been something worse than running into a bunch of hot metal? What if she had broken her neck? Or got run over by a car? I would never forgive myself. She's my sister, my responsibility. I never realized how much I loved her until I saw her in danger.
I vowed, right then and there, that I would try my hardest to be a responsible older sister. Never again will I let Kristina or Kaja get hurt if there is anything I can do to help it. I might not be able to have as much time to myself, but I'll give that up for my sisters.
Mental note: March 15, 1912. 12:34AM. Be more responsible.
* * * * * Nine Months Later * * * * *
I couldn't look at Kaja without getting flashbacks of her crash for a whole week. I never went to the premier of The Red Widow. I haven't read the newspaper once since then either. I never realized how much fun playing with Kaja, Peter, and the twins could be. Or how nice it was to talk to Kristina. Mark even noticed my change in attitude.
The cast can come off Kaja's arm on Tuesday, which is five days from now. She's been counting down days since the week after she crashed into the car, nine months ago. Kaja's gotten very good at doing things with her injured arm, ignoring the heavy cast weighing it down.
"Yay! Christmas!" Cora gurgles happily. We're sitting around our small shabby Christmas tree that we cut down from the small wood next to the factory,39 trying to sing Christmas songs we have learned and memorized in English: Deck the Halls, Jingle Bells, and Good King Wenceslaus.40 Our tree is pretty droopy, but it seems more like Christmas than it ever had in Jølster. In Norway, I celebrated Christmas with my friends instead of my family. Now I can be with my sisters and our friends at the same time. It sounds so good to say "our friends." It used to be just "my friends" and "your friends."
Maybe having to come to America, meeting Mark, and watching Kaja suffer because I wasn't paying attention have given me a new perspective on life and on family. Now we are all together, a group of blood-relatives who help each other and get helped, who give and don't expect to be given anything in return, and love each other no matter what kind of stupid things we do. We're a family, and family is sacrifice.
~*~THE END~*~