sister carrie

Chapter 59 (1)

Chapter 34 The mill is turning: a pile of chaff (1)
Carrie, like Hurstwood, was compelled to reflect upon her situation when a matter had accumulated in her mind.It took her days to fully appreciate that the collapse of her husband's business meant daily struggles and suffering.She recalled her wanderings in Chicago, and the Hansheng family and the room they lived in, and she felt aggrieved in her heart.How dreadful it is! How dreadful it is when poverty comes into contact with anything.If only a way could be found! Her recent association with the Vances made it impossible for her now to view her situation with self-satisfaction.The Hevances had given her a few chances to see the glamor of high life in the city, and now she was completely captivated.She had been taught how to dress and where to go, but she couldn't do even one thing due to limited financial resources.Now, these circumstances—the inescapable reality—were looming before her eyes and filling her mind.The more restricted her situation is, the more charming that other world will be.Poverty seemed to swallow her whole now.In order to overthrow poverty, that other world hangs high in the air like a heaven, so that any poor person in the world can open their hands and worship it.

The ideal that Ames injected into her life remains today.The people are gone, but the words are still there.That is, money is not everything.That is, in the great world, there are many things she doesn't understand.That is, the stage is beautiful, and the literature she reads is poor.He was a strong man, a pure man—how much stronger and purer than Hurstwood and Drouet was still in her mind, but the difference was striking.It was something she would rather close her eyes than look at.

During the last three months at the Warren Street Hotel, Hurstwood took a few days off to search everywhere and follow the advertisements for his business.It was a real frustrating thing, because he used to think that he must find an opportunity soon, or he would have to live off the $500 he had saved, and then he would have nothing to invest— —he had to be a buddy.

The adverts for his line of business were either too luxurious or too shabby for him, and winter was approaching, and the papers were full of distress, a difficult atmosphere, at least it seemed to him.When you are sad, the sorrow of others is particularly conspicuous.As he perused the morning papers, he could not escape his attention not to mention a store that was closed, a family that was starving, a man dying of starvation in the street.One day, the "Le Monde" published an astonishing news, "8 people will lose their jobs in New York this winter." This news was like a dagger piercing his heart.

"Eighty thousand!" thought he, "how terrible that is."

For Hurstwood, this was a new line of thinking.Back then, the world seemed to be smooth sailing.He was used to seeing stories like this in the Chicago Daily News, but he paid no attention to them.But now, these things are like gray clouds floating in a clear blue sky.It threatened to turn his life into a bitter gray.He also tried to break free from these shackles, forget everything, and get back together.Sometimes, he said to himself in the depths of his soul:

"What's the use of worrying? I'm not finished. I've got six more weeks. Even worse, I've got enough money for six months."

Strange to say, when he was worrying about the future, his thoughts occasionally returned to his wife and children.For the past three years, he had tried not to think about it as much as possible.He hates her, he can live well without her, let her go well, he will live well.But right now, he wasn't having a good time, and he began to wonder what she was doing, and what about his children.He reckoned that they must be living comfortably, occupying his comfortable house and enjoying his estate.

"My God! It's a shame they have it all," he thought dimly a few times. "I haven't done anything."

As he looked back and analyzed the circumstances which had finally led to the money, he began to justify himself mildly.What had he done--what had he done in the world--to get in his way in this way, and to press all kinds of troubles upon him? His life of comfort and abundance seemed to be just What happened yesterday.But now, everything has been taken away from him.

"She doesn't deserve what's been taken from me, that's for sure. People should know I didn't do anything."

It did not occur to him to publicize some facts.These were just the words he was trying to justify in his mind—to find something to show that he was enduring his situation as a righteous man.

One afternoon, five weeks before the hotel in Warren Street closed its doors, he came out to see the three or four places mentioned in the Herald advertisement.One was on King Street, and he went to see it, but he didn't go in to see it.The place looked too poor, and he thought he couldn't stand it.The other was on Boverly Street, and he knew that there were many luxurious hotels on this street.That one is near the main street.He found that this one was beautifully furnished, and he talked with the owner about investment for three quarters of an hour.The shopkeeper said he was not in good health, and that's why he wanted a partner to run the business.

"Well, then, how much will it cost to buy half the shares?" asked Hurstwood.He thought to himself, the most can not exceed 700 yuan.

"3000 yuan." The man said.

Hurstwood was greatly disappointed.

"Cash?" he said.

"cash."

He pretended to be calculating, as if he really wanted to buy, but there was melancholy in his eyes.He finally said he had to think about it and walked away.Those who spoke to him were dimly aware of his condition.

"I don't think he wants to buy it," he said to himself, "he's not talking in the right way."

This afternoon, the sky was gray and cold, and the nasty winter wind was blowing.He went to see a place on the east side near No.60 Jiujo Street.It was five o'clock in the afternoon, and it was already dusk.A potbellied German is the boss.

"What does your ad say?" asked Hurstwood.He was not very pleased with the appearance of the family.

"Oh, it's over," said the German, "I'm not selling."

"Oh, is that so?"

"Yeah, there's nothing more to say, it's all over."

"All right," said Hurstwood, turning around.

The German stopped talking to him, which made him angry.

"Fool!" he said to himself, "then why is he advertising?"

Sullen in his heart, he went to No. 13 street again.The only light in their house was the kitchen, where Carrie was busy.He struck a match, lit the gas lamp, and sat down in the dining room without even saying hello to her.She went to the door of the room and looked inside.

"Is that you?" she said, and stepped back.

"Yes," he said, without even looking up from the newspaper he'd bought.

Carrie saw that something was wrong with him.He's not so pretty when he's blue.The wrinkles around the eyes deepened.His melancholy, combined with his natural dark complexion, made him look a little sinister, and he was a rather unlikable fellow.

Carrie set the table and served the food.

"Dinner's ready," she said, walking past him looking for something.

He made no answer, but continued to read the newspaper.

She came in and sat in her seat, feeling very uncomfortable.

"Aren't you going to eat now?" she asked.

He folded the newspaper, walked in, and was silent for a while, at most he just talked about passing things at the dinner table.

"It's a dull day, isn't it?" said Carrie courageously, after a break.

"Yes," he said.

He just put his head down and ate.

"You still think you have to go out of business?" said Carrie, taking courage to bring up their old subject.

"Of course it is," he said, his tone stiff and unchanged.

Such retorts irritated Carrie, who had had a miserable day already.

"You don't have to speak in that tone," she said.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, stepping back from the table as if to say something, but said nothing, and picked up the newspaper again.Carrie got out of her seat and managed to control herself.He knew she was hurt.

"Don't go," he said as she walked toward the kitchen. "Eat your meal."

She walked over without answering.

He read the paper for a while longer, then got up and put on his coat.

"I'm going downtown, Carrie," he said, going out. "I don't feel well to-night."

She didn't answer.

"Don't be mad," he said, "tomorrow will be all right."

He looked at her, but she ignored him and just washed her dishes.

(End of this chapter)