sister carrie

Chapter 67 (2)

Chapter 38 Playing in the Demon's Cave: The Grim World Outside the Cave (2)
Carrie soon discovered that the practice here was somewhat similar to the rehearsals at the Arvary Building, although the manager's attitude was much stricter.She had been surprised by M. Miricher's obedience and condescension, but the person in charge here not only showed the same obedience, but was almost rude.During the drill, he seemed to be getting more and more angry about small things, and his voice was getting louder and louder.It was evident that among the young women here, he disdained anyone who pretended to be self-important or innocent.

"Clark," he'd say--meaning Miss Clark, of course, "why don't you go all the way?"

"Four in a row, turn right! Right, I said right! God, wake up! Turn right!" When he says this, the last few syllables will be raised and become a real big Roar.

"Maitrant! Maitrant!" he cried once.

A nervous, well-groomed little girl stepped out of the queue.Carrie trembled for her, with her own violent pity and fear.

"Yes, sir," said Miss Maitland.

"Is there something wrong with your ears?"

"No, sir."

"Do you know what 'turn left, go'?"

"Understood, sir."

"Well, then why are you leaning to the right? Is it to break the ranks?"

"I was about to—"

"Never mind your 'I'm going' stuff. Keep your ears up."

Carrie pitied and trembled for her.

Yet another person suffered from the recrimination.

"Stop," cried the manager, throwing up his hands, as if things had gone terribly wrong.His style is fierce as hell.

"Holfus," he roared, "what's in your mouth?"

"No," said Miss Holforth, while some of the actors stood around, smiling and uneasily.

"Well, are you talking?"

"No, sir."

"Then keep your mouth shut. Well, do it all over again."

At last it was Carrie's turn.This is because she was too impatient and wanted to do all the requests, which caused trouble instead.

She heard someone shout.

"Mason," the voice called, "Miss Mason."

She looked around to see who it was.A girl behind gave her a slight nudge.But she didn't understand.

"You, you!" said the manager, "Can't you hear me?"

"Oh," said Carrie, almost fainting and flushing.

"Isn't that your name, Mason?" asked the manager.

"No, sir," said Carrie, "it's Matonda."

"Well, what about your feet? You can't dance?"

"Yes, sir," said Carrie.She has been learning to dance for a long time.

"Then why don't you jump up? Don't slow down like you're dead. I'm asking for something alive."

Carrie's cheeks were burning red.His lips trembled a little.

"Yes, sir," she said.

In this way, I continued to urge, lose my temper, and practice hard, and I worked for three hours.Carrie was exhausted physically when she left, but too nervous to notice.She intends to go home and practice according to the prescribed movements.As long as it can be done, she is determined not to make any mistakes.

On returning home, Hurstwood was not at home.She thought that it was finally rare, and he also went out to find work.She just took a bite and practiced, supported by the phantom of being financially safe—"the sound of triumphant voices ringing in her ears."

Hurstwood was not as active at home as he was when he went out.She, for now, has to stop practicing and prepare meals.It was one of the first things she felt disgusted with.She has to work again, and she has to manage this.Does she have to act and housekeeper again?
"When I start working," she thought, "I won't do it. He can eat out."

From then on, she had troubles every day, and she discovered that being a troupe dancer is not such a promising thing.She also knows that her weekly salary is 12 yuan.A few days later, she saw for the first time those eminent persons--famous ladies and gentlemen.She discovered that they were the privileged ones, the respected ones.But she was insignificant--insignificant at all.

At home, Hurstwood made her think twice a day.He seemed to be doing nothing, but he dared to ask her how she was doing.Often like this as usual, it gives people a feeling, as if he is relying on her to work for his life.Now that she clearly had a way of life, she resented the situation.He seems to be relying on her little 12 yuan.

"How are you doing?" he would ask gently.

"Oh, good," she would reply.

"Is it easy to deal with?"

"I'm used to it, it's fine."

Then he buried himself in the newspaper.

"I bought some lard," he added, as if after an afterthought, "I figured you might need to make some biscuits or something."

She was rather surprised by the serene tone with which the man said that, especially in light of recent events.Her newfound independence gave her the courage to say something, and she herself felt as if she wanted to say something nasty.Still she could not speak to him as she had to Drouet.There was something in the man's air and demeanor which always struck her with a little awe.He seemed to retain some invisible power.

One day, after her first week of rehearsals, what she had anticipated finally surfaced publicly.

"We've got to save some money," he said, putting down his meat. "You're not getting any money for a week or so."

"Can't get it," said Carrie, turning the pan on the stove.

"I only have the rent money and the remaining 13 yuan on hand." He continued.

"Yes," she said to herself, "I must use my own money now."

She thought at once of the few things she had hoped to add to herself.She needs more clothes.Her hat is not pretty.

"How can this 12 yuan be enough for the family?" she thought, "I can't do this. Why doesn't he find something to do?"

Then comes the big night of the first real show.She did not call Hurstwood to come and see.He didn't want to go either, it was just a waste of money.She's just playing a small role.

Advertisements had been placed in newspapers and posters had been posted on bulletin boards.The lead actress and many others are mentioned.As for Carrie, that was nothing.

As in Chicago, she was very stage fright toward the beginning of the ballet, but then calmed down.Her role was painful, and her insignificance helped dispel her fears.She felt that it didn't matter if she was an unknown character anyway.Luckily she didn't have to wear tights.A group of twelve people wore beautiful golden skirts as required, which were only an inch above the knee.Carrie happened to be one of the twelve.

Standing on the stage, walking forward, and now and then raising her voice in the chorus, she had the opportunity to look at the audience, to see the popularity of the show.There was thunderous applause, but she couldn't help noticing how poorly some of the actresses with a reputation were acting.

"I can do them better," Carrie dared to think a few times.To be fair, she had a point in what she said.

After the performance, she quickly unloaded.The manager scolded several actors and walked past her.This must, she supposed, prove that she was desirable.She wanted to get out quickly because she knew very few people and the stars were whispering.There was a carriage parked outside the theater, and some well-dressed and well-behaved young people were waiting.Carrie saw herself as the object of scrutiny.A flick of an eyelash can win her a friend.But she doesn't do it.

But a young man of considerable experience took the initiative.

"Not coming home alone, huh?" he said.

Carrie just quickened her pace and caught the streetcar at Sixth Street.Her mind was still full of strange scenes, and she had no time to think about anything else.

"Have you heard anything from the winery?" she asked him over the weekend, hoping it would prompt him to act.

"No," he answered, "they're not ready yet. But I reckon something will come of it."

She said nothing more, except that she would not hand over her own money, but felt that it must be so.Sensing the tense situation, Hurstwood skillfully decided to ask Carrie for help.He had learned long ago how good-natured she was, and how much she could bear anything.He was ashamed at the thought of his behavior, but he justified himself by thinking that he would indeed find some work.Rent payment day gave him a chance.

"Well," he said, counting the money, "this is the last of my money. I'll get a job soon."

Carrie cast a sidelong glance at him, half suspecting that he was about to ask for help.

"As long as I can hold on a little longer, I think I can find work. Durek is definitely going to open a hotel in September."

"Really?" said Carrie, remembering that it had only been a few short months before that.

"Could you please do me a favor so I can last until then?" he begged. "After this, I think I will have a way."

"No," said Carrie.She felt the pain of bad luck.

"We can sustain it if we save a little. I'll pay you back."

"Oh, I'll help you," said Carrie.She felt that it was a bit hard-hearted to force him to plead so hard, but on the other hand, she wanted to benefit from the money she earned, and this kind of mentality made a slight voice of resistance.

"Why don't you work on whatever it is for a while, George?" she said. "What's in the way? Perhaps, after a while, you'll find something better."

"I'd do anything," he said, stepping back from the reproach with a sigh of relief. "I'd fix a road in the street. Nobody knows me."

"Oh, you don't have to do it," said Carrie.She felt pity and felt sad, "However, there must be better things."

"I'll find something to do," he said.

Then he went back to his paper.

(End of this chapter)