BEN
They thought the Depression was ending, but it still hung on. In the southern Plains region of the United States, from Texas to Nebraska, where the farms had once been fertile and lush, there had been almost a decade of drought, and the earth had dried up and blown away in huge dust storms. Farmers, unable to grow crops or keep their animals alive, had deserted their land and gone west, where they hoped there were jobs.
In the cities, it was hard times for everyone. There were fewer and fewer customers in Ben’s shop, and he owed more and more on his rent. Now the bank was threatening him with eviction by the end of the month, and the debt to his landlord had accumulated too.
When Golda came home from delivering the garments she had worked on for the tailor on the avenue and found Ben sitting at the kitchen table with his head in his hands, she came to him, put her hand on his back, and spoke gently. “What’s wrong, Ben? Are you feeling ill?”
Ben swung his head up as if swimming through deep water. “No, no. I’m fine,” he said.
“You don’t seem fine.” She put her hand on his forehead, as if testing to see if he had a fever, the way she used to with the children when they were young.
He brushed her hand away, irritated. “I said I’m fine. I’m fine.” He looked up at her, standing behind him, saw how her face had fallen, and realized he had hurt her. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I’m worried a little about money, that’s all. I don’t have enough this month.”
Golda sat down beside him. “Tell me,” she said. “We can figure out what to do.”
Ben looked at her. She was as tired as he was, he could tell. He put his hand on hers and patted it. “I didn’t want to worry you, Golda. You work so hard.”
“We both work hard. How much more do you need? I have some put away from my embroidery.”
Ben almost said, “I know,” but then realized that she had no idea he had found her savings wrapped up in a sweater. He told her how much he needed, and she went immediately to their bedroom and came out with the bills in her hand.
“Next time don’t keep things from me,” she said. “We have to work together.”
Ben stood up and embraced her. “Thank you,” he whispered into her hair. “I pray things will be better next month.”
But they were not. Ben did not want to go to Golda again, so he borrowed some money from Cousin Surah, enough to tide him over. After he had shared his fears with Golda, she began to work twice the hours she had worked before. She stayed up late doing embroidery and complained that her eyes were hurting her; Ben noticed she squinted when she read, but when he told her to go to the doctor to get new glasses, she refused. She didn’t say why, but Ben was sure she didn’t want to spend the money.
He worried more and more, tossing in bed at night, getting up to sit at the kitchen table, and then going back to bed. He tried not to wake Golda or Morty in his nighttime walks, but he knew he was disturbing their sleep. Each month he took small amounts of money from the jar where they had saved Morty’s college fund. First it was only a few dollars, but then when that wasn’t enough, he snuck into their bedroom and opened the drawer in the bureau where Golda kept her sweaters and blouses, and he took money from the roll of bills in Golda’s sweater sleeve, knowing she would eventually notice but hoping she wouldn’t say anything about it.
With no hope, he went to the bank for a loan, but they refused him, as he knew they would. Without consulting Golda, he did the only thing he could think of. He went to a local money lender. He reasoned that if he could keep up the interest, the loan shark wouldn’t bother him. And for a short while, that worked, but then it all collapsed.