*
Béla shows his old boss at the warehouse the results of the aptitude
test, and the boss introduces Béla to his accountant, a generous man
who agrees to employ Béla as his assistant while Béla takes CPA classes
and works toward his license.
I am restless. I have been so consumed with money worries and
Béla’s illness, so wrapped up in the cramped routine of hours at the
factory and counting coins to buy groceries, that the good news
unmoors me. e release of worry leaves me with a gaping cavity that
I don’t know how to ĕll. Béla has new prospects, a new path, but I
don’t. I change jobs several times in an effort to earn more, to feel
better about myself. e extra money helps and the advancements do
li me for a while. But the feeling never lasts. At an insurance
company, I am promoted from my station at the ditto machine to
bookkeeper. My supervisor has noticed how hard I work, she will train
me. I feel happy in the company of the other secretaries, happy to be
one of them, until my new friend advises me, “Don’t ever sit next to
the Jews at lunch. ey smell.” I don’t belong aer all. I must hide
who I am. At the luggage company where I work next, I have a Jewish
boss, and I think I will ĕnally ĕt in. I feel conĕdent, accepted.
Although I am a clerk, not a receptionist, one day the phone is ringing
and ringing, and seeing how taxed the secretaries are, I jump in to
answer the phone. My boss storms out of his office. “Who gave you
permission?” he yells. “Are you trying to ruin my reputation? No
greener will represent this company. Am I making myself clear?” e
problem isn’t that he chews me out. e problem is that I believe his
assessment of my worthlessness.
* * *In the summer of 1952, shortly aer Béla’s recovery and a few months