An Immigrant's Story

He had his reasons to be angry. First of all, he was already used to get everything he wanted fast. He was a doctor, and as one, the things that he asked for were brought to his hand rapidly. That day, though, was not the case: his family had been having lots of problems with the Parliament Act of 1911, which deprived his family of lots of income. He could foresee how wrong things would go after this, so he decided to leave. Anyway, he was already sick of this place…

That was some time ago, because he was now going on a ship to that place where everybody went when searching for some good luck. He himself had heard some good stories about the place. This ship had nothing of the luxuries he was so used to, but still, he had seen worst, and at least he was leaving Ireland. In the ship he met someone named Moische, whose accent told he came from Russia. He came with some friend of his, named Sura, who had already some family in America. They were very lively people.

He never asked why they went to America because he felt it would be impolite; what if they turned with some heart-breaking story, one worst than his? That wouldn’t be good, and if they asked about him, he couldn’t really answer because someone could hear and try to rob him thinking he still had something worthy of robbing with him. He had brought with him some of the doctor essentials, some money (though he didn’t knew if the currency he had would help him), and some of his artists materials.

He was an artist, indeed. Not because he was a doctor it meant he couldn’t be anything else. He even liked more painting than his actual profession. So he did a picture of Moische and of Sura, but  doubted that it was moral to paint those two together. They didn’t pay for his work this time, but when he did some plain drawing of the sea, the sunset, or the ship, they’ll ask him if he was interested in keeping them.

His life on the ship wasn’t bad at all: he could eat three times a day and sleep well at night. Moische and Sura made the rest of his days interesting. Moische had the most incredible stories with him that Phalean and Sura were never tired of them. He told them in such a way that this two were lost in his stories, and some even popped there now and then to hear one of his stories. His favorites ones were the funny or the tragic stories. The funny ones Sura let her two sons hear, but the sad stories were usually only for late night, where they could only depress themselves. This little kids were such a sight! They ran about the deck, bellow, and basically any place there was. They probably knew every inch of the ship, and took special care of knowing the good hiding places. When one of them was about to get punished, he would spring like a leopard, and fly to the farthest place he could find. The three adults where then around one hour before they could catch him, specially because these kids never chose a same place to hide.

It was about the end of the their trip that Moische became sick. This sickness of which he had never seen before, nor heard, nor anything. Try as he would, he could not cure him, and by the end of their trip, all of his stories were sad and gloomy.
When they went down the ship, Sura went one way with their children, expectation in her eyes, while Moische went to the Hoffman Island Hospital to see if he could get his illness cured there. So Phelan was left alone in this new land, with no friends or foes.

Shortly after going through that wrecked Ellis Island Migration office, he was out in the streets of this city called Boston. Not far had he walked when he found some kids kicking and throwing stones at something. Curiosity had the best of him and went to investigate. There he found a poor dog half starved, and really hurt, lying on the pavement. When the kids heard him come, they ran away laughing, so he got to the dog easily. The dog couldn’t even move, and when he came near him, the only thing he did was to whine. He used the last things bandages he had in his only bag, and got him clean with some water. Of the wounds and the weakness the dog had he would recover, but of the other wounds, this deep wounds, who knew.

Phelan decided to take him home, so he picked the dog up and started walking; he had not walked far when he remembered he had no home. So he went into some houses and asked if he could stay. Most of the times, when he came to the door with this strange provisions, he got looks of disgust, and a polite no, we have no room.

The streets were deserted and then sun low. The angle of the light made his shadow long as trees, and the wind blew cold on his neck. Street lights were already turning on, and the lights played with the shadows, dancing with them. Soon the night would come and he would have no place to stay the first day in this new world. He turned around a corner, at the distance he could see some houses, civilization becoming less dense around the place. His new dog weighted on his arms, but he continued asking. Just when he though he would have no luck that day, a lady came running. Seeing her in such a hurry, he intercepted her and asked what was happening. She told him that her mother was having a child and that they needed assistance from a doctor, and asked him if he knew any.

She didn’t quite believe him when he told her that he was a doctor, but then she glanced at the town. Certainly, the distance was long, and the star blanket sure made it appear farther. Seeing he was their best option, she guided him into her home. There she found the woman in her most difficult moments; after cleaning himself he went and helped her out…

Hour and a half later, the labor was done, and what a magnificent job was done. He once again asked if he could stay there, and he was wholeheartedly accepted there. He went outside to see if his dog was still lying around and found him just where he had left him. He pulled the dog, but he wouldn’t move, so he picked him up again. His room was not inside the house, but in the garden. It was a little shack, that while it was clean, tidy, and comfortable, it was still little, but it would serve its job for that night. He slept a bit bad that night, without the rocking of the ship.

Next morning, he woke up with a terrible hunger, and with the surprise that the dog had moved on his own and that was now laying now beside him. Stretching himself, he put his clothes on and went outside. The sun was still rising and the house still seemed asleep. He went inside and took some painting materials, his dog, and a chair. Facing the morning sun he started his painting. This distracted his mind from the hungry stomach. The grass was wet with the morning dew, and a few apple trees hided the sun. Their branches moved in compass with the air, that was soon filled with a delicious aroma. Someone was baking bread, and when he turned his head to the house he saw that the door was open and that behind him stood the lady that he had found last night was behind him. At the sight of the woman, the dog cowered inside the shack. She invited him in to eat.

His breakfast was better than on the ship, and he said so. They asked him about why had he came, he answering as truthfully as he could. He left some facts out though and even with that they were amazed. He asked for some bread and two glasses of milk which he was to take to feed his dog. After feeding him, he continued his painting, and soon was done. It wasn’t great quality, but he still liked it. He prepared for his next piece of art, and this time he got the prettiest view of his little shack, with garden and everything. He was planning on paying for so much hospitality with this new high quality work. So he started, fast but steady, this new painting. The walls of his shack were chalk white, with two windows on each wall. The window panes were light blue, to contrast with the white, and the ceiling was covered with a plant that fell to the ground looking like a waterfall when the wind moved through it. The door was a square, and there was a little rock path that lead from the house to the shack. Around it were many flowers that probably just appeared there by accident. The owners of the house apparently didn’t mind, but kept their little flower bead tidy. The blue with the red, the yellow with the purple, all tiny drops of color in the sea of green that encircled the shack…

He was again surprised working on the last touches of his work. When he noticed the lady at her back, he jumped, almost tripping with his painting, and with some last touches, he offered her the picture in payment. She ran inside of her house with the painting, and came running back. She told him that everyone in the house liked his picture very much (I like it more than the real thing, the lady said), and said to him that they though that he could stay as long as he painted for them. Finally he had got a serious proposal based on his paintings, and he was more that ready to stop being a doctor. He agreed without a second though.

As the time passed, he got to knew everyone inside the house very well. Specially the young woman- she was not only a lady, but the young woman of his dreams. Though he didn’t knew it, he was in love with her. When in his subconscious he was thinking of her, his pictures were more beautiful that usual. And now his dog was fully recovered, and went with him wherever he went. His fur was black with some brown markings, and his eyes had a light that never went off, the light of gratitude.

Most days Phelan would go out to find something to paint, draw, or inspire him. In this days mysteriously someone from the house always appeared as causally as they could. They would prize him and then leave him to his work. Months passed and new no hunger or sickness, and he though himself lucky. When he asked for some money to buy new materials, he got if fast. And as fast as that the house was full of beautiful pictures, sad pictures, little pictures, grand pictures. Secretly, the family from the house was thinking of selling them, as the few visitors they had occasionally loved the pictures. This artist of theirs, they though, is talented, and he is going to get what he deserves. But he went on without knowing it, and kept panting. In his heart he knew he wanted nothing more- maybe just the young woman.

As the moon climbed into her realm in her full dress, he came back from his painting day. The night was cold, and though there were no clouds, he could fill chills all over his body. He was thinking of what final touches would he give to this painting, which was really special for him. In it he had placed the young woman of his heart in a special place. The picture showed sunrise in some wheat fields. It would be a special surprise for her, for soon her birthday would come. Lost in this and other thoughts he was when he ignored the cries and shouts that came from his back. Also in front of him, men came shouting and swearing. He had no time to think when he found himself in the middle of a fierce fight. Torches flew on top of his head when he dodged, fists nearly missed his face, and knives missed him by inches. All missed, but one. When he got stabbed, the world speed up, and soon he was the only one on the street. It was a short distance to his house, and when he saw it, he also saw in the from door the young woman with a face of anguish. Yet, he couldn’t give another step forward.

The last thing he saw was his dog, rubbing against him. The dog wasn’t dumb, he knew what was happening and sorrow corroded him. He though of his new found love –that until know he discovered it was love he felt-, of Moische of whom he never heard again, though he asked. Of Sura, who he though would be happy with her family now. Family. Something he had been deprived of. Yet he gave thanks to God, and exhaled his last breath of his dog and the young lady.

His crypt reads: Here lays Phelan Hoyt,
who in slice love and was loved.
He who laked with pictures and with his eyes,
know that you will be missed.