The Settlers (38 page)

“You have always been kind and good to me, Kristina.”

Even if Karl Oskar was not entirely free from doubts about his brother’s money bundles, because he did not fully trust paper money in America, no one could make Kristina waste a single thought on the possibility that Robert had returned and brought them false or useless money.

“I guess board and room costs a lot back there in the goldfields?” she asked.

It was unbelievably expensive, Robert told her, turning his right ear toward her. A meal cost ten dollars, the poorest lodging fifteen dollars a night, and a pair of pants fifty dollars. All were out after gold and no one was willing to do ordinary chores. The governor himself had to cook his own food and wash his dishes because his servants had fled to the goldfields. No one in California would work for anyone else, however high the pay. The gold diggers had to do everything for themselves; they couldn’t get a shirt washed at any price; they sent their dirty laundry by ship across the Pacific Ocean to China. It was their only way to get something clean to cover themselves with—the people of Asia washed for the people of America, the dirt of one continent was rinsed off on another.

“To think they freight dirty laundry to China! It sounds crazy!”

She tried to draw him out of his reticence about his experiences in California:

“You must have had a hard time out there? What luck you got away with your life!”

“Got away with . . . ?” Robert repeated Kristina’s words slowly, while his wide-open eyes looked at her thoughtfully. “You think I got away with it . . . ?”

Her hand around the cutting shears came to a standstill, she stopped her shears in the middle of the cloth. A quiver in his voice had startled her.

“Life, Kristina! It’s worth nothing on the Trail! Nothing at all!”

“Nothing . . . ? How is that possible . . . ?”

“Life has no greater value than a grain of sand. No one cares about his life. But all care for gold. Do you know why, Kristina?”

“No . . . ?”

“I’ll tell you a story.”

And he began . . . A man in one of the wash gangs suddenly died. He had been in good health in the morning when he walked down to the river, but as he was cradling gold a fever suddenly overtook him and killed him, and when his gang returned home in the evening they carried his corpse on a couple of posts. They would bury him next morning. They dug a grave in the sand close to a rock and sent to the nearest camp for a minister to read and sing over the corpse. For a coffin they used an empty box which had contained smoked hams. The box was too short for the dead man, who had been tall, and they had to bend his knees. There was no lid for the coffin so they covered the corpse with a red shirt.

When the coffin had been lowered into the grave the dead man’s comrades gathered around the grave, took off their hats, and bowed their heads. Everyone looked at the ground, all were silent, the way it was in a church. And the minister, who was also a gold digger, took out his Bible and began to read the ritual.

But when he had read only one short Bible verse he stopped in silence. He only stood and stared at the ground. He turned the pages of the book a little, but he didn’t read any more. He only stood still and stared into the open grave. The men who had dug the grave for their dead comrade wondered what was wrong with the minister. His hesitation would drag out the funeral if he didn’t read faster. They were all in a hurry, it was a warm day, they were thirsty and wanted to have something to drink as soon as it was over.

But the minister never completed the service. He read no more Bible verses. Suddenly he hurled the Bible away into the bushes, its leaves fluttering in the wind, and threw himself face down on the ground; with both hands he began to dig in the sand at the edge of the grave.

The men thought at first that the minister had had a sunstroke and lost his mind. But then they noticed he was picking up something and putting it into the pocket of his frock. As soon as they realized what it was, they too threw themselves into the grave, scratching and digging with their fingers as fast as they could. For they had discovered the same thing the minister had seen when he began reading over the corpse: nuggets were glittering down there.

The minister, when he first made the discovery, didn’t know how to keep the secret from the other men, for of course he wanted to be alone with the gold. At last he couldn’t hold back any longer.

Soon a great fight broke out over the nuggets in the grave. The box with the corpse was overturned and trampled to bits, and the men used the pieces as weapons. Then they tore into each other with their fists, and finally knives and guns came out. It ended with the minister being shot to death and one of the mourners being pierced through the heart with a knife. Several others were badly wounded. The survivors made peace and divided the gold from the grave among them.

So there turned out to be three funerals instead of one. The old grave was turned into a gold mine, a huge one, and the three graves were dug some distance away. Now they had no minister to perform the ritual, since he too was a corpse, and there was no reading over the graves. Instead they fired four revolver shots. The survivors wanted thus to honor and reward the dead comrades who had fallen in an honest fight for gold, concluded Robert.

While he had been telling the story Kristina had held her wool shears motionless.

“What a terrible story!”

“Karl Oskar thinks I’m always lying,” said Robert “It’s best to keep silent while he’s around. But I know you believe me, Kristina.”

She believed every word—while he talked. Only when he had finished did wonder and doubt cross her mind.

“If this is the truth then they live like wild beasts in California.”

“No one cares about his life. But all care about gold!”

“They’re out of their minds if they value gold higher than their lives.”

Robert leaned toward her and spoke in a lowered voice, as if confiding a great secret to her:

“The gold diggers are people who want to die.”

“Ah, nonsense! They must want to live and get rich and enjoy their riches.”

“But why should they give their lives for nuggets if they didn’t want to die? They would rather lie in their graves than give up the gold.”

“You talk so strangely, Robert.”

She forgot her sewing and looked into his drawn, wan face. The skin was taut across his forehead and cheeks and it looked as if the bones beneath were trying to push through.

“But you yourself? Did you go to California because you didn’t wish to live any longer? To kill yourself?”

“I meant the others. It was different with me. My real errand was not to dig gold . . .”

And he looked beyond her, out through the window, at the tall maples outside, as he added, emphatically,
“I did care for life. But I didn’t know this until afterward.”

“Afterward . . . ?”

His speech was full of riddles. But now he gave no further explanation; he rose and went to the kitchen, where he picked up the scoop to drink. The bucket was empty; he hung it on his arm and went toward the spring. He moved with tardy, clumsy steps; he no longer had a young person’s quick and easy walk.

When he returned with the bucket filled, Kristlna could hear him panting from exhaustion.

“You needn’t carry in water if you don’t feel up to it. The bucket is heavy enough for a healthy person.”

“I’ll manage.”

She said that it was good luck they had found such a fine and large spring which gave healthy and clear water in abundance, and tasted so good. The spring was invaluable to them, even though they had to walk a good bit to it.

Robert drank and hung the scoop on its nail above the bucket. Then he came back into the room where Kristina sat with her sewing, and watched her as she forced the shears through the cloth, following the white chalk marks she had made.

He said, “You know, I don’t hear well with one of my ears, Kristina. I didn’t hear what you just said—what was it?”

She repeated what she had said about the clear water from their spring.

After that he sat silent for a long while.

—2—

The intense heat of summer had started in earnest that week. In Minnesota’s oppressive air the chores were performed languidly; physical motion was an effort. Kristina was using her shears and her needle—the lightest tools a person could use—but she often dried her perspiring forehead with the corner of her apron. Yet it was cellar-cool here inside compared to the sweltering heat out in the sun.

The lake water was already tepid, and Johan, Marta, and Harald—the three children she called “big”—had, after persistent begging, obtained their mother’s permission to go bathing in the shallow inlet near their field. Kristina would have liked to cool her own body in this heat but she felt it could be dangerous for her to bathe in the lake while she was pregnant. She asked Robert to go with the children and see that they didn’t go too far out.

After the noon meal Robert said that he would like to go out and wander about in the forest; he wanted to go and see the Indian cliff where he had gone hunting when he was home.

Kristina remembered to warn him that a fatal accident had taken place last spring below the Indian. An American settler from Hay Lake had been found dead under a boulder which had fallen on him. The cliff was cracking and new blocks were falling in big piles all the time. It took only a small stone to kill a person, if it happened to hit the head; he must be careful and not go too near the Indian.

Robert smiled, exposing his gaping gums. He was not a settler; he had not stolen any land from the brown people; he didn’t believe the Indian would fling any stones on an innocent person.

Kristina looked after him as he disappeared in the forest. He had said that he had enough, that he had freed himself of masters and need never move a hand any more. For the rest of his life he wouldn’t have to do anything except enjoy his riches. He could use his time as he wanted and wander about all day long. But Robert was not calling on their new neighbors, the white settlers who had recently moved in, he was calling on the Indian, the brown cliff, where such a strange adventure once had befallen him.

Kristina went into his room to make his bed while he was out. As she turned the pillow she made a discovery: under it lay a watch, with a broad yellow brass chain coiled around it.

She stared in disbelief. Cautiously she picked up her find. Robert had not displayed a watch since his return. As far as she knew he had never owned a watch. And if he did own one, why didn’t he wear it? Why did he keep it hidden under the pillow of his bed? If he had bought a watch now that he could well afford it, why didn’t he dare show it?

It couldn’t be a stolen watch, she felt sure. But why had he hidden it under his pillow?

She noticed it was a long-used watch; it was nickel-plated, scratched, and badly worn. She put it to her ear: it had stopped. It had stopped at fifteen minutes after twelve, whether at noon or in the night. The key to wind it was fastened to the chain. Perhaps the watch had stopped because it had not been wound, or perhaps the works were broken.

Kristina replaced her find under the pillow after she had made the bed, but her thoughts were occupied with it as she returned to her sewing.

She began basting a coat for Karl Oskar but had barely taken twenty stitches when she saw, through the window, an Indian approaching the house. At first a sense of fear hit her—just now when no menfolk were at home. . . . The Indian went to the back of the house and came into the kitchen, and then she recognized him; otherwise these brown people were so confusingly alike that she couldn’t tell one from another. This one was a very old Indian with thin, stringy hair, sunken cheeks, and wrinkled skin that reminded her of cracks in dried clay. Last winter during the intense cold he had come several times; she had boiled milk and given it to him. Each time he had sat long by the warmth of the fire. He spoke some kind of English and Karl Oskar had understood that he had been converted to Christianity by some missionaries who preached among the Indians. He insisted he was a hundred and fifty years old but Karl Oskar must have misunderstood him.

As soon as Kristina recognized the caller her fear vanished; this old Indian was not dangerous. He carried something which he handed her with a few grunts. It was a piece of meat, a large shoulder of venison.

The Indian had brought her a gift, and surprised and pleased she thanked him in Swedish: she had just been wondering what to have for supper—what a fine roast this would make!

The old man had carried the piece without any protection and she soon discovered dark spots on the red meat: flies. That looked suspicious in this heat. She smelled: the odor of the meat was also suspicious.

Kristina knew at once that this venison had turned bad; then she also discovered white spots: maggots. But she did not show any sign of this, she dared do nothing but accept the gift. She neither wanted to nor dared hurt the feelings of the Indian. His people did not discriminate between fresh and spoiled food; to an Indian stomach the meat was of course acceptable; the giver would undoubtedly have eaten it willingly. The brown men could stand any kind of food. In that way they were almost like their hogs, who even could eat and digest rattlers.

She smiled at the old Indian and thanked him many times, putting away the venison as if it had been a great and valuable gift. In return she gave him a fresh loaf of their new wheat bread, and he smiled back at her with his broad wrinkled mouth and uttered many grunts that sounded friendly and grateful. They must have been words of thanks in his language.

After he had left and was out of Kristina’s sight, she picked up the evil-smelling venison and carried it to the dunghill behind the stable, where she threw it as far as she could. What would the giver have said had he seen this? Probably he had carried his heavy burden a long way today.

Even though the gift consisted of unusable food it had strengthened Kristina in her belief that the brown people were not evil and heartless. She had experienced it before: if one showed them kindness, they would do the same in return. They could be as grateful as white Christian people. Perhaps there was not too great a difference in the souls of whites and Indians. If the Indians were left in peace, they would leave the settlers in peace. But when they were taken advantage of they became violent and as ferocious as wild beasts. Now these hunters were beginning to suffer from starvation because their game was disappearing, for the white people had hunted and killed almost all the game in the forest. She had heard people say that the Indians would never of their own will give up their hunting grounds, since they could not live without them; in the end they would rise in a great war against the settlers.