The Settlers (49 page)

The bartender put away his sprayer, its purpose accomplished, and attended to pouring whiskey instead. Business in Fred’s Tavern had resumed its normal speed.

After a while the owner again had time to speak to his new guest, his young countryman. He leaned on the counter that had been made from the torn-down pulpit.

“You mentioned a fellow who was with you, Arvid, did you say? And he kicked the bucket?”

“Yes. From thirst. He drank poisoned water, we couldn’t find anything else . . .”

“I see. Last summer ten thousand people died from thirst on the California Trail.”

Robert said that he had never thought of it before, how impossible it was to get along without so simple a thing as water.

“In my hotel you needn’t go thirsty! With Fred you won’t miss a thing! You can have anything you wish to drink, my dear friend!”

“I like it here.”

“Good! A friend of mine runs a whorehouse across the street—would you like a woman tonight? A good
knull
would do you good!”

Robert had never been with a woman. He had only imagined how such a thing would take place. He had never had sufficient courage to try. Now he asked, from pure curiosity, how much it would cost at this house across the street.

“It’s Wednesday today,” said Fred. “You can have a
knull
at a special rate today.”

“Special rate? What’s that?” Fred had been using the American expression.

“I mean it costs less.”

“Oh—I thought it was a disease.”

“No, you needn’t worry about that! The whores are healthy as hell! But business is kind of slow in the middle of the week. You can get a piece of ass for half price. They have awfully nice girls—and Saturday it costs twice as much!”

Robert sat silent; perhaps he was contemplating whether or not to go. Fred understood fully; he might be too tired tonight. There was no hurry, he was to remain at the Grand Hotel, and the house across the street was open twenty-four hours a day, at least until the next tornado. The big storm last year had after all left the whorehouse standing; the good Lord had so far been as careful of the place as if he were a partner in the business.

The bartender poured whiskey for those customers still able to ask for refills; then he resumed. The gold seekers passing through Grand City on their way to California were the best customers at the whorehouse. They took advantage of this stop, they knew how few women there were in the goldfields. He too had known. There was only one woman to each hundred men, and she was well used. And the women in the goldfields were horribly expensive and demanded payment in pure gold, big nuggets. Never before in the history of the world had there been such an opportunity for women to get rich by lying on their backs. A woman in California could gather a fortune within three months, if she was decent and capable.

And the men out there, in their loneliness, grew so soft-hearted and weak they would often faint at the mere sight of a woman. Many gold diggers couldn’t stand being without and used their mules. These animals didn’t always smell so good so the men sprayed them with costly perfumes; after that they smelled like women. Men always wanted pleasant smells about the business, something grand—the gold diggers were soft that way. So some bought the finest silk and velvet they could find and spread it over the mules; they hung lace on the mule ears, embroidered linen and garlands around their necks, and often pieces of expensive jewelry. They decked the mules as if they were beautiful women before they mounted them. For everything must be beautiful, as it should be; the gold seekers were that way.

And Fred wanted to point this out: men were good and kind and fine deep inside, even when they were forced to use animals. In whatever circumstances men found themselves they longed for the beautiful.

Silence had again descended over Fred’s Tavern; only a soft snoring was heard. The customers were going to sleep again; one after another lost his voice and passed out. Occasionally a belching, a snore, or a clearing of the throat was heard, but spoken words had given out.

And the host explained to Robert all the advantages for his guests: Grand Hotel of Grand City offered all the things in the world a man could ask for. And in the house across the street a gentleman could satisfy his further desires.

It had grown stuffy and close in the bar and Robert felt sleepy. He rose and said he would go to bed.

Fred nodded. “Good night! Sleep tight! I must attend to my business . . .”

He looked in annoyance at his customers and bent down for his spray can again to get life into his business.

—4—

Robert stayed on with his compatriot at the Grand Hotel in Grand City. During the day he would wander about and look at the place. There were remains of many houses that once had stood along the street: foundation stones, heavy timbers, caved-in chimneys, an occasional iron stove—the heavy objects the tornado had been unable to carry out on the prairie when it had struck last year. Robert thought that if the big storm had hit the town on the night the Seventh-Day Adventists waited in their church for the Last Day, they might have thought they were being taken bodily to heaven on the hurricane.

Here were places where people had lived; the people themselves were dead or had moved away. Even the rats were dead—furry, flat, dried-up rat carcasses lay strewn on the old sites like lost mittens. This was a ghostly place; people and animals had lost their lives here—their ghosts might return at night. Who knew? The town in the sand pit was a ghost town. It suited Robert to live here.

But after dark he hardly dared move about in Grand City; it was too easy to fall into holes. And the gravel walls hung over the city as a constant threat, as if they could bury the town at any moment.

The ghost town had only one-tenth of its original population but there were still a few hundred inhabitants who might ask each morning: Will our town cave in and bury us all before evening?

The guests at the Grand Hotel were travelers who passed through Grand City and needed a place to rest for a night. But for days on end Robert was the only guest in the house. The saloon gave the owner his income. After a few weeks, Robert offered to pay for his lodging. He made the suggestion one day when only the two of them were eating in the main dining room. But Fredrik Mattsson threw up his hands: there was no hurry about that. Moreover, he wanted to treat an old friend from Sweden to lodging for some time. Countrymen must stick together. Robert insisted he wanted to pay for himself—he had plenty of money.

Fredrik Mattsson’s swollen, bloodshot eyes fluttered about a moment, he turned away as if suddenly embarrassed, he didn’t want to snoop into other people’s affairs, but would Robert feel hurt if he asked how much the Mexican had left him?

“Not at all, Fred. You are my friend—I’ll show you!”

He went to his room and fetched the small pouch of soft black leather with the letters M. V. embroidered on it. He had so far used only a little of the contents. He really ought to count the rest of it. He poured the gold and silver coins onto the table. His host eagerly helped him count the money. He divided the coins into piles according to their value; he knew American money, he conducted big business.

Robert still had almost three thousand dollars, two thousand of which was in gold.

Fred threw his hands up as if wanting to call on the high one in heaven.

“My dear boy! Have you entirely lost your mind! How are you using your money? Do you just hide it away?”

Robert said he used the money as he needed it. What was wrong about that?

“My poor fellow Swede! It’s criminal, that’s all! You can double your money, many times! Have you never met a sensible person in America before? Has no one advised you about money?”

And Fredrik Mattsson’s voice sounded truly sad when he heard how foolishly Robert had handled his fortune: to leave all that cash in a pouch! That was called dead money! And a businessman like himself could only feel sad when he saw how dead this money was. Money must be put into something to earn interest. Money must be kept alive, multiplied—a hundredfold, a thousandfold, like seeds in the ground. If he had put his money into a business when he got it he would have had ten times as much by now. He would have had thirty thousand instead of a mere three thousand. It was indeed a crime to handle money this way. It was not only a crime against himself, it was a crime against humanity! To keep all this money uninvested! For humanity, in order to survive, must keep business going.

“Bob,” said Fred, and patted Robert’s hand in deep compassion: “Bob, you do indeed need a good friend.”

And in his solitude, after Arvid’s death, Robert had often felt he did indeed need a friend.

Fred’s eyes could not leave the piles of gold and silver coins before him on the table. At last his face lit up.

“I got it! I know what to do, Bob! You and I should be partners!”

Robert looked puzzled; he didn’t understand. But Fred was jumping up and down in joy over his bright idea.

“Damn me! Why didn’t I think of it at once!”

“What do you mean? What should we do?”

“You put your capital into my hotel! You’ll multiply your money! You can retire as a rich man! You and I will be partners! In my hotel!”

“Would this money be enough for that . . . ?”

“It will help in the business, and I’ll pay good interest! You can’t handle your money yourself, Bob!”

Robert knew he couldn’t handle money, he had never had any to handle. This was the first money he had ever had. And he felt the coins could easily be stolen from the pouch; he had been thinking about finding a safer place.

Fred continued. He had in mind expanding his hotel business and could use some more capital—first of all they must find a staff of servants. Suppose Robert put some money in the hotel, say two thousand dollars—the rest he could keep for spending money—then he, Fred, would pay the highest interest ever paid in the New World, half the profits! They would share as brothers what they took in. The Grand Hotel was already a fine business—but would be still better with more capital to modernize it. And since they were from the same homeland he felt they were practically relatives. With the two of them partners they would have a family business, as it were.

Robert had never thought of his money working for other people and at the same time increasing for him. But as his friend had such a great understanding of business, he could see no harm in following his advice.

He said, “You take care of my money. If it isn’t too much trouble for you?”

He was grateful for Fred’s suggestion; his only worry was that the handling of the money would be too much of a nuisance to his friend.

“Hosannah!” exclaimed the host of the Grand Hotel. “From now on we’ll do
big
business! Boy! Will you be rich one day!”

Fredrik Mattsson took charge of the two thousand dollars from the black pouch. Thus Robert became a partner in the Grand Hotel in Grand City, the town’s largest and only hotel.

—5—

The liveliest time of the week in Fred’s Tavern was Saturday evening between eight and nine. At that hour the members of the Whiskey Club met, the largest and most important club in town. They met to drink Kentucky Straight, and their bylaws stated they must meet for one hour, between eight and nine. During this hour they could, and must, drink all the whiskey they could down. The cost per member was a dollar and fifty cents. The one who consumed the greatest quantity during the evening hour need not pay the week’s membership fee. The rush in the bar during this hour was enormous; Fred couldn’t draw an even breath until the meeting was adjourned and the members had retired to the saloon floor, in more or less resting positions.

After the meeting of the Whiskey Club, Fred would devote Sunday to cleaning his saloon.

Even before Robert became a partner in the hotel business, he had helped Fred a little during the Saturday rush. He washed glasses, helped to serve, and kept track of drinks consumed. During the hour of the club meeting the consumption of liquor was as great as during the rest of the week. After Robert had become a partner he felt it his duty to assist the host whenever he could: he helped with the cooking, peeled potatoes, cut firewood, ran errands, swept up, and washed dishes; mostly he washed dishes. But Fred did not ask his partner to work.

“You shouldn’t work as dishwasher here, Bob! It’s below your station!”

But Robert said it wasn’t too much if he helped with the dishes and did what he could. Fred mustn’t do all the work by himself; he wanted to do his share. And since he was a partner in the business he felt a certain responsibility about the running of the hotel.

Fred said he would look for help—a big staff of people, he said. But for a few months ahead he was so involved in big business he didn’t have the time to look for servants.

For days it would be quiet about the place, with only an occasional guest, or no guest at all. Then Fred had spare time in which to tell Robert about his experiences in California and Robert also had time to walk about and explore Grand City. He would stand for long periods and look into the holes which had been dug in the sandhills around town where people had searched for eternal truth; they had dug for an answer to the Riddle of Life. Here tablets were said to have been hidden, containing words of ultimate truth, the last revelation. And people had dug and dug, for many long hours; it must have taken a terribly long time to dig all these holes. But they had found nothing, received no information. All their labor had been in vain: they found nothing but emptiness, all had been an illusion. They had been tricked by a lying angel.

On business errands for Fred, Robert had visited a number of the houses in town but as yet he had not been to the house across the street. He had seen the sign on the door in letters too large to be missed: Welcome, Gentlemen! Come Right In! And in the evening after dark a yellow lantern was hung at the door. He had asked Fred about the inmates, whom he had never seen, and he was told that they did not go out in daylight; they were mainly sleeping and resting then. But they were available all night through. And in the evening, and late into the night, varying noises came from that house.