The Last Letter Home (15 page)

And the same thing could be done with a house: the outside, its appearance, could be imprinted on a paper, never to be obliterated, and the paper could be framed like a painting and sent from America to Sweden.

The bridal couple above the sofa gave Karl Oskar an idea: He would have a man with an apparatus come to their place and make a reproduction of their house which he could send to his mother and sister in Sweden. His relatives in the Old World could then with their own eyes see his house in the New World! That would be something for them to look at!

For the present he was stacking up timber for a new house and he would wait with the photographing until it was built. It would be the fourth house he and Kristina had lived in since they moved to America. The first was a wretched twig hut with the wind howling through it until they shook with cold in the nights. But the next house he would build—that would be something to look at! That would be a house of the best kind! How many times hadn’t he told Kristina: Wait till you see our next house! Only with the new house would he consider his farm complete. It would, as it were, crown his life’s work. And when it was ready he would have it impressed on a paper and sent to Sweden.

The clock on the wall struck three. He had been sitting here waiting almost two hours. Why did it take so long? They should be through at Dr. Farnley’s by now.

And what would the doctor have to say?

It was so late in the afternoon they ought to be starting homeward by now. He had his team hitched to the sleigh, the horses were young and eager and could indeed run, and the sledding was good with the new runners, but he didn’t wish to drive the whole way after dark. The new road from Stillwater to Center City was two miles shorter than the old and they should be home before bedtime. Johan and Marta would have to do the stable chores alone tonight, but there must be a first time when they took care of the cattle by themselves. Children must learn to take over chores from their parents.

But now he couldn’t stand it any longer, not to know. Why not walk over to the doctor’s and wait outside there instead?

Just as Karl Oskar was putting on his overcoat, ready to leave, he heard women’s voices outside: Kristina and Ulrika were stamping off the snow on the stoop. He opened the door for them.

“You must have been waiting for us, Karl Oskar,” began Ulrika. “It did take us a long time.”

She explained the delay: There had been so many sick people waiting to see Dr. Farnley today, and while they were there a couple of men came in with a litter carrying another man who had been hurt; he was with the lumber company sawmill, his nose had been torn off by a scantling which the blade had thrown into his face. The poor man’s whole face was nothing but a bloody mess, like a meatball mixture. The injured man had to be attended to first, and the doctor scraped away what was left of his nose; he cried like a stuck pig under the knife and no one could wonder at that. He was a young, healthy specimen of manhood—too bad his face was ruined. It wouldn’t be easy for him to live without a nose. Because of this accident they had had to wait a long time.

“It seemed long, didn’t it?” Kristina had removed her woolen mittens and was blowing into her hands.

What
had
the doctor said?

The question was bursting inside Karl Oskar; he felt they ought to be able to hear it without his asking. Ulrika kept feeling sorry for the noseless mill worker, which was her right, but this concerned the person who was closest to him.

What was the matter with Kristina? He tried to interpret her looks, but she seemed as calm and unperturbed now as she had when they left; he could learn nothing from her face.

Ulrika put a wide kitchen apron over her dress: “I’ll get dinner going; you must be hungry, Karl Oskar.”

What did he care about food and drink! It was not thirst or hunger that plagued him. His tongue felt dry and his lips stiff but these were caused by something else. He sputtered out:

“What did the doctor say?”

“We have plenty of time to talk about that. Kristina has had her examination all right.”

“I am not mortally sick—I have no illness,” said his wife quietly.

“No illness? It is in some other way . . . ?”

“Farnley was careful and particular and examined your wife for the longest time,” said Mrs. Jackson. “And I had a long talk with the doctor afterward.”

Kristina turned to Ulrika: “You promised to explain to Karl Oskar.”

“Sure, my dear. I’ll do as we agreed, I’ll speak to Karl Oskar alone.”

“Alone!” There was a shock in his looks.

“Right you are! Come out in the kitchen with me!”

This sounded like an order and for a moment he wondered if Ulrika was pulling his leg: “Are you . . . are you serious . . . ?”

Ulrika grabbed Karl Oskar firmly by the arm and pulled him with her into the kitchen. He followed her like a foolish schoolchild who must be alone with the teacher to taste the rod.

Ulrika started to make a fire in the stove; she picked up some kindling and pushed it down through a slit in the masonry.

“What is it? Something secret? What did the doctor say?”

“He said I should speak to you, Mr. Nilsson!”

“With me? I’m not sick!”

“No, but it is your wife who must get well!”

“What is it really? Nothing deadly, I hope?”

“That depends on you!”

“On me . . . ? Have I caused it . . . ?”

“It depends on you if your wife shall live or die!”

The floor under Karl Oskar’s feet rocked violently. He closed his eyes. When he opened them again the walls and ceiling also rocked. His head buzzed with dizziness. He closed his eyes again.

From somewhere far away he heard a voice:

“. . . or die . . . ?”

“Yes, Mr. Nilsson!”

“You frighten me, Ulrika.”

“Dr. Farnley said I should frighten the hell out of you. And I prefer to do it when we are alone.”

Mrs. Jackson found the match box on the stove shelf, scratched a match against the dry wood, and held the flame to the kindling; a lively fire began to sparkle.

“Kristina is torn to pieces inside, she’s sick because of her last miscarriage and the childbeds before. She can’t take any more!” She threw a quick glance toward the living room door. “Not a single time! Next childbed will be Kristina’s death!”

The words were said, said to him, and his ears had heard them. Just six words he was to hear many times afterward, the same words, however he twisted and changed them. When he heard them now, for the first time, the full impact did not hit him; he was so shocked he could only close his eyes and feel dizzy.

“Now you’ve heard it! Now you know!”

Ulrika pulled out a kitchen chair for Karl Oskar. “Sit down! I’ll explain everything to you. The doctor said to tell you all!”

She had a fire going in the stove and she blew at it to make a draft; between puffs she talked in broken sentences:

After Dr. Farnley had been alone with Kristina for half an hour and examined her thoroughly, he called in Ulrika. Farnley had found injuries in Kristina’s womb; a membrane in there was torn and wounded. The blood had come from the womb and this was easy to understand when one knew there were open sores in there. But the injuries could be healed and then the bleedings would stop. Farnley had given Kristina two kinds of medicine to take three times daily, and she must eat well and not do any heavy chores.

But first and foremost the doctor had ordered her to bring an urgent message to Mrs. Nilsson’s husband: If he wished to keep his wife alive he must stay away from her from now on. He must never again make her pregnant.

Mrs. Jackson’s face stiffened. She leaned toward Karl Oskar, her voice severe:

“Farnley said, word for word: Next childbed will be her death! Now you’ve heard it in English!”

Karl Oskar Nilsson had received the report in clear words, in two languages. He had heard it in their old mother tongue, and in their new. In Swedish and English he had been told:
Next childbed will be Kristina’s death.

“I’ve told Kristina, of course, but she doesn’t think of herself. But she asked me to tell you about it.”

Karl Oskar stood with bent head, his ears buzzed, his cheeks burned, there was a weight across his chest. He stood close to Ulrika, he could hear every word she said, understood every one of them. But his mind would not follow, it had stopped with those six words, and it was those he heard all the time, drowning out all other sounds in the world.

“Your wife will get well again if you take good care of her. Be kind to Kristina, don’t ever make her pregnant again.”

Karl Oskar was beginning to feel insulted. Who was this woman to warn him how to take care of his wife? What did she think of him! Why did he keep listening to her admonitions? Why wasn’t he angry? Why didn’t he speak up to her? Why couldn’t he answer Ulrika in one single word? But he only stood quietly and chewed and stared.

“I’m sorry for you, Karl Oskar. Because from now on you must lie in the ox pen!”

Couldn’t that woman there shut her trap! But of course, it was Ulrika of Västergöhl, and no one as yet had made her shut up. Perhaps not even an earthquake would do it. Maybe God on doomsday might.

Karl Oskar had lost his power of speech. He tried to moisten his lips with his tongue, but his tongue was as dry as his lips. At last, with great effort, he managed to stutter forth a few words—he thanked Ulrika for her help at the doctor’s.

That was all he managed; and what more could he say?

What does a man say at the moment when he is forever banished from his wife?

—2—

A lumberjack from Center City was to ride back with them on their sleigh, so Karl Oskar and Kristina could not talk about Dr. Farnley on the way home. No words on the subject passed between them until they were ready to go to bed that evening. Since they had moved into the new house, they had each occupied a bed in the large room, while the children slept in the gable room and the kitchen. Tonight the children were asleep and the house had grown silent.

Karl Oskar began, “How was it at the doctor’s?”

Kristina was unbuttoning her blouse; she swallowed a little. “It was horrible and repulsive.”

“Did he hurt you . . . ?”

“The doctor was very gentle, but I guess he had to hurt me. Oh, I was so embarrassed I had to force myself . . . No one lets himself be treated that way for the fun of it! Don’t ask me to talk about it!”

“You needn’t, Kristina . . .”

He went on: Perhaps he had worried as much as she about this trip to the doctor. He had been afraid it might be some incurable disease. Now he felt relieved, for hadn’t the doctor told Ulrika that the bleedings and the pain might be relieved? If they followed the doctor’s instructions, she might regain her health and strength.

“Didn’t Ulrika tell you everything?”

“Yes, yes of course . . .”

“Then you know: I’m no good any more. I’m a useless woman.”

“But you’ll get your health back—that’s the only thing that matters.”

“But I’m no use to you, Karl Oskar. I’m discarded . . .” Her voice thickened in a cry.

“You heard me—only one thing matters . . .”

“I’m a useless woman, you’ve no wife any longer, Karl Oskar.”

She sat down heavily on her bed; her body trembled and slumped down. The tears came. She threw herself on her stomach and hid her face.

For many years Karl Oskar had not seen his wife cry. In every situation she had remained calm and controlled. But today, at the doctor’s, she had experienced something entirely new. Tonight her strength had deserted her.

“You must be terribly tired, I’m sure . . .”

He sat down beside her on the bed and put his arm around her shoulder. Her crying was muffled, almost soundless. She tried to choke back her tears but they flowed evenly, quietly.

He said nothing; it would do no good just now, this he understood. But all the time he kept his arm on her shoulder; she must know he was there with her, ready to help.

Kristina’s hand sought his. Silent, they knew each other’s thoughts. So it had been many times. Perhaps they understood each other best in silence. In speech they had difficulty in finding words, in speech they never came close enough. But in a moment like this there was no need for words; between them was nothing left that words could explain.

In moments when there was nothing to say they came closest to each other. Then they felt most strongly what they meant to each other.

At last she made a decisive motion and sat up. Her tears had stopped. “I ought to feel ashamed—old woman that I am! I shouldn’t be a crybaby any more!”

“There’s no shame in tears if one needs them.”

She looked at him with wide, glazed eyes where the tears quivered. “I’m so sad about my uselessness—that’s why I cried.”

“You shouldn’t reproach yourself. No one is to blame. No one can help it.”

“There must never be another time . . . we must never . . . that’s why we must . . .”

“I know,” he interrupted, and looked away. “Ulrika has made it quite clear to me.”

“The doctor forbids us to be together . . . we must stay away from each other . . . Did you hear that, Karl Oskar?”

“Yes, I heard it . . .”

“What do you think . . . ?”

What could he say? Need he say anything? She knew so well what he thought.

Those six words were still buzzing in his head. He turned them over, back and forth, changed them:

Next childbirth will be Kristina’s death.

It didn’t help; however much he turned and changed, the word
death
was always there.

Therefore you must never touch her again. She cannot stand to be pregnant again. Next time it will be her death.

They had always had it good together, he and she. When he had his wife it was his greatest bliss in life. During the day he would go about in expectant joy at the thought of evening and their own moment. So it had been for him ever since in his youth they had found each other. And he knew she felt the same. There were wives who didn’t care, who would just as soon have their men stay away from them. Kristina was not one of them. She too had her joy in their being together. She had said as much many times: He mustn’t think that she liked it less than he. And lately she had said it more often than before. She was a shy woman, but when they were together her shyness disappeared. It might happen she was the first to express the wish: Tonight! He was her husband, it was God’s intent that in lust also they should give each other joy.