The Settlers (39 page)

As the afternoon wore on Kristina waited for Robert to return from his walk in the forest. Karl Oskar came home from the church building at his usual hour and then she remembered her discovery in Robert’s bed and asked him to come with her into the gable room. She lifted the pillow. The moment Karl Oskar saw the watch he exclaimed:

“It’s Arvid’s!”

“Arvid’s . . . ?”

“I recognized it at once!”

He picked up the watch and looked closer at it. “I’m quite sure. It’s the nickel watch Arvid got from his father when he left Sweden. He showed it to me many times, he always bragged about the cylinder works.”

Kristina had grabbed hold of her husband’s arm.

“Arvid’s watch! Oh dear Lord—what does it mean?”

Karl Oskar was weighing the watch in the palm of his hand. “It can only mean that Arvid is dead.”

A man used his watch as long as he lived. It measured his allotted time. No one gave up his watch before his death.

“I thought so . . .”

This watch had cost ten riksdaler, twelve with the chain, Arvid had said that day when they all met and started out on their American journey. It was the sum of money his father, Petter of Kråkesjö, had been able to save during his forty years as cotter under the manse. It was Arvid’s paternal inheritance Karl Oskar now held in his palm.

But where was Arvid himself? Two gold seekers had set out on the California journey. Two days ago one had returned. The other was still missing. And concerning the missing one Robert had given only the vaguest information.

Karl Oskar said that while working at the church building today he had told the other men that his brother had unexpectedly returned from California. Danjel Andreasson had immediately asked about his former hired hand and had been greatly surprised when he learned Arvid had not returned. Robert and Arvid had served as farm hands together in Sweden, and here in America too they had kept together as the closest of friends—how had it come about that they had separated? And Danjel had simply echoed Karl Oskar’s earlier thought when he said that with Robert returning alone one could only assume that Arvid no longer was alive.

And under Robert’s pillow Kristina had found the confirmation.

She now looked at the watch with different eyes. It was connected with a human being she had known and never would see again, because he no longer existed.

“Poor Arvid! I wonder how he came to his end?”

“I’m afraid we’ll never know—at least not from Robert.”

“Why does he hide it?”

“Why does he hide everything from us? As yet he has barely said a word about himself. And no one knows when he lies or tells the truth.”

Robert told stories about happenings he had been in on, said Kristina, but she had never noticed that he invented them with evil intentions, in order to hurt someone or gain something for himself. He had never hurt anyone with his lies except himself.

“This is something he doesn’t want to be known,” said Karl Oskar. “But I’ll show him the watch. He must tell us about Arvid!”

“But if you won’t believe what he says . . .”

“He has lied too much to me! And now I begin to wonder again: how about those . . . ?”

He cut the sentence off as if he had bitten his tongue. But Kristina understood: those bundles of money!

Yes, he continued, what was the story about Robert’s money, those big bills he had pulled from his black satchel? And the question came back again: was the money real? And he remembered something he had noticed; two letters sewn on the satchel. First he had thought one of the letters was an N, and this would have suited if Robert also had sewn on the initial for his first name. But now as he examined it closer he thought it looked rather like an M—and that he couldn’t understand since it fitted none of Robert’s names. The pouch must have belonged to someone else. Who had been the owner? And what kind of money did it contain?

And now had come the discovery of Arvid’s watch.

“No!” exclaimed Karl Oskar. “I can’t wait till Saturday! I must know about those bills as soon as possible. Tomorrow is Thursday—I’ll speak to Algot at the building—we’ll drive to Stillwater on Friday.”

“I don’t believe Robert would deceive us with the money he has given us,” said Kristina firmly. “You mustn’t suspect your brother of such an evil thing!”

“What can one believe after this? What can I think?”

Karl Oskar put the nickel watch into his pants pocket.

Kristina was beginning to worry about Robert, who had wandered off into the forest right after the noon meal and hadn’t returned by supper. But it was like him to wander off like that, explained the older brother. He had acted that way ever since he was a baby. Father Nils and Mother Marta used to hang a cowbell on the boy so they could find him out in the wastelands.

Karl Oskar was hungry and tired after the day’s heavy timber work and sat down to eat. There had been only four men working today; this way the building took time. A church forty-eight feet long, thirty-six feet wide, and eighteen feet high could not be finished this year. But they must try to get the roof on before winter set in. Some of the men were sluggish about showing up. Like Anders Månsson—he had put in only three days so far. He probably lay drunk in his bed most of the time; rumor had it he was getting quite bad. But Petrus Olausson, who was the inspector for the work, kept after the men and saw to it that everyone did his share; he was particular and honest in that way. And he wasn’t difficult to get along with, as long as religion and godly things didn’t come up. In such matters he was as stubborn and pigheaded as an old horned billy goat. However, since he no longer tried to enforce his will in their house, Karl Oskar had no trouble getting along with him.

Today during lunch hour Petrus had got into a disagreement with Jonas Petter, who had started to tell one of his bed play stories. It was about a rich farmer back in Ljuder who hired the village soldier to provide him with an heir. Jonas Petter had started telling the story at Ulrika’s party, last Christmas, and he wanted to finish it this time. But he had barely begun when Petrus grew fiery red in his face and forbade him to tell lewd and obscene stories while they timbered up the Lord’s house. Jonas Petter got annoyed and said Olausson wasn’t his guardian even though he was in charge of the building, and the two men had exchanged some rather unpleasant words.

But Jonas Petter had stopped his story about the farmer and the village soldier, so now it might be a couple of years before he found an opportunity to finish it, laughed Karl Oskar.

It was dark, but Robert had not yet come back. Kristina felt something might have happened to him: he had wanted to go to the Indian cliff and she had warned him about falling boulders. And he wasn’t well; he ought not to take off so far into the wilderness.

But Karl Oskar felt his brother could take care of himself; he knew all the paths hereabouts, and he had just returned from a much longer and much more dangerous journey.

At bedtime Robert still hadn’t shown up. Kristina pleaded with her husband.

“Please go out and look for him!”

By now Karl Oskar too was a little worried. He pulled on his boots—yes, he would go out and look. But it would be difficult to search for Robert in the dark. No one knew in which direction he might have gone.

Just then heavy shuffling was heard and Robert stepped into the kitchen, where he sank down on the nearest chair. His boots were muddy and he dropped his hat on the floor; he was completely worn out and panted heavily.

“You’re late!” said Kristina. “Supper is cold.”

But Robert shook his head; he didn’t want any food. A mug of milk would be all he wanted tonight. His stomach was upset—he had vomited a couple of times out in the forest. It might be the heat, he was better now and would go to bed at once.

He was seized with a fit of coughing; when it let up he began to drink the milk, in small swallows, while he talked.

He had been sitting, just resting, below the Indian head—he hadn’t been able to tear himself away from the place. The cliff had changed since he saw it four years ago. Now the Indian had deep wrinkles in his forehead, his eye sockets had grown deeper and blacker, and all his teeth had fallen out and lay as heaps of stones below him. Yes, like Robert himself, the Indian had lost his teeth. And now he sat there, back on his rock, and looked out over all the new houses around the lake, and he seemed profoundly sad. The Indian was mourning, not a single person, but thousands of people—his people, all those driven away by the white settlers. The Indian’s face was draped in sorrow, a thousand times enlarged; when one’s forehead cracked to pieces, and one’s eyes fell out, and the teeth dropped from one’s jaws—and all this in only four years—surely, such a person had gone through deep sorrow.

They listened in confusion to this speech about the sand cliff. It sounded almost as if Robert were talking about himself. He had deep furrows in his forehead, young as he was, his eyes were popping out, their gleam gone, and he had lost his teeth.

“Great big pieces have tumbled down!”

They ought to go there and then they would see that he told the truth. Big chunks from the very eyes of the Indian had fallen down. Had ever a human being in all the world wept such tears? Tears of stone, enduring tears that would remain as long as the earth stood. Those were the tears wept only during the great weeping for a whole race that was being destroyed. A thousand years from now people would still come and look at those enduring tears below the cliff of Ki-Chi-Saga’s shore. The piles of stones would remain there and tell of all those who had suffered disintegration in this country—the destruction of thousands of people.

The Indian’s eyes were so cracked he could hardly have any vision left. Probably he had already mourned himself blind.

Robert only wanted to tell what he had seen in the Indian’s face today; it was because of this face that he was late; why he had been unable to tear himself from the place. He only wanted to explain why he had stayed out so long.

When this was done he said goodnight to his brother and sister-in-law and went to his bed in the gable room.

Kristina said, “What happened to Robert while he was away? This morning too he used riddle-words I couldn’t solve.”

And Karl Oskar felt for Arvid’s watch in his pocket; he had meant to pull it out this evening, but had entirely forgotten about it while his brother talked of the Indian who had cried out his stone eyes. It sounded like the fairy tales he used to hear in his childhood—and all this his brother had managed to make up during the short time it took him to sit down on a chair and drink a mug of milk! That was how easily he could make up stories!

Now Karl Oskar would wait until morning to demand information about the watch’s owner: the missing gold seeker.

XIX

THE THIRD NIGHT—ROBERT’S EAR SPEAKS

It takes no longer to die than it takes to lift the hand and point a finger. I have tried to buzz that fact into you many times. You won’t believe how suddenly death can sweep a man off his feet and into his grave on the California Trail. I have impressed it upon you, and now you have seen it yourself: at sunrise healthy and red-cheeked, at sunset dead and buried. It is Man’s lot, it is yours.

But I’ve said nothing to Karl Oskar and Kristina. No one but you can hear what I say; you can trust me. I never betray you. Karl Oskar and Kristina can guess nothing; they believe you have returned from California, and you’ll hurt them least by letting them keep that belief. You could say to your brother: Gold is nothing! Nothing but deceit! But he would only wonder, and doubt you still more. He is already worrying—you can see it in his eyes when he doesn’t think you are looking. He is suspicious of the great bundles of money you gave away. He’s afraid they’re useless. He can’t get over his suspicion that you’re fooling him. But Kristina believes you, you can see that.

You noticed she had found the watch under the pillow and taken it away. They want of course to know what happened to Arvid. But you have no reason to tell them, unless you want to . . . Best this remain between Arvid and you forever: no third person would understand. And never a sound from me; all you hear, when I buzz you all night long, are your own sounds.

You don’t think you can sleep in peace tonight? Listen now, how I buzz and whiz, like the howling wind that lured two muleteers to a dust bowl and thirst—that treacherous wind on the plains that covered their tracks and prevented them from finding their way back. Tonight you’re tired—and the more tired you are, the stronger my buzzing, the better you hear me:

Listen, gold seeker!

Why are you wandering about, out there on the plain? What are you looking for?

—1—

The sun’s fire had burned down toward evening. The ashes of coolness spread across the plains. The dusty ground, burning in daytime, cooled during the night. The oppressive dust-laden air gave way, and less effort was required to move.

Robert and Arvid continued to wander. They must not stay in one place, must move on, forward. They managed to keep their feet moving even though every step hurt. They stumbled across the plain, they held onto each others arms for support, to keep upright. Two twisting bodies straggling along, held together in a firm grip; two bodies walking steadier than one. Two boys walking arm in arm, like a couple in love, like a boy and a girl walking across the grass of a blooming meadow on a cool June evening.

For they were inseparable and would never part.

A few times they saw creatures moving over the plain, red-furred, sharp-nosed animals sweeping by in small packs. They were the size of small dogs and moved as quickly and softly over the ground as the very wind. They must have been carrion beasts, feeding on the dead horse.

Dusk was falling; no longer could they see holes and crevices where they stepped. Arvid fell down. Robert grabbed him under the shoulders and helped him to his feet again, even though he would have preferred to stretch out and lie on the ground. He brushed the dirt from his comrades neck, but he could not get rid of the grains of sand that chafed under his eyelids.