The Settlers (30 page)

Karl Oskar eyed Kristina as he listened to his brother. He winked knowingly. She was irresolute as to how to interpret it.

“Isn’t supper ready?” wondered Karl Oskar.

The peas had not yet boiled enough, replied Kristina. But she could see that Robert was worn out from his journey; he could go into the gable room and lie down while she got supper ready. Anyway he would have to stay in there with the children, she thought. Only she and Karl Oskar and the baby slept in the big room, the living room, as they called it.

Karl Oskar showed his brother to the bedroom. He would have time to inspect their house later, he told him—not that there was much to show; as yet they had only a few pieces of furniture but he kept making more whenever time permitted. Wouldn’t Robert lie down? He looked as if his legs were a little shaky after the long walk.

Karl Oskar went back to the kitchen. “My brother isn’t like himself,” he said to Kristina. “His face is yellow . . .”

“He has had a hard time, you can see that.”

“I believe something is wrong with him.”

“He might have some ailment, his hands feel hot.”

“He said he caught a cold on the steamboat.”

Kristina was taking plates from the open shelf, setting the table. “But he sounds as though he had luck in the goldfields. Wasn’t that what he said?”

“Yes, I heard it.”

“He talked as if he had put his gold in the bank. He may be rich, perhaps.”

“It sounds that way.”

“You don’t believe it?”

“Not a single word of it!”

“He makes it all up, you think?”

“I know Robert by now! You remember his lies on the ship? Remember the dead Indian in the treetop?”

Karl Oskar had a good memory. When they had landed in New York, Robert had spread a rumor that their captain was a slave trader and intended to sell them to the infidel Turk. It had caused great trouble. And during their first winter here it had been the incident at the Indian cliff. Robert had found a dead Indian, hanging from a treetop, and he had sworn that the Indian had shot arrows at him!

“He has lied before, that’s true,” admitted Kristina. “It’s a failing with him.”

“He is not going to fool me any more!” declared Karl Oskar with finality.

Kristina caught the sharp determination in his words. “Why would Robert come and lie to us again?” she asked.

“Perhaps he is ashamed to return empty-handed.”

“But he has bought new clothes and a new rucksack.”

“He must have worked for someone and earned a little.”

But Kristina felt that Karl Oskar was too eager to suspect the brother who had barely crossed their threshold. Why couldn’t they believe he had found gold? In California even a child might happen on the right place. And Robert had been gone four years—plenty of time to roam far and wide.

Karl Oskar said that he did not intend to ask Robert if he had found any gold; not even here in America did such miracles happen. To him it was enough that his brother had returned alive. A merciful Providence must have looked after him. One couldn’t also ask of Providence that Robert return with riches.

“I feel sorry for Robert,” he added. “He must be ailing. But until he shows me his gold I won’t believe a word of it! This time he won’t make a fool of me!”

Roberts unexpected return caused great excitement in the settler home; Kristina fell behind with her chores and supper was delayed. But at last the family gathered around the table in the kitchen, Robert between his brother and his sister-in-law. The children gaped at him and little Ulrika clung to his knee begging for more sweets.

Kristina looked closely at Robert. “You must have had a hard time of it?”

“Hunting gold is hard on one’s health.”

“Have you ailed in any particular way?”

“Everyone on the Trail suffers from the gold-sickness.”

But Robert did not further describe it. He looked around the new kitchen with its painted walls. In four years a person changed, and on the Trail one changed very fast. If he were to tell them all he had experienced they would have to sit at table here from now till Christmas, and still he wouldn’t get through more than half.

“We won’t ask you anything tonight,” said Kristina. “You must be tired.”

She filled his plate brimful with pea soup: he must eat and then get some sleep. She would put Harald’s and Johan’s bed in order for him; the two big boys could sleep on the floor for the time being.

“You are very kind, Kristina. You remember the food you prepared when I left—it lasted a long way on the journey. You’ve been kind to me in many ways.”

“You’re using a lot of English in your talk, Robert.”

Yes, he said, during these years he had really learned to speak English and it was a great help in traveling through this country. But with his own people he would of course always use his mother tongue, except when he forgot himself.

Before Robert had time to empty his soup plate, Kristina refilled it. “Put on some weight now! You’re only skin and bones!”

But two plates was all Robert could manage. When they left the table he picked up the quart measure from the hearth shelf, filled it with spring water from the bucket, and drank. “Good water is wonderful! Better than anything else!”

After supper Kristina sat down to give the breast to Ulrika. Then she put the girl in the cradle. Karl Oskar had recently put rockers under it and was mighty proud of his handiwork. Robert looked it over carefully. If only he had had such a cradle with him in the goldfields, he said. Gold had to be treated exactly like babies—put in cradles and rocked until all sand and refuse and dirt was winnowed away and at last it lay pure—clean and glittering in the bottom.

Kristina forgot what she had just promised and asked, “Where do they find gold?”

“All over. In the most unusual places.”

Gold could be found not only in the earth and the river sand and the rocks, explained Robert, but sometimes . . . well, as an example he would like to tell them about something that happened the first year he was in California. Among his gang washing gold in a stream was a Negro. One evening when the gang had finished for the day and were on their way home, the Negro suddenly became very ill. He got such an intense stomachache that all he could do was to lie on the ground and yell to high heaven. Nobody could understand what was the matter with him and there was nothing to do for the sick man. He was unable to walk to the tent, so they left the yelling and whining Negro where he lay. Next morning when they started out for the stream the Negro still lay on his stomach where they had left him. But now he was quiet and yelled no more—he was dead.

Then one of the men guessed what had caused the man’s peculiar stomachache. He took his knife and cut open the cadaver. When he opened the stomach the glitter of gold was revealed; the insides of the Negro were gilded, filled with nuggets and gold sand.

The Negro had been a gold thief. He had stolen the gold from the others, a pinch now and then, and had hidden the gold in a safe place. He had put it in his mouth and swallowed it. He had of course expected the gold to come out intact when he went to the privy. But that was where be figured wrong; the nuggets caused a stoppage that killed the poor fool.

Now the thief’s comrades took back the gold he had stolen from them, cleaned out and washed each of his intestines. When they exchanged it for cash to divide it among themselves, it turned out to be worth four thousand dollars.

“There were eight men in the gang, and each one got five hundred dollars,” concluded Robert. Well, that was how one could find gold: he himself had been one of those digging for gold in a man’s stomach.

Kristina listened in horror to her brother-in-law. “How could they! That was terrible!”

Because of the heat the kitchen door stood open, and Karl Oskar sat on the threshold where he could still see in the lingering dusk, filing his wood saw.

“You have had horrible experiences, Robert!” said Kristina, looking at him with ever-widening eyes. He turned his head as she spoke to him, so that his right ear was turned toward her; his hearing must still be bad in his left.

“Did you hear that, Karl Oskar?”

Karl Oskar had heard every word but he acted as if he hadn’t been listening. He filed away at his saw, filed and kept silent. Once his eyes sought Kristina’s, as much as to say: you understand, don’t you?

Kristina was so stirred by Robert’s story that she could not hold back any longer—she must know. “Robert . . . is it true . . . have you really found gold in California?”

“I am satisfied.”

“Is it true? I mean . . .”

She did not wish to hurt his feelings by sounding incredulous, she was searching for suitable words.

“You know why I left, Kristina,” he replied. “And I wrote in my letters I would not come back until I was a rich man.”

“And now you are rich?”

“I have done my last days work and had my last master. I have plenty. There’ll be enough for all three of us!”

Robert was standing close to the cradle, as if addressing himself to the child. He had said, almost casually, that he was so rich he had enough for himself, his brother, and his brother’s wife!

Kristina’s foot, rocking the cradle, came to a standstill when she heard that she was to share in his riches.

“I have plenty, Kristina! Of that you can be sure!”

But she sat in speechless confusion. Should she answer him: I don’t believe you! You are not rich! It’s a lie! But he spoke so calmly, so irrefutably. His words were as confident as if he were reading from Holy Writ.

From the doorway only the rasping of the file against the saw teeth could be heard. Karl Oskar must have heard his brother: I am rich. I have enough for all three of us! But he was unmoved. He remained silent and continued to file.

Karl Oskar had heard Robert, but he only felt that his brother had not learned anything from the times he had been found out and proven to be a liar. At his return he seemed more impudent and cheeky with his lies than ever before.

Was it right to pretend to believe him? Was it good for Robert himself? Wouldn’t it be kinder to speak out now and end his tall stories? Once and for all put an end to his lying?

The rasping and grating from the saw stopped; file in hand, Karl Oskar walked over to his younger brother. “Please, Robert, brother of mine. Stop lying to us! I can’t bear it any longer—it annoys me!”

Robert slowly turned his right ear toward him in order to hear better.

“I can’t stand a brother lying like that! Stop it!”

“You don’t believe me, Karl Oskar?” Robert asked in a dry tone.

Kristina looked in apprehension from one brother to the other.

“You know you’ve brought no gold with you. But no one holds it against you. We are glad you’re back, glad you are alive!”

“You think I haven’t anything . . . ? You think I lie . . . ?” Robert sounded deeply hurt. “All right! All right!”

He turned quickly on his heel and walked through the door into the bedroom.

“You will only drive him away!” said Kristina, reproaching Karl Oskar. “You could have waited, at least this first evening.”

“I can’t bear this nonsense! And I had to talk honestly with my only brother.”

But Robert returned in a moment with his new rucksack in his hand. His brother and sister-in-law looked puzzled as he put it down on the kitchen floor and unlatched the thick leather thongs that secured it. From the sack he pulled out a small leather bag which looked as if it had been badly worn. He opened it and pulled out a paper bundle. Without a word he handed it to Karl Oskar. Again he stuck his hand into the bag and pulled out a second bundle of rustling paper which he laid on Kristina’s knees.

“These notes are for you. I don’t have any gold in my sack. But these have the same value as gold.”

Karl Oskar stared at the bundle of bills in his hand. Kristina looked down at her apron; on it lay a bundle of paper money.

“I drew out a little cash for pocket money.”

Robert put the leather bag back into the rucksack and leaned over the cradle holding the fretful baby; the little girl was restless and wouldn’t go to sleep.

Robert smiled at the child as he spoke casually to her parents: “It’s your money. Take it and enjoy it.”

He had taken out some of the contents of his leather bag and given to his brother and sister-in-law. After this they became silent, dumbfounded. Now it was only Robert who talked, to the little girl in the cradle, pretending she answered.

Then he turned to Karl Oskar, as if he too had been a little child in need of instruction and advice. In order to make use of gold it had to be turned into money. A bank in Bloomfield, Indiana, had changed the gold into notes. The bank had taken one seventh of the gold value for its trouble; American banks were awfully greedy. But at least he had his possessions in safekeeping and he could draw money whenever he needed cash.

“These few bucks are for you, Karl Oskar and Kristina.”

Karl Oskar looked embarrassed, as if his brother had tricked him in some shameful way, as if his brother had cheated him with this gift.

The evening darkness was beginning to fill the kitchen; Karl Oskar lit a taper in the wooden candlestick on the mantel; then he took a note from his bundle and inspected it in the light. He turned it: it was green on one side and black on the other, the colors he had always seen on American notes. And on both sides, in all four corners, was imprinted:
100.
In eight places it was clearly indicated the note was worth one hundred dollars.

And in the center of the green side Karl Oskar could read in big black letters: INDIANA STATE BANK, BLOOMFIELD, INDIANA.

At last he spoke again, mumbling as if dazed. “If someone hasn’t hexed my eyes this must be a hundred-dollar bill.”

And he began to look through the bundle which Robert had tossed to him like waste paper: all the bills were identical. They were wrinkled and spotty, soiled by dirty fingers, but the value of each was the same—one hundred dollars.

Karl Oskar counted them slowly; there were twenty in the bundle. He counted them again, he wet his fingers and counted them a third time; they still amounted to twenty.