The Emigrants (33 page)

Ulrika gave Kristina a meaning glance: “I guess it feels like being in the family way.”

Kristina’s cheeks flushed a flaming red. Ulrika apparently knew how things were with her. They had both gone to the outhouse when they had arrived, she must have noticed. And now Kristina was provoked by the color in her face. Why must she blush? She was married, and no man except Karl Oskar had touched her. She had a right to be with child a thousand times if she wished. Was she to blush because of that woman who had borne four bastards and given her body to hundreds of men?

The baby stopped suckling, and as Inga-Lena buttoned her blouse over her breasts, she said: “They say seasickness is painful.”

“Are you afraid, Inga-Lena?” asked Danjel.

“No, no, of course not!” Her worried voice contradicted her. “But when one never has been to sea before . . .”

Danjel went up to his wife and laid his hand on her shoulder. “Don’t you remember my words? Have you forgotten what I’ve told you?”

“No, I haven’t, dear Danjel.”

“A person who has Christ within him need not fear seasickness. He can endure the sea even the first time.”

“Yes, I will have faith, dear husband.”

And Danjel emphasized again to his wife that one reborn could sail on all the seas in the world without being seasick. One living in Christ’s faith could endure the sea at any time; whether he traveled over narrow rivers or broad oceans, he would remain as sound and well as ever.

“Yes, dear Danjel, I believe it. I’m not afraid any more.”

Inga-Lena patted her husband’s hand affectionately.

“Don’t you think you might get seasick, as well as we others?” asked Karl Oskar, who had listened in astonishment.

The farmer from Kärragärde smiled kindly. “No! Because I believe Christ has died on the cross for my sins.”

“You are a doubter, Karl Oskar,” said Ulrika of Västergöhl, but there was no reproach in her voice.

“God will convince him when we are on the ship,” said Danjel.

Ulrika wanted to help Danjel explain. “You know, Karl Oskar, it says in the Bible that Jesus had gone in a boat with His disciples and there was a horrible storm but no one was seasick. If Jesus or some one of His disciples had needed to throw up then, it would say so. But there isn’t one word about it in the gospel. So you may understand, Karl Oskar, when a person has Christ’s body within his own, he can never more feel rotten.”

Karl Oskar snorted but said nothing. What use was there in arguing with the Åkians?

To Kristina it sounded like blasphemy when the name of the Saviour was mentioned by Ulrika in this way; as if one were to think of Him lying in a ship, seasick and throwing up. He was God’s Son, He could have no ills. But even if He had a toothache, or was footsore, or had other human ailments, He could heal Himself as He healed so many others. Ulrika used such vulgar words in spiritual things that no one in his full senses could believe in her conversion. Who could imagine Christ living in her worn-out old harlot-body?

Kristina turned to Danjel. “Berta of Idemo said the married women will get more seasick than the unmarried.”

“Not if they live in the spirit.”

“But most women do live in the flesh,” interrupted Ulrika. “Bastards can be made in wedded beds, too.”

She was hurt by the disrespect Kristina showed her, and now at the first opportunity retaliated. But Kristina decided not to answer the nasty words Ulrika threw at her.

Robert was disappointed because no one had asked him about seasickness. He had knowledge from books, and now he was able to get in a word: “Ship’s fever and cholera are much more dangerous than seasickness.”

He wanted to give a description of these ills, but his brother gave him a look that could not be misunderstood; he stopped short at the very beginning.

They were to rest a few hours. When all had eaten and were satisfied, Danjel kneeled on the floor and thanked God in a loud voice for the food. His prayer was so vociferous that it was heard out in the kitchen. The maids stared in surprise through the door: one of the peasants from Småland was crying on his knees to God—indeed, a strange rabble that passed by today!

Kristina put the lid on her food basket. She was content that she hadn’t opened the butter tub. It was supposed to be thousands of miles to North America, and as yet they had traveled only twenty of them; the butter would be needed.

—4—

Later in the evening the emigrants resumed their journey. The next road post was Möljeryd, where they intended to rest. From there the road went over Bredåkra to Karlshamn.

Now the weather grew milder. The snow had melted, the air was moist, and soon a light rain began to fall. They could see that the spring was earlier in Blekinge than at home; the grass was high along the roadsides, the coltsfoot had opened in the ditches, and the buds on the trees were thick and swollen; the spring work could soon begin hereabouts.

Their horses were growing tired from the heavy loads, and moved at a slow pace; even on small hills the men stepped off and walked; on Jonas Petter’s wagon only the girl remained in her seat.

Robert could not help thinking of Elin. She thought she needn’t learn English from his book. The language would pour forth from her mouth as once the languages of the Parthians, the Phrygians, and the Elamites had come from the tongues of the apostles, so that people thought they were drunk from new wine. Why did people think they were drunk? The more drunk a person was, the thicker his speech became, stammering, slurring, spluttering. But the girl must be given information about the land she was emigrating to. What did she know about the North American Republic? Its government, laws, religion, and railroads? Surely she needed more knowledge about the New World.

It would not hurt to show Elin what he knew about the United States—but before he had a chance to begin his discourse she said, almost confidentially: “You know—I’m afraid of America.”

“Afraid? Why?”

“Because it’s unknown—perhaps people are unkind to newcomers.”

“Oh, no! I’m sure you need not be afraid. There are so few women in America that they treat them like gold and jewels. You’ll be taken care of like a baby; you can have anything you want, you needn’t worry about a thing.”

Elin apparently did not know how well things were arranged for the women in the United States. He must cheer her up a little by telling her.

The Americans treated all women—were they old or young, ugly or beautiful—as if they were queens and princesses. They waited on them and guarded them as if they were costly pearls and diamonds. The women never need do heavy or foul chores, as here at home; they could go clean and white and with washed hands all day long; a maid in America was as well dressed as her mistress, because
all
women were allowed to dress in fine clothes. It wasn’t a bit like here—all women had the right to wear hats, that right was written into the laws of the republic. It was strongly forbidden to mock or poke fun at a simple woman because she wore a hat like a gentlewoman. Moreover, there were no simple women, and no noble ladies—all were equals.

In the North American Republic it was the menfolk who served the women, not the opposite, as here. If a man were attacked and beaten by a woman, he had no right to defend himself. Because the law was not like here. Outside a house a man could go no closer to a woman than three steps, if she herself didn’t allow closer proximity, or perhaps order him to come nearer. Inside a house the distance between the sexes was two steps, according to law. Any man who wished to be closer than two steps to an American woman must first marry her. The law was not like the Swedish law.

So Elin need not be afraid of America. If a man spoke to a woman in public, then she had the right to call for the police and request protection. Even if, in all friendliness, he only asked his way, she could have him arrested, or sue him for breach of promise if she was in need of cash, whichever suited her best. Women always had their own way in the United States, so she need not worry.

If a man in the United States betrayed a woman, then he was first decapitated and afterwards hanged; he would never repeat his deed. Nowadays there were no unfaithful, untruthful, or deceitful menfolk left there. They were exterminated and destroyed. She need not be afraid of America.

Thus while the wagon rolled along one of the future inhabitants of the United States was informed of the position of women in the new land. And Elin did feel more comfortable and happy and expectant. She relied on his words, she felt she would like her new country.

Robert and Elin sat as close as possible in the driver’s seat. The wagon shook and rocked, the girl pulled her clothes tightly around her, she yawned and shivered from cold. And while Robert was busy describing the railroads of America, her head fell suddenly on his shoulder. He stopped short in surprise while her head sank down on his chest. What did it mean? What did she want? What was he supposed to do? He held his body stiff as a steering shaft, yet her head remained in the same position. Then he discovered that she had fallen asleep. She slept, her tender girl-body resting against his.

She had gone to sleep at a moment when he himself was carried away by his description of the United States—for her benefit. He was disappointed in her. But here she lay, practically in his arms; for the first time a girl’s head rested against his breast. This could happen only on the chariot of adventure—after just thirty miles on the road! How many miles were left? Many, many! This adventure would last a long time!

Little by little he too was rocked to sleep by the movement of the wagon. Jonas Petter did not have the heart to awaken him at the next gate, he opened it himself. Robert slept on, unmindful of the gates on the road to America, unable to count them any longer.

—5—

Early the next morning the three wagons drove into Karlshamn and came to a stop near the harbor. From the steeple of the town church they were greeted by a clock striking seven, slowly and solemnly. The harbor town was just coming to life for the day. The fishermen, returned from the sea with the night’s catch, were busy mooring their boats at the pier where the town maids awaited the fresh herring with their baskets. A shop clerk with a long birch broom was sweeping the steps in front of a house with the sign
Sunesons Skeppshandel.
In the air was the odor of fish, tar, hemp, herring, salt, and sea.

The emigrants climbed down from their wagons, sleepy and frozen, stiff and aching in their bones after the long ride. The menfolk stepped aside and flapped their arms against their bodies to warm up. The women attended to the children who were whimpering and whining from lack of sleep. They were all rather depressed and dullish after the long night; no one felt morning-cheerful.

A sharp, cold, penetrating wind blew from over the harbor and bade the emigrants welcome to the sea.

For the first time in their lives they looked across water without seeing land on the other side.

They had reached the sea they were to cross—this sea now greeted them with its wind; it sent as its messenger this cold, severe wind as if to frighten them, to challenge them: Come out here! I’ll teach you! The men turned up their coat collars and the women pulled their woolen shawls closer around their children and themselves. What an unmerciful wind they had in the coast towns! It cut through skin and bones, it penetrated their very marrow. Never did it blow so fiendishly at home, not in fall or in spring, not in summer or in winter. Even the heavy peasant wadmal seemed to give no protection.

The people of the earth met the sea, and they hardly had time to behold it before the wind brought tears to their eyes.

The men in the fishing boats looked curiously at the group of strangers who had stopped near the harbor with their high loads and their crying children. Some men, gentry by their dress, walked by in leisurely fashion and looked at the little company in amusement: apparently honest-to-goodness gray wadmal peasants with their simple shawl-wrapped wives and their pale-faced, runny-nosed children; a couple of farmhands in new suits which were too large and puffed out in bags front and back—jacket and trousers carelessly basted together by some village tailor. And whole loads of ancient chests, flowery knapsacks, homemade baskets and boxes and bundles—they must be backwoods people going on a long journey across the sea. What kind of restless itch had got into the poor devils?

Karl Oskar had arranged passage for them all, and it seemed as if he was to be their head, also, during the whole trip. No one undertook anything of importance without first asking him.

He now went over to a herring fisher and asked about ships in the harbor. He had paid passage to America—where might their ship be anchored?

The fisherman peered at the peasant and sized up his solid new boots. Yes, an America-sailer had arrived the night before last, she was a brig, the
Charlotta.
She was lying at anchor in the outer harbor—perhaps it was that old hull over there.

The name was the right one. Karl Oskar looked toward the outer harbor in the direction where the fisherman had pointed.

“Is
that
the
Charlotta?
Our ship?”

All eyes were turned toward the ship indicated. They stood silent, and gazed. It was a silence of disappointment, wonder, anxiety, and bafflement. Could this really be their ship?

It was Kristina who expressed in five words what all were thinking: “Is our ship so little?”

None among them had seen a sailing ship except in pictures. They had thought of ships as being much bigger than this. And the ship that was to carry them across the enormous ocean they had pictured as
much
larger. In front of them was the wide expanse of the sea; and on this sea their ship seemed so minutely small. Compared with the water she was to cross she looked pitiful and puny.

“The boat is larger than you think. It just looks small at this distance,” said Robert.

He attempted to choke his own feeling of disappointment at seeing the
Charlotta,
and wanted to encourage the rest of his company.