Here they sat at memory’s table, in the company of the living and the dead. And they talked of the country they never again would see.
— 4—
Kristina felt liberated, at home, in this company where the language did not separate her from the others. She could listen and understand, talk and reply. It was as if she had been given back an essential faculty that she had lost in North America and missed sorely. She felt lighthearted and happy as she said to Karl Oskar, “This is exactly like a Christmas party back home.”
Home—it still lay across the sea. And she was still out here.
Kristina began to watch Anders Månsson. He ate very slowly from his well-filled plate, staring in front of him, staring with a fixed expression at the wall where there was nothing to see. But perhaps Anders Månsson did see something, perhaps it was Öländ, his home province, which he envisioned. He had once said that he had only one wish left: to eat Öländ dumplings once more before he died. And Kristina had promised to prepare them for him but had not yet had the opportunity.
Anders suffered from the same ailment as she did: he longed for the homeland. When that disease attacked him at its worst, he drank brännvin until he became insensible and lay flat on his back. She would have liked to talk with him about that ache and anguish, of their common loss. But he was a close man, and morose, and shied away from confidences. Perhaps he would not have taken to drinking in his misery if he had found a woman to share his life on his claim.
Kristina sat on the sofa beside Thomassen, the Stillwater Norwegian who had made her spinning wheel. Samuel Nöjd, the trapper, came over with his plate and sat down on the other side of her, grinning: “I keep to the ladies!”
Kristina had a feeling that a stink of slaughter and rancid hides always rose from Nöjd, and his evil language offended her. When he had been invited to Communion last spring he had sent a blasphemous refusal. This old man, so near to meeting his Creator, was an unbeliever. He was a disgusting man, who lived with an Indian woman, a persistent sinner. He had lived so long among the heathens out here that he had lost all his Christian conceptions. In spite of this Ulrika had invited him today; she would not overlook any of her countrymen, and she felt that the heathen Nöjd, more than others, needed to meet people who lived like Christians.
Nöjd pushed a large chunk of preserved pork into his mouth; the juice ran from the corners onto his chin, and he swallowed ravenously.
“Can she cook, that Ulrika! Oj, oj, oj! What a cook! I’m sorry she wouldn’t marry me!”
“But you have a woman, I’ve heard,” said Kristina.
“That Indian wench cooks regular pigs’ slops for me. All she does is stir up some wild rice and corn now and then.”
“Why do you keep her, then?”
“Oh, she’s useful for other things. She’s good to sleep on.”
And Samuel Nöjd chuckled and winked at Kristina with his small green eyes. “She’s somewhat narrow in the right place, Indian girls always are. .”
Shoemaker Thomassen pricked up his ears when the hunter described his Indian woman. He leaned so far forward that his yellow hair fell over his forehead.
“It’s not nice of you to use the poor woman in that way!” exclaimed Kristina.
“I’m only helping her,” chuckled Nöjd. “She came to my cabin one night last winter. She was almost starved to death, and frozen stiff. She nearly died. I let her stay. I’ve taken care of the girl.”
Ulrika was walking about among her guests, urging them to refill their plates. She stopped near Nöjd and listened as he continued:
“She has nobody who is interested in her. Her tribe doesn’t live hereabouts. I’ve been kind and human to her.”
“But you get paid for your kindness,” interrupted Ulrika. “Every night you exact payment from the poor girl!”
“My Indian girl sleeps with me of her free will!”
“She has no choice!”
“No! That’s a lie!” insisted the fur trader, insulted. “The French trappers forced the squaws on their backs, but I’ve never used force with any woman, not even with one of the savages.”
Ulrika wanted to be kind to Nöjd and said, “Well, you’re not one of the worst of the white men in the Territory. There are men who go after the poor animals. You, at least, keep to the human race.”
“Must men be so horrible and need it so much!” exclaimed Kristina, her voice half choked with repulsion.
The yellow-haired Norwegian at her other side nodded to her as if agreeing with her.
“What do you expect of men?” said Ulrika and looked from the Swede to the Norwegian. “They’re created that way!”
“You mean we can’t help ourselves,” grinned Nöjd.
But Ulrika explained how matters were: first God created man, and he did it on the afternoon of the same day in which he had made the animals, each according to its nature. He was a beginner with people, he had as yet no experience. When he attempted man he only knew how to make animals. And the man turned out the way he did because of this. Much later God created the woman. Then he had had experience, then he knew what a human should be like.
“But I’m no wild animal!” said Samuel Nöjd, annoyed. “The Indian girl isn’t faring ill with me, she would be much worse off among her own people.”
He cleaned his plate and walked up to the table for more. The Norwegian moved closer to Kristina. His lustful eyes had been on her all the time. She remembered that look from the day when they arrived in Stillwater and he had shown them the way to Taylors Falls.
“The women here in the Territory are unjustly divided,” said the Norwegian settler, thickly. “So many of us men have to go without them.”
“But new women are coming in right along,” said Ulrika.
Thomassen, however, complained that no woman had been left over for him.
Ulrika turned to him with deep understanding. Both men and women suffered with great desires and had to fight against them, she told him. It was only natural that the men in the Territory had hot pants, spending their days and nights alone. But partly they had themselves to blame; they needn’t, for example, drink so much of that egg beer they all bought at Pierre’s Tavern down at the river. She knew lumberjacks and other men who practically lived on that stuff; it contained four eggs to each quart of beer. It was of course a healthy and strength-giving drink. But a more sexy drink was not to be had in the world. And the men complained they couldn’t hold themselves back, after first having stirred up their lusts. She had heard that Thomassen used to go to Pierre’s Tavern; her Christian kindness compelled her to advise him: if his flesh cried out for women, by all means stay away from the egg beer!
Ulrika walked away to talk to other guests. The blond Norwegian had not taken his eyes off Kristina. When Ulrika left them he put his hand on her shoulder.
Kristina could feel the strong yearning emanating from the man. His eyes were so strangely penetrating; she felt they were seeking her sex. His lust lay so open today she became uncomfortable. She pulled back her shoulder, shivering and began to praise the spinning wheel he had made for her: it was so easy to handle, the pedals moved lightly. She didn’t tire from spinning all day at a stretch. Spinning and weaving were her winter occupations.
The Norwegian touched the hand in which she held her plate:
“Come and visit me sometime!”
He was talking in a very low voice — what did he mean? He had said that the women were unjustly divided among the men hereabouts — did he mean that several men should share one woman? Would he himself wish to share her, perhaps?
“Please, come in and see me! I live all alone.”