by Ola Larsmo
He had no words, none he could resort to, even in his own mind. The trip had cost him two days’ wages, and he had nothing to show for it. He was hungry and tired, and he slowly headed for home, empty of all thoughts and feelings.
After a while he realized where he was in the gathering dusk. Behind shuttered doors, closed for the night, he saw the tin goods shop that belonged to Silberstein, the Jew. Gustaf walked around the corner and peered into the alleyway, even though he knew it was late. The Norwegian must have left his usual spot outdoors long ago. The narrow passageway was deserted, as he’d known it would be. But there was something else Gustaf noticed, something so blatant that it took him a moment to fully comprehend what he was seeing.
The tall stool where the Norwegian always sat was gone.
He stood there with his hand pressed against the cold brick wall, wondering whether he might be in the wrong alleyway. But he knew he wouldn’t have made such a simple mistake. Something was fundamentally different, which he’d already sensed early in the morning, though he had refused to acknowledge what it might be. Now the ground seemed to give way beneath his feet.
The front door was unlocked and the smell of various cooked root vegetables still hung in the dark stairwell. Gustaf was so tired that he had to pause on each landing to catch his breath. The walls seemed to press in on him whenever he closed his eyes.
There was nothing he could do. Now he opened his eyes. At first he could see nothing at all. He was floating in the dark, picturing in his mind’s eye how he was a man who had lost both his arms and legs and was incapable of doing anything at all even though he was still young and strong. The stifling darkness was closing around all of them until there would be no air left to breathe.
Anna was awake. She was sitting on a chair in the dim light, and she raised her head when he came in. Although he couldn’t see her face, he knew she’d been crying.
“Where have you been?” she asked quietly. The children were asleep, three small heads lined up on their side of the bed.
“Let me sit down and I’ll tell you,” he said as he sank onto a chair. In silence he took several deep breaths, but what he then said was not what he had planned. “Forgive me.”
She didn’t reply.
Stumbling over his words, Gustaf told her about his attempt to find the sort of work he’d always been seeking, a job that would make it possible for them to start over. But now that door seemed to have been definitively closed to him.
“So there was no work,” she said at last, sounding strangely relieved.
“No,” he said, without adding the obvious, Not here either. He sat quietly, listening to the beating of his own heart.
“The lieutenant was here today,” said Anna after a moment.
“What did she want?” he asked, feeling too empty inside to muster even a trace of anger. It could gain no foothold.
“She brought us this,” she said, pushing a piece of cloth across the table toward him.
It was a big, embroidered handkerchief, clean and pressed but folded into a little package. It rustled when Gustaf picked it up. He untied the simple knot. Anna struck a match. Over in the bed Ellen stirred as the light flickered over her closed eyelids.
Lying on the cloth on the table were several wrinkled bills that someone had tried to smooth out. Uncomprehending, Gustaf peered at the money.
“But we’re not beggars,” he said then, about to place his hand over the bills, but Anna seized hold of his arm in a painful grip. She moved his hand away from the little bundle of banknotes on the table.
“They took up a collection,” she told him. “At the Salvation Army in Brooklyn. So that we could move away from here.”
She spoke through clenched teeth, each syllable little more than a hiss. He couldn’t decide whether she was angry or glad, or maybe both emotions were coursing through her at once, so that even she couldn’t tell. He hardly recognized his wife.
“They prayed over the money,” she said in that same unfamiliar voice. “They prayed over it. Do you understand? That means the money can be used for only one purpose. Anything else would lead to misfortune.”
The match she was holding in her other hand burned out. She was still gripping his arm.
“And what purpose might that be?” he asked in a subdued voice, trying to keep her calm, this stranger sitting across from him who had such a feverish and unshakable hold on his arm.
“To move away from here,” said Anna with surprise in her voice, as if she couldn’t understand why he hadn’t realized that at once. Her hand loosened its grip on his arm. “To follow the others. That’s the only thing we can use this money for, if you don’t want to bring disaster upon us.”
But that’s what I’ve already done, Gustaf thought without uttering the words out loud. That’s what I’ve already done.
“Light another match,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady, though he could hear he was not successful. “Light another.” She let go of his arm and struck another match.
Before the flame burned out, he counted the bills. Forty-two dollars. That was more than he’d earned in two whole months. It should be enough, he thought, even after they paid the back rent they owed. But it would be tight.
His heart was still pounding in his chest. He was neither calm nor happy. What he felt could not be put into words. But he was no longer freezing.
With his hand he kept smoothing out the handkerchief on the table, trying to read with his fingertips the embroidered text in the dim light. Eventually he gave up and reached for the matchbox, noting that it was one of the last they’d brought with them from Sweden. Waxed safety matches, patented by the Jönköping match factory.
The words on the handkerchief had been embroidered in red, in an ornate style. He spelled out the words: He maketh me to lie down in green pastures. But he had no idea what they meant. And he tried to recall whether he’d ever before held in his hand so much money in cash.
Hoboken—St. Paul
November–December 1897
AT FIRST IT WAS HORRID, because neither I nor Ellen wanted to go past that island again. I thought we were going to burn up the last time. When Mother said we had to take the ferryboat past the same place, it made my stomach hurt. I didn’t want to go onboard a boat again either, but I had to. There were lots of people, and we had to stand in line outside the fence and wait while Father bought the tickets. Mother said it would be only a short boat ride, and then we would travel by train for a long time. She could see how scared I was, so as soon as we stepped onboard the ferry, she told me to take Carl inside. Then I wouldn’t have to stay outside on the deck. We sat down on a bench, and Carl kept coughing until I told him to stop. Mother had said it was mostly a bad habit he’d acquired. Ellen was just as scared as I was, and she said that if I caught sight of the Statue of Liberty, then I’d be safe. She was sitting on the other side of me, and the boat was supposed to go between the islands.
Except that it didn’t. I was holding Carl on my lap, keeping my eyes fixed on the wooden floorboards until he got restless and wanted to climb up and look out the window. Then I was forced to look out too. The island seemed to slide toward us from the side, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I tried to look down at the water until Ellen tugged at my arm and said, “It’s all right to look out.” And so I did. There was a lot of black, charred wood piled up on one side of the island. But on the other side I saw that they had started to rebuild. I saw tall frameworks made of new wood, and workmen everywhere. We came very close. A faint burnt smell slipped inside to where we were sitting, and my stomach started hurting again. But over the roar of the boat engine I mostly heard the sound of pounding hammers and men shouting, and I thought to myself that it was actually going to be good when they finished their work. On the dock stood a big black horse harnessed to a wagon loaded with boards. And the horse was so hot that steam rose off him even though it was winter. I could see it clearly in the sunlight. The horse watched as the ferry passed
by, twitching his ears several times. Then he too was gone.
I’d been on a train before. Both in Sweden and England. But this time it was different, because we were going to travel much farther. It would take almost two whole days, Mother told us, and then we’d meet the others again. I didn’t really know who she meant, but it wasn’t Granny, at any rate. Then Ellen said Mother was talking about the other people from the ship. There was supposed to be more snow where we were going, in St. Paul, not like here where the snow turned black almost at once. White snow like back home in Sweden.
We had to wait a really long time before we could get on the train. Mother and Father carried the big suitcases, so we took turns carrying Carl when he refused to walk on his own. He would purposely make himself heavy and grin at us. Then we sat down with Mother and waited some more next to an iron gate, but at least it was indoors. Lots of people were running around in all directions and talking loudly, and it smelled awful and people got mad because they thought we were in their way. Then Father came back with tickets for all of us. I was allowed to hold mine for a while, but then Mother got worried and said it was best if Father kept all of the tickets. Our train car was painted red, and it had benches made of dark wood and it smelled like horses, but Father said there was no space on the train for animals, it was probably just some stable boy who had been sitting there before we came. We got a corner all to ourselves where Mother and Father could set down our suitcases and other things so they almost formed a little hut for us. Carl was allowed to sit on Mother’s lap and look out the window, and that kept him calm for a while. Our car was crowded with people, and when the train began to move and we left the station behind, I looked up and saw that a man sitting on the next bench was Chinese. He was wearing some sort of dress, but with trousers underneath, and big boots. I thought it looked so strange. Maybe he was the one who smelled of horses. I was scared to look at him, but I couldn’t help it, and he noticed me staring. I was embarrassed and looked down at the floor, but when I glanced up again, he was looking right at me and laughing. Then he did something funny. He held up his hands in front of his face and curled his fingers so it looked like he was wearing spectacles. I laughed and he did too. Then I closed my eyes and pretended to sleep, but I must have really fallen asleep because when I opened my eyes again it was dark outside and the Chinese man was gone. Instead I saw the train conductor walking past, holding a long stick that he used to light the only lamp in the car. I thought the lamp looked like it was swaying, and that made me worried, so I pointed it out to Mother. She said she didn’t think there was any danger, and it was probably meant to sway like that, but she’d keep an eye on it for me and I could go back to sleep. So that’s what I did, and I didn’t wake up until morning, and the sun was shining in the window and I felt sticky with sweat. But we weren’t there yet. Outside the window I saw snow and forests.
It snowed harder and the train made the snow whirl up so you could hardly see anything at all, and then it got dark again. It happened fast. We could see lights far away, through the woods, and then we went across a bridge and a river. It was awful to travel across a bridge in the dark. Mother had brought bread and herring, and I was a little worried about spilling food on my clothes when the train car shook. After a while I tried to go to sleep again, but it was hard because the railroad tracks made so much noise. So I mostly sat and stared out the window. Ellen had brought an arithmetic book and was trying to write her numbers, but she got mad because of all the swaying from side to side, and she said it made her head hurt. She dropped her pencil stub and it rolled away under the seats and disappeared. I thought I would try to find it for her, but it kept rolling in different directions because the car was shaking so much, and I had to get down on all fours to look for it. The pencil ended up between the feet of a man with a long black beard who was wearing a big hat. He was sleeping with his mouth open, so I thought I would crawl over there and get the pencil, which I did. But his wife, who was sitting next to him and crocheting, hissed something I didn’t understand and kicked her foot at me, as if I was in her way. But I got the pencil. When I went back, Mother was mad at me because my dress was dirty from crawling around on the floor. She said I never thought about things like that, and she tried to brush away the dirt, but some of it wouldn’t come off. I should try and take care of my dress because it’s the only one I have.
I sat and looked out the window, thinking about nothing at all, and after a while I could see what things looked like again because it started to get light, even though the sun hadn’t come up yet. Everything out there was gray. All the others were asleep. It was a little scary to be the only one awake but also a little exciting. I couldn’t stop looking out the window, because all the houses looked so strange. They stood in long rows out there, looking almost exactly the same, low gray houses with black roofs, and it seemed like nobody lived there. They went on and on, row after row, and some had tall smokestacks, but there were no people in sight. The houses kept on going, and the sky gradually grew light. The only sound was the train moving slowly and the people snoring and breathing loudly. It was as if there was no color left in the world, and I thought maybe this was what it looked like if you traveled far enough. Then I must have fallen asleep too. I remember nothing more about the trip until we arrived.
St. Paul Union Railway Depot
December 1897
WHEN THEY ARRIVED it was night once again. The train was going to continue on, so they had to hurry to gather their belongings while the conductor held up his lantern. Then he stepped up from the platform and waved the lantern to the engine driver. With a hissing sound the whole train began to move. Anna looked down and closed her eyes as she held tightly to her daughters’ hands until the train had gone beyond earshot. Then she raised her head and opened her eyes again.
It had started to snow, blowing in on gusts of wind that found their way under the simple wooden roof above the platform. For a short time it was deceptively silent. They were the only ones who had gotten off the train except for three others—a man and a woman with their half-grown daughter, all dressed in black and speaking quietly in a language that was not Swedish. They walked away, moving with a confidence that indicated they knew precisely where they were going.
In the meantime Anna and the children stood beneath the snow-covered roof next to the train station, which at least offered some shelter from the weather, while Gustaf went to ask for directions. The whole station was dark. She saw only a couple of men farther down the track, carrying sledgehammers and lanterns as they walked along. A single lamppost glowed from the open space in front of the palace-like train station. The girls were clinging to her skirt, and Carl slept as she held him against her shoulder. For a few moments everything was quiet.
Gustaf came back, walking slowly with slumped shoulders, and Anna already knew what he would say.
“Nothing’s open. There was nobody to ask. There’s a sign that says the station will open at five in the morning.”
She had no idea what time it was, though it had to be past midnight. Which meant five more hours until they could go inside to get warm, and they didn’t even know where they were. Neither of them spoke as they watched the slanting snow suddenly gust through the circle of light from the lamppost. Beyond was nothing but darkness.
Leaving her family, Anna went out to the area of windswept snow in front of the station, thinking she might find a clock high up on what looked like a church tower on the building’s façade. What she first took to be a clock turned out to be a circular window at the top of the spire, but it was just as dark as all the other windows. When she turned around, she again caught sight of the two workmen, who were both still carrying sledgehammers in one hand and lanterns, no longer lit, in the other. They were about to disappear into the darkness beyond the gaslight. Without thinking, Anna raised her hand and shouted.
The men stopped. They turned around and looked at her across the open space covered with snow that was still unmarred by any f
ootprints. Slowly they began heading toward her. Gustaf came over to stand behind his wife, as if to offer protection.
The men wore identical gray jackets and caps made of sturdy cotton, with bandannas tied around their necks. In spite of the cold, they wore no gloves. And with a shock of surprise, Anna realized she recognized the shorter man. He was the younger son of the Gavin family, with whom they’d shared a cabin, the one who had been knifed onboard the Majestic. And she saw from his searching expression that he recognized her too. He gave a brief nod, without saying a word. They had never spoken to each other onboard ship, and she didn’t know what to say. If she’d known any words in his language, or in English, she would have first asked after his mother. But now they simply stood there, staring at each other.
Gustaf was the first to say anything. He took off his cap, as a clumsy gesture of courtesy, and nodded. Then he asked in Swedish, exaggerating the pronunciation of every syllable: “Where is Swede Hollow?”
At the same time he threw out his hand, inquiringly. The men standing in the glow of the lamppost regarded him solemnly. Gustaf repeated his question, though now uncertainty was evident in his voice. The two men looked at each other and muttered something that Anna assumed must be Irish. Then they looked at Gustaf and Anna and shook their heads. But the Gavin boy gave them a friendly grin.
Gustaf leaned forward and used his index finger to write the Swedish words in the snow: SVENSKA DALEN.
They looked down and laughed quietly, again shaking their heads. They seemed to find the situation comical. Anna was freezing and cast an uneasy glance at her children, who were barely visible over by the corner of the station, waiting beneath the wooden roof. Gustaf straightened up and tried again, this time in English: “Swedish. Swede.”
