The Last Letter Home Page 11

  “No, I didn’t. I’ve never had anyone except Karl Oskar.”

  “I see,” nodded Ulrika. “No other man has ever got near you.”

  Kristina laughed: “What can I say when I can’t compare Karl Oskar with anyone else!”

  “But he is a first-class man in bed, isn’t he?”

  “I guess he is the best one I’ve had!”

  Kristina laughed, but Mrs. Jackson, who once had been Ulrika of Västergöhl, was deeply thoughtful as she dispersed the knowledge of an experienced woman:

  “I guess your husband is all right in that respect. It shows on a woman if her man is capable in that way. It shows on you that Karl Oskar can take care of you, for you look satisfied, your disposition is peaceful and even.”

  “Karl Oskar and I have always got along.”

  “Just what I thought! You’re happy in that way, Kristina!”

  Mrs. Jackson’s bosom rose and fell in a deep sigh, and Kristina remembered Ulrika’s confidence at the wedding of Danjels son last fall.

  The two women broke off their conversation as Karl Oskar entered the room. He was carrying an armful of firewood which he stacked against the fireplace, he then began to make a fire.

  When the flames had a good start Ulrika removed her shoes and put her feet on the hearth. Her toes were cold and stiff after the journey from Stillwater, for she had traveled in a sled that had no heated stones to warm the feet.

  It was an un-Christian winter this year, said Karl Oskar. Happily it was a little milder now, and Kristina wanted to resume her milking chores, but she was still so weak from her sickness he wouldn’t allow her to leave the house.

  Kristina told of the great flow of blood that had come from her one evening while she was milking.

  “That sounds bad!” said Ulrika.

  “But I didn’t lose a life—it was not a miscarriage.”

  Kristina continued: She had had smaller bleedings before, but she had thought they were her periods coming at an unexpected time and had paid no attention to them. She had also had pains low down in her abdomen. She still had these—they came and went.

  Karl Oskar looked up, startled: “What’s that you say? You’ve never mentioned that to me!”

  “I didn’t think it was worth mentioning.”

  “How long have you suffered with it?”

  “This last year.”

  “This whole year?” He looked in consternation at his wife. “Why haven’t you told me?”

  “I didn’t think much of it.”

  “If you ache inside, then something is wrong.”

  “Karl Oskar is right!” interrupted Ulrika. “You shouldn’t have kept it to yourself!”

  “Well, maybe not. But you can’t go around and complain every time you feel a little pain.”

  “But it’s not right to have a sickness and not seek a remedy against it!”

  “Not right?” Kristina looked at her. “You mean I have sinned with it?”

  “Yes, you have, because God wants people to take care of their health.”

  Both Karl Oskar and Ulrika reproached her for having kept her sickness secret. Then all three of them were silent for a few minutes. The only sound was the crackling of the fire as great flames enveloped the dry wood. Karl Oskar kept stroking his thighs in great concern. A spark from the fire hit his cheek and left a red mark but he didn’t seem aware of it.

  He only felt this: Something must be done immediately about Kristina.

  Ulrika said, “You must get your wife to a doctor, Karl Oskar!”

  “That was my first thought when I heard what she said a while ago.”

  “It might be something dangerous in the womb!”

  “It’ll pass,” said Kristina. “I don’t think I need a doctor.”

  Ulrika took her hand imploringly: “You’ve lost a lot of blood! It can’t go on like this! You’ll ruin yourself! You must see a medical man!”

  Kristina had never in her life been to a doctor. She had heard that doctors treated people horribly, using evil instruments when they looked for ailments in the body. And now her sickness was in a part of the body which a woman would be embarrassed to bare.

  Karl Oskar asked Ulrika: There were doctors in St. Paul and Stillwater—where should he take Kristina?

  “We have a new one in Stillwater, Dr. Farnley. I’ve gone to this medical man myself!”

  “Is he better than the old one?”

  “Much better!”

  Cristoffer Caldwell, the old doctor in Stillwater, was also a carpenter and blacksmith, Ulrika said. Caldwell made sturdy tables and benches and no one could shoe a horse better than he. But he was not the right man to handle sick people, for his hands were big and rough and he had some ailment of his own that could only be cured with whiskey. Dr. Caldwell was really a drunkard and he stank of liquor yards away. But Farnley, the new one, was no self-made doctor like Caldwell. He had gone through certified schools and had big thick books piled up along the walls of his room. She had gone to him last spring when she scalded her right knee while cooking syrup. He had been so gentle with her—he had put ointment on her wound and bandaged it as carefully as if he had been swaddling a newborn babe. He didn’t have those sledgehammer hands like Caldwell, his hands were soft and clean, he didn’t use them to sharpen scythes and shoe horses. She had never imagined a strong, husky man could handle a woman’s sore knee so carefully and tenderly. And because the new doctor was so tender—and for no other reason—she had gone to him many more times than she really needed to and let him rebandage her knee.

  “You must take Kristina to Dr. Farnley,” concluded Ulrika. “I’ll go with her and interpret for her!”

  Karl Oskar replied that there would be no delay in that journey. As soon as he put the new iron runners on his sled they would drive to Stillwater.

  “But I don’t want to go to any doctor!” said Kristina with determination, and stood up. She went to the kitchen to put on their dinner, and Ulrika assured Karl Oskar that she would speak to his wife when they were alone and make her go to Farnley.

  A while later, when the two women were alone in the kitchen, Ulrika said, “There’s something wrong with you, Kristina. But Dr. Farnley is good—he’ll find out what’s the matter.”

  “I know you want the best for me, but I don’t think . . .”

  “You might wreck yourself, it might be your life . . .”

  Kristina looked up: “Over my life and death only God has power.”

  The words came out evenly and calmly. By them all her actions could be understood.

  “But if the Lord blesses the doctor’s hands then he can cure you.”

  “Don’t you think God can cure me himself if he wishes?” smiled Kristina. “He doesn’t need the aid of a doctor!”

  “The doctor is God’s tool!”

  “The Almighty needs no tools. He has created my body and he can make it well also.”

  “But your mind is a gift of God—you must use your mind so you don’t ruin your health.”

  “It’s already been decided how long I am to live.”

  Now Ulrika must play her last card: If Kristina didn’t care about herself and her own good, it was her duty to think of Karl Oskar and the children. They needed her and she must take care of her health for their sake. She must go to the doctor for their sake, since they couldn’t do without her.

  To this Kristina did not reply at once. She thought for a few moments. But even before she answered Ulrika knew that she had at last found the right means to persuade Kristina.

  “Yes, I’ll do it.” Her voice was low. “Because Karl Oskar wants me to . . .”

  “I thought you would.”

  “Will you go with me to the doctor?”

  “Of course I will! I’ll do all the talking for you!”

  Kristina could not describe her illness to the American doctor but Ulrika would do it for her. And she must also interpret what the doctor said after he had examined her.

  Kristina felt ill at e
ase: What would the doctor do to find out how things were with her?

  “One has to undress, I guess, when he does it? Down to the shift? The thought repels me.”

  “You needn’t be afraid of Dr. Farnley—he’ll examine you carefully!”

  “But a strange man—and feel my body down there . . .”

  Ulrika laughed: “You have had so many kids! And you’re as embarrassed as a little girl!”

  “It seems disgusting. I can’t help it.”

  “Don’t worry! Dr. Farnley is kind and friendly!”

  But whatever Ulrika said she could not reconcile Kristina to the thought that she must undress in front of a strange man and that this stranger’s hands might touch her sexual parts. She felt as if she were going to participate in something indecent.

  —4—

  One day, when the weather was a little milder and the sledding good, Karl Oskar and Kristina drove to Stillwater. For the first time in her life she was to see a doctor.

  It was a strange journey for her; she felt almost as she had at the time of her emigration; she accompanied her husband, but she did so without conviction and half in regret.

  VII

  HAS GOD INFLICTED THIS UPON US?

  —1—

  Karl Oskar Nilsson sat on the sofa in Pastor Jackson’s living room in Stillwater. The sofa was soft and well padded, but he moved back and forth and couldn’t find a comfortable spot. He stretched out his legs and pulled them back, he turned and shifted, looked out the window and changed his position every second minute. He was alone in the house, waiting for Ulrika and Kristina, who had gone to see Dr. Farnley.

  He had intended to go with them to the doctor’s house, which was only a few blocks from the pastor’s, but Ulrika had said that he might as well stay at home and look after their house, as Henry was away preaching and the children were in school. She spoke English better than he, and she would be a good interpreter for Kristina and the doctor.

  As they left Ulrika turned in the doorway and said, “You can be sure of one thing, Karl Oskar—Dr. Farnley will find out what’s wrong!”

  What would the doctor have to say?

  Karl Oskar had killed the waiting time by inspecting the furniture in the room as minutely as if he had been an appraiser. He had looked at the pictures on the walls, of miraculous happenings from the Bible. He had leafed through the pastor’s books on a shelf and he had found English words he didn’t understand. Several times he had paced the room, lengthways and crossways, but time still dragged. The hands of the clock seemed glued in their position.

  Walking to the doctor’s should take no more than ten minutes, both ways. And the longest Kristina need stay with him might be an hour. They had had plenty of time; they should have been back by now.

  He could think of nothing to do except sit and stare in front of him. For a long time he stared at the strange reproduction of Ulrika and Pastor Jackson as bride and groom which hung above the sofa.

  It was not a painting made with a brush. Ulrika and Jackson were not painted, they were printed onto the paper. They had been impressed on the paper the way they were at that particular moment. They were accurately alive, made by a photographing apparatus. It seemed like the work of a magician, this exact replica of them. Karl Oskar had read about this new invention in the paper and he knew that it could catch all kinds of things, living or dead. The sight of something, anything, need not disappear but could be preserved to look at forever. The Jacksons could look at themselves the way they were on the day of their wedding. Indeed, discoveries and inventions were manifold these days!

  And the same thing could be done with a house: the outside, its appearance, could be imprinted on a paper, never to be obliterated, and the paper could be framed like a painting and sent from America to Sweden.

  The bridal couple above the sofa gave Karl Oskar an idea: He would have a man with an apparatus come to their place and make a reproduction of their house which he could send to his mother and sister in Sweden. His relatives in the Old World could then with their own eyes see his house in the New World! That would be something for them to look at!

  For the present he was stacking up timber for a new house and he would wait with the photographing until it was built. It would be the fourth house he and Kristina had lived in since they moved to America. The first was a wretched twig hut with the wind howling through it until they shook with cold in the nights. But the next house he would build—that would be something to look at! That would be a house of the best kind! How many times hadn’t he told Kristina: Wait till you see our next house! Only with the new house would he consider his farm complete. It would, as it were, crown his life’s work. And when it was ready he would have it impressed on a paper and sent to Sweden.

  The clock on the wall struck three. He had been sitting here waiting almost two hours. Why did it take so long? They should be through at Dr. Farnley’s by now.

  And what would the doctor have to say?

  It was so late in the afternoon they ought to be starting homeward by now. He had his team hitched to the sleigh, the horses were young and eager and could indeed run, and the sledding was good with the new runners, but he didn’t wish to drive the whole way after dark. The new road from Stillwater to Center City was two miles shorter than the old and they should be home before bedtime. Johan and Marta would have to do the stable chores alone tonight, but there must be a first time when they took care of the cattle by themselves. Children must learn to take over chores from their parents.

  But now he couldn’t stand it any longer, not to know. Why not walk over to the doctor’s and wait outside there instead?

  Just as Karl Oskar was putting on his overcoat, ready to leave, he heard women’s voices outside: Kristina and Ulrika were stamping off the snow on the stoop. He opened the door for them.

  “You must have been waiting for us, Karl Oskar,” began Ulrika. “It did take us a long time.”

  She explained the delay: There had been so many sick people waiting to see Dr. Farnley today, and while they were there a couple of men came in with a litter carrying another man who had been hurt; he was with the lumber company sawmill, his nose had been torn off by a scantling which the blade had thrown into his face. The poor man’s whole face was nothing but a bloody mess, like a meatball mixture. The injured man had to be attended to first, and the doctor scraped away what was left of his nose; he cried like a stuck pig under the knife and no one could wonder at that. He was a young, healthy specimen of manhood—too bad his face was ruined. It wouldn’t be easy for him to live without a nose. Because of this accident they had had to wait a long time.

  “It seemed long, didn’t it?” Kristina had removed her woolen mittens and was blowing into her hands.

  What had the doctor said?

  The question was bursting inside Karl Oskar; he felt they ought to be able to hear it without his asking. Ulrika kept feeling sorry for the noseless mill worker, which was her right, but this concerned the person who was closest to him.

  What was the matter with Kristina? He tried to interpret her looks, but she seemed as calm and unperturbed now as she had when they left; he could learn nothing from her face.

  Ulrika put a wide kitchen apron over her dress: “I’ll get dinner going; you must be hungry, Karl Oskar.”

  What did he care about food and drink! It was not thirst or hunger that plagued him. His tongue felt dry and his lips stiff but these were caused by something else. He sputtered out:

  “What did the doctor say?”

  “We have plenty of time to talk about that. Kristina has had her examination all right.”

  “I am not mortally sick—I have no illness,” said his wife quietly.

  “No illness? It is in some other way . . . ?”

  “Farnley was careful and particular and examined your wife for the longest time,” said Mrs. Jackson. “And I had a long talk with the doctor afterward.”

  Kristina turned to Ulrika: “You promised to explain to Kar
l Oskar.”

  “Sure, my dear. I’ll do as we agreed, I’ll speak to Karl Oskar alone.”

  “Alone!” There was a shock in his looks.

  “Right you are! Come out in the kitchen with me!”

  This sounded like an order and for a moment he wondered if Ulrika was pulling his leg: “Are you . . . are you serious . . . ?”

  Ulrika grabbed Karl Oskar firmly by the arm and pulled him with her into the kitchen. He followed her like a foolish schoolchild who must be alone with the teacher to taste the rod.

  Ulrika started to make a fire in the stove; she picked up some kindling and pushed it down through a slit in the masonry.

  “What is it? Something secret? What did the doctor say?”

  “He said I should speak to you, Mr. Nilsson!”

  “With me? I’m not sick!”

  “No, but it is your wife who must get well!”

  “What is it really? Nothing deadly, I hope?”

  “That depends on you!”

  “On me . . . ? Have I caused it . . . ?”

  “It depends on you if your wife shall live or die!”

  The floor under Karl Oskar’s feet rocked violently. He closed his eyes. When he opened them again the walls and ceiling also rocked. His head buzzed with dizziness. He closed his eyes again.

  From somewhere far away he heard a voice:

  “. . . or die . . . ?”

  “Yes, Mr. Nilsson!”

  “You frighten me, Ulrika.”

  “Dr. Farnley said I should frighten the hell out of you. And I prefer to do it when we are alone.”

  Mrs. Jackson found the match box on the stove shelf, scratched a match against the dry wood, and held the flame to the kindling; a lively fire began to sparkle.

  “Kristina is torn to pieces inside, she’s sick because of her last miscarriage and the childbeds before. She can’t take any more!” She threw a quick glance toward the living room door. “Not a single time! Next childbed will be Kristina’s death!”

  The words were said, said to him, and his ears had heard them. Just six words he was to hear many times afterward, the same words, however he twisted and changed them. When he heard them now, for the first time, the full impact did not hit him; he was so shocked he could only close his eyes and feel dizzy.