Vilhelm Moberg - The Settlers

“I got it! I know what to do, Bob! You and I should be partners!”

Robert looked puzzled; he didn’t understand. But Fred was jumping up and down in joy over his bright idea.

“Damn me! Why didn’t I think of it at once!”

“What do you mean? What should we do?”

“You put your capital into my hotel! You’ll multiply your money! You can retire as a rich man! You and I will be partners! In my hotel!”

“Would this money be enough for that. .?”

“It will help in the business, and I’ll pay good interest! You can’t handle your money yourself, Bob!”

Robert knew he couldn’t handle money, he had never had any to handle. This was the first money he had ever had. And he felt the coins could easily be stolen from the pouch; he had been thinking about finding a safer place.

Fred continued. He had in mind expanding his hotel business and could use some more capital — first of all they must find a staff of servants. Suppose Robert put some money in the hotel, say two thousand dollars — the rest he could keep for spending money — then he, Fred, would pay the highest interest ever paid in the New World, half the profits! They would share as brothers what they took in. The Grand Hotel was already a fine business — but would be still better with more capital to modernize it. And since they were from the same homeland he felt they were practically relatives. With the two of them partners they would have a family business, as it were.

Robert had never thought of his money working for other people and at the same time increasing for him. But as his friend had such a great understanding of business, he could see no harm in following his advice.

He said, “You take care of my money. If it isn’t too much trouble for you?”

He was grateful for Fred’s suggestion; his only worry was that the handling of the money would be too much of a nuisance to his friend.

“Hosannah!” exclaimed the host of the Grand Hotel. “From now on we’ll do big business! Boy! Will you be rich one day!”

Fredrik Mattsson took charge of the two thousand dollars from the black pouch. Thus Robert became a partner in the Grand Hotel in Grand City, the town’s largest and only hotel.

— 5—

The liveliest time of the week in Fred’s Tavern was Saturday evening between eight and nine. At that hour the members of the Whiskey Club met, the largest and most important club in town. They met to drink Kentucky Straight, and their bylaws stated they must meet for one hour, between eight and nine. During this hour they could, and must, drink all the whiskey they could down. The cost per member was a dollar and fifty cents. The one who consumed the greatest quantity during the evening hour need not pay the week’s membership fee. The rush in the bar during this hour was enormous; Fred couldn’t draw an even breath until the meeting was adjourned and the members had retired to the saloon floor, in more or less resting positions.

After the meeting of the Whiskey Club, Fred would devote Sunday to cleaning his saloon.

Even before Robert became a partner in the hotel business, he had helped Fred a little during the Saturday rush. He washed glasses, helped to serve, and kept track of drinks consumed. During the hour of the club meeting the consumption of liquor was as great as during the rest of the week. After Robert had become a partner he felt it his duty to assist the host whenever he could: he helped with the cooking, peeled potatoes, cut firewood, ran errands, swept up, and washed dishes; mostly he washed dishes. But Fred did not ask his partner to work.

“You shouldn’t work as dishwasher here, Bob! It’s below your station!”

But Robert said it wasn’t too much if he helped with the dishes and did what he could. Fred mustn’t do all the work by himself; he wanted to do his share. And since he was a partner in the business he felt a certain responsibility about the running of the hotel.

Fred said he would look for help — a big staff of people, he said. But for a few months ahead he was so involved in big business he didn’t have the time to look for servants.

For days it would be quiet about the place, with only an occasional guest, or no guest at all. Then Fred had spare time in which to tell Robert about his experiences in California and Robert also had time to walk about and explore Grand City. He would stand for long periods and look into the holes which had been dug in the sandhills around town where people had searched for eternal truth; they had dug for an answer to the Riddle of Life. Here tablets were said to have been hidden, containing words of ultimate truth, the last revelation. And people had dug and dug, for many long hours; it must have taken a terribly long time to dig all these holes. But they had found nothing, received no information. All their labor had been in vain: they found nothing but emptiness, all had been an illusion. They had been tricked by a lying angel.

On business errands for Fred, Robert had visited a number of the houses in town but as yet he had not been to the house across the street. He had seen the sign on the door in letters too large to be missed: Welcome, Gentlemen! Come Right In! And in the evening after dark a yellow lantern was hung at the door. He had asked Fred about the inmates, whom he had never seen, and he was told that they did not go out in daylight; they were mainly sleeping and resting then. But they were available all night through. And in the evening, and late into the night, varying noises came from that house.

Inside the women waited. They were ready night and day. All men were equally welcome, everyone who came was given what he desired. The price was two or three dollars in the middle of the week, double on Saturdays and Sundays.

There was still something Robert had not experienced in his life, and it was available to him in that house. He had wondered greatly how it would be, how it would feel. And he must find out. Indeed, he wanted to know, he must know.

But he had heard that if you visited a whorehouse you got sick. You caught venereal diseases. The poison crept into the marrow of one’s bones, one rotted inside. Sores and boils broke out, one’s limbs were eaten up and fell off. And the poison multiplied from generation to generation. A whore’s body was full of poison, and her life lasted barely four years.

Could this be the truth? The truth about something one would never know until one found out. So it was with the gold, and it was the same with the house across the street. In there the women gave something great to the visiting men — they let the men penetrate into their own bodies. A greater gift could hardly be offered a man. And it cost only three dollars. For this price the man could do what he wanted with the woman. Why did she sell her secret parts at so cheap a price? And why did the man value it so low?

Only one house in town had on its door the sign Welcome! And this very house he always passed by. It held a promise for him, something new and unknown. It was a house with a kind word on its door, a house that offered something generously.

Two evenings in succession, after he had washed up and had nothing more to do in the hotel, he walked across the street and stood for a moment in the yellow light of its pale lantern. Then he walked back.

He had been on the California Trail, he had experienced a great deal — yet he was afraid, he was a coward. He wanted something and it was within easy reach, and he dared not take it. The following evening, to bolster his courage, he drank a tall glass of Kentucky Straight: this would make him bolder. Then he crossed the street for the third evening.

Come Right In!

This evening the door stood ajar; another sign that a caller was welcome. He found himself in a large, dimly lit room; only a few small candles in wooden sconces high up on the wall spread a light that hardly reached the floor. A group of women huddled at a table in the far end of the room, with beer mugs and whiskey glasses in front of them. These were the dishes that he washed every day; often he got tired from standing on his feet for hours. He could barely see the women’s faces in the dim light, he couldn’t make out if they were beautiful or ugly. But he could see the color of their clothing, a pleasure to his eyes. And it didn’t smell of dank cellar in here; a sweet odor came to his nose, the odor of refined women.