Vilhelm Moberg - The Settlers

He had stopped at the door.

“Hello there! Come on in!”

One of the women called out to him. Her voice sounded kind, and clear as a bell.

“Come on in!”

Women’s voices encouraged him, yet he stayed where he was. His whiskey courage was beginning to fail him, he had crossed the threshold of the house, but what ought he to do now? He felt deeply embarrassed, and the consciousness of his inexperience embarrassed him further.

One of the women rose from the table and came toward him. She was tall, almost as tall as he when she stood beside him. She had on a flowing robe which fluttered gently like a sail in a light wind. She walked softly, soundlessly. Her shoulders were bare, and he could see the furrow between her breasts. A pair of big black eyes were resting on him: he was among friends, he must join them, wouldn’t he come with her?

But he remained standing at the door as if his legs were paralyzed. The women at the table began to laugh, hard, rasping laughs, like a saw in dry wood.

With some effort he turned to leave. But the tall woman had got a steady grip on his arm and held him inside.

“Don’t be so bitterly shy!”

She turned to the others and said something he didn’t understand, and then they laughed even harder and more derisively.

He had almost decided to leave; these women made fun of him, laughed at him. But he must stay, he must show them he wasn’t afraid of women. And the one at his arm assured him that all she wanted with him was something very nice and that nothing in this house would hurt him. If he just followed her, they would undoubtedly get along and be good friends.

“Come along, my little sweet potato. .!”

She had a purring, caressing voice that pleased his ear. It was like the soft down of a pillow. The voice had power over him. She put her arm across his back and guided him, silently. They crossed to the other end of the large room, where she pulled aside a hanging; behind it stood a low, broad bed. Then she pulled the hanging in place behind them; it fell down over his shoulders and back like a cape.

They were separated from the others in the house. Here behind the hanging he was alone with the woman and the bed.

Her robe was green; the cloth rustled against his own clothing. He had barely seen her face and as yet he had not said a word to her. She alone did the talking. She lit a candle, then she bent down and poked in the bed. She would make it soft and good for him, as soft a bed as he had ever felt before. He would be wonderfully pleased, she had never cheated a man of anything, each one had left her satisfied and well pleased.

And again she called him her little sweet potato.

She smelled sweet, terribly sweet. Her black eyes glittered in the flickering light, but her cheeks were gray-white, like rye flour. He turned away his eyes, he dared not look her in the face. He was tempted, but now that they were alone he was seized with fright.

He did not know how a man acted with a woman in bed.

He stood rigidly, his limbs clumsy. His arms limp, he remained motionless at the bedside. With one quick, accustomed movement the woman turned down her robe, leaving herself exposed to the waist. And then she asked in her husky voice: wouldn’t he like to have a peek? Didn’t she have beautiful breasts? All men liked them. She wanted a dollar extra for the breasts; they ought to be worth it out here in the West. There were no breasts like hers in all of Nebraska, nay, not in all the West!

He looked at her breasts; they hung limp and flat and dangled so low they almost touched her stomach. They looked like an udder between the hind legs of a cow.

And he swallowed with an effort; he felt nauseated. What did he want with that woman? He wouldn’t want to mix himself with her. . He was in a whorehouse and she was a whore. A whore’s body was filled with poison and her life lasted only four years. This one here — how much poison did she carry in her body? How long a time had she left to live. .? Why had he come in here? Had it been because he had no desire to live any longer. .? Suddenly he wanted to live. .

His fear made cold perspiration break out on his body. But the woman sat down on the bed and pulled him down beside her. All right? An extra dollar for the breasts? The finest breasts in the West. White and pure like the rose and the lily. He could have the whole business for three dollars — if he gave the money to her now they would be ready in a jiffy. But why didn’t he talk? Why didn’t he say a single word?

Her hands found their way under his clothing. They were at home on a man’s body: with sure, experienced motions the hands opened his pants and felt toward his groin.

Now at last he spoke. He forgot himself and spoke Swedish to her: She must let him alone. He didn’t want anything of her. He had only come out of curiosity — he was staying at the hotel across the street. He would be glad to give her the three dollars. But he didn’t want to do anything with her. He wanted to leave at once. .

But she of course did not understand him and her hands felt his body and took hold of his testicles. Now she was talking in a caressing, silver-clear voice that tinkled like a bell; she laughed heartily as one hand held on to the scrotum.

What a dear sweet potato! She would squeeze the honey out of it!

He heard himself talking in Swedish and corrected himself in stuttering English. But the lure of the unknown experience and his fear kept him paralyzed and he let her go on.

She burst out laughing again.

“What should I do with this kid?”

She tightened her hold on his testicles until it hurt him. The pain brought him back to himself and at once he recovered his ability to move, he pushed her aside and jumped up, pulling the hanging apart so violently that it fell to the floor. He ran through the room where the other whores were still sitting at the table, reached the door, and got out into the street. He heard the women laugh behind him.

Outside the whorehouse he tumbled over in a hole in the street, in spite of the lantern light, and hurt his right knee. Limping badly he reached the hotel door, moving as fast as his injured knee permitted. He felt his way through the dark cellar hall, found his room, and threw himself on his back on the bed, his limbs trembling. His knee ached and his groin hurt. The derisive laughter of the women had followed him across the street; they were poking fun at his innocence. Now they must be talking about him, the sweet potato who wanted to but didn’t dare. They were laughing at him, making fun of him: what to do with such a fool?

But the sweet potato had run away, they had not squeezed the honey from his pouch.

He lay on his bed, trembling. His testicles hurt from the woman’s grasp. Now he knew why the prices were so cheap over there. What they offered was false. Their gift was false. It was right that their wares cost two dollars only — with an extra dollar for the finest breasts in the West. They weren’t worth any more. He had had the experience now; the glory over there was only something he had imagined. Nothing to long for. He had been made a fool of in that house and it had served him right.

He had wondered how it was to mix with a woman. He had learned tonight. He didn’t want to know any more.

— 6—

Robert stayed in the sand-pit ghost town for over two years.

Each day he felt that the pierced gravel walls might cave in and bury the town and its people. It seemed to him a miracle that they still stood. And he asked himself if he wasn’t staying in Grand City only to see its burial. Perhaps he secretly longed for the big cave-in to take place and end life for all of them.

Or a new tornado might come and carry off the remaining houses — hurl the Grand Hotel and the whorehouse far out on the endless prairie. To be buried as a crushed worm or wafted as a feather through the air seemed much the same to him.