Vilhelm Moberg - The Emigrants

Yes, Arvid had thought of clearing himself that way, but he was afraid of the court; he didn’t like to have to stand there, gaped at by all people; and the rumor might spread still worse if it were brought to the county court and the old woman found not guilty — after all, she had never accused him outright, she had only said that God and he alone knew what he had done.

Robert had seldom seen her outside the house, the little woman in the gray shawl and the black kerchief, a shriveled-up creature who didn’t seem to have the strength to hurt a fly. Yet she had ruined Arvid’s life, a terrible injustice had been done to him. Why couldn’t God, Who was omnipotent, reveal the truth, so Arvid could be cleared?

“Do you know what they call me?” asked Arvid.

“No.”

“Listen. .”

Walking along the road the other day he had met some boys who mocked him. He had heard their words — something about the bull in Nybacken. They referred to him. People called him “The Bull of Nybacken.”

They were silent again in the stable room. Robert felt sudden twitches in his eyes; he understood why his comrade had filled his brännvin keg so often of late.

Arvid resumed, and now his voice trembled. He was called the Bull. No wonder all women shunned him, no wonder the girls shied away from him. Who would want to be seen in the company of one called the Bull? And he would always be referred to by that name, although he had not harmed man or animal. He had tried to endure it, but the loathsome name would cling to him forever; he would be treated as fool and scoundrel, an outcast whom people would abhor. He could show himself nowhere in this countryside.

So Robert could understand why he went out and got the ax.

Arvid lay down again, but his body shook: he cried. He cried silently, his whole frame shaking. He lay so for some time.

By now Robert knew enough: Arvid could not bear being called the Bull of Nybacken; indeed, no one in his predicament could endure to remain in the neighborhood. Anyone suffering what Arvid did must move away.

And so Robert knew also what he must do: he must confide in his friend.

The next evening he disclosed his secret. The two farmhands sat as usual on their beds, ready to retire, alone in the stable room. Everyone on the farmstead slept. But Robert acted as if Sheriff Lönnegren had been standing outside the window listening to them. He moved over to Arvid’s bed and sat down close to him; he spoke in whispers although no living being could hear him, except his friend and the bedbugs in their cracks and hiding places. And now he uncovered his criminal intentions: “I carry a heavy secret, Arvid. You’re the only one I’ll confide in. Can I rely on you?”

“If my head is chopped off for it I shall say nothing!”

They shook hands, and the younger one unburdened himself: he intended to escape from service. But this time he would not act as foolishly as he had done in the spring on entering service. He would wait till fall, when they carried oak timbers to Karlshamn. He could drive now, and he would no doubt have to join the timbermen, driving Aron’s old mare. But once Aron had let him out of sight with the beast he would never see him again: the mare would return alone to Nybacken. By that time the driver would be far away. In Karlshamn he would board a ship which was to sail to North America — to the New World.

“Are you coming along, Arvid? You’ll get rid of your name — the Bull.”

Arvid found nothing to say; he just stared, such was his surprise; he could only look at his comrade, this fifteen-year-old boy so recklessly plotting to escape with his master’s timber load — a daredevil planning to venture the ocean!

For Arvid knew nothing of what had transpired in Robert’s mind since that day in spring when he had taken the wrong road at the bridge over the mill creek, on his way to service.

And Robert had discovered something which had helped him along on this road; he now took from its secret hiding place — under the straw of his bed — a little book in narrow, brown-specked covers and gold-stamped back: Description of the United States of North America.

Here was his secret help; through this book he had obtained all the information he needed.

When Robert worked on the dunghill with his manure fork, when he carried his scythe at harvest-time, when he stood in the hayrick or chopped straw in the barn, when he sat here in the room and looked out through the window — always his thoughts carried him across the sea. And little by little another land arose on the other shore. Like a flower which sprouts in black soil, puts forth buds and opens its crown, so that land grew in his imagination. By now he had crossed the ocean and become familiar with the land beyond: America.

There were two worlds — nature’s world and the Bible’s world, this world and the coming world. But this world was again divided into two parts: an old and a new. His home was in the Old World, in the world that was frail, worn-out, and full of years. Its people were worn-out, decrepit, old and weak and finished. In their ancient villages time stood still; in their old moss-grown cottages nothing happened which had not happened before; the children obeyed their parents and imitated them, and did the same thing again which their parents had done before them. The Old World could not go on for many years more; it would not be long before it tumbled and fell with all the decrepit people who lived there.

But far away, on the other side of the globe, there was a New World, recently discovered, recently settled. The New World was young and fresh, and full of splendor and riches beyond imagination. And those who had emigrated and settled there were young and swift and nimble people whose whole lives lay ahead of them. The New World was populated by the most daring and the most intelligent people from the Old World: by those who had left their lords and masters behind them. It was populated by all those who wanted to be free, who did not want to serve under masters. To the New World all those emigrated who at home were poor and oppressed, all those who were harrassed and suffering, the destitute and those full of sorrow, the hunted ones and those full of despair.

The one who was not satisfied with his lot in the Old World moved to the New World. America was the right land for Robert — and for Arvid!

— 4—

When Rinaldo had held his school at Nybacken in the spring, Robert had asked him if he knew of some book with a truthful description of North America. The schoolmaster said he had recently seen such a book advertised in the newspaper Barometern for forty-eight shillings — one riksdaler — including postage. Rinaldo ordered the book for Robert, and advanced him the price until such time as the boy should receive his pay. The schoolmaster helped him willingly: Robert was his only pupil who read books of his own free will.

Robert had since — in his room during the summer nights — read the Description of the United States of North America three times over from cover to cover. It was written for simple uneducated folk who intended to emigrate to the New World. And it assured readers, even on the first page, that it was a true description: it said that to the innocent and the ignorant much of the contents might seem unbelievable, exaggerated, fabulous, but all was clear, clean, beautiful truth. Nothing was changed, added, or fabricated; all was set down in honesty.

Robert knew the most important chapters by heart, or almost by heart, and now Arvid could get all the information he wanted about the New World. The little farmhand related the facts, and the big one listened. There were in Sweden people of the ruling classes who spread lies about the United States of America. They said that the country was fit only for scamps. The lieutenant in Kråkesjö had sent over Fredrik of Kvarntorpet, who was ill-liked in the parish (only Fredrik had turned back at Gothenburg). The lieutenant had maintained that mostly bandits, rascals, thieves, and other evil people lived in America. But this was a lie. The Americans were honest and upright in their doings and dealings, they were neat and clean in their homes and in their appearance, they were brave, generous, helpful, and moral. Of course, among them was an occasional evildoer. It was also a lie that America was so unbearably hot that only Indians, Negroes, and the heathen could endure the climate. People from the Old World could breathe the air, eat the food, and drink the water; no one suffocated or was poisoned. In the most healthy places the Indians lived to so ripe an age that they didn’t die in the same way as people did here at home: they dried up and shrank in their old age, and became so light that they blew away and disappeared into the air. But what the masters kept secret was that the people of the New World were not divided into gentry and ordinary folk, as was the case in the kingdom of Sweden. In America no one had precedence over anyone else, for all were equals. Emperors and kings were forbidden; the Americans tolerated no masters; one need neither bow nor curtsy, because there was no one to bow or curtsy to. And no false pride existed among Americans; no one was looked down upon or snubbed because he had dirty or mean employment. All work was considered equally important; a farmer who owned a thousand acres of farmland worked himself all day with his hired men. When had anyone ever seen the lieutenant at Kråkesjö go into the field with his men and spread manure? And he was the owner of barely a hundred and thirty acres! In America there was no servant law or earnest money, and hired men and maids could leave their service whenever they wanted without punishment. Nor need they slave as here from early to late: in North America no one worked longer than twelve hours a day.