The Emigrants by Vilhelm Moberg Read Free Book Online Page B

disappeared from the parish; their names were still in the church book, written down under “End of the Parish.” The dean called their names at the yearly examination, and inquired about them. Every year he called the name of the farmhand Fredrik Emanuel Thron from Kvarntorpet; not heard from since 1833. Someone always answered that no one in the village knew where he was. And the dean wrote about him in his book: Whereabouts unknown. This was repeated every year: Fredrik from Kvarntorpet was not heard from. For fifteen years—the whole span of Robert’s life—the lost farmhand’s whereabouts had been unknown. This was the only thing Robert knew about Fredrik Thron from Kvarntorpet, and because he knew naught else he wondered about the lost one’s fate.
    It had happened before that a farmhand had disappeared, had taken the wrong road.
    When Robert was ready to pull on his stockings he missed one of his wooden shoes. It had fallen into the brook; now it floated on the water near the willow thicket, far out of reach. He stood there, startled that his wooden shoe could float. Now it caught on the branches of the willows where the brook turned. The water gushed and swirled round the shoe and Robert stood there and saw his own foot kick and splash; he saw himself lying there, drowning in the brook.
    What he had just now vaguely thought of had begun to happen by itself. It only remained for him to complete it.
    He stuffed his stockings into the remaining shoe and threw it into the brook. Then he took off his jacket and let it follow after and was pleased when he saw it float on the water. Then he picked up his two bundles and went up on the bridge. At the parting of the roads on the other side of the bridge he turned to the left; he took the road that did not lead to Nybacken, he took the wrong road.
    Caught on a branch of the big willow at the bend of the brook there now could be seen a boy’s little jacket. As the running water in the brook swung the branches back and forth, the arms of the jacket would wave to anyone passing the bridge, telling what had become of the hired hand on his way to Nybacken to begin his service: he had drowned in the mill brook, as the maid had done a few years earlier.
    —2—
    The ground under Robert’s feet felt cold in the shadow of the wood: it was too early in the year to go barefooted. He had walked only a short distance when someone pulled up behind him. Robert prayed in his heart that it might be a timberman on his way to Karlshamn; then he would ask if he could ride with him. But it was only Jonas Petter of Hästebäck, their nearest neighbor in Korpamoen, on his way to the mill with grain. He stopped. Yes, Robert could sit up on the sacks beside him and ride with him to Åbro mill.
    Robert crawled onto the wagon and sat down next to the farmer. Jonas Petter of Hästebäck was a kind man: he did not ask where Robert was going; he said only that it was dangerous to walk barefooted so early in the spring. Robert answered that he walked easier without shoes and stockings. Apparently Jonas Petter had not noticed the jacket as he passed the bridge.
    In the mill room at Åbro there were already three farmers, waiting for their grind. They were unknown to Robert. He remained with them in the mill room, where it was nice and warm; a big fire burned in the stove, and the air smelled sweetly of flour and grain.
    The peasants ate food which they had brought along and drank brännvin with it, and one of them gave Robert a slice of bread and a dram. He dunked the bread in the brännvin as children were wont to do, and he was a little conscious of this, now that he was almost grown.
    The men had driven their grain wagons far alone, and now in company they were conversing loudly and noisily. Jonas Petter of Hästebäck stretched himself full length on some empty sacks in front of the fire. He was a tall-grown man with fine black side whiskers.
    Below the mill room the grindstones went their even