Swede Hollow

by Ola Larsmo

  “Yes, Mother,” said Ellen, her voice sounding strangely meek, as if she were a child again.

  Solomon Shelby Jr. had said they should meet outside the Phoenix Building at ten o’clock on Sunday morning. Ellen took the streetcar through a different Minneapolis than she was used to seeing. People dressed in their Sunday best were on their way to church, and the sun shone through the trees with barely sprouted yet luminous leaves. The city and the world seemed new. For a few moments she watched a family strolling along the sidewalk—first the father, wearing a dark suit and carrying a Bible, then the mother, followed by two little girls in white dresses with light blue sashes and rosettes. They held each other by the hand, and they couldn’t help skipping a bit behind their solemn-looking parents. Then the family passed from Ellen’s field of vision and was gone.

  She didn’t recognize Mr. Shelby at first because he’d dressed for the outing in a light, cream-colored suit with a straw hat on his head. He looked younger as he stood there in the shadow of the tall building, and she wondered again how old he might be. Twenty-eight? Twenty-nine? His pitted complexion made it hard to determine his age. Then he caught sight of her and stepped forward into the sunshine.

  “Miss Klar,” he greeted her calmly. He smiled and looked her in the eye. She felt awkward and wondered where the others were. But he was the only one there.

  “I thought more people would be coming along,” she said.

  “No. I’m sorry if I gave you that impression. That was not my intention. But the two of us will manage, don’t you think?”

  He smiled again, and his good humor was infectious, as usual. She found herself smiling back.

  “Where exactly are we going, Mr. Shelby?”

  He shrugged casually, choosing to ignore the fact that she was clearly suspicious.

  “There are several places we might choose. And you needn’t worry, Miss Klar. The firm will pay all expenses, of course. We usually offer the employees an outing to some pleasant place. Last year we took an excursion on the river, but the weather was bad, and I don’t think we’ll do that again. It was not a success.”

  They stood in the middle of the sidewalk in the sunshine, which was rapidly getting hotter. People passed them on both sides, as if they were a sandbank in a stream, but Ellen had no intention of budging from the spot until she knew more.

  “I was thinking we might have a look at Elliot Park,” he said then. “I’ve heard it’s supposed to be nice. They have new carousels.”

  “No,” said Ellen in a firm voice that surprised even her. “Not Elliot Park.”

  For a moment Mr. Shelby looked a bit worried.

  “No? I thought you might like going to the park, Miss Klar, since so many people seem to enjoy it. I’ve heard that from a number of our clients.”

  “No, not the park.” She looked up, for a moment dazzled by the sun as she peered at him. “I’ve been there, you see. But you need to realize, Mr. Shelby, that all manner of reprobates go there too. It can get quite unpleasant at times. Especially a little later in the day.”

  “I wasn’t aware of that, of course,” he said. “I’m very glad that you’re here, Miss Klar. You know about certain things, while I do not. Like that park, for example. Which might have led to unfortunate events.”

  All around them church bells had now begun chiming, and Ellen had to lean closer to hear what he said.

  “I was saying that we might have a look at Como Park instead. It’s a little farther away, but it’s bigger and more country-like. If you have time, that is, Miss Klar.”

  She nodded. He smiled delightedly with his lips pressed together and then cast a glance over his shoulder.

  “Here comes the streetcar,” he said. “And it’s headed in the right direction. Just in time. Shall we go?”

  He offered Ellen his arm. She hesitated briefly but then linked her arm with his.

  The streetcar was the same line she usually took. They sat up front, side by side, not talking much. Ellen noticed she was feeling more and more nervous with each stop they passed and as the neighborhoods became more familiar. She worried most that someone she knew might get onboard and she’d be forced to say hello. And then he’d ask her questions. But as they approached Snelling Avenue, Mr. Shelby got up and said it was time to change streetcars.

  “So, you’ve never been out to Como Park before, Miss Klar?” he said after a while, presumably just for something to say. She shook her head.

  “No, we usually stay at home on the weekends,” she said. “Once we went to Elliot Park on a Sunday, but as Mr. Shelby knows, we didn’t really care for the place.”

  “For God’s sake,” he said, sighing deeply, “call me Sol. It makes me nervous to hear you say ‘Mr. Shelby.’ My father is over fifty, and he wears spats on his shoes even on workdays. I hope that’s not how you view me, Miss Klar.”

  He looked almost angry. Ellen swallowed hard and looked down. They had barely set out, and it already looked like it might be a long day.

  He noticed he’d spoken too crossly and said, “Please forgive me. I realize it’s proper to address each other more formally at work. You’re right about that, Miss Klar. But now it’s my day off. So tell me about Elliot Park.”

  “There’s not much to tell,” she replied. “It was pleasant enough. There’s a restaurant with a dance floor and a fountain. But it got a bit rowdy toward evening.”

  And pony rides for children who are still alive, she thought.

  “I’ve heard, of course, that common folks also go there,” he said.

  She gave him a sidelong glance. No doubt he meant to agree with her by saying that. She let it pass and looked out the window. The streetcar was now traveling through an unfamiliar neighborhood, with stone buildings that were two or three stories tall, and all the shop signs were in English.

  Como Park turned out to be a big open space where gravel paths had been laid, meandering among the groves of trees. The park already had its own streetcar stop, but at first Ellen didn’t think there was much to see. Sol Shelby Jr. seemed to know where he was going as they headed along a path that led to a small restaurant in the shade of a cluster of oak trees.

  “There’s not a lot to see here yet,” he told her apologetically, as if he owned the park and ought to have made better preparations. “But there are big plans for it. It’s going to have a zoo, and maybe a large greenhouse with exotic plants. And next Sunday, which is when we might come here, a band from Chicago will be playing.”

  They sat down, and he asked Ellen if she was hungry. She wasn’t but the spring sun was getting quite hot, and she worried about sweat stains appearing under her arms, although Liz had showed her how to remove the stains with baking powder. She asked if she might have a glass of cold lemonade.

  He came back with two tall glasses.

  “In this heat I would have preferred a glass of beer,” he said, “if you don’t might my saying so, Miss Klar. But then I realized that it’s Sunday.”

  Slowly they sipped their lemonade. He was testing her. She knew she was being subjected to some sort of examination, as if he wanted to see what her limits were. He peered at her over the rim of his glass.

  “I was thinking we could set up a long table here in the shade next Sunday for a picnic. If the weather is good, that is. And maybe we could play baseball, if we can put together two teams of the male employees, although a number of them are getting on in years. Don’t you think that might be nice, Miss Klar?”

  He kept on talking as she sat there in the shade, gazing at the lawn. She felt as if she were being drawn, with eyes open, into some sort of waking dream. It was hot, and the lemonade tasted good, sweet and cold instead of sour. He had a pleasant voice that rose and fell rhythmically like music. She didn’t catch everything he said, but that didn’t matter. She nodded and smiled, and that seemed to be sufficient to please him. For Ellen, it was enough to sit under the trees among people who had never seen her before, where no one knew who she was.

&nb
sp; Sol Shelby Jr. didn’t want to go back immediately. He said that first he wanted to take a walk. There was a great deal to see, the park was big, and this was the first lovely spring day. If she had time, that is.

  Again he offered his arm, and together they stepped into the sunshine as they set off along the gravel path. After a while he stopped to take from his pocket a cigarette case that looked to be made of nickel silver. He opened the case and offered Ellen one. He seemed pleased when she declined. Then he lit a cigarette for himself and nonchalantly tossed the used match over his shoulder. Again she had the feeling he was taking her measure. Presumably it would have been a mistake to accept a cigarette.

  “So you’ve never smoked, Miss Klar?”

  She shook her head.

  “A wise decision,” he said. “I don’t think it looks very elegant for women to smoke. And they get bad teeth easier than men.”

  Ellen said she didn’t know about that, but she thought it was unnecessary to adopt a bad habit that was also expensive.

  “Swedes don’t smoke much,” he said. “From what I understand.”

  “At home”—she very nearly said in the Hollow but managed to hold back the words—“at home some of the men smoke pipes. But most of them use snuff.”

  “Ugh, yes,” he said. “They can keep that habit for themselves. That must be why they smell.”

  They were walking toward the lake. An icy-cold breeze blowing off the water reminded them it was still early in the year. Ellen shivered. He offered her his jacket, but she declined. They chatted easily, and she almost forgot he was her boss. Nor did she mind if they walked for a while in silence. That didn’t seem to bother him either. They continued to the bridge that spanned the water lily pond and paused in the middle to look down at the enormous leaves floating on the surface below. They looked like gigantic green cakes. He explained how heated water was piped into the pond so the plants would grow big. Otherwise they grew only in South America.

  Then he said abruptly, “You haven’t said anything about my face, Miss Klar.”

  She paused, looking distressed. He was squinting at her in the sunlight, and all of a sudden his expression seemed unpleasantly calculating as he regarded her through narrowed eyes.

  “No, why should I?” she said.

  “Most people wonder about it,” he said curtly and then continued walking. “I’m certain that all of you talk about it at work.”

  She searched her memory and then was able to shake her head without stretching the truth. He stopped and looked at her.

  “Really?” he said incredulously and then smiled.

  “I don’t talk much with the other girls. But I can’t recall anyone ever saying anything. Not to me.”

  “Perhaps I’m exaggerating,” he said, gazing at the water. “But sometimes I sense that’s what people are thinking about when they look at me. Occasionally I forget about it, but not for long.”

  She gathered her courage and said, “It’s not that bad. I think you pay more attention to it than other people do.”

  “Well, I have to look at myself in the mirror every day,” he said.

  He told her that years ago his father, Solomon Shelby Sr., had traveled to Cuba with the intention of investing in a sugarcane plantation. Nothing came of the plan, but when he came home he was suffering from smallpox. His father did not become deathly ill, but he infected his son.

  “I was ten years old,” he said. “I developed the most dangerous form of the illness, and everyone thought I would die. My parents thought so too. I remember getting a vaccine shot, but then there’s a gap in my memory of several weeks when I had a very high fever. Mother still thinks the vaccine made it worse, while Father usually says it’s what saved my life. Sometimes they still argue about it. What I remember most is that it itched like hell, and I couldn’t help scratching in my sleep. Finally they had to wrap my hands in bandages so I wouldn’t scratch my skin to shreds. But I recovered.”

  Ellen realized that she was expected to say something, but it took her a while to find the right words.

  “It’s very common,” she said. “And almost nobody pays it much attention anymore. At least not on a man. I noticed the first time we met, but since then I haven’t given it a thought. I mean it.”

  He stopped and looked at her. “Would you dare to touch my face, Miss Klar? Or is it too repulsive?”

  She now understood that this was the real test, the moment the entire day had been leading toward. What she’d perceived as him taking her measure really had just as much to do with himself. Without hesitation she reached out and gently stroked his cheek. The skin was rougher than she’d imagined, but he didn’t have much stubble. When her fingertips touched his face, he closed his eyes. Then he heaved a big sigh, as if he’d been holding his breath for a very long time.

  They ate a late lunch at a little stall that sold pancakes. It was starting to feel chilly, so they moved their chairs and the small table several times so they could keep sitting in the sunshine. They didn’t talk much. Mostly he tried to entertain her by recounting anecdotes about clients he’d had. They weren’t especially amusing, but he tried to make the most of them. She no longer laughed as politely as before. She merely smiled as she sat there, pondering how to put her clothes in order for the next day.

  “You must forgive me, Miss Klar,” he said at last, now giving her a big, relaxed smile instead of the strained smile from earlier in the day. “Here I am, talking about myself. I assume you’ll be going home to your parents. Maybe they’re wondering where you are. And could I possibly call you Ellen? Now that we’re not at work?”

  She smiled and said that would be fine.

  He paid for the food and they walked arm in arm toward the waiting room in the streetcar station. It was close to four o’clock, and there were still several hours of daylight left. The air was chillier and a light breeze was blowing. Ellen wished she could afford to buy herself a hat like the other girls in the office had.

  For the first few stations, they were alone onboard the streetcar. Just the two of them and the conductor, who soon started up a conversation with the driver and turned his back to them. They were sitting alone, toward the back of the streetcar.

  With a sudden, sharp jolt of alarm, Ellen felt Sol Shelby Jr. put his hand on her thigh and give it a squeeze. He sat motionless, staring straight ahead and pretending nothing was happening, but the warmth from his hand penetrated right through the thick fabric of her skirt. Panic tightened her throat. Then she cautiously took his hand and lifted it away. But she didn’t let go. His fingers intertwined with hers, and they sat there, not moving, not speaking, as the streetcar clattered on, getting closer to the city. Buildings appeared on either side and obscured the sky. The streetcar filled with more voices and the silhouettes of other passengers. But the two of them sat there without saying a word until they had to get off and go their separate ways on Snelling Avenue.

  Swede Hollow / Duluth Line

  June 1904

  ELISABET WAS A WEEK PAST DUE. She had calculated the date with Inga’s help, and now she was growing more anxious for each day that passed. She said the baby was moving about as it should, but she was frightened of the birth itself; the baby was getting bigger and bigger. Most often she would go to stay with her mother or Inga rather than sit alone in the small house where she and Leonard lived among the Italians. She didn’t dare be alone for extended periods of time, and she no longer had the energy to walk all the way up and down the hill several times a day. Leonard would sometimes come to get her when he was back from work, but on some evenings she didn’t want to follow him home. He would eat supper with his in-laws and his young wife and then go back down the hill, while Elisabet would stay behind and sleep in the bed next to the door.

  Leonard was still working the long trips to North Dakota and Montana. His foreman said nobody knew the route as well as he did, since he was aware of every curve and every difficult incline. There were no other job opportunities to be found
, so he had to stay on.

  Sometimes he felt as if he were looking at himself from the outside as he walked to work through the railroad tunnels down in the low, gray shantytown sector belonging to the Irish. It was almost as if he were observing himself from Seventh Street, far above on the viaduct. Things had turned out the way he’d once imagined they might—with him wearing a gray jacket and cap and joining the flood of other men pouring out of the Hollow each dawn. He no longer looked any different, and maybe that had never been a possibility. He was merely one gray figure among hundreds of others.

  Leonard was good at his job and he knew what he was doing. Like his older workmates, he might soon lose a finger or two, but that didn’t really scare him. It would be worse to lose a leg or a hand, which happened to workers at regular intervals. And there were other dangers that were more difficult to avoid.

  He saw how his father-in-law, Gustaf, was beginning to look more and more like a shadow of himself with every passing day. He seemed hardened and hounded by an anger that lacked any release after they had “worked out” everything regarding Elisabet and the baby. He and Gustaf rarely spoke to each other, and even then only tersely and about ordinary matters. Sometimes the older man—increasingly rigid in both body and mind, unyielding and resigned—would walk along next to Leonard. Gustaf was one of the men who always did as he was told, for sixty-five cents a day. Just one more married man, with mouths to feed and tools to heft on someone else’s orders. Yet unlike most of the other men who worked for the railroad, Gustaf didn’t drink. He’d stopped drinking even before leaving Sweden.

  His father-in-law’s hair was still quite thick, but gray streaks had begun to appear. Leonard could remember when Gustaf’s hair was entirely brown, though with a hue very like his own. But this man, who was twenty years older, had never interested him except in his role as Elisabet’s father. He thought it wise to avoid Gustaf, and yet he always tried to humor him as best he could.