Under Ground, page 7
“You lie,” Milo said, closing his lunch pail.
“Ask around. It’s amazing what the Oliver dubs ‘accident.’ Keep your talk to the taverns and halls. There are spies
everywhere in these mines. How do you know I am not a spy, ready to report you today?”
“Because you asked me that question,” Milo said.
CHAPTER 9
“I don’t think it is a good place for a boy,” Ana Zalar said to her husband, Leo, as Milo was leaving.
Milo had secured lodging at Vince Torelli’s boardinghouse, one of the cheapest in town, with a notorious brothel and tavern. In the last year alone, nine men had been shot there, and four of them had died. Musicians played into the wee hours of the night, and men got so drunk they fell off their barstools or vomited into the spittoons. Milo had never seen a gunfight up close or, more importantly, a sporting girl. He couldn’t wait to go.
“No place for a boy,” Ana repeated.
“Ana,” Leo said. “He is no more a boy. He is seventeen now.”
“You are a stupid man,” Ana said.
“Then you married one. What does that make you, aye?” Ana was due to deliver her second child in a month or two. The shack was small. It was time for Milo to move on.
Milo arrived at the boardinghouse on a Sunday, midafternoon. The tavern was about half full. He walked up to the long bar.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” he said to a woman about fifty years old, dressed conservatively in black. She was pouring whiskey into a Mason jar for a customer.
“What will it be?”
Milo told her who he was.
“Eight dollars, up front,” she said, tucking the money into her apron pocket. Then she looked at him closely. “How old are you, kid?”
“Twenty.”
“Ever had a woman before?”
Milo hesitated. “Yes,” he said. “Many women I have had.”
She raised her eyebrow at him and watched as his face flushed. “I see how it is,” she said. “I’m Edna, Vince’s wife. We got a kitchen staff, and I ain’t on it, so don’t be asking me for food. Order from the bar wenches, and we’ll bill you at the end of the month for anything over two meals a day.” She poured him a small amount of whiskey, not more than a swallow or two. “Drink it. It’s on the house.”
Milo picked up the glass and drank it in one gulp. The liquor burned his throat, but he tried not to show it.
“Greek?” she asked him.
“No. Slovenian, I am.”
“What do you think of her?” Edna asked, pointing toward a blonde who was delivering some drinks to a table full of gamblers in the back corner. The woman wore a long red dress with a low-cut bodice. She had a small waist. Her hair was curled in ringlets, and she had painted lips and cheeks.
“She beautiful,” Milo said. And she was.
“I thought she’d be the one for you. Greek men always go for the blondes. Think they are exotic.”
“I am Slovenian.”
“Same thing. Tell you what, since you’re new here, I’ll give you half price on her. Just two dollars a row.”
Two dollars? That was almost a day’s wages at the mine. “Maybe tomorrow,” Milo said.
“Deal’s only good today.” She poured him another glass of whiskey and watched him drink it. He started to feel slightly dizzy. “Get yourself settled. Your room’s up the stairs.” Milo picked up his rucksack and his guitar and carried them to his room.
The house accommodated over thirty miners who spoke nearly as many languages. Ten men were assigned to each room. At any given time, because there were two shifts at the mine, a miner could be found asleep on one of the foul-smelling beds. However, because it was Sunday, only a few men were sleeping off hangovers when Milo got to his room. Three men were lying on their bunks reading. One man with a mop of yellow hair and a scruffy beard was cleaning out his fingernails with his penknife.
“You the new man?” he said to Milo in a Swedish accent.
“Yep.”
“That one.” He pointed to the bed next to his and resumed his grooming ritual. “Fellow before you died. His name was Eric Gustafson. Upstanding guy. Got his self killed, right downstairs. Fighting over a woman, they say. Woman’s husband walked in a few days ago, right into the tavern, and shot him in the back. He died a few days later. His last words were, ‘Don’t prosecute. I done what he said I done, and I deserve it.’”
“Sorry. About your friend.”
“He were not my friend.”
Milo unpacked his meager belongings. Ana had stuffed a linen sheet in his sack, and upon seeing it, he felt overcome with gratitude. The sheet that was on his bed was filthy. He replaced it with the cloth. He shook out the wool blanket. “The blankets, are they lousy?” he asked.
“Mine ain’t. Guess you’ll find out about yourn soon enough.” The Swede introduced himself to Milo. His name was Lars. “We’re not all named Lars,” he said, “despite what they tell you. But me, I actually am. Lars Larson.” He agreed to show Milo around the place. “It’s almost time for dinner anyways. Cook ain’t that good, but the service is real pretty.”
Milo thought about the blonde with the painted face. He felt an aching between his legs and hoped his longing was not visible to the Swede. He tried to think of something else. He thought about the encyclopedias he had been saving for. Maybe he could bargain with the traveling salesman, talk him down. “Take it or leave it,” he would say. “Offer only good today.”
Two dollars was an awful lot of money. But two dollars was half as much as four, which is what it would cost him tomorrow. And all he had was four dollars until next week’s payday. He had it right in his pocket. He’d already had his first drink of whiskey. He was living on his own. What other firsts would this day hold for him? He couldn’t wait to find out.
CHAPTER 10
Susan Fletcher was the first sporting girl to work at Vince Torelli’s boardinghouse, arriving with the “Original Seven” by train from Minneapolis nine years earlier. The other six dispersed to various brothels. Susan had worked at Torelli’s ever since, and Vince had added four more girls.
Ina, Maria, Leppe, and Brina had been falsely lured by Vince from their countries of origin to work as waitresses. Ina and Leppe were both blondes from Sweden. They had lived in Biwabik for more than three years and had hardened to their fates. Maria, the Croatian, and Brina, the Russian, were both dark-haired with olive skin. They had been working less than a year. The bouncer, Moose Jackson, was aptly named. He was huge. At the end of the night, he collected the money from the sporting girls, gave Vince his share, the ladies their share, and pocketed the rest.
Milo and Lars Larson sat down at a table near the bar. Brina, the Russian, approached their table, but was called off by Edna, who was still working behind the bar. She whispered something to Brina, and a moment or two later, the blond, blue-eyed Swede named Leppe came to their table. Without a word she plopped a bowl of venison stew in front of each man. Then she left, returning with a small loaf of bread, some utensils, and butter.
“What else?” she asked. “Whiskey, Lars?”
Lars said something to her in Swedish, and she laughed.
“You?” she said to Milo.
“Same ting.”
By the time the two men finished their meal, Milo was so drunk he was talking to Lars in half English, half Slovenian. Lars responded in Swedish, and it was hilarious to both of them. After more than two hours had passed and many whiskeys were consumed, Edna was at the table, looking straight at Milo. “Deal is for one day only,” she repeated.
“I have money,” Milo said without hesitation.
“Good. She is waiting for you up the stairs. Past the boarder rooms, on the right. Last door. Think you can remember all that, Greek boy?”
“Slovenian.”
“Right. What are you waiting for, then?”
“No ting.”
Lars Larson patted Milo on the back, made a lewd gesture, and wished him luck. The first waitress who had waited on them, Brina, caught his eye. She quickly shook her head and mouthed, “no,” but he paid no attention. Milo quickly made his way up the stairs, his head filled with visions of Leppe’s breasts. He was thoroughly intoxicated, but he was young, and his body was eager.
Leppe was lying on the bed with her eyes closed, as if napping, when he opened the door. She stood up with a start. “Don’t you have the decency to knock?”
“Sorry.” Milo blushed. She was gorgeous. The most wonderful sight he had ever seen. “You are most beautiful girl in whole world,” he said.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty,” Milo said.
“Sure you are. And I’m a nun.”
She began to undo the laces on her corset. Milo’s eyes grew wide. She slipped out of her skirt and undergarments and stood before him, naked except for her hosiery and garters.
“Sweet Mary,” Milo said. He thought he might faint and willed himself not to.
“It works better if you take your clothes off too,” Leppe said dryly.
She watched as Milo loosened his suspenders, unbuttoned his trousers, and let them fall to his knees. Leppe looked at him. At the part no woman had ever looked at. She touched her breasts with her hands, slowly encircling her nipples. She licked her lips and held out her left hand. “Three dollars,” she said.
Edna had said two dollars, hadn’t she? Maybe he had heard wrong. Had she said three? His head was spinning, just a bit. He wished he hadn’t drunk so much whiskey. “Two dollars.”
He watched as Leppe’s hand slowly started to wander down her body, to her navel, and then lower. “Three.”
He bent down to the ground and reached into his trouser pockets and counted out three dollars, handing them to her quickly. She tucked them into a satchel on the floor. As she bent over, he pulled up behind her, reached around, and felt her breasts. “Please, no longer can I wait.”
It was over quickly. He begged her to let him do it again, and it was clear he had the stamina to do it, but he didn’t have three more dollars. He watched morosely as she put her clothes back on without making eye contact. “Please,” he said. “I’ll pay you tomorrow.”
She slowly picked his clothes up off the floor. Her back was to him. Then she threw him his pants and walked out the door.
Milo found Lars sitting at the same table where they had shared dinner. A woman with dark hair was sitting on his lap, and he kept trying to put his hands between her legs. She pushed his hands away in disgust and walked away. When he saw Milo, Lars stood up and cheered drunkenly. He made the same lewd gesture he had made the last time he saw Milo. “Sweden is a great country, no?” He pointed toward Leppe, who was letting a man at the gambling table smell her breasts while she poured bourbon into their glasses.
“Lars. Borrow me two dollar. I pay you back on payday.”
Lars chortled and shook his head. “Wash your pecker before you go to bed. I don’t pay for no one’s whore but my own.”
Milo watched a man put his hands on Leppe’s buttocks and squeeze. She slapped him, not hard. Milo stood up, infuriated. Lars pushed him back down. “Milo. Sit the hell down. Finish your drink like a man. Then go to bed. Don’t start no trouble here. Not if you want to live. Don’t confuse a whore with a lady.”
“Okay,” Milo said. He held up his drink, high. In the reflection of the glass, he could see the back of Leppe’s head. Her hair was the golden color of wheat in the fall, but her curls had flattened and lost their bounce.
Later that night, as he changed for bed, Milo frantically searched his pockets. He had handed her three dollars as requested. But his other dollar was gone too. Leppe had robbed him.
CHAPTER 11
Before work every morning, Milo took breakfast at the tavern, usually with the Swede. He ate half his meal, which was paid for by his rent money, and saved the rest to stuff into his lunch pail since he had no money for lunch. By dinnertime he was famished. He did not want to return to the tavern, to the place where he had been humiliated, but he had no choice.
Leppe did not serve his meal until four nights after their encounter. “Well,” she said, “if it isn’t my eager little Greek.”
“Not Greek,” Milo corrected. Now sober, Leppe’s face did not look as beautiful to Milo as it had the first time he saw her. “Why did you do it?” he asked.
“Do what?” she retorted, placing a bowl of stew in front of him.
“Steal from me. I have no more dollar.”
“Because you let me.” Her voice held no apologies, but also no malice. “That is how it works here.” Milo’s face reddened as she walked away.
He wanted so very much to walk out the door. To return to a life filled with books and music and women who wouldn’t let you hold their hand without a promise. He wanted to hate her, but he couldn’t. She was doing a job, a job she probably despised. She was like the miners in that way. Debts to pay and nowhere to go.
In his first few weeks at the boardinghouse, Milo witnessed three knife fights and several fistfights. He had imagined that the fights would be big, brawling affairs involving many people, but they were not. All three knife fights had been between two men who had a score to settle. It was understood that men would have grievances, and they would necessarily be settled through violence. Only once did the sheriff come into the tavern, and it was to play Smear, a popular miner’s card game that originated in Slovenia. Vince, the owner, was the sheriff’s partner, and Milo heard that the two of them made forty dollars each in a tournament that lasted long into the night. There were a few brawls that night too, but Sheriff Turner did not intervene.
One night Milo heard Leppe arguing with Moose. “I don’t need you,” she said. “I’ll collect the money myself. Why should you get a dime?”
Moose’s right hand flew out of his pocket, and his fist, shaped like an iron heart, landed on Leppe’s nose like a hammer. Leppe fell to the ground, covering her face. Blood seeped through her fingers. Milo stood up from where he was sitting. He walked toward Leppe, who was writhing on the ground; the big bouncer stood over her, wiping her blood from his hand.
“Why you do like that?” Milo said to Moose.
“What?” Moose said.
“Why you hit a lady?” Milo’s voice was steady, but his eyes flickered with disbelief. “You so bigger than her.”
The other customers grew quiet. At six feet, eight inches, Moose was a freak of nature. Rumor had it he had murdered two men in Minneapolis. He had done some time in Duluth too, before making his way to the Range. No one challenged Moose Jackson and expected to live.
“You’re the Greek, aren’t you? What’s your name?”
“My name is Milo Blatnik. I am not Greek. I am from Ljubljana, in Slovenia.”
“Nice to meet you,” Moose said. Then, using both fists like a boxer, he pummeled Milo’s face and kneed him in the stomach. Milo dropped like a ragdoll. For a moment he heard the other men in the bar cheering, but he didn’t know if they were urging him to fight back or urging Moose to kill him.
CHAPTER 12
When Milo came to, the sky was beginning to lighten. He was leaning against the hard brick of Cerkvenik’s Mercantile, where someone had dragged him. He had been awakened by the sound of buzzing. A small army of mosquitoes was swarming about him. They had been feasting on his bloody face for hours before he regained consciousness. The back of his head felt as if it had exploded, and his innards felt as if they had been reorganized by a jackhammer.
He felt something warm and wet on his face and reached for it.
“Don’t touch,” a soft voice said. He put his hand down. Milo tried to open his eyes. His left eye was completely swollen shut. He could open his right eye slightly. His vision was fuzzy. He could vaguely see a woman’s face in front of his. Her hair was black. She was dabbing his wounds with a cloth.
“Do you have any people?”
“People?” He coughed blood and spit it out.
“To take care of you. You can’t go back to Vince’s place. Moose’ll kill you.”
Who was Vince? Who was Moose? Who was this woman? The words and images floated around him like ghosts. He tried to focus.
“Family. Friends,” she said. “Anyone?”
“Leo and Ana Zalar. Belgrade location.”
“Good,” she said. “I will take you there, but we must hurry.”
“Are you an angel?”
She hesitated. “No. I am Brina.”
“Thank you. You save my life. Someday I return the favor.”
“Can you stand?”
He could, but barely. He leaned on Brina, and slowly they stumbled their way to the Zalars’ door. He slumped against it and fell to the dirt. Brina knocked hard three times and ran.
Ana Zalar opened the door. She was very pregnant. “Milo! My poor little boy,” she cried. “Danko! Help me drag him to the bed!” Ana wondered what to do about Milo’s smashed-in face and useless arm. “A lawless land, this is,” she said. As Danko tugged at Milo’s boots, Ana put water on to boil, added the eucalyptus leaves, and readied the white bandages.
Leo had heard all about the fight during his shift. When he came home from the mine, he was relieved to see Milo safe in his house. “My son,” he said when Milo stirred, “how did you get here?”
“Woman,” he said.
“What woman?”
“Her name was Brina.”
“A woman like that,” Leo said, “you should marry.”
Milo tried to smile, but winced in pain.
“My arm, will it heal?”
Leo said nothing.
“Of course it will heal,” Ana said loudly. “Good as new in no time.”
