"Unser Karl" Page #3

"Unser Karl" by Bret Harte is a poignant short story that explores themes of friendship, loyalty, and cultural differences. Set in a mining town during the California Gold Rush, it centers around the character of Karl, a German immigrant, and his relationships with the local townsfolk. Through a series of engaging interactions and humor, Harte delves into the complexities of immigrant life and the bonds that form in a diverse community. The narrative highlights the significance of understanding and acceptance, ultimately delivering a message about the humanity that connects us all, regardless of background.

								

vomens. Goot men. Und beer und sausage. Blenty to eat and drink, eh?
Und," looking around the room, "you and te poys haf a gay times."

"Yes," said the consul shortly, turning away. But he presently faced
round again on the unfettered Karl, who was evidently indulging in a
gormandizing reverie.

"What on earth brought you here, anyway?"

"Was it das?"

"What brought you here from America, or wherever you ran away from?"

"To see der, volks."

"But you are an ORPHAN, you know, and you have no folks living here."

"But all Shermany is mine volks,--de whole gountry, don't it? Pet your
poots! How's dot, eh?"

The consul turned back to his desk and wrote a short note to General
Adlerkreutz in his own American German. He did not think it his duty
in the present case to interfere with the authorities or to offer his
parole for Karl Schwartz. But he would claim that, as the offender
was evidently an innocent emigrant and still young, any punishment or
military degradation be omitted, and he be allowed to take his place
like any other recruit in the ranks. If he might have the temerity to
the undoubted, far-seeing military authority of suggestion making here,
he would suggest that Karl was for the commissariat fitted! Of course,
he still retained the right, on production of satisfactory proof, his
discharge to claim.

The consul read this aloud to Karl. The cherubic youth smiled and said,
"Zo!" Then, extending his hand, he added the word "Zshake!"

The consul shook his hand a little remorsefully, and, preceding him to
the outer room, resigned him with the note into the inspector's hands. A
universal sigh went up from the girls, and glances of appeal sought the
consul; but he wisely concluded that it would be well, for a while, that
Karl--a helpless orphan--should be under some sort of discipline! And
the securer business of certifying invoices recommenced.

Late that afternoon he received a folded bit of blue paper from the
waistbelt of an orderly, which contained in English characters and as
a single word "Alright," followed by certain jagged pen-marks, which he
recognized as Adlerkreutz's signature. But it was not until a week later
that he learned anything definite. He was returning one night to his
lodgings in the residential part of the city, and, in opening the door
with his pass-key, perceived in the rear of the hall his handmaiden
Trudschen, attended by the usual blue or yellow or red shadow. He was
passing by them with the local 'n' Abend! on his lips when the soldier
turned his face and saluted. The consul stopped. It was the cherub Karl
in uniform!

But it had not subdued a single one of his characteristics. His hair
had been cropped a little more closely under his cap, but there was its
color and woolliness still intact; his plump figure was girt by belt and
buttons, but he only looked the more unreal, and more like a combination
of pen-wiper and pincushion, until his puffy breast and shoulders seemed
to offer a positive invitation to any one who had picked up a pin. But,
wonderful!--according to his brief story--he had been so proficient
in the goose step that he had been put in uniform already, and allowed
certain small privileges,--among them, evidently the present one.
The consul smiled and passed on. But it seemed strange to him that
Trudschen, who was a tall strapping girl, exceedingly popular with
the military, and who had never looked lower than a corporal at least,
should accept the attentions of an Einjahriger like that. Later he
interrogated her.

Ach! it was only Unser Karl! And the consul knew he was Amerikanisch!

"Indeed!"

"Yes! It was such a tearful story!"

"Tell me what it is," said the consul, with a faint hope that Karl had
volunteered some communication of his past.

"Ach Gott! There in America he was a man, and could 'vote,' make laws,
and, God willing, become a town councilor,--or Ober Intendant,--and
here he was nothing but a soldier for years. And this America was a
fine country. Wunderschon? There were such big cities, and one
'Booflo'--could hold all Schlachtstadt, and had of people five hundred
thousand!"

The consul sighed. Karl had evidently not yet got off the line of the
New York Central and Erie roads. "But does he remember yet what he did
with his papers?" said the consul persuasively.

"Ach! What does he want with PAPERS when he could make the laws? They
were dumb, stupid things--these papers--to him."

"But his appetite remains good, I hope?" suggested the consul.

This closed the conversation, although Karl came on many other nights,
and his toy figure quite supplanted the tall corporal of hussars in the
remote shadows of the hall. One night, however, the consul returned home
from a visit to a neighboring town a day earlier than he was expected.
As he neared his house he was a little surprised to find the windows of
his sitting-room lit up, and that there were no signs of Trudschen in
the lower hall or passages. He made his way upstairs in the dark and
pushed open the door of his apartment. To his astonishment, Karl was
sitting comfortably in his own chair, his cap off before a student-lamp
on the table, deeply engaged in apparent study. So profound was his
abstraction that it was a moment before he looked up, and the consul had
a good look at his usually beaming and responsive face, which, however,
now struck him as wearing a singular air of thought and concentration.
When their eyes at last met, he rose instantly and saluted, and
his beaming smile returned. But, either from his natural phlegm or
extraordinary self-control he betrayed neither embarrassment nor alarm.

The explanation he gave was direct and simple. Trudschen had gone out
with the Corporal Fritz for a short walk, and had asked him to "keep
house" during their absence. He had no books, no papers, nothing to read
in the barracks, and no chance to improve his mind. He thought the Herr
Consul would not object to his looking at his books. The consul was
touched; it was really a trivial indiscretion and as much Trudschen's
fault as Karl's! And if the poor fellow had any mind to improve,--his
recent attitude certainly suggested thought and reflection,--the consul
were a brute to reprove him. He smiled pleasantly as Karl returned a
stubby bit of pencil and some greasy memoranda to his breast pocket, and
glanced at the table. But to his surprise it was a large map that Karl
had been studying, and, to his still greater surprise, a map of the
consul's own district.

"You seem to be fond of map-studying," said the consul pleasantly. "You
are not thinking of emigrating again?"

"Ach, no!" said Karl simply; "it is my cousine vot haf lif near here. I
find her."

But he left on Trudschen's return, and the consul was surprised to
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