When he came to the building where Sonja Mattsson lived, he paused outside the door and made sure he didn’t need a pee. That was the most important thing of all. Then he took off his wooly hat and ran his hand through his short-cropped hair.
He felt nervous. He hoped something was going to happen. But he didn’t know what.
He went up the stairs and rang the doorbell. When she opened the door she was wearing the same clothes as last time. Still no transparent veils.
“What do you want?” she asked. “Don’t think I’m going to buy any more Christmas magazines.”
“I’ve lost a mitten and I think I must have left it here,” said Joel.
Now came the hard bit. There was a risk that she might leave him waiting at the door while she went to look for the mitten.
“Come in,” she said. “It’s so cold with the door open.”
She closed the door behind him. Joel breathed in her perfume. If he’d dared, he would have grabbed hold of her and lifted her up.
“Have a look, then,” she said. “See if the mitten’s lying here somewhere.”
She left him alone in the hall. Joel found the mitten straightaway. He hid it in a more obscure place. She came back.
“Have you found it?”
“Not yet,” said Joel. “But it must be here.”
“Tell me when you’ve got it,” she said, leaving him on his own again.
The wireless was on in the living room. Joel pretended to be searching, and peeped cautiously into the room. She was sitting on the sofa, painting her nails. Joel watched in fascination. He screwed up his eyes and made her look slightly blurred. He could almost believe that she was wearing transparent veils. With nothing on underneath.
He didn’t know how long he stood watching her, but it suddenly dawned on him that she’d seen him. She stood up and Joel produced the mitten.
“What are you looking at?” she asked.
She didn’t sound angry.
“I don’t know,” said Joel. “But I’ve found my mitten. It was lying underneath a scarf.”
A look of surprise flitted across her face. But then she smiled.
“No doubt it was,” she said.
“I’ll be going now, then,” said Joel.
He didn’t want to leave. But he didn’t have any more lost mittens to search for.
“How’s Digby?”
“He’s fine. His temperature’s normal again now.”
She had already opened the door. Joel was stamping his feet as if to keep warm.
“Is there anything else you want?”
“No,” said Joel. “Nothing else.”
Then he left. On the way home he thought about how well it had gone. Now he could go to the shop and show the fat old women that he knew the new assistant. And no doubt he’d be able to find another excuse to visit her again.
The guitar, he thought. I must start practicing tomorrow.
He was in a hurry. He hardly had time to pause outside the windows of the shoe shop and take another look at the boots he wanted Samuel to buy for him. They were expensive. But Joel knew that there were others that cost even more. Those were the ones he would try on first when they went to the shop together. Say how good they were. But Samuel would have none of that when he heard the price. At which point Joel would try on the ones he really wanted to have. And he would get them. Because they were cheaper.
By the time he reached home Samuel was already asleep. As he walked up the stairs Joel had felt worried again, in case Samuel had gone out drinking. But the snores he heard were like music in his ears.
He sat for a while on the edge of his bed, holding Simon’s guitar in his hands. It was dirty. That was something he hadn’t noticed before. But there again, everything in Simon’s house was dirty. He fetched a rag from the kitchen and started polishing. Before long the guitar was gleaming bright. He leaned it against the wall where he could see it from his bed. Then he crept down under the covers.
The day had started badly. But it finished rather better. Tomorrow he would be at his desk when school started. In the afternoon he would go round to Kringström’s and start playing.
He closed his eyes. Felt how tired he was.
And now he could locate Captain Joel Gustafson. It was easy now.
The storm has abated. The mutineers have been defeated. The lookout has reported that an unusual-looking bird has perched on the figurehead on the bow of the ship. That means they are approaching land.
Despite his painful injuries, Captain Gustafson has gone up on deck. One of his ankles has been injured in the battle with the mutineers. Now the warm wind is blowing into his face. Soon they will reach the shore ….
Joel fell asleep.
In his dreams he drifted out into his sea where the breakers were rolling slowly.
Back and forth. Back and forth …
— THIRTEEN —
The next day Joel turned up at school on time, at last.
It had snowed during the night. The school caretaker had started making a skating rink on the big expanse of gravel next to the playground. Winter had really set in now. Otto and Joel glared at each other during the breaks, but both the headmaster and Miss Nederström were keeping a close eye on them.
During one of the breaks the Greyhound came up to talk to Joel. That made him suspicious straightaway. She’d never done that before.
“No doubt you’ve told everybody that I’m going to learn to play the guitar,” he said accusingly.
“I haven’t said a word,” she said. “I don’t spread gossip.”
Joel knew that wasn’t true. Nobody ran around spreading as much gossip as the Greyhound. Joel thought that might be because she could run so fast. She was a gossip runner.
But now he wasn’t so sure. Maybe it was true after all? But if so, he didn’t understand why.
As soon as school was over he hurried home to fetch the guitar. On the way he called in at Ehnström’s shop to buy potatoes and butter. He ran his hand through his hair before going in, but he was out of luck. It was Ehnström himself behind the counter. He could see Sonja in the storeroom, and tried to draw out his purchases for as long as possible. But the old ladies were jostling him from behind. He would have to wait until the next day before greeting her.
When he got to the block of flats where Kringström lived he was soaked in sweat. He had to pause and recover his breath before going up the stairs. The black van used by the orchestra was parked outside. Today there was no risk of Kringström having gone to Brunflo.
Kringström opened the door with a clarinet in his hand. Music could be heard in the background.
“‘Siam Blues,’” said Kringström. “Come on in.”
Then he stood in the hall playing to the record while Joel was taking off his outdoor clothes. Halfway through he changed from the clarinet to a big bass saxophone. Joel listened in fascination. Kringström really could play.
Joel looked at the man’s hands. His fingers were short and stubby, but even so he could reach all the keys he needed to press.
The music came to an end. Kringström put down the saxophone. They had come into the biggest room, where all the music stands were. Joel sat on the floor and took the guitar out of its case. Kringström picked it up and examined it carefully. Joel worried in case it wasn’t good enough.
“Where have you got this from?” Kringström asked.
“I’ve borrowed it,” said Joel.
“It’s a fine old guitar,” said Kringström. “They don’t make them like this anymore. If they did they’d be worth many thousands of kronor.”
The very thought made Joel feel dizzy. Simon had had that guitar hanging on his wall for as long as Joel had known him. No doubt he had no idea that it was so valuable.
“But the strings are in poor condition,” said Kringström. “We’d better start by changing them.”
“I haven’t got any others,” said Joel.
Kringström shrugged.
“But I have. If
you lead an orchestra you need to be equipped like a car repair shop. Spare parts for all the instruments.”
He produced a new set of strings. Joel watched him removing the old ones and fixing the new ones. Then Kringström nodded towards the piano.
“Give me a C,” he said.
Joel didn’t know where to find a C. He was forced to ask.
“The white key that comes immediately before two black ones,” said Kringström, sounding only a little bit annoyed.
Joel prodded at a C.
“You don’t need to belt it as hard as that,” said Kringström.
Joel tapped the key once more. More gently this time. And Kringström tuned the guitar.
Then he handed it to Joel, and they started to practice.
After an hour Joel had a pain in his fingers and his back and his wrists. He didn’t see how he’d ever be able to learn. Even if he could it would take so long that he’d be in the churchyard before he could play a single Elvis song. Kringström pulled at Joel’s fingers, told him to bend his wrist more and to press harder. The strings cut into the tips of Joel’s fingers.
“You’ll learn eventually,” said Kringström when the hour was up. “But it will take time.”
He told Joel what he ought to practice before the next time they met.
“I haven’t time for more than two lessons a week,” said Kringström. “And now we must decide how you’re going to pay.”
A shudder ran down Joel’s spine.
Did Kringström want paying? He’d thought Kringström did this kind of thing because it was fun.
Kringström noticed Joel’s panic. His face broke into a large smile. Joel had never seen anything like it before. Kringström looking happy.
“You can help me to clean,” he said. “I don’t want money. But you can dust down the records and music stands. And wash up when necessary. Do you know how to wash up?”
“Yes,” said Joel. “And I can clean as well.”
“Boys can’t usually do that kind of thing,” said Kringström.
“But I can,” said Joel.
Kringström nodded.
“That’s settled, then. You needn’t bother today. We’ll start next time. One hour with the guitar, then one hour with the dishcloth and duster.”
Joel put his guitar back in its case and got ready to leave. By then Kringström had already put on a new record and started playing. This time he had taken up position behind a big double bass. Joel stood in the doorway, watching. Listening. Kringström played away and seemed to have forgotten already that Joel was there.
As Joel emerged through the front door, the Greyhound appeared from behind the corner. Joel had the impression that she’d been lying in wait for him. He was on his guard immediately. What did she want now?
“Can you play yet?” she asked.
“You know full well that it takes time,” said Joel. “With your wrists and your fingers and all that. How many notes do you think have to be learnt?”
Joel set off walking. She accompanied him. There’s something she wants, Joel thought. But I’m not going to ask her what.
They walked down the hill in silence. Now and then she would run for a few feet, circling round Joel. She really was like a dog. She couldn’t keep still.
“Why didn’t you tell the truth?” she asked without warning.
Joel stopped. What did she mean?
“Why didn’t you say that you didn’t go to school because your dad was drunk?”
Joel stared at her.
“He wasn’t at all.”
“What was he, then?”
“He was ill.”
Joel could feel his cheeks burning. Nobody had permission to say that his dad was drunk. Even if it was true. And how did the Greyhound know about it anyway?
“If you’d told the truth you needn’t have been in detention. And you didn’t need to say it in front of the class. You could have waited until one of the breaks.”
“My dad was ill,” said Joel, and set off walking again. The Greyhound followed him remorselessly.
Joel stopped again.
“How do you know about it?” he asked. “Did you see him?”
“I just know,” she said, continuing to circle round Joel.
There could only be one explanation, Joel thought. The Greyhound gossips more than anybody else in town, but that must also mean that she knows more than anybody else. The gossip has to come from somewhere, even for her.
Joel started walking again. Faster now.
“He doesn’t drink very often,” Joel said. “Less and less, in fact.”
They had come to the bottom of the hill. Joel thought the Greyhound would turn round now and run back home. But she didn’t. She carried on walking by his side.
Joel was less suspicious now. The Greyhound hadn’t spat out her comments as she usually did. It was almost as if he’d started to enjoy walking along in her company. Quite apart from the fact that she could run faster than anybody else, she was rather pretty. And not stupid. Joel could think of much worse company than her.
They had come as far as the Community Center. Joel hadn’t the slightest idea where the thought came from—all too often he spoke first and thought later. This was one of those occasions.
The poster in the case outside the entrance, advertising the film being shown that week, didn’t look especially exciting. A man and a woman in old-fashioned clothes stood with their arms around each other, staring in horror at something that couldn’t possibly be guessed. Joel assumed it was a love story. But nevertheless, as it was for adults only, there might be something exciting in the film.
“Would you like to go to the pictures?” he asked, pointing at the poster.
“It’s adults only,” said the Greyhound.
“I know how to get in even so,” said Joel. “Without paying as well.”
“I don’t believe that for a moment,” she said.
But Joel could see that she was interested already.
“Do you want to go to the pictures or don’t you?” he asked.
“I do.”
“But you must promise not to tell anybody how I get in.”
“I promise.”
“If you tell anybody, everybody will start doing what I do. And Engman will find out. Then it won’t be possible anymore.”
Engman was the cinema caretaker. So far he hadn’t found out that Joel knew a way of getting in without paying, no matter if the film was adults only or not. He’d discovered how to do it during the many evenings he’d been out in the streets looking for the dog that was heading for a distant star. Ture had been with him the first time. But since Ture moved away, Joel had always been on his own. And now here he was inviting the Greyhound to come with him. He didn’t understand it himself.
The film began at half past seven. There was only one showing. Joel pointed to a car repair shop on the other side of the street.
“You must be there by a quarter past seven,” he said. “And don’t say a word to anybody.”
She promised. Then she ran off home. Joel stood watching her, racing along the street like a flash of lightning.
For a brief moment Joel tried to imagine the Greyhound dressed in transparent veils. With nothing on underneath. But the thought horrified him.
Then he set off home. It was high time he started to make dinner.
Samuel came home. And he was sober. As they ate Joel kept glancing at him surreptitiously. Samuel seemed to be back to normal now. After dinner he sat in the armchair by the wireless, leafing through the newspaper. Joel went to his room and did what Kringström had told him to do. He would have to practice every day. Other wise he’d never learn. As seven o’clock approached he got ready to go out. Samuel lowered his newspaper and looked at him.
“Are you going out again?”
“I’m just going to return some books to the library.”
“But you were there only a couple of days ago.”
“I read a lot.”
“Show me what you’re reading!”
Joel went back to his room and fetched a book. One that he hadn’t finished reading yet. Mutiny on the Bounty. He knew what it was about, though. An old sailing ship whose crew set the captain adrift in a dinghy and left him to survive as best he could.
Samuel looked at the cover and read the blurb on the back.
“Maybe that’s something for me as well. I ought to read more books than I do. All I do is sleep.”
“You can borrow it,” said Joel.
Then he went out. At exactly seven o’clock he was in place in the shadows on the other side of the Community Center. Engman was just opening the doors and switching on the lights in the foyer. His wife was in the ticket office. People hadn’t started to arrive yet. Joel suspected that there wouldn’t be many in the audience. The posters were not very alluring. And there were no well-known stars in the film. The projectionist appeared. His name was Tunström and he was really a butcher, but he’d been the projectionist all the time Joel knew anything about it. He sometimes fell asleep in his booth. When that happened, his snores used to echo round the auditorium.
Joel gave a start. The Greyhound had appeared by his side. She was red in the face. Joel guessed she must have run all the way from home. How long would that have taken her? One minute?
“We have to wait here,” Joel said.
“Are you sure you’re not making it up?”
“Go home if you don’t believe me.”
She stayed put. Asked no more questions.
It was approaching half past seven. Joel was right. Not many people had turned up. Engman was standing by the entrance doors, looking not best pleased.
“It’s probably a bad film,” Joel said. “Still, it’s adults only.”
Half past seven. One minute past. Engman stepped out into the street and looked up and down. Then he closed the door.
It was time.
“Just follow me,” said Joel. “And be as quiet as you can.”
Joel led her quickly over the street and into the courtyard at the back of the Community Center. He groped his way along the wall in the shadows. The Greyhound was just behind him. He came to the stairs leading down into the basement. Carefully, he took hold of the door. If he lifted it up at the same time as pulling it towards him, it would open. Joel produced the flashlight he’d remembered to put in his pocket. The Greyhound looked scared.
When the Snow Fell Page 10