When the Snow Fell

by Henning Mankell

  Samuel rose unsteadily to his feet. Then he pulled himself together.

  Joel had already turned and left the room. He didn’t want to stay in that smoky atmosphere a second longer than necessary.

  On the way home Samuel didn’t say a single word. Neither did Joel. Samuel occasionally stumbled, but Joel never needed to grab hold of him to prevent him from falling down.

  Joel tried to imagine that the man walking by his side was the captain of the Bounty. But no matter how hard he tried, it was Samuel. And his back seemed more hunched than ever.

  When they got home Samuel slumped down onto one of the kitchen chairs.

  “I couldn’t help it,” he said. “That business with Sara was not good.”

  Joel didn’t bother to respond. He had enough trouble trying to take Samuel’s boots off.

  “It won’t happen again,” Samuel said.

  Joel still didn’t say anything, but by now he’d managed to get his father’s boots off.

  Samuel started to make coffee. That was a good sign, Joel knew that. It meant his dad wanted to be sober. Meanwhile Joel went to fetch the book in which Samuel had done the underlining. He sat down at the table and watched Samuel standing by the stove, waiting for the coffee to be ready.

  Samuel sat down opposite him. He stank of spirits. Joel thought he looked like an animal that had forgotten to shave. If there had been any animals that shaved, of course.

  Samuel drank his coffee. Joel knew his father had a guilty conscience, but he had no hesitation in exploiting it. Samuel deserved to pay for causing so much trouble all the time.

  “Have you any money left for my boots?” he asked.

  Samuel nodded.

  “It’s in the bureau.”

  Samuel sometimes told lies when he had a really guilty conscience, but on this occasion Joel believed him. That made everything so much easier. At least he hadn’t managed to drink up Joel’s boots.

  Joel had survived the black avalanche yet again.

  “Why have you made underlinings in this book?” he asked. “Don’t you know that it’s forbidden to write any thing in books borrowed from the library?”

  “I only wrote in pencil,” said Samuel defensively. “It can be erased. But there was something I wanted to show you.”

  “I’ve already read it,” said Joel. “About Pitcairn Island. And the mutineers who still live there.”

  “We ought to go there one of these days,” said Samuel, and his bloodshot eyes took on a dreamy look. “Just you and me.”

  “Shall we row there?” wondered Joel. “Or shall we float there on a few logs?”

  Samuel didn’t seem to hear.

  “We ought to go there,” he said again. “Perhaps we could live there for a few years?”

  “Is there a school there?”

  Samuel still didn’t hear him. He was sinking deeper and deeper into his dreams.

  “Maybe it’s time to move away from here,” he said slowly. “Get away from all this snow and seek out some warm sand instead.”

  Joel wanted to believe that Samuel really meant what he said. But he didn’t dare. He didn’t want to be disappointed again. Like so many times before.

  Samuel would stay in this house by the river and continue cutting down trees in the forest. Perhaps he would one day succeed in cutting down a path all the way to the sea. But Joel couldn’t afford to wait all that time. If he really was going to get to Pitcairn Island, he would have to arrange it himself. Samuel would have to carry on traveling in his dreams. No doubt they would never make the journey together. Joel couldn’t enter into Samuel’s dream. And Samuel wouldn’t be able to travel in reality.

  That was the way it was. Joel could see it all clearly before him now.

  He couldn’t afford to be childish any longer.

  First the Greyhound would teach him how to kiss. Then he would become a rock idol and get away from the winter and this dump of a little town and all the snow that fell silently during the night. He would leave enough money for Samuel, but he would have to arrange the journey to Pitcairn Island on his own. Possibly with somebody else.

  Sonja Mattsson, perhaps.

  Or the Greyhound?

  Or maybe somebody else, but he didn’t yet know who.

  “I’m going to bed now,” Joel said.

  Samuel nodded.

  “We both need to get some sleep,” he said. “I’ll stay at home tomorrow night. I promise.”

  Hmm, we’ll see, Joel thought. But I’ll have gone round to the Greyhound’s then. So I won’t be going out looking for you.

  But he knew that he would do so, if it was necessary. That was the way it was.

  The next day Joel was on time for school again. When he woke up he’d felt so tired that he’d almost been sick. But then he started to think about the coming evening and the Greyhound and what was going to happen. That livened him up and he jumped out of bed. Samuel was getting shaved in the kitchen. His eyes were less red now.

  “Last night was the last time,” he said. “Thank you for coming to fetch me.”

  “When are we going to buy the new boots?” Joel asked.

  “It’s Saturday tomorrow,” said Samuel. “I’ll leave work early so that we have time to go to the shops.”

  He picked up his rucksack and left. Joel ate his sandwiches, and thought about how Sara ought to be made to realize what she had set in motion. She ought to give Samuel money, if his state made it necessary for him to drink. She was the one responsible for what had happened.

  In his thoughts Joel sent her to the rubbish dump for inadequate grown-ups. Then he looked at the wall clock and saw that he needed to set off for school.

  The Greyhound was sitting in the desk next to Joel’s, giggling. That immediately made Joel wonder if she’d really meant what she’d promised the previous evening. But he didn’t want to ask. That would only give him away.

  Joel remained unsure until the last lesson. It was local history. Miss Nederström talked about what life by the river had been like in the old days. In Lars Olson’s day, Joel thought.

  The Greyhound suddenly slipped Joel a note on a folded scrap of paper. He opened it carefully and read:

  Not before seven o’clock. They’ll have gone by then.

  So it was true! He looked at her. She giggled again. Joel put the note deep down in his pocket.

  “Are you paying attention, Joel?” Miss Nederström asked suddenly.

  She had sharp eyes. Not least when it came to keeping watch on Joel Gustafson.

  “Yes,” said Joel. “We’re talking about what this town looked like in the days of Lars Olson.”

  “Who’s Lars Olson?”

  “His body is lying in the churchyard. But he used to live here.”

  The class started giggling. But for once, Miss Nederström was on Joel’s side.

  “I’m glad to see that you are following,” she said briskly. “The rest of you ought to do the same.”

  After school the Greyhound vanished in a flash. Joel was also in a hurry. He would have to spend the whole afternoon scurrying around, doing things. First he would have to collect the guitar and then go to Kringström’s place for his lesson. Then he’d have to take the guitar home before going back to the flat where the Greyhound was going to be in by herself. He would have to go to the same building twice. First the second floor, and then the third.

  But he managed it all. Kringström was in a good mood and taught Joel three chords. For the first time Joel had the feeling that, despite everything, he might be able to learn to play the guitar after all. Even if it still sounded pretty awful, even if his fingers were too short and his wrist wasn’t as supple as it ought to be.

  After the lesson Joel spent exactly an hour dusting down gramophone records and washing up. Then he rushed home with the guitar and made dinner. Samuel came home as usual and his eyes were not bloodshot anymore.

  “I’m going to read your book tonight,” he said. “Or shall we read it aloud?”

&nb
sp; “I can’t,” said Joel. “I’m going out.”

  “Out again already?”

  “I was more or less at home last night,” Joel said, “but then I had to go out looking for you. That doesn’t count.”

  That hit home. Samuel said nothing more.

  Joel went to his room and lay down on the bed. He felt nervous. Perhaps the Greyhound would greet him wearing transparent veils. What would he do then?

  He sat up with a start. He must get washed. Preferably have a bath. And change his clothes. And wet his comb and run it through his hair. And brush his teeth. That was the most important thing.

  He would have to give the bath a miss. Samuel would wonder what on earth was going on if he took out the bathtub and put it in the middle of the kitchen floor on a weekday. Having a good wash would have to do. He rushed to the toilet and got undressed. Washed and scrubbed the whole of his body. Brushed his teeth until his gums started bleeding. Then he put on clean underwear and his best pants. His ankles hurt where he had sores, but he would be getting new boots tomorrow. By then he’d have also learnt how to kiss. His body almost boiled over at the very thought.

  Half past six. He called in on Samuel, who was sitting in his chair with the book in his hands. But he’d fallen asleep. And he was still only on page one.

  Joel waited in the darkness outside the Greyhound’s block of flats until he was sure it was at least a quarter past seven. Then he went up the stairs, past Kringström’s flat, where he could hear the sound of a cheerful trombone, and stopped outside the Greyhound’s door. Alexandersson, it said on the nameplate. Joel ran his hand through his hair once again, then rang the bell. Then he wanted to run away. But it was too late. The Greyhound opened the door. Joel noticed straightaway that she had painted her lips. They were very red.

  “Are you just going to stand there?” she asked. “Or are you coming in?”

  “Have your parents left?” Joel asked.

  “They’re playing bridge,” she said.

  Joel went in. He hoped she wouldn’t ask him what bridge was. He wouldn’t be able to tell her.

  “Take your shoes off,” she said. “We can’t have you making the floor dirty.”

  Joel did as asked, then followed her into the living room. It was a big flat, full of beautiful furniture. Joel knew that the Greyhound’s dad was a public prosecutor. He wasn’t at all sure what that meant. But he did know that a public prosecutor earned a lot more money than a lumberjack like Samuel.

  “You can’t stay long,” she said. “I’ll teach you how to kiss, but then you’ll have to go.”

  Joel could feel himself blushing. He had no idea what to do.

  The Greyhound put a chair in the middle of the floor. Joel noticed that she was nervous as well. All the time she kept glancing towards the hall, as if she were afraid that her parents might come back again.

  “Sit down on the chair,” she said. “And purse your lips.”

  Joel did as he was told. She pouted as well, to show him how it was done. Joel tried to copy her. It felt stupid.

  “Purse your lips more,” she said. “And open your mouth. I assume you know how to give a peck?”

  Joel pouted for all he was worth.

  “You have to close your eyes as well,” said the Greyhound, and demonstrated. She pursed her lips, put her head on one side and closed her eyes. Joel did the same.

  Joel didn’t like sitting on a chair in the middle of the floor. Something felt wrong, although he couldn’t put his finger on it.

  “Shouldn’t we start now?” he asked.

  “Start what?”

  “Kissing.”

  “It’s like with the guitar. You have to practice first.”

  Joel thought she was right.

  “Close your eyes and purse your lips,” she said. “And no peeping. Don’t stop until I tell you to.”

  Joel did as she said. He thought it was lasting for a very long time. The Greyhound was giggling. But still she didn’t say anything. Joel tried to imagine what it would be like, feeling her lips against his.

  “Now you can open them,” said the Greyhound.

  Joel opened his eyes.

  There were three of the Greyhound’s friends standing in front of him. Plus two other boys from his class. When Joel opened his eyes they burst out laughing. Joel was petrified. He didn’t understand what was happening at first. He was confused and started laughing as well.

  Then it dawned on him that the Greyhound had made a fool of him.

  He felt the tears welling up in his eyes.

  He jumped up from his chair and launched himself in the direction of the hall. He grabbed hold of his outdoor clothes and his boots and raced out through the door in his socks. He could hear them all roaring with laughter. He didn’t even stop to put his boots on. All that mattered was to get as far away as possible as quickly as possible.

  A window opened somewhere in the building behind him. The laughter caught up with him. He ran down the hill in his stocking feet and didn’t stop until he couldn’t hear the laughter anymore. Only then did he put his boots on.

  He stood there motionless.

  Everything was still confused. He didn’t know what had happened. But deep down inside everything was clear. The Greyhound had made a fool of him. She had planned it all. Her friends had been waiting in another room. That was why she had kept on glancing towards the hall all the time.

  Joel could picture it all in front of him. How he was sitting there with his head on one side, pouting.

  He was so embarrassed. What had happened was so awful that he couldn’t even feel angry.

  He trudged slowly home.

  But he thought he might just as well lie down in the snow and die.

  — SIXTEEN —

  When Joel got home he went to the woodshed and sat down on the bed that was inside there. The cold steel springs hurt, but he sat there even so. He even lay down, and thought that he might as well carry on lying there until he had frozen to death.

  Eventually he went into the house and up the stairs. He didn’t really care if Samuel was at home or if he’d gone wandering off again. But in fact Samuel was in bed, asleep. The bedside light was still on. Mutiny on the Bounty was lying at the side of the bed. Joel switched the light off. Then he went to his own room and undressed. He crept between the sheets and pulled the covers over his head. Forced himself to stop thinking about what had happened.

  Next to his ear he could hear a mouse gnawing away inside the wall. If he’d been able to, Joel would have liked to crawl into the wall and take up residence there. He would never come out again. He would live inside that wall until he was a hundred years old and didn’t need to live any longer.

  He curled up. Kept thoughts from entering his head. And went to sleep.

  Joel woke up with a start. He remembered immediately what had happened the previous night at the Greyhound’s place. He tried to tell himself that it had only been a dream. That it hadn’t really happened. But he couldn’t get away from facts. He had sat on that chair and the Greyhound’s friends had sneaked into the room.

  Joel checked his alarm clock. He would soon have to get up and go to school. The Greyhound and her friends would all be there. And they would tell the rest of the class all about it. Tell the whole school. Joel had made a fool of himself.

  He felt a stabbing pain in his stomach. He couldn’t go to school. He would never be able to go back there for the rest of his life. As Samuel was like he was, Joel would be forced to leave town on his own. It was Saturday today. Tomorrow the night train would stop at the station, the one in which he used to post his secret letters. Tomorrow he would sneak aboard himself. He would hide away and listen as the train clattered over the railway bridge, and by the time it was morning again he would be many miles away. Then he would change his name, dye his hair a different color and become somebody else. Joel Gustafson wouldn’t exist anymore. The Greyhound and her friends would laugh in vain.

  Samuel suddenly appeared in t
he doorway.

  “You’d better get up now or you’ll be late for school,” he said.

  “I’m coming,” said Joel.

  “There’s a storm brewing,” said Samuel. “A snow storm.”

  Joel hoped the whole town would be blown away.

  “We’ll buy your new boots today,” said Samuel with a smile. “Assuming we’re not snowed in.”

  “Yes,” muttered Joel.

  “Let’s meet at twelve o’clock outside the shoe shop,” said Samuel. “I’ll be there on time. And have the money with me. Make sure you don’t blow away.”

  He went back to the kitchen. Joel stayed in bed with the quilt up to his chin. He didn’t want any new boots anymore. It didn’t matter. He might as well carry on wearing the ones he had. In the end the sores would result in his feet dropping off. Or he would get blood poisoning and die in full view of whoever was interested. The Greyhound. And Miss Nederström. And all the rest of them.

  But he couldn’t just stay in bed. Samuel would start wondering. He got up and dressed. Samuel was about to put on his fur cap.

  “Twelve noon,” he said again. “Outside the shoe shop.”

  Joel listened to him walking downstairs. Once, Samuel had walked around on the decks of various ships. Now he just walked up and down stairs. Year after year. While his back became more and more hunched.

  Joel went to sit on the window seat. It had become colder. Minus six degrees. And Samuel was right. It was windy. The overhead streetlight was swaying back and forth. There was a whistling noise in the walls. Cold air was forcing its way in through badly fitting windows. He shuddered when he pressed his cheek against the window-pane.

  In the street down below people were struggling into the headwind that was raging in a series of powerful gusts. Young and old, everybody struggled. They were lit up intermittently by the streetlights. It was still dark. Everybody was on the way somewhere. Except Joel. He was sitting on the window seat, wondering if he ought to move into the wall and share living space with the mouse gnawing away inside there. He checked the time. The first lesson had already begun. Miss Nederström had noticed that Joel Gustafson was absent again. And the Greyhound was sitting with her friends, giggling. Perhaps they had already started passing round notes, telling everybody what had happened the previous evening.