The Journey to the End of the World (Joel Gustafson Stories)

by Henning Mankell

  ‘And you were in the forest?’

  ‘I was in the forest.’

  ‘Where was I?’

  ‘You were downstairs in old Mrs Westman’s flat. She used to take care of you when Jenny was out shopping, or taking an afternoon nap.’

  ‘And you knew nothing about it? You hadn’t seen her packing her case? Or going to the railway station to buy a ticket?’

  ‘She took a bus.’

  ‘Didn’t she leave a letter?’

  ‘No, nothing at all. The only thing on the table was the outside door key.’

  Joel felt as if he were going round in circles. Now it was time to stop and jump into the middle. Where the important questions were.

  ‘Had you been quarrelling?’

  ‘No.’

  One more jump now, Joel. A bit closer to the middle.

  ‘Had you been drinking?’

  There was a pause before the answer came. But come it did.

  ‘I hadn’t been drinking. I didn’t drink in those days. Not when she was around. Never ever. And if she hadn’t left me I’d never have started either.’

  Joel was right in the middle now. He couldn’t get any further in.

  ‘Mums don’t run away like that. It’s dads who vanish. Not mums. Something must have happened.’

  Samuel sat up on the bed. So violently that it gave Joel a start. He thought he must have said something that had made Samuel angry.

  But the eyes that were looking at Joel were not angry. They were Samuel’s normal eyes. Tired and perhaps a little sad.

  ‘Do you think I haven’t been wondering about that?’ said Samuel. ‘I’ve been thinking about it for thirteen years. Every single day. Why did she leave me? All I know is that she’s the only person who can answer that question. And that’s why we’re here. I want to know. Once and for all. Why she packed her case and left us.’

  ‘Maybe she won’t want to tell us,’ said Joel hesitantly.

  Samuel had lain down again.

  ‘At least she ought to explain it to you,’ he said after a while. ‘You’re her son after all.’

  The sound of a vacuum cleaner came from the corridor. Joel looked out of the window. The rain was easing off.

  ‘What shall we do?’ he asked.

  ‘First we’ll have something to eat,’ said Samuel. ‘Then we’ll go and buy you some clothes. And then we’ll go looking for Mummy Jenny.’

  ‘I don’t need any clothes,’ said Joel.

  ‘I’ve no intention of letting you meet your mum in scruffy old clothes,’ said Samuel. ‘But we don’t need to buy the most expensive clobber we can find.’

  The rain died away.

  Soon there was just the occasional drop on the window ledge. Samuel disappeared into the corridor, looking for a bathroom where he could get shaved.

  Joel was looking at a painting hanging on the wall above the chest of drawers.

  It depicted a woman with large breasts sitting down under a tree, leaning against the trunk. Next to her was a man kneeling down and playing the violin.

  Joel started to think about Sonja Mattsson. If only he’d known her number, he could have phoned her from reception.

  But what would he say to her?

  This is that idiot Joel who’s come to Stockholm and had his rucksack nicked. Come and rescue me.

  He banished the thought. Took another look at the picture. The woman leaning against the tree really did have very big breasts. He went to the mirror next to the door. Examined his face. From the front. Then in profile. When he turned his head he got cramp in his shoulder. He swore and shook his arm until the cramp eased off. Had another look at himself. That quiff over his forehead refused to go away. He tried to imagine himself with hair like The Black Wave. Put on a make-believe tie and black pointed shoes. Then he clenched his fist and gave The Black Wave in the mirror a punch.

  Right on the nose. Broke it. Blood came pouring out.

  Nobody stole Joel Gustafson’s rucksack without being punished.

  Joel stared at the mirror. The Black Wave disappeared. The only thing left was himself. Nobody else.

  He went back to the picture hanging on the wall. Stroked the woman with his hand.

  The door opened. It was Samuel coming back. Joel gave a start and fell over backwards. Samuel gave him a funny look, but didn’t say anything.

  When they left the hotel it was still drizzling. Samuel looked around, doubtfully.

  ‘It’s amazing how little you remember,’ he said. ‘I used to visit Stockholm quite a lot. In the old days.’

  ‘That way,’ said Joel, pointing. ‘That’s where most people are heading.’

  Joel was surprised at how big a hurry everybody seemed to be in. Where on earth were all these people going to?

  When they had found a department store and Joel had seen an escalator for the first time in his life, he wondered why people were even running on that, when the stairs were moving anyway.

  They eventually came to the floor with men’s clothing. Both Joel and his father turned pale when they saw the price tags.

  ‘Let’s go,’ said Joel. ‘There must be cheaper clothes than these in other shops.’

  By the time they emerged into the street it had started raining again.

  Joel had started to dislike Stockholm. This wasn’t how he had imagined it. Crowds of people, loud noise everywhere, high prices and rain that never seemed to stop.

  And he couldn’t stop thinking about his rucksack. Stockholm had sent The Black Wave to welcome him. With a sneer.

  ‘We must have something to eat now,’ said Samuel. ‘I noticed a licensed café on the way here.’

  They hurried through the rain and came to the café entrance. Once they were inside, Joel felt at home. The place smelled the same as the bar back home where he sometimes sold newspapers or went to fetch Samuel when he’d had too much to drink. The waitresses wore the same black and white clothes as Sara, and he recognised the stale smell of rain, wet wool and tobacco. They found an empty table and sat down. Joel was already worried that they wouldn’t have enough money. A waitress brought them a menu. Joel leaned over the table to be able to read the menu. Not the choices on offer, but what they cost.

  ‘We can afford this,’ said Samuel. ‘Beef stew.’

  Joel didn’t like beef stew. But he didn’t say anything.

  By the time they finished eating, it had stopped raining again. Whenever the door opened Joel could see the sun shining.

  They had eaten in silence. Joel had been thinking about his rucksack. He didn’t know what Samuel had been thinking about.

  Samuel paid and put his wallet away in the inside pocket of his coat.

  ‘Now we must find a decent map,’ he said. ‘Then we can look for the shop where she works.’

  Joel was surprised.

  ‘Shouldn’t we start by looking for where she lives?’

  ‘Lots of people go in and out of a block of flats,’ said Samuel. ‘But there won’t be nearly as many standing behind the counter in a shop.’

  Joel could see his point.

  ‘I thought you said you would recognise her?’

  ‘Maybe we shouldn’t be over-confident about that,’ said Samuel hesitantly. ‘It’s best to be on the safe side.’

  The only way of being on the safe side would have been not to come here in the first place, Joel thought angrily.

  It was the rucksack again. And The Black Wave.

  They found a bookshop that sold maps. They bought the cheapest one Samuel could find. Then they sat down on a park bench that had had time to dry out, and unfolded the map.

  There was Medborgarplatsen. And here was where they were now.

  ‘There must be a tram that goes there,’ said Samuel.

  But Joel had noticed something else. If they walked, they would pass by the quay where boats were moored.

  ‘Let’s walk,’ he said. ‘It can’t be all that far. And it’s not very late.’

  He pointed at a clock outsid
e a watchmaker’s shop. It said seven minutes past twelve.

  Samuel stood up.

  ‘You’d better take the map,’ he said. ‘I don’t think I’m as good at finding the way as I thought I’d be.’

  Now it was Joel taking the lead. He kept checking the map to make sure they were going the right way. They soon came to the water. There was the Royal Palace, and there were bridges, hotels, museums, and most important of all, boats. But Joel was disappointed to find that there weren’t any cargo ships. Small white passenger boats, the occasional fishing boat. But no big ships. No ships of the kind that would need a sailor like Samuel, or a young boy like Joel who would be signing on for the first time.

  ‘Where are all the boats?’ he wondered. ‘Like the ones that you used to work on?’

  ‘Oh, they’ll probably be in the harbour at Värtahamnen,’ said Samuel. ‘Or in Frihamnen.’

  Joel stopped dead, unfolded the map and looked up Värtahamnen. But that was miles away from where they were now.

  It would have to wait until another day.

  They continued on their way.

  Samuel had started sweating. He couldn’t walk as fast as Joel, and several times used his handkerchief to mop his brow.

  Joel stopped at the corner of a street. A large open square was spread out in front of them. If the city had been a forest, they would have come to a large clearing.

  ‘This is it,’ said Joel, after checking the map. ‘Medborgarplatsen.’

  Samuel bit his lip. Joel found himself doing the same thing. He didn’t like copying what Samuel did, but he couldn’t help it.

  There was a pavement café in the square. Samuel pointed at it and nodded.

  ‘I must have a cup of coffee,’ he said. ‘And something cold. Meanwhile you can scout around and see if you can find the shop.’

  ‘Shouldn’t we do that together?’

  ‘We have to find the place before we can do anything,’ said Samuel. ‘You’ll be best at doing that on your own.’

  Joel left Samuel at the pavement café.

  It felt as if he were setting out on the most important reconnaissance expedition of his life. He knew that was a childish thought, but he couldn’t help thinking the way he did. He was childish. And he’d decided he was going to stay that way for as long as he wanted to.

  He suddenly stopped dead.

  It had dawned on him where the limit was.

  There was a river that childishness would never be able to swim over. And he would soon find himself on the bank of that river when he stood in front of Mummy Jenny and said:

  Here I am. Joel.

  He started walking round the square. Noticed how nervous he was. He could just make out Samuel somewhere in the background.

  He was close to Mummy Jenny now. Assuming the letter from Elinor in Gothenburg was right. And it must surely be.

  He continued walking round the square, looking for a grocer’s shop.

  He paused several times, when he thought he had seen The Black Wave.

  He found himself back at his starting point, and frowned. There wasn’t a grocer’s shop here.

  He walked all the way round again. Same result. No grocer’s shop.

  He was quite sure. He hadn’t overlooked it.

  Samuel was stirring his empty cup with a spoon. Joel joined him at the table.

  ‘There is no shop,’ he said.

  Samuel looked at him uncomprehendingly.

  ‘What do you mean, there isn’t a shop?’

  ‘You heard what I said. There isn’t a grocer’s shop in this square. What did it actually say in the letter?’

  ‘That Jenny works in a grocer’s shop in this square.’

  ‘How could she know that?’

  ‘Elinor would never write anything she wasn’t sure about.’

  ‘Have you got the letter with you?’

  ‘I left it at home.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I know exactly what it says. I’ve read it so many times, I know it more or less off by heart.’

  Joel didn’t know where his anxiety came from, but it was suddenly there. It was as if a blast of cold wind had blown past.

  He didn’t know what was the matter.

  But he hadn’t made a mistake.

  Something was very wrong.

  5

  The cold wind drifted away.

  Then they started quarrelling. As far as Joel was concerned it was obvious that they should now start looking for the block of flats where Jenny lived, but Samuel thought they ought to wait.

  ‘Wait for what?’ Joel wondered. ‘There is no grocer’s shop. Perhaps there isn’t a flat either.’

  ‘Of course there is.’

  As Samuel answered he beckoned to a waitress and ordered some more coffee.

  ‘You’ve just had a cup,’ said Joel.

  ‘It was very weak coffee.’

  ‘It will be getting dark by the time we find the place where she lives.’

  ‘I think we can wait for a bit. Besides, we don’t have Celestine with us.’

  Joel could feel himself growing really angry. He wasn’t sure what was causing it. There was the business of the rucksack and The Black Wave. The harbour with the cargo ships being miles away from where they were. The grocer’s shop that didn’t exist. Samuel and all his cups of coffee. And finally that cold wind. Anxiety. The feeling that something was wrong.

  It was something to do with the letter from Elinor. The letter he hadn’t been allowed to see for himself.

  ‘Hurry up and drink your coffee, and let’s get away from here.’

  Samuel didn’t respond.

  Joel stood up.

  ‘I’ll find the place where she lives myself.’

  ‘Sit down,’ said Samuel. ‘I think we should wait until tomorrow.’

  ‘Why do we always have to wait for everything?’

  Samuel pointed up at the sky.

  ‘It’ll start raining again shortly.’

  ‘There are trams. And there are buses.’

  ‘Do you know which ones go where?’

  ‘You can find out.’

  Samuel put his cup down on its saucer. He tried to sound firm and decisive.

  ‘We shall do as I say. We’ll wait until tomorrow.’

  They started walking back to the hotel, the same way as they’d come. Samuel first, Joel following a couple of paces behind. As they approached the Royal Palace it started raining again. There was nowhere to shelter. The rain was bucketing down. By the time they reached the hotel they were soaked through and through. After drying himself down Joel was forced to put on one of Samuel’s shirts. He hung his trousers over the radiator.

  Joel felt like a prisoner. Without any dry trousers, he was stuck in the hotel room.

  He sat on the edge of his bed and carefully unfolded the wet map. There was the street where Mummy Jenny lived – Östgötagatan. They had been quite close by. But Samuel had insisted on waiting.

  Joel knew full well it had nothing to do with the rain.

  Samuel was lying on his bed. He hadn’t said a word since they got back to the hotel room. And now he’d fallen asleep. Joel had his back to him, but could hear the snores.

  He didn’t know where the determination came from, but before he knew where he was, he had made up his mind. Carefully, so as not to disturb Samuel, he got up from his creaky bed.

  Samuel’s suitcase was lying open on the floor. Joel searched through it, but the letter from Elinor wasn’t there. Joel felt in all the pockets in Samuel’s clothes, but it wasn’t there either.

  So it was true. The letter really was at home.

  He looked out of the window. Just for a brief moment he felt ashamed. He hadn’t believed that Samuel was telling the truth.

  Perhaps the simple fact was that Samuel was nervous. He needed time to steel himself before meeting Jenny again.

  But why couldn’t he just explain things as they were? Why did he need to hide behind lots of coffee cups all the time?
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br />   Joel felt his trousers. They had started to dry. Then he looked at Samuel. He was asleep. His chest was rising and falling. Fast asleep.

  Joel couldn’t stand being cooped up in the hotel room any longer. He put his trousers on. And his shoes, which were wet as well. He borrowed a dry pair of socks from Samuel’s suitcase.

  Samuel had a pencil in his jacket pocket. Joel tore off a piece of the margin of the map and wrote a note.

  I’ve gone out. Just for a little walk. I’ll find my way back.

  He put the note on the table. Then he opened the door quietly and slipped out. When he came to the lobby he found the bald man sitting on his chair, asleep. The street door was open. On the wall next to the desk was a large-scale map of Stockholm. Joel traced the way to Värtahamnen with his finger. It would take ages to walk there. He felt in his trouser pockets. He had nineteen kronor in there. He made up his mind on the spot. While Samuel was asleep, he would make his way to the harbour where the big ships were berthed.

  There was a bell on the desk.

  I’m staying in this hotel, Joel thought. We’re paying to live here.

  He smacked the bell with the palm of his hand – far too hard. It made a very loud clanging noise. The bald man gave a start and dropped his newspaper. He gave Joel a very dirty look.

  ‘It’s not necessary to break the bell. I’m sitting here after all.’

  Joel was a bit afraid and could feel himself blushing. That made him angry.

  ‘I want to know how to get to Värtahamnen,’ he said. ‘I gave the bell a light tap, but you didn’t wake up.’

  The bald man eyed Joel up and down suspiciously.

  He doesn’t believe me, Joel thought. He’ll throw us both out of his hotel.

  But the man behind the desk seemed to have forgotten about the bell already.

  ‘You need to take a tram to Ropsten,’ he said. ‘From Stureplan. Go all the way to the terminus.’

  The telephone rang. The man answered. Joel went to the map and found Stureplan. It wouldn’t take long to walk there.

  It was drizzling when Joel left the hotel. But it had stopped by the time he came to Stureplan. He soon found the tram stop. He didn’t have long to wait. He bought a ticket and found somewhere to sit. He got off when they came to the terminus. He could see that this was the right place. At the end of a long bridge to the left was a large cargo ship, its hatches open. Big mechanical scoops were digging down into the hold and coming up with something belching black dust. Coal, perhaps. Or possibly iron ore? Joel moved closer to it, so that he could read the name of the ship.