They looked like ordinary glasses. The only difference was that the lenses were painted black. When you had them on, you couldn't see anything.
Simon stood up and looked round the room.
'I wonder where I've put them,' he mumbled. He turned to look at Joel. 'Where would I usually put my glasses?' he asked.
'On a shelf,' suggested Joel, recalling where his dad usually put his glasses.
Simon nodded.
'A shelf,' he said. 'Where is there a shelf?'
Joel looked round. There were no shelves in the room.
'In the pantry,' he suggested. 'There are shelves in there.'
'You're right,' said Simon. 'There are shelves in the pantry.'
He vanished into the pantry. Joel could hear the clashing of dishes and the clattering of pans. The clinking of empty bottles and the rustling of paper bags. Then Joel heard a triumphant yell, and Simon reappeared with two pairs of glasses in his hand.
'Now we can think,' he said. 'And if that doesn't help, we can take the Seven-Windowed Wagon and drive out to the Four Winds Lake.'
The Seven-Windowed Wagon was his ancient lorry. Simon claimed he'd named it after the king's finest coach.
They each put on the glasses. They were really old motorbike goggles that fitted tightly on all sides. Everything was black, even though they hadn't closed their eyes.
'So, let's have a think,' said Simon.
There wasn't a sound. The elkhound was snoozing under the table. A hen was pecking in a corner.
Joel tried to concentrate on thinking up a good deed.
In fact, he was finding it very hard not to start giggling again.
That was something he'd noticed recently. Whenever something serious was happening, he found it very hard not to start giggling. It was as if an invisible hand had started tickling the soles of his feet.
As soon as he thought about it, he started giggling.
I mustn't giggle, he told himself sternly.
That set him off giggling uncontrollably. The giggles just seemed to come bubbling up out of his mouth. As if they'd been flowing over a mass of giggles he had buried inside himself.
Simon will be angry, he thought.
It didn't help. He giggled away even so.
But Simon wasn't angry. Joel had the feeling that Simon was one of the very rare grown-ups who hadn't forgotten what it was like to be nearly twelve years old.
There weren't many who hadn't forgotten.
His dad, Samuel, had forgotten. But not Gertrud.
Miss Nederström had forgotten. But not Simon Windstorm.
'This is no good,' said Simon. 'We might as well take our glasses off.'
Joel loosened the strap round the back of his neck securing the goggles.
'We'll have to drive out to Four Winds Lake,' said Simon.
In normal circumstances Joel would have been overjoyed to go with Simon to the mysterious lake hidden deep in the forest. He loved clambering into the passenger seat beside Simon.
But not today.
Today there was something holding him back.
It was as if Joel had become scared of big motor vehicles.
If he was a passenger in the big lorry, he could hardly be run over.
But perhaps they might run over somebody else?
No, he didn't want to go in the lorry today.
'I haven't time,' he mumbled. 'I have an appointment with my dad.'
Simon nodded.
'I'm sorry I can't help you,' he said. 'But perhaps the bottom line is that you have to think of a good deed yourself.'
Joel left.
It had stopped raining. Ragged clouds were scudding over the sky.
He took a wrong turning in the middle of the labyrinth, and ended up outside Simon's house again.
He felt angry, but set off once more. This time he made no mistake. The fir trees became less dense, and he emerged onto the main road.
Now he was tired of thinking about good deeds. He wished he'd been able to chase them off like you scare off a swarm of mosquitoes by flapping and waving your arms about.
If only that idiot Eklund hadn't been driving so carelessly, he thought. Then I wouldn't have had to experience that miracle.
I have no time to mess about with good deeds, Joel thought. I have to find myself a good friend. And I want to be a better football player.
I haven't got the time.
He trudged homewards, kicking the gravel so hard that he hurt his toes.
Joel felt sorry for himself.
He didn't have a mother. Nor did he have any close friends. All he had was Simon Windstorm, who smelled something awful, and Gertrud, who didn't have a nose.
There were so many things he didn't have.
I'm like Gertrud, he thought. She doesn't have a nose, and I don't have a mum. . .
He suddenly stopped dead, in the middle of the road.
Perhaps he'd just had a brilliant idea for a good deed.
He couldn't help Gertrud to find a new nose.
But it was obvious that she needed a man!
She was thirty years old, and unmarried. She didn't have any children.
Perhaps he could help her to find a husband!
That was it!
The good deed he would perform was to find a man for Gertrud. So that she didn't need to spend her evenings all alone. A man she could marry.
But where would he be able to find such a man?
It didn't take him long to find the answer to that.
The bar! Where Sara worked! Lots of men sat there all day long, drinking beer. He'd heard Sara complaining to Samuel that there were far too many unmarried men spending all their time in the bar when they weren't at work, drinking beer.
He was in a hurry now. He ran down the hill leading to the town centre. There was the ironmonger's, and there was the shoe shop. And over there, on the corner, was the bar.
He'd been running so fast that he had to pause and get his breath back.
It suddenly dawned on him that he was standing in the very spot where he'd set off over the street without looking. The very same place where the accident had been transformed into a miracle.
That must mean that I'm doing the right thing, he thought. Starting my good deed at the very same spot.
The bar door opened and Nyberg, the bouncer, came out and blew his nose into his fingers. Joel dodged quickly behind a parked car. He didn't want Nyberg to see him and start asking questions.
Nyberg cleared his throat and spat onto the pavement. Then he went back into the bar. Joel looked carefully in both directions before crossing over the street. At the back of the bar was a door that Sara had said he could use if he wanted to pay her a visit.
He hesitated for a moment.
Then he opened the door and went into the bar to find a man for Gertrud.
5
Joel sometimes broke a cup or a dish when he was washing up after he and Samuel had eaten a meal.
But that was nothing compared with what Ludde broke.
Ludde was the owner of the bar. But he didn't mix with his customers: instead, he spent his time at the sink. He was small and fat, and his hands were always red and swollen because of the washing-up water.
There was a notice on the door leading into the kitchen at the rear of the bar saying that unauthorised persons were not permitted entry, but that didn't apply to Joel because Sara worked there. Joel didn't often use that door. It was always chaotic and noisy in the kitchen. Besides, he didn't like Sara and the other waitresses patting him on the head. Treating him almost as if he were Sara's own boy.
He didn't like being a Nearly Boy. And even if Sara was nice and Samuel was always in a good mood when he was together with her, Joel refused to pretend that Sara was his mother. His mum was called Jenny, and would always be called Jenny. Even if he never met her again for the rest of his life, he would never have another mum.
But he did sometimes go in through the forbidden door. And today he had an important err
and. He had to find a man for Gertrud.
When he entered the kitchen, it was even more chaotic than usual. Ludde was bent over the sink, washing up like a madman. There was a rattling and clinking and clattering in the frothy water from glasses, cups, dishes and cutlery.
It was mostly glasses, as this was a bar after all, and everybody was drinking beer. But the beer drinkers occasionally grew hungry and wanted food. Ludde did the cooking and the washing up at the same time. Only one dish was served in the bar, and it was always known as Ludde's Beef Stew. Sara had told Joel that Ludde had owned the bar for over twenty years, and he had served the same stew all that time. Joel used to study the big pot standing on the stove, and imagined it cooking for twenty years. Ludde had occasionally added some new bits of meat, and stirred the thick, brown gravy; but essentially it was the same dish that had been standing on the stove for twenty years. Once, when Joel was hungry, Sara had served him up a plate of Ludde's Beef Stew. Joel had eaten it, and thought how he had eaten something that had been simmering on that stove since before he was born.
Now, when Joel entered the kitchen, Ludde was bent over the sink as usual.
'Joel!' he shouted. 'You can't imagine how pleased we all were to hear that you hadn't been injured.'
'No doubt it was a miracle,' said Joel evasively.
Just then Sara came in through the swing doors carrying a tray. It was full of empty bottles and glasses, overflowing ash trays and sticky plates. Joel wondered if he would have been able to lift the tray.
Sara was strong. Joel had once watched her heave a sack of coal onto her shoulder. His dad Samuel was strong, but Joel wondered if Sara was even stronger.
All the waitresses working in the bar were strong, and they all looked similar. Big and fat and sweaty. And they were all dressed the same: black skirts and white blouses. Once Joel had been in the kitchen and they had come in through the swing doors one after another, and it seemed to him that they looked like animals. Black and white waitress-elephants marching in from the beery jungle . . .
Sara put the tray down with a bang, and immediately, Ludde started filling his sink with more plates and glasses. A dish and a glass fell off the tray and smashed as they hit the floor.
Joel hardly dare look in case he burst out laughing. There were always piles of broken china and glass round Ludde's feet. To avoid cutting his feet, he wore black overshoes. He didn't have shoes inside the overshoes, though, but slippers. As Joel wasn't really sure if Ludde minded people laughing at him, he avoided looking at the floor. Instead, he screwed up his eyes and peered sideways at the scene. He wouldn't need to laugh if he did that.
Sara had told Joel that all the money Ludde earned by selling beer and beef stew was spent on buying new crockery and glasses. Once Sara and the other waitresses had been paid, and Nyberg the bouncer as well, and all the beer and the stew bills had been settled, Ludde only had enough money left over to buy new crockery and glasses.
And it went on like that, year after year. And all the time the pot of stew clucked and spluttered on the stove.
'Hello, Joel,' said Sara with a smile, wiping the sweat from her brow.
Please don't hug me, Joel thought. I don't want to be hugged.
'Have you come to visit me?' said Sara, pulling him closer and giving him a hug. Joel tried to resist, but it was impossible. Sara was as strong as a weightlifter.
She could have toured the fairgrounds in a sideshow as Sara the Strong.
'Are you hungry?' she asked. 'Would you like something to eat?'
'No thank you,' said Joel. 'I only called in to say hello.'
He didn't really know how to go about finding a man for Gertrud, nor did he know if Sara would be able to help him. That's why he answered as he did.
As he ran down the hill from Simon Windstorm's house, he'd tried to gather his thoughts on what he knew about how grown-ups came to meet one another. He found it difficult to understand anything to do with love. To be honest, he had a pretty good idea of what was involved. At school, behind the bicycle sheds, Otto had once condescended to explain to Joel and some other boys how children were made. Joel had listened carefully, so as not to miss a single word. At first he thought that Otto must be out of his mind. Could that really be what happened? Surely not? How was it really done?
Joel had been sensible enough not to ask any questions, but for a long time he doubted if Otto had been telling the truth. Later, when he'd heard the same story from others, he had realised that it must presumably be right, strange though it might seem. Strange and complicated. He'd spent a lot of time wondering how there could possibly be so many children around when the whole business seemed to be so complicated.
So Joel knew quite a lot. And he knew how you went about kissing, even if he hadn't yet tried it on a girl, only on his own reflection in the mirror.
But the big question was: how do grown-ups get to meet one another?
He knew some of the answer. You could go to the dance at the Community Centre on Saturday night, when Kringström's orchestra was playing. That's where people met. And he'd read in books about other ways in which people could meet. In fairy tales princes climbed up long ropes to meet princesses who were locked in high towers.
But in the little town he lived in the only towers were the church steeple and the red tower at the fire station where the firemen used to hang up their hose pipes to dry. Joel found it hard to imagine Gertrud sitting at the top of the fire brigade tower without a nose.
But there were other ways in which grown-ups could meet. Inmost of the books he read there were always some chapters describing how people met and eventually got married. But there was never anything about what Otto had described behind the bicycle sheds. Joel assumed that was because it was so boring to write about it.
You could meet in the wreckage of a train that had fallen into a ravine. You could rescue a girl who had fallen into freezing water when the ice broke, and later marry her. You could wear a black mask and kidnap a girl.
There were lots of ways. But by the time Joel had come to the bottom of the hill and paused to regain his breath before entering the back door of the bar, he had decided that the best place for Gertrud to meet the man he hadn't yet found for her was probably the Community Centre.
Joel sat down on a chair in the corner where he was least in the way. Sara had vanished through the swing doors again, carrying a tray full of beer bottles. He tried to think up a good way of getting Sara to help him, without her realising it. If he could get her to tell him about the men sitting out there in the bar, which ones were unmarried and which ones were nice, he'd be able to choose the one he thought would be most suitable for Gertrud.
But what characteristics would be most suitable for Gertrud?
What kind of man would she most like to have?
It wasn't easy to think in the kitchen, with Ludde creating havoc at the sink all the time. And Sara and the other waitresses running in and out, emptying trays and loading them up again with new bottles and glasses.
Shadows in the Twilight Page 6