Shadows in the Twilight

by Henning Mankell

  'Secret letters?'

  'Love letters,' said Joel. 'Secret love letters.'

  Miss Arvidson burst out laughing. It occurred to Joel that he must be the first person in the whole world who had heard Miss Arvidson laughing. Lots of disbelieving faces peered out from among the bookshelves.

  Miss Arvidson was howling with laughter.

  She laughed so much that Joel started laughing as well.

  That made her furious.

  'That's the silliest thing I've ever heard,' she said. 'A book about how to write secret letters! Of course there's no such book.'

  'Love letters,' said Joel. 'It's not me who wants it, it's my dad.'

  Involving Samuel was no problem, Joel had decided. He never went near the library anyway.

  'If your dad wants to write love letters, he'll have to manage it on his own,' said Miss Arvidson. 'We have love poems. But not love letters.'

  'Maybe that would do,' said Joel.

  Miss Arvidson eyed him up and down, then went to a shelf and returned with two slim volumes.

  'These are pretty love poems,' she said, and started stamping the books. 'But next time he'll have to come and borrow them himself.'

  Joel cycled back home and put the potatoes on to boil. Then he started reading the thin poetry collections.

  They were mostly about roses and thorns. Tears and desperate longing. The word 'desperation' came over and over again.

  That would have to do.

  When he and Samuel had finished their dinner, he would write the letters.

  One letter from Gertrud to the Caviar Man. One letter from the Caviar Man to Gertrud.

  He had taken some sheets of letter-paper and some envelopes from Samuel's room.

  His big plan was ready.

  But when he sat in bed after dinner, resting his letter-paper on an atlas, it didn't seem so straightforward.

  Where should their secret meeting take place?

  There wasn't a single statue anywhere in the little town. There wasn't really anywhere that could be called a park. Besides, it had to be a place where Joel could hide nearby and listen to what they said to each other.

  He wandered through the whole town in his thoughts. He kept stopping, but failed to find a suitable place.

  The churchyard was too spooky after dark.

  There were no lights on the football pitch. They wouldn't even be able to find each other.

  In the end, just as he was about to give up, he found the solution.

  Mr Under's, the horse dealer's, garden.

  It was big, there were lots of trees, and Mr Under had nothing against other people besides himself strolling about in it. There was also a little birdbath, which was the nearest to a statue you could find in this place.

  In addition, Mr Under wasn't at home. Every autumn he used to travel south in order to buy horses.

  Joel could hide behind the woodshed. It was only a few metres from there to the birdbath.

  So that was that! They'd meet at eight o'clock on Saturday evening.

  So now he needed to write the two letters. To make sure the handwriting was different, he wrote Gertrud's letter with his right hand and the Caviar Man's with his left. The one from the Caviar Man was hardest to write: the letters kept wandering off in all directions and he got cramp in his fingers. But eventually, they were done.

  He read through what he had written.

  Gertrud's letter first:

  'Meet me by the birdbath in the horse dealer's garden at eight o'clock on Saturday evening. If you aren't there, I shall suffer the thorn of despair. A secret admirer.'

  Joel wasn't sure about the 'thorn of despair'. He'd stolen the phrase from one of the poems. But what did it mean? He'd chosen it because the poem was written by a woman.

  The letter written by the Caviar Man was longer. Joel assumed that men wrote longer letters than women. But maybe it was the other way round in reality?

  'Oh, fondest love of my heart. Meet me at the birdbath at eight o'clock on Saturday evening. I'm aching to meet you after a thousand years of longing. I kiss your tears. Will you drive me to despair? A secret admirer.'

  Joel wasn't sure about 'fondest' – wouldn't it be better to say 'dearest'? But that was what it said in the poem, so no doubt it was right.

  He folded the letters and sealed the envelopes.

  At that moment, Samuel entered the room.

  'Are you writing letters?' he asked.

  'I've ordered some catalogues,' said Joel.

  'I haven't written a letter for ages,' said Samuel. Joel thought he sounded sad about that.

  'You can write to me,' he said. 'I promise to answer.'

  Samuel smiled.

  'It's late,' he said. 'Time to go to bed if you're going to be able to get up for school tomorrow morning.'

  Joel had intended to take his bike before going to bed, and post the messages in Gertrud's and the Caviar Man's letter boxes. But he was too tired. He'd have to wait until the next day.

  It was cold the next evening.

  There was a crackling noise from under his tyres when Joel set off. He parked his bike by the railway bridge and ran the rest of the way to Gertrud's house. He paused outside the gate. He could see her shadow outlined against the curtains.

  So, now I'm going to do my good deed, he thought, and put the letter into the box fastened to the gatepost.

  When he came to Lasse the Cabbie's back yard, everything was calm and quiet. Joel had left his bike in a side street, and crept forward cautiously through the shadows. Now he was General Custer's messenger again, sneaking through enemy territory with a message that could mean life or death to the recipient.

  There were two letter boxes attached to the fence. He bent down, and managed to make out the names even though the streetlight was a long way away.

  Then he slid the letter into the slot.

  He had to be certain that he hadn't made a mistake, as the letter box was secured with a little padlock.

  So, he'd done it at last!

  On Saturday night his good deed would be complete. Then he could concentrate on his geography game. Become a better football player, and find himself a real friend.

  He cycled back home. The streets were deserted. He met only one car, outside the Grand Hotel.

  He parked his bike in its stand.

  Then it dawned on him what he had done.

  He froze stiff.

  He hadn't written David Lundberg on the envelope.

  He'd written the Caviar Man.

  'To the Caviar Man from a secret admirer.'

  How could David know that he was the Caviar Man? Besides, he might not be too pleased about being compared with caviar.

  Damn and blast, Joel thought.

  I'm an idiot, idiot, idiot!

  Everything is ruined.

  He sat down on the freezing cold steps outside the front door.

  How on earth could he have written Caviar Man on the envelope?

  How could he possibly have been so stupid?

  8

  That evening Joel realised that there is no anger greater than the anger you direct at yourself.

  He had never been so furious with himself as he was now.

  Even his father wondered what was the matter with him.

  'What are you wandering around and muttering at?' he asked.

  'I'm swearing,' said Joel.

  Samuel looked at him in surprise.

  'Why?'

  'Why not?' said Joel.

  'There's usually a reason for swearing,' said Samuel. 'I swear when I stumble in the forest. Or twist my ankle. Or hit myself on the thumb.'

  'I've hit myself on the head,' said Joel.

  Samuel looked worried.

  'Have you fallen off your bike?' he asked.

  'I've hit myself inside my head,' said Joel.

  Then he went to his room and slammed the door behind him.

  Samuel could see it was best to leave Joel in peace. He went back to his armchair and contin
ued reading the newspaper.

  Joel got his own back on himself by eating all the pastilles he had left. All 72 of them. If he got stomachache as a result, that would serve him right for being so stupid as to write the Caviar Man on the letter to David.

  Thoughtlessness, that's what it was. He'd learnt that from Miss Nederström. If you did something stupid you were thoughtless.

  It was a good word. It meant that your head was empty. Your skull was no more than a tin can on which there happened to be a pair of blue eyes, a nose and a mouth. And tousled hair. A rusty tin can by the name of Joel Gustafson. A rusty, thoughtless tin can.

  Of course David wouldn't go to the birdbath on Saturday evening. He would read the letter twenty times without understanding a thing. Then he'd tear it into little pieces and throw it into the wastepaper basket. At best he would forget all about it. At worst, he would start thinking. No doubt the Barefooted Man had told him about the peculiar kid brother who'd paid a visit to the Underworld. He would realise right away that it was an imposter. Then he would start searching the town for him.

  It was clear to Joel that he would have to change his appearance. Dress up as somebody else. But what would he say when Miss Nederström asked him why he looked different? What would Samuel say? And his classmates?

  And Otto! Needless to say, Otto would put two and two together. Nobody was as good as Otto when it came to ferreting out facts. He'd tip off the Caviar Man, Joel would be captured and thrown into the jaws of the beast of prey. He would be a human sacrifice in the mouth of the Lord of the Fire.

  Joel went to the kitchen and tried to change his appearance in the cracked shaving mirror. He sprinkled water onto his hair and tried to make a parting. But his hair just stood on end, no matter how wet he made it. Water ran down inside his shirt collar and formed pools on the floor. He put on his father's spare pair of reading glasses that he found on a shelf. But no matter how hard he tried, they simply slid down his nose the moment he moved.

  You ought to be able to change your sex, he thought. One day Joel, the next Joella.

  He stood in the doorway of Samuel's room.

  'When will my beard start to grow?' he asked.

  Samuel lowered his newspaper and stared at him in surprise.

  'Why do you ask that?'

  'I just wondered.'

  'You'll have to wait for a few years yet,' said Samuel, returning to his newspaper. 'Think yourself lucky. You don't have to worry about getting shaved.'

  'I'm going to grow a long beard,' said Joel. 'I'm never going to shave.'

  He went back to his room.

  There was nothing he could do.

  His big plan was in ruins.

  Not even General Custer could help him. When he stood before the strict general and tried to explain how he had lost the letter containing the vital information, he couldn't think of anything to say.

  The general passed sentence on the spot. Joel would be shot at dawn, when the first rays of sun turned the prairie red . . .

  And all this was due to him not looking both ways before running across the street outside the bar. If Eklund had only turned up ten seconds sooner or ten seconds later, nothing would have happened.

  Joel used to think that what made a day exciting was when something unexpected happened. Now he wasn't so sure any more. You ought to know about some events before they happened. And you should also be able to forbid certain things from happening.

  He wondered if he ought to say a prayer.

  Not because he thought it would help. But there was no harm in trying. Perhaps Miracle People had certain rights that other people didn't have?

  He put his hands together and mumbled a prayer, as fast as he could.

  'Dear God, please make the Caviar Man come to the birdbath on Saturday. Amen.'

  He regretted it immediately.

  Perhaps God didn't like the idea of people who didn't really believe in him saying prayers. Maybe it was a bit like cheating when you were playing cards?

  There was nothing he could do.

  He went into Samuel's room. His dad had taken off his socks and was clipping his toenails.

  'Are you still wandering around and swearing?' Samuel asked.

  'No,' said Joel. 'But I want to tell you something I want for my twelfth birthday.'

  'Are you really going to be twelve next?' said Samuel. 'Good heavens, but time flies!'

  'Can I?'

  'Ask for whatever you want. As long as it's not too expensive.'

  'It costs nothing,' said Joel.

  'Good,' said Samuel. 'What do you want?'

  'I want us to move,' said Joel. 'Now. Soon.'

  Samuel stopped clipping his toenails and eyed Joel up and down.

  'To the sea,' said Joel. 'I want you to become a sailor again, and to take me with you. I want us to move now.'

  'Not until you've finished school,' said Samuel. 'Then we can move, perhaps. But not before.'

  'I've learnt enough,' said Joel. 'I want us to move now.'

  Samuel gave him a searching look.

  'Has something happened to make you want to move now?' he asked.

  Joel very nearly came out with the truth. Explained everything that had happened. But something stopped him. He didn't want to reveal what a thoughtless rusty tin can he really was. Maybe Samuel might say it was impossible to take such an empty-headed fool with him to sea? He couldn't afford to risk that.

  'Nothing has happened,' said Joel. 'Nothing ever happens here, except when I get run over by the Ljusdal bus.'

  'That's not something to joke about,' said Samuel. His voice was suddenly as sharp as Miss Nederström's.

  Joel didn't like that voice. It frightened him.

  'It doesn't matter,' said Joel. 'Of course we'll have to wait until I've finished school before we move.'

  'Exactly,' said Samuel. 'Then we shall see.'

  His voice was back to normal again now. A bit rough and hoarse. Just as Joel was used to hearing it.

  Joel got undressed and settled down in bed.

  In order not to think about the Caviar Man and the letter, he decided he would tell himself a story. He searched his brain for stories he'd started before, but never finished.

  There was one about how he was looking for a secret tree in the depths of the forest, not far from Four Winds Lake. A map was buried at the foot of this tree. If he found it, he'd be able to sail to The Forgotten Island. A big island somewhere in the Indian Ocean. An island that could only be found by somebody who had the map.