The Journey to the End of the World

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?

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.

MS Karmas.

A gangway led from the ship to the quay. A man was leaning over the rail, smoking. He was wearing a chef’s hat. Joel was unable to venture as far as the quayside because it was fenced off.

But the ship was berthed there even so. MS Karmas.

Waiting for Samuel and Joel.

He didn’t know how long he stood there, but in his mind’s eye he could see first Samuel and then himself walking up the gangway.

Then he noticed with a start that somebody was standing beside him. It was an old man with long white hair, smoking a pipe. Joel noticed that the man had an anchor tattooed on his wrist.

‘So we’re standing here and dreaming, are we?’ said the man with a smile.

He had hardly any teeth, but his smile was friendly.

‘I’m just looking,’ said Joel.

‘I think you’re picturing yourself walking up the gangway,’ said the man.

Joel stared at him. How come that this man could read Joel’s thoughts?

‘You can always tell when somebody wants to be a sailor,’ said the man. ‘There’s some kind of magnet that attracts people who long to go to sea. Once upon a time I stood on a quay dreaming, just like you. In my case it was in Norrköping.’

He knocked out his pipe and gave Joel a wink.

‘I’m right, aren’t I?’

‘Yes.’

‘What’s your name?’

‘Joel.’

‘I’m known as Geegee. George Edward Edgar Gerald Everton Edwardsson. But that’s a bit of a mouthful, so people call me Geegee. Sailors and horses are very similar, really. When it comes to the bottom line.’

‘Are you a sailor?’ asked Joel hesitantly.

‘I used to be,’ said Geegee. ‘But I went ashore three years ago. After forty-five years. I thought it would be great back on land, but in fact there’s always something missing. So I come here to look at the ships. You stand here to dream about what’s to come, and I stand here to dream about what used to be. That’s life, I suppose.’

‘My dad’s a sailor,’ said Joel. ‘Although he’s a lumberjack at the moment.’

‘That’s life,’ said Geegee.

‘What do you have to do to become a sailor?’ Joel asked.

‘Your dad ought to be able to tell you all about that,’ said Geegee.

‘But I don’t want to ask him.’

Geegee nodded thoughtfully.

‘That’s life. That’s the way it is with dads. You prefer to ask somebody else. But you have to get yourself a seaman’s discharge book, and in order to get that you have to undergo a medical examination. Once you’ve got the necessary document, you have to go to the Seamen’s Employment Exchange to find out what jobs are going. I take it you’re dreaming about becoming a captain?’

‘I don’t know. I just want to become a sailor.’

A gurgling noise came from Geegee’s pipe.

‘Start from there, then. And see how things go. That’s life. Some young lads want to be in the engine room, others want to be the first mate. And some lads want to be deck hands. And then there are those who can’t wait to get ashore...’

Joel thought about what Geegee had told him. Now he didn’t need to ask Samuel.

‘There’s the MS Karmas,’ said Geegee. ‘You can see from the flag that she belongs to the Grängesberg Shipping Company.’

‘Where has it come from? And where’s it going to?’

‘Not “it”. A ship’s a “she”.’

‘Where has she come from?’

‘England perhaps. Or Narvik. As for where she’s going to? Maybe Liberia. Or possibly Belgium.’

Joel knew that Narvik was in Norway. And Belgium was in Europe. But Liberia? Where was that? He wanted to ask, but didn’t want to seem stupid. So he didn’t.

Geegee put his pipe in his pocket, and yawned.

‘I’m getting old and tired,’ he said. ‘That’s life. It’s time I took an afternoon nap.’

He nodded at Joel, and left, his white hair fluttering in the breeze. There was so much more Joel would have liked to ask him about, but still: he now knew the most important thing — what he needed to do in order to become a sailor.

He stayed for a bit longer, watching the mechanical scoops emptying the holds.

Then he took the tram back to the hotel.

When he got to their room he found Samuel sitting on his bed, waiting for him.

‘Where have you been?’ he asked. ‘I was worried.’

‘I left a note,’ said Joel. ‘And now I’m back again.’

Joel didn’t want to tell Samuel what he’d been up to. He wanted it to be a surprise when Samuel discovered that his son knew all about what to do in order to become a sailor.

‘I fell asleep,’ said Samuel. ‘And I had a dream, but I can’t remember what it was about.’

I expect you dreamt about trees, Joel thought. You dreamt about your axes and your saws and all the trees you haven’t felled yet. But I bet you didn’t dream about walking up the gangway of a ship that was about to sail to Liberia.

‘Where’s Liberia?’ Joel asked.

‘Why do you want to know that?’

‘There was a man outside the hotel who said he came from Liberia.’

Samuel looked doubtfully at him.

‘Have you been talking to a black man? Could he speak Swedish?’

As soon as his dad said that, Joel remembered. How could he have forgotten? He’d always been top of the class in geography. How could he have forgotten that Liberia was in Africa?

‘Perhaps it was Lebanon,’ said Joel. ‘Or even Linköping. He was difficult to understand.’

‘What did he want?’

‘He was trying to sell a magazine. A Christmas magazine.’

‘In the middle of summer?’

Joel realised that he’d stumbled into a totally unnecessary maze of lies. He would have to get out of it as quickly as possible.

‘It was from last year. And it was cheap. But I didn’t buy it.’

Samuel shook his head.

‘Let’s go and have dinner,’ he said, getting to his feet. ‘And then I thought we could go to the cinema.’

Joel was surprised. That was a first. Samuel had never suggested that they should go to the pictures together. Samuel never went to the pictures anyway.

‘Why?’ asked Joel.

‘I thought it might be fun. Seeing as we’re in Stockholm.’

‘I thought we were here to look for Mummy Jenny. And to look at boats.’

‘I thought that could wait until tomorrow,’ said Samuel. ‘If we happened to bump into Jenny, I don’t think I could cope. Not until tomorrow.’

Joel understood. And he had a bad conscience. Samuel was afraid. He didn’t want to wait because he was lazy, but because he really was scared of meeting Mummy Jenny again.

‘OK, we’ll wait until tomorrow,’ said Joel.

They had dinner at the same place they’d been to earlier in the day. Afterwards they wandered down a wide street where there were lots of cinemas. Joel let Samuel choose.

‘Kirk Douglas is somebody I’ve heard of,’ said Samuel. ‘That film’s bound to be good.’

Joel thought it was bad. Nothing happened. The actors just hung around, talking. He found it hard to concentrate. He kept imagining he could see himself on the screen. Walking up and down a gangway.

‘That was a good film,’ said Samuel as they emerged into the street.

Joel said nothing.

On the way home they paused and bought a hot dog. Joel started to worry about how long Samuel’s money was going to last.

When they got back to the hotel the bald man was no longer there. Instead, a fat woman was sitting behind the desk.

‘Would you like a wake-up call?’ she asked.

‘That won’t be necessary,’ said Samuel. ‘We’ll wake up anyway.’

Samuel fell asleep the moment the light was switched off. But Joel lay awake. Astreetlamp was shining into the room through a gap in the curtains. And it was so noisy. Very different from home, where everything was so quiet. Where the only sound was the creaking from inside the walls.

The beam of light from outside illuminated the Celestine.

What’s Mummy Jenny doing just now? Joel asked himself. What’s she thinking about? Not about Samuel, that’s for sure. Nor about me.

She doesn’t know that we are so close by.

Joel pulled the covers up to his chin and tried to sleep. But there was no sleep in him. He tossed and turned. In the end he sat up. There was no point. He got out of bed and looked at Samuel’s watch. A quarter past eleven. As he walked to the window he cast a glance at the picture on the wall. The young man was still playing the violin. And the woman was still sitting under the tree. He opened the curtain slightly. No rain.

Then it dawned on him.

The night was waiting for him. He didn’t know how many times he’d roamed around the streets at night on his bike, but there was nothing to stop him wandering around the streets of Stockholm on foot tonight, looking for Mummy Jenny.

He got dressed as quietly as he could, then wrote another note for Samuel. To make sure it wasn’t overlooked he put it on Samuel’s pillow.

I can’t sleep. I’m going out. Back soon.

That’s all. No times. Samuel wouldn’t be able to work out how long he’d been away.

The corridor was deserted. He closed the door carefully behind him. He didn’t dare to take the lift. There were carpets on the stairs, so his footsteps wouldn’t be heard.

A radio was playing in reception. He paused on the stairs. Perhaps the woman behind the desk wouldn’t allow him to go out? Perhaps the law said you had to be in the hotel after eleven o’clock?

He tried to work out what to do.

But the solution came of its own accord. He could hear somebody snoring. He approached the desk. The snores were louder now. He peeped cautiously over the desk. The woman was asleep on a chair, asleep with her mouth open. He crouched down and hurried to the door. If it squeaked she might wake up. He took hold of the handle and eased the door open. Not a sound.

Now he was outside. He had remembered to take the map with him. It had dried out now, but it was crumpled. Then it occurred to him that perhaps it wasn’t a good idea to sneak around Stockholm at night with a map in your hand. He put it in his pocket and started walking. It was a warm summer’s night. Even though it was late there were a lot of people out in the streets. A tram clattered past. He could hear music coming from somewhere or other. On the other side of the street, two men were approaching, swaying unsteadily and trying to support each other.

He passed by the Royal Palace and came to the square where he’d failed to find a grocer’s shop. The pavement café was closed, the chairs and tables covered by a canvas sheet. There were fewer people about now. And not so much traffic. But he noticed a police car. He crouched down, as if trying to make himself invisible. The police car passed by. Joel stood in front of an illuminated shop window and took out the map. He found Östgötagatan. Left, right, then left again. He took a step forward. Then another. How many more metres would he have to go before he found himself standing outside Mummy Jenny’s home?

He tried to act like a grown-up. It was childish to wander around in the night, looking for a block of flats where a missing mum lived. But there again, it could be a grown-up thing to do. He remembered how Samuel had gone out roaming the streets when he had been madly in love with Sara.

He turned left, then right. He could hear a man and a woman arguing about money through an open window. He would never be like that. An adult arguing about money. On a warm summer’s night.

Then he stopped dead. What would happen if Samuel woke up? He might be so worried, he’d phone the police.

But then he calmed down. Samuel wouldn’t do that. In the first place he never woke up during the night. And besides, he knew that Joel could look after himself.

Left again. He’d soon be there. If the map was right. If the letter from Elinor was right. If what Samuel said was in the letter was right. If everything was right.

If in fact he really did have a mother called Jenny.

He looked at the street sign.

Östgötagatan.

It ought to be number 32. He crossed over the street, so that he was on the side with odd numbers.

First a brown building, then a red one with a furniture shop. Then a brown one, and another, then a grey one.

Then he was there.

He held his breath.

The number ‘32’ was on an oval plate over the front door, lit up by a lamp. He looked up at the façade. Nearly all the windows were dark. People were asleep. Mummy Jenny was asleep. Somewhere up there behind a window.

He put his hand over his mouth to stop himself shouting out her name.

But he would never do that. It happened sometimes that he did things without knowing why, but not anything like that. He would never stand in a street shouting out names.

The light went out in another window.

Joel decided to cross over the street. Perhaps the front door wasn’t locked? In that case he’d be able to read the names of everybody who lived in the flats.

And then it dawned on him.

He had no idea what Mummy Jenny’s surname was. If Samuel had never married her, it couldn’t be Gustafson.

But he could check even so. Maybe people’s first names would be listed as well.

Jenny Andersen, he thought.

Jenny Svensson.

Jenny Jansson.

Jenny Jesus Mary.

Jenny Joelsson.

Jenny Jennyson.

Jenny the mum who just ran away, damn her.

Enough of that. A car was approaching. When it had gone past he would cross the street and try the door.

The car passed by.

He was just going to start walking when the door on the opposite side of the street opened.

Joel didn’t move a muscle.

A woman came out.

She glanced at him. Then set off walking along the pavement.

He could see in the light from a streetlamp that she was wearing a green coat.