Shadows in the Twilight

4

After school next day Joel paid a visit to Simon Windstorm. It was raining, and he was in a bad mood because he hadn’t been able to think of a good deed.

Why was it so difficult?

He’d started thinking about it that morning when Samuel had shaken him by the shoulder and urged him to hurry up and get dressed or he’d be late for school. There hadn’t been much time for thinking the night before. When he got back home from Gertrud’s, he found that his father had spread out one of his old sea charts on the kitchen table. He was using his chubby index finger to retrace the voyages he’d made years ago.

Joel felt pleased when he entered the kitchen. When his dad was studying sea charts, he was always in a good mood. That meant he would be keen to tell stories about his life as a seafarer. The pair of them would pore over the chart and relive the voyages.

Besides, Samuel never asked what Joel had been doing at Eva-Lisa’s all evening. That was also good.

‘The ship’s due to sail in a couple of minutes,’ said Samuel as Joel came into the kitchen.

Joel hurried to take off his boots and jacket. Then he settled down on the wooden chair opposite Samuel, who was sitting on the kitchen bench.

‘You were very nearly left behind,’ said Samuel, pretending to be stern.

The game had started. The serious game.

‘Are you Joel Gustafson?’ asked Samuel. ‘The new galley hand?’

‘Yes,’ said Joel.

‘Yes, Captain,’ said Samuel.

‘Yes, Captain!’ said Joel.

Then they set off. The mooring cables were cast off, the propeller started rotating, the sailors and deckhands scurried back and forth, the mates and bosuns barked out orders, and Captain Samuel Gustafson stood on the bridge, keeping an eye on everything.

Samuel had never been more than an able seaman, but when he went on a voyage with Joel he was always the captain.

‘What’s the name of the ship?’ Joel asked.

Samuel peered at him over his glasses.

‘Today we’re sailing on the Celestine,’ he said. ‘The finest ship of them all. But I’ve installed an engine in her, so that we can go faster.’

Joel glanced at the ship in its showcase beside the cooker.

He thought he could hear a creaking sound in the walls of the kitchen. As if the house were the ship that was slowly turning round in the dock and aiming her bows at the open sea.

Samuel placed his index finger on a spot on the sea chart.

‘Scarborough Fair,’ he said. ‘Now we’re leaving this dump.’

‘What’s our cargo?’ Joel wondered.

‘Wild horses,’ said Samuel. ‘And iron ore. And some mysterious crates — only the captain knows what’s inside them.’

This is going to be a good voyage, Joel realised. Mysterious crates were the most exciting cargo you could possibly have. Only when you’d crossed over the ocean and reached the port you were heading for would you discover what was inside the crates.

‘We’ll pass to the north of the Orkneys,’ said Samuel, running his finger over the chart. ‘We’ll have to keep a lookout for icebergs. If we run into a westerly gale we might be forced up as far as Iceland. But what the crew needs right now is a bowl of soup to warm them up.’

Joel saw that Samuel had put a saucepan on the stove. He produced two deep dishes and served up the soup.

Samuel had made the soup from the remains of a leg of beef.

‘Turtle soup,’ he said.

As they ate the house heaved like a ship in a storm. The severe gale forced them as far north as the Icelandic coast: the high cliffs could just be made out through the raging and boiling waves. One member of the crew fell overboard, but they managed to fish him out of the water and haul him back on deck. Silent, majestic icebergs drifted past, the wild horses were neighing and kicking in the cages below deck. And all the time, Samuel was explaining what was happening. The raging of the storm, and the stillness afterwards. The flickering of sea-fire during the nights. Meeting other ships, and the enormous whales spouting in the distance. Eventually, early one morning, they glimpsed the coast of Newfoundland, and were able to change course for Philadelphia. There they were met by a tug, and soon they were moored by the quay.

Samuel leaned back on the kitchen bench and straightened his back.

‘A good voyage,’ he said. ‘But things could have turned out nasty for the deckhand who fell overboard.’

‘It was a miracle that we managed to get him back on board,’ said Joel.

‘He was lucky,’ said Samuel. ‘Lucky, no more than that.’

‘What about those mysterious crates?’ ventured Joel.

‘Oh, I nearly forgot them,’ said Samuel, standing up and disappearing into his room.

Joel remained on his chair, tense with excitement.

Mysterious crates always resulted in Joel being given something by Samuel.

His dad returned to the kitchen.

‘Those crates we were carrying contained old memories,’ he said.

He handed Joel a faded photograph.

It was dirty, and one corner was torn off. But Joel could see that it depicted a ship in port. Some of the crew were standing on a gangway, looking directly at the camera. One of them was in uniform, the rest were wearing normal working clothes.

One of the crewmen had moved his head just as the photograph was being taken. That’s why his face was blurred.

‘That’s me,’ said Samuel, pointing to the blurred face. ‘Just as the photographer pressed the button, a fly flew up my nose. So there’s a fly in this picture as well, even if you can’t see it. I found this snap when I was searching for another one. That’s the way it always is. You never find what you’re looking for, but you find something else instead. I’d like you to have the photograph. The ship was called Pilgrimme, and came from Bristol.’

‘Thank you,’ said Joel, laying the photograph down carefully on the table.

This was a terrific present. He would be able to imagine all kinds of adventures on the basis of it.

Samuel sat down on the bench again and started darning a sock. Joel cleared the table, and suddenly felt very tired. He wouldn’t have the strength to think about his good deed tonight. He could feel that he’d fall asleep the moment he snuggled down in bed.

He undressed, brushed his teeth and put on his nightshirt, which reached right down to his feet. Once he had settled down under the blankets, he shouted to his dad. Samuel came in with the sock in his hand, and sat down on the edge of the bed. The bed creaked under his weight.

‘Do you think a lot about the accident?’ he asked.

‘No,’ said Joel. ‘I don’t think about the bus at all.’

But that wasn’t quite true. It was there all the time, lurking behind all the other thoughts spinning round in his head. Sometimes it forced its way to the fore, and then it was like a beast of prey, threatening to pounce on him.

Joel tried not to think about it. But it was hard. Thoughts can’t simply cease to be thought about, just like that. Especially nasty thoughts.

The worst thought of all was that a tree would fall on top of Samuel while he was working in the forest. Nothing could be worse than that. When Joel thought about it, he was sometimes so frightened that he almost started trembling. It was as if the tree had fallen already. And Joel could do nothing about it. He had learnt that you couldn’t run away from the nasty thoughts that crop up in your mind.

Perhaps the bus would become one of those thoughts? One that never went away?

Samuel stroked him on the cheek and went back to the kitchen. Joel tried to think about the good deed he was going to do, but he was too tired. His thoughts jumped and scurried about, and he couldn’t catch them.

It was like trying to catch a flock of sparrows jumping around a pool of water in the street...

He didn’t manage to think of a good deed the next day either. Even though he thought about it as hard as he could. On two occasions he was thinking so hard that he forgot to listen to what Miss Nederström was saying. But she didn’t notice that he wasn’t paying attention. Or perhaps she excused him because he had experienced a miracle?

Everything was almost back to normal during the breaks. But only almost. His friends still looked at him in a slightly odd way. And Joel could feel that uncomfortable feeling of solemnity coming back.

After school he decided to pay a visit to Simon Windstorm. Perhaps Simon could suggest a good deed? He was also known as The Old Bricklayer, and lived in a broken-down house on the other side of the hospital. Unlike Gertrud, who was just odd, Simon really was a bit mad. He had been locked up in a secure hospital for many years, because he was insane. Then he’d got better, and they let him out again. But a lot of people thought he was still mad, and a lot were frightened of him as well.

Not Joel, though.

Not since that time Simon had taken him to Four Winds Lake.

Joel turned off from the main road and followed a little path that wound its way through dense thickets of young fir trees. It was easy to get lost if you didn’t know the way. Simon had made a hotchpotch of paths. It was a sort of labyrinth. If you didn’t take the right one, you kept coming back to the main road again. Simon had done this on purpose, so that he would be left in peace. He lived in an old smithy, and there were some locals who considered that he shouldn’t be allowed to stay there. Sometimes ladies dressed all in black and wearing flat hats, as well as men also dressed all in black, would come to Simon’s door and try to persuade him to move into an old people’s home. They always came in groups, because they were frightened of Simon. He could get very angry at times. Once, he had thrown a hen at the head of a lady wearing a flat hat. There was a clucking and cackling all over the house, and the outcome was that Simon was left in peace. But not for long. They soon started coming back again.

Joel didn’t really know if the Flat Hats had any right to decide where Simon was allowed to live. But he had no doubt at all that they belonged to an enemy tribe.

You had to be wary of the Flat Hats.

As Joel made his way through the tall fir trees, keeping an eye on the paths so that he didn’t take a wrong turning, it occurred to him that he would have to get himself a real friend. He couldn’t carry on only mixing with grown-ups, especially as they weren’t all there.

Not that he had any intention of deserting Gertrud and Simon.

It was just that he wanted to have a friend of his own age.

Suddenly he emerged from the dense fir trees. There in front of him was Simon’s cottage, surrounded by a garden full of scrap iron and old machines. Also parked there was the ancient lorry in which Simon used to drive round town when he couldn’t sleep at night.

Smoke was rising from the chimney, and a hen was pecking away on the porch.

Joel paused and took a look at Simon’s pigsty. It was an old taxicab that he had converted into a sty. A little pink snout was sticking up where the windscreen had been once upon a time.

Joel knocked on the front door and went in. It always took him some time to get used to the smell inside Simon’s house. It wasn’t a pleasant smell. Joel had to breathe through his mouth so as not to feel sick.

He knew that Simon didn’t get washed very often. And there were chickens running around in all the rooms. And a Norwegian elkhound gnawing away at its bones next to the stove.

He needed time to grow accustomed to the smell, but he usually managed it after a while.

Simon was sitting at the table reading a book when Joel arrived. That’s what he was usually doing when Joel paid a visit. He would read with a pencil in his hand, and if he came across something he didn’t like, he would rewrite it. Books were piled up all over the house. The hens used to lay eggs in among the books, and Joel sometimes helped Simon to find them.

Simon was wearing a thick fur coat. He wore it throughout the summer as well as the winter. He had a beard that sprouted out in all directions, and his hair stood on end.

When Joel came into the room Simon was busy altering the ending of a fat book. Joel knew that Simon didn’t like being disturbed when he was writing. He crossed out chunks of text, and wrote a new version between the lines. Joel squatted down and stroked the elkhound while Simon was busy writing.

In the end, Simon threw down his pencil, turned to look at Joel, and smiled.

‘That’s better,’ he said. ‘Now the book finishes as it ought to do.’

‘Are you allowed to make whatever changes you like in books?’ Joel wondered.

‘Allowed and allowed,’ said Simon, scratching at his beard. ‘I don’t bother about such minor matters.’

Joel sat down on a stool by the table. Simon peered at him. It occurred to Joel that Simon might not have heard about the accident. Simon didn’t speak to many people, apart from Joel.

Simon could well be the only person in the whole of the little town who had heard nothing about the accident.

Joel told him what had happened. Simon frowned and listened. Joel moved his stool further back from the table, as Simon smelled unusually awful today.

Maybe that could be a good deed? he thought.

Making sure that Simon took a proper bath.

But he rejected the thought. It could be a dangerous suggestion to make. Simon might start throwing hens around.

‘I have to think up a good deed,’ said Joel. ‘If you’ve benefited from a miracle, you have to do a good deed.’

‘I suppose you must,’ said Simon slowly. ‘What you’ve told me was awful!’

‘I don’t have any pain at all,’ said Joel. ‘I didn’t even bite my tongue.’

He suddenly noticed that Simon had tears in his eyes.

He had never seen that before.

Joel felt a lump in his throat.

‘Awful,’ Simon muttered. ‘Awful, awful...’

‘It was my own fault really,’ said Joel. ‘I wasn’t looking where I was going.’

A hen fluttered up onto the table and deposited a large lump of bird poo in the middle of the page Simon had just rewritten. Joel couldn’t help but giggle.

Simon wiped the tears from his eyes, and smiled as well.

‘She’s given it her seal of approval,’ he said.

‘A good deed,’ said Joel, still giggling. ‘How do you think up a suitable good deed?’

‘We must have a think,’ said Simon. ‘I think it’s best if we put our glasses on.’

Joel had forgotten all about that. Simon’s Thinking Glasses.

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.