Mankell Henning - When the Snow Fell

He regretted it now. He was still out of breath. And very cold. The sweat was pricking at his skin like needles underneath his sweater. He stared down into the black water. There was no ice yet, but the water had started to thicken.

I’ll jump, he thought. I can’t handle this. I can’t see Gertrud ever again. Why did I do that?

But he didn’t jump. He remembered that Gertrud had once tried to commit suicide. In this same river. And she really did have a reason, not having a nose.

It seemed to him that he ought to go back to her place right away. She couldn’t have understood what had happened either. But maybe she could explain it for him. Explain what he had done.

But he didn’t go back. He was far too cowardly for that. He shouted up into the sky.

“Because I’m too much of a coward. Joel Gustafson’s a lily-livered coward.”

Then he walked home. He was so cold, he was shivering. His teeth were chattering.

When he got to the flat he found Samuel sitting by the wireless. A squeaky voice was holding forth. Samuel had fallen asleep. His head was resting on his chest. Mouth wide open. Joel tiptoed past. He would have preferred Samuel not to wake up just now. In fact, he would have liked the whole world to be asleep. He closed the door to his room, got undressed and snuggled down into bed. He slowly began to thaw out. He closed his eyes and tried to convince himself that it was all a figment of his imagination. He hadn’t in fact hurled a glass at Gertrud’s kitchen wall. She wasn’t upset.

But it wasn’t possible to conjure it all away. He was able to think of something else for a few brief moments, but then it all came back again. The kitchen. Gertrud’s question. His curse. The glass thrown at the wall.

He had a stomachache now.

There were moments in Joel Gustafson’s life when he simply didn’t know what to do next.

This was one of those moments.

He could hear that Samuel had woken up. He’d switched off the wireless. Joel pulled the cover over his head and pretended to be fast asleep. Samuel opened the door just a few inches. Listened. Then closed it again.

But Joel was awake.

If only he’d been able, he’d have left his body there and gone away. But human beings couldn’t shed their skin. Only snakes could do that.

He didn’t know what had happened. If he thought that Gertrud was repulsive, it wasn’t her fault. She wasn’t the one who had cut off her own nose.

Samuel fell asleep. His snores came booming through the wall. Just now it was hard to think about the new shop assistant at Ehnströms Livs. Or about how he would soon be beginning a new career as Sweden’s youngest rock idol. Perhaps even the youngest in the world.

He tried to fall asleep and forget all about what had happened. But he couldn’t. So he got out of bed and went over to the window. The sky was clear and full of stars. Then he looked down at the street, where the lone streetlamp lit up the snow. That was where he had seen the mysterious dog run past several years ago.

But then he felt a stab in his chest. There was somebody standing there in the shadows, at the very edge of the light cast by the streetlamp. At first he thought he was imagining it, but then he was certain. There was somebody standing there, staring up at his window.

Then it dawned on him who it was.

It was Gertrud.

It had never happened before.

Gertrud had never stood by that streetlamp before. Neither by day nor, like now, at night. When Joel first saw her, he thought she was a mirage. Something that could be seen, but didn’t really exist. But she was still there, moving slightly, until she came within range of the streetlamp. Now she was very clear. Joel stood with his face pressed up against the cold windowpane. It was Gertud, all right. And she was gazing up at his window. But he knew that she couldn’t possibly know that he was there. The room was in darkness. He could see her. But she couldn’t see him.

There was something frightening about her standing out there in the night. Joel had the feeling that he was looking at the last person left alive in the world. This must be what the doomsday that Miss Nederström kept going on about looked like. The last person alive was standing underneath a streetlamp, late at night in an insignificant little northern Swedish town.

Joel couldn’t imagine greater loneliness than this.

Then it was clear to him that he would have to go down and fetch her. No human being could be allowed to be as lonely as she seemed to be. He put on a pair of pants, and a sweater over his pajamas, and forced his bare feet into a pair of Wellingtons in the kitchen. Samuel was asleep. He was snoring loudly.

When Joel emerged into the street he suddenly felt embarrassed. But it was too late now. She had already seen him come out of the front door. He couldn’t turn back now, or pretend that he hadn’t seen her.

They were standing on opposite sides of the street. Everything was silent. Nothing but night and the starry sky. Joel could feel the cold sneaking down into his boots. He walked hesitantly across the street, more or less forcing himself to move.

“Why are you standing here?” he asked.

“You threw a glass at my kitchen wall,” said Gertrud. “These things happen, I’ve done it myself. But I didn’t understand why. That’s why I’ve come here.”

“I’d nearly fallen asleep,” Joel said.

Why did he say that? Couldn’t he have thought of something better?

But what he said next made him even more surprised.

“Let’s go up to the flat,” he said. “I don’t have any socks on. It’s cold.”

Things were getting worse and worse.

He couldn’t take her up to the flat with him. What would happen if Samuel woke up? But there again, it was too late. He couldn’t take it back now.

“Maybe you’ve got to get back home?” asked Joel tentatively.

“I’ve got all the time in the world,” she said. “Besides, I’ve never seen what your home is like.”

“We’d better be as quiet as possible. So that we don’t wake Samuel up.”

They were inside the house now.

“Which steps creak?” she asked.

“The fourth, fifth and twelfth,” Joel told her.

They entered the flat without making a sound. It was the first time Joel had ever had a visitor in the middle of the night.

“It smells good,” she whispered as they stood in the kitchen.

“It smells of fried herring,” said Joel.

Samuel snored. They went into Joel’s room and closed the door. He placed his finger over his lips.

“Sound carries in here,” he said.

“Old houses have good ears,” she said, sitting down on his bed.

Joel felt uneasy. He didn’t want Samuel to wake up. To come into his room and find Gertrud there.

Now those thoughts started coming back again.

He could see her nose that didn’t exist.

He had been visited by a nose that didn’t exist.

He’d have preferred it to be Ehnström’s new shop assistant visiting him. Sitting there on his bed. Sitting there wearing ordinary clothes, and speaking with a Stockholm accent.

But it was Gertrud who’d turned up.

It seemed as if she could read his thoughts again.

“Why did you throw that glass?” she asked.

Joel looked down and stared at his feet. He could see that his left foot was dirtier than his right one. It was always the same. And he didn’t understand why. How could feet attract different amounts of muck?

“I don’t know,” he muttered. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Of course you meant to,” she said. “Why else would you start throwing glasses around?”

Joel was still staring at his feet. He hadn’t the slightest idea what to say. He couldn’t possibly tell her that he suddenly found her revolting. That all he could see was the nose she didn’t have on her face.