Mankell Henning - When the Snow Fell

Next to his ear he could hear a mouse gnawing away inside the wall. If he’d been able to, Joel would have liked to crawl into the wall and take up residence there. He would never come out again. He would live inside that wall until he was a hundred years old and didn’t need to live any longer.

He curled up. Kept thoughts from entering his head. And went to sleep.

Joel woke up with a start. He remembered immediately what had happened the previous night at the Greyhound’s place. He tried to tell himself that it had only been a dream. That it hadn’t really happened. But he couldn’t get away from facts. He had sat on that chair and the Greyhound’s friends had sneaked into the room.

Joel checked his alarm clock. He would soon have to get up and go to school. The Greyhound and her friends would all be there. And they would tell the rest of the class all about it. Tell the whole school. Joel had made a fool of himself.

He felt a stabbing pain in his stomach. He couldn’t go to school. He would never be able to go back there for the rest of his life. As Samuel was like he was, Joel would be forced to leave town on his own. It was Saturday today. Tomorrow the night train would stop at the station, the one in which he used to post his secret letters. Tomorrow he would sneak aboard himself. He would hide away and listen as the train clattered over the railway bridge, and by the time it was morning again he would be many miles away. Then he would change his name, dye his hair a different color and become somebody else. Joel Gustafson wouldn’t exist anymore. The Greyhound and her friends would laugh in vain.

Samuel suddenly appeared in the doorway.

“You’d better get up now or you’ll be late for school,” he said.

“I’m coming,” said Joel.

“There’s a storm brewing,” said Samuel. “A snow storm.”

Joel hoped the whole town would be blown away.

“We’ll buy your new boots today,” said Samuel with a smile. “Assuming we’re not snowed in.”

“Yes,” muttered Joel.

“Let’s meet at twelve o’clock outside the shoe shop,” said Samuel. “I’ll be there on time. And have the money with me. Make sure you don’t blow away.”

He went back to the kitchen. Joel stayed in bed with the quilt up to his chin. He didn’t want any new boots anymore. It didn’t matter. He might as well carry on wearing the ones he had. In the end the sores would result in his feet dropping off. Or he would get blood poisoning and die in full view of whoever was interested. The Greyhound. And Miss Nederström. And all the rest of them.

But he couldn’t just stay in bed. Samuel would start wondering. He got up and dressed. Samuel was about to put on his fur cap.

“Twelve noon,” he said again. “Outside the shoe shop.”

Joel listened to him walking downstairs. Once, Samuel had walked around on the decks of various ships. Now he just walked up and down stairs. Year after year. While his back became more and more hunched.

Joel went to sit on the window seat. It had become colder. Minus six degrees. And Samuel was right. It was windy. The overhead streetlight was swaying back and forth. There was a whistling noise in the walls. Cold air was forcing its way in through badly fitting windows. He shuddered when he pressed his cheek against the window-pane.

In the street down below people were struggling into the headwind that was raging in a series of powerful gusts. Young and old, everybody struggled. They were lit up intermittently by the streetlights. It was still dark. Everybody was on the way somewhere. Except Joel. He was sitting on the window seat, wondering if he ought to move into the wall and share living space with the mouse gnawing away inside there. He checked the time. The first lesson had already begun. Miss Nederström had noticed that Joel Gustafson was absent again. And the Greyhound was sitting with her friends, giggling. Perhaps they had already started passing round notes, telling everybody what had happened the previous evening.

Joel pressed his hands against his stomach. It hurt. Now it wasn’t Samuel sitting inside there, gnawing away. It was the Greyhound.

Joel went back to bed. He lay under the covers fully dressed. He didn’t know what to do. He’d been shown up. The only possibility was to go away. To disappear without a trace. They would write about him in the newspapers.

Joel Gustafson, who disappeared in mysterious circumstances...

The Joel Gustafson case...

The boy who went up in smoke...

He would sit on Pitcairn Island, reading what it said in the newspapers. But by then he wouldn’t be called Joel anymore. His name was Fletcher. And he would have married the descendant of one of the old mutineers. She had come walking towards him along the beach one morning, wearing transparent veils. She resembled the Greyhound. But her lips were redder. And she ran even faster than the Greyhound. They already had a son called Joel. Joel Fletcher. Nobody would know that it was him, Joel Gustafson, who had once sat on a chair, pursing his lips.

His stomach ached less when he was dreaming. But it was hard to keep the dream going. It was trying to run away from him all the time. And then the Greyhound was back again, with all her laughing friends.

Joel knew he couldn’t stay at home. But where could he go?

He stood by the window. It was blowing a gale now. And it had started snowing.

Simon, he thought. The only person I can go to is Simon Windstorm. I can’t go to Gertrud’s. She would see straight through me and start asking questions. And I don’t want to answer them.

He put on his outdoor clothes. It was good that a storm was raging. Nobody would notice him out in the streets. Not even the headmaster, who had very sharp eyes. Everybody would be ducking into the wind and staring straight down the hill.

He went out into the wind. It really was blowing hard. He had to fight hard against it. But he’d made up his mind: he was going to go to Simon’s house. He could be in peace there. He’d be able to plan his escape to Pitcairn Island. The journey that would begin the next day when he sneaked aboard the night train. Samuel could stand waiting for him outside the shoe shop in vain. He needed the money earmarked for the boots for his journey. He would borrow it from Samuel. In secret, while he was asleep. As it would be Sunday, he wouldn’t be able to suggest that they go out to buy the boots. And he wouldn’t notice that the money was missing. Eventually Joel would pay back the money many times over. For every krona he had borrowed, he would pay back a thousand.

He was passing the railway station now. The bus to Ljusdal was about to leave. The windshield wipers were straining to keep the snow off so that the driver could see. Joel thought about the time he’d fallen under that very bus, and avoided being killed thanks to a miracle. Now he wondered if it might have been as well if the bus had killed him. At least he wouldn’t have had to sit on that confounded chair that the Greyhound had put out for him.

The wind howled, the snow whirled. Joel kept on struggling. He was past the hospital now. On his way out of town. There were already high drifts on the road. Before long it would be impassable. Cars would get stuck in the drifts and would have to stay there until the snow-plow got through to them.

Joel very nearly missed the turnoff to Simon’s house. He had to wade through the snow. The old truck was parked outside, half covered by snow. He came to the house and banged on the door. No reply. He opened it and went in.

The house was empty. Simon wasn’t at home. Nor were the dogs. There was a faint glow in the wood-burning stove. Joel brushed off the snow and stood by the stove to warm his hands. Where could Simon and the dogs have gone to? The truck was parked outside. And Simon wasn’t the type to go for a walk if it wasn’t necessary. If he needed to go somewhere he would take the truck.