Mankell Henning - When the Snow Fell

Joel had the distinct impression that there was something wrong. He put his wooly hat and his mittens back on and went outside again. There was no sign of any footsteps, neither from Simon nor the dogs. They had been snowed over. Joel waded over to the truck and managed to open one of the doors that had almost frozen fast. There was nothing inside apart from Simon’s cockerel, staring at him. Joel closed the door again and peered round. The storm was getting worse. The snow made it almost impossible for him to see. He shouted for Simon. No answer. There was a roaring sound from the fir trees, which were bent almost double in the wind. He shouted again. Still no answer.

Then he gave a start. Something had touched him. He wheeled round. It was one of Simon’s dogs. It was whining. Joel bent down and patted it on the head. Then he looked round. Where was the other dog? And where was Simon?

“Where’s Simon?” he asked the dog. “Simon? Where’s Simon?”

The dog whined. Joel was worried. Now he was sure that something had happened.

Joel took a few steps to one side and beckoned to the dog. It remained where it was, whining. Joel moved a bit farther away. At which point the dog started running off. Joel followed it. It vanished into the forest. Joel had trouble keeping up. He stumbled and staggered forward as best he could. He was already sweaty and out of breath. The wind was different in there among the trees. And not so much snow was falling through all the branches. But the roaring sound from the fir trees was just as loud. It sounded like a raging fire. A snow fire and a storm fire. The dog kept on leading the way, with Joel close behind. He wondered if he’d be able to retrace his steps. But the dog was there in front of him. The dog knew where it was going.

All of a sudden, it stopped. Joel caught up with it. There was the other dog. And Simon. Stretched out in the snow. An axe was lying next to one of his hands. Joel knelt down and shook him. But Simon didn’t open his eyes. Joel wondered in horror if he was dead. He shook Simon harder and shouted his name. The dogs howled. Simon groaned faintly. Joel couldn’t see any sign of an injury. But on the other hand, it looked as if Simon had been sick. Joel had no idea what to do. If only Samuel had been there. This was too much for Joel to manage on his own. Simon was ill. He might even be dying. Joel tried to think. Should he run for help? But the dogs would stay with Simon. Joel might not be able to find his way out of the forest. The footprints in the snow were already disappearing. There was only one possibility. He would have to carry or drag Simon back to the house. Then Joel would be able to make a fire in the stove. Simon could lie in bed and keep warm while Joel ran for help. He bent down and tried to lift Simon up. But he was too heavy. So Joel took hold of his arms and started dragging him. He pulled as hard as he could, and managed to move Simon a few feet.

This is impossible, he thought in desperation.

But it had to be possible. And Joel kept on pulling.

He didn’t know how long it took him to get to Simon’s house, but it must have been several hours. Joel had fallen over lots of times, from sheer exhaustion. But every time, he’d scrambled up again and carried on pulling. When they got to the cottage he was so exhausted that he was sick. But he managed to summon up his last reserves of strength to drag Simon indoors and into his bed. Then he lit the stove. His fingers were as stiff as knitting needles. There was no feeling in them. But he didn’t wait to get warm. As soon as the fire in the stove had taken, he started running to the road, which was completely blocked now. The storm continued thundering all around him. The fir trees were doubling over as if somebody were standing behind them, whipping them. Joel forced his way forward through the snow, little by little, and hoped that a car would come past. It was pitch-black now, and he was so tired that he wouldn’t be able to keep going for much longer. He sat down to rest in a snowdrift. But just as he was about to fall asleep, he woke up with a start. If he dozed off in the snow, he would die. He forced himself to stand up and kept on walking.

Eventually he heard it. The sound of something different in the storm. Then he saw a flashing light between the trees. He stood in the middle of the road and waved his arms about. It was a truck with a snowplow attachment heading towards him. And it stopped. Somebody climbed out of the cab and came towards him.

“It’s Simon,” said Joel. “He’s ill. He needs help.”

He had only a vague memory of what happened next. But somebody helped him up into the cab, where it was warm. A voice he didn’t recognize asked for his name and address.

“You must fetch Simon,” Joel said. “I found him in the forest. He’s ill. I think he’s dying.”

Joel thought he could hear another snowplow stopping right behind them. He heard several voices and saw flashlights shining. They disappeared into the forest, towards where Simon lived.

They’ve got to fetch him, Joel thought.

Then he remembered nothing else until the truck came to a halt outside his own house.

Joel looked at the driver. He knew who it was. His name was Nilsson, and he was reserve goalkeeper on the local ice hockey team. Whenever he played, the team nearly always lost.

“Is there anybody in?” Nilsson asked.

“Samuel,” replied Joel.

“Can you manage on your own now?”

“How’s Simon?”

“He’s in the hospital. Can you manage on your own?”

“Yes,” said Joel. “I always manage on my own.”

He clambered out of the cab. His legs were so stiff that he could hardly bend his knees. He shuffled slowly up the stairs. When he entered the kitchen he could hear that Samuel was asleep. The wall clock told him that it was eleven o’clock already.

There was a note on the kitchen table.

I’m not standing for any more of this running around late at night. Samuel. Weren’t we supposed to buy some new boots today?

Joel sat down on the kitchen floor and took off all his clothes. He had big wounds on his hands. He didn’t have the strength to get washed. All he could manage was to snuggle down in bed and fall asleep.

The last thing he thought about was Simon. Joel would have to go to see him tomorrow, to find out how he was. And who would feed the dogs if Simon couldn’t? And the cock in the cabin of the truck?

It had stopped snowing by morning. Reserve goalkeeper Nilsson, who had been driving his snowplow all night, called in at Simon’s cottage to feed the dogs. When he got there, the dogs ran off. Nilsson followed them. He found them deep in the forest, keeping guard over Simon’s hat. It slowly began to dawn on Nilsson what must have happened.

Had that Gustafson boy really managed to drag Simon all the way from here to the cottage, he wondered.

I doubt if I could have done that, he thought. In a storm like the one we had yesterday.

He drove back to town and sat down to drink coffee with the rest of his colleagues who had been working all night.

He told them all what must have happened.

Simon was in the hospital. It was obvious to the doctor that he’d had a cerebral hemorrhage. It was too early to say if he would survive or not.

And Joel slept. As it was Sunday, he didn’t need to think about going to school.

The mouse gnawed away softly next to his ear.

It had never happened before.

That Miss Nederström had been round to Joel’s house to see him. But the following day, a Sunday, when Joel was still asleep in bed, there was a knock on the door. Samuel was sitting at the kitchen table, patching a pair of pants. He knew who Miss Nederström was because he had seen her at end-of-term meetings.