Mankell Henning - When the Snow Fell

He said it very quietly. And very fast. But she heard.

“Why did you want that to happen? And why me?”

“I don’t know. But it was going to be a secret.”

She leaned back in her chair and looked at him. Joel hardly dared to meet her eye. He hoped she wasn’t going to throw him out the window. That she’d let him leave through the door.

He said as much.

“My dad, Samuel, would appreciate it if I got back home alive. I’m going now.”

He started to stand up.

“You have time for another cup of tea,” she said. “I’ll just boil some more water.”

She took the teapot with her into the kitchen. Joel noticed that he was covered in sweat. Maybe he ought to take this opportunity to sneak out. She wouldn’t be able to see the hall from the kitchen.

But he stayed on the chair. Heard the clattering noises in the kitchen. Then everything went quiet. He waited.

All of a sudden, there she was. In the kitchen door way. And she was naked. Apart from something very thin, a net curtain perhaps. Or a veil. Joel stared.

Then she disappeared.

She came back into the room a couple of minutes later. Now she was wearing the pink dressing gown again. And carrying the teapot.

“I saw you,” Joel said.

She looked surprised.

“Saw what?”

“The veils.”

She frowned.

“Are you suggesting I stood here wearing veils?”

“In the kitchen doorway.”

“You must have been dreaming.”

Joel thought for a moment. He realized that she was creating a secret that they could share. There was no better way of protecting a secret than claiming that what happened was really just a dream.

“Yes,” said Joel. “I suppose it was just a dream.”

“That will never come back,” she said. “Remember that.”

She said it with a smile. But firmly.

“No, I don’t suppose it will ever come back,” said Joel. “You only have dreams like that once.”

They sat drinking their tea in silence.

“You’d better go home now,” she said. “It’s late and I need to get some sleep.”

Joel put on his boots and jacket in the hall. She stood in the doorway, watching him.

“Thank you for the dream,” he said when he was ready to go.

“It was nothing much,” she said. “It was so little that it was almost nothing at all.”

When Joel emerged into the street he turned round. She was standing in the window. When he waved, she waved back.

He walked home through the dark. It was a starry night, and cold. He felt as if he were in a church.

The whole world was a church.

The street home was an aisle between rows of invisible pews.

He had seen her naked. Just for a second. Or maybe two. But he knew now. It wasn’t like the pictures in Otto’s magazines. Or at least, not only like that. There was more to it than that.

Several times he was forced to pause. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in again.

Then he started running.

If the Greyhound had been there, he would have been able to catch up with her for the first and perhaps the only time.

He felt he simply had to tell somebody about it. Despite the fact that he wasn’t allowed to. He’d promised.

Then he stopped dead. There was one person, he thought, who was guaranteed not to gossip. He turned off into a different street, and started running again.

He was less frightened this time. The churchyard didn’t seem so threatening. He stood in front of Lars Olson’s head stone. Where he had made his New Year’s resolutions. He could announce that one of his resolutions had come true already.

“I’ve seen a naked woman,” he said. “Sonja Mattsson.”

The headstone said nothing.

“I want Simon to be fit again,” he muttered. “I don’t want him to die.”

He didn’t get an answer. But then, he hadn’t expected one.

He set off running again. He was on his way home now. Samuel would be sitting with the wireless on, waiting for him. Or perhaps he would have gone to bed and be asleep already?

But when he entered the kitchen, the black avalanche engulfed him again.

Samuel wasn’t at home. He had vanished.

Joel slumped onto a chair and howled out loud. It sounded like a foghorn.

He didn’t have any strength left. Samuel could drink himself to death, if that was what he wanted.

But surely that wasn’t what he wanted? Joel was convinced of that. All the time Samuel kept on doing things he didn’t want to do.

There was a half-empty cup of coffee on the table. Joel dipped a finger into it.

The coffee was still warm.

Joel jumped to his feet.

That meant Samuel couldn’t have been away for long.

Maybe Joel would be able to catch him before he started drinking.

Joel grabbed his wooly hat.

And went out again.

Joel stood motionless in the street. Holding his breath. He looked slowly in both directions. No sign of Samuel. The starry sky up above was no longer visible. Clouds had come creeping in from nowhere. Perhaps it would start snowing again.

But the stars couldn’t help him to find Samuel in any case. He would have to find his own way to wherever he was. Without the Plow or Orion as navigational aids.

Joel racked his brains.

Samuel seldom returned to the same drinking den several times in a row. So Joel could exclude the ramshackle house by the river where the Crow and the Goblin brothers generally sat drinking.

Joel was thinking as fast as he could. It would be best if he could catch Samuel before he’d got to wherever he was heading. But where would that be?

That lonely foghorn was still howling inside him.

I’ll give him a good thumping, he thought bitterly. I’ll give Samuel a punch on the nose. Knock him over.

If I had the strength to drag Simon home through the snow, I’ll be up to doing the same with Samuel. And then I’ll tie him down to his bed.

Joel started walking towards the western edge of town. There were two places in that direction that Samuel could be heading. He walked slowly at first, then faster and faster. When Samuel got it into his head that he fancied a drink, he was always in a hurry. It was as if he had a stomach upset and needed to make a dash for the lavatory. Joel couldn’t know how big a start his father had on him. A cup of warm coffee wasn’t the same as a clock. He walked even faster. The little town was asleep.

There’s only me, Joel thought.

Hunting for Samuel. And I’ve solemnly promised to give him a good thumping when I catch up with him.

Then I’ll drag him home.

Or maybe I ought to drag him to the rubbish dump instead? Get rid of the problem once and for all? Then I can take the bus to Ljusdal and continue over the oceans to Pitcairn Island.

He passed by the railway line and sidings, where the big, dark building containing the abattoir was situated. The streetlights were starting to thin out. Joel hurried on his way. He paused at the crossroads.

Then he saw Samuel. It couldn’t be anybody else. He was on his way to the sawmill. There were a few places there where people used to gather to drink. The police had been called out there once or twice, Joel knew that. Somebody had been stabbed in the arm during a fight. There had been an article about it in the newspaper. Samuel had turned very pale when he read about it.

The sight of Samuel on the road made Joel feel a mixture of relief and anger. It meant he had caught him in time. Samuel hadn’t yet settled down with a glass or a bottle in his hand.

He started running. The snow creaked under his boots. But Samuel didn’t hear him. He didn’t notice anything until Joel materialized by his side.

Samuel paused and eyed him up and down. Then continued walking.