Mankell Henning - When the Snow Fell

Joel was tired. He settled down in bed again. He wanted to return to his dream as soon as possible.

And Samuel was there.

He’d come back.

Joel woke up early. He lay in Samuel’s bed and tried to remember what had happened. He was wide awake instantly. He recalled that he had gone to sleep in the bed outside the front door. And almost frozen to death. He felt his body underneath the quilt. He wiggled his toes and clenched his fists. So he didn’t have frostbite. Then he got up and slipped his feet into Samuel’s enormous slippers.

Samuel was in Joel’s bed. Joel thought that would probably have been a good thing. To change places with each other once and for all. Then he went to the kitchen. He could see through the window that it had been snowing.

He could see something else as well.

The old bed was still standing there, outside the front door. And it was white. Samuel had left the mattress there. It looked almost as if somebody was lying in the bed, asleep.

Joel felt scared. What had he really done? He could easily have been dead by now. Just as dead as Lars Olson. And just as old. If Samuel hadn’t come back when he did.

Samuel had changed his mind. He hadn’t started drinking again. That was why it was only the mattress still out there, buried under the snow.

Joel sat down at the kitchen table. Lit a candle. The smell of the wax helped him to calm down.

He’d often thought that his mum, Jenny, was bound to have smelled like a living candle.

It wasn’t six yet. Samuel would wake up soon. Joel put the coffee water on the stove. Then he got dressed.

When the coffee was made he could hear that Samuel was moving about. He came into the kitchen.

“Coffee’s ready,” said Joel.

Samuel looked at him.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

“Fine.”

They didn’t say any more about it. It wasn’t necessary. Samuel and Joel could talk to each other in silence just as well as with words. When they really tried. And this was one of those mornings.

Samuel was dressed, and drinking his coffee.

“Sara’s not the only woman around,” Joel said. “There are others. And you ought to shave more often.”

“I know,” said Samuel.

Joel drank a glass of milk.

“We ought to get away from here,” Joel said. “There are schools in other places. And there are bound to be forests as well. If you really have to spend the rest of your life chopping down trees.”

Samuel looked at him. But he didn’t say anything.

“There might be forests on Pitcairn Island,” Joel said. “We could write and ask, in any case.”

“Do that,” said Samuel. “I’ll give you the money for a stamp.”

“How much is it to send a letter there?” Joel asked. “It’s a long way away.”

Samuel looked worried.

“We’d better make enquiries at the post office,” he said.

Joel had another idea.

“I know what I want for Christmas,” he said. “A postage stamp.”

“We can’t wait that long,” said Samuel, standing up.

He placed a five-kronor note on the table next to the burning candle.

“That must surely be enough,” he said.

“It’s bound to be,” said Joel. “The world can’t be that big.”

Samuel left for work. Joel stood in the window and watched him put down his rucksack and carry the bed away. Then he turned round, looked up at the window and waved. Joel waved back.

He started getting ready for school. The Christmas holidays were not far away now. He wondered what kind of a report he would get for this term. The only thing he could be sure about was his mark for geography. What worried him most was what Miss Nederström might decide to give him for general attendance and behavior. No doubt he could expect some unpleasant surprises there.

He blew out the candle. Breathed in the smell. Thought of Mummy Jenny. And Sonja Mattsson.

But most of all he thought of the Greyhound.

Then he left. For once he was in good time for school.

Christmas was approaching. School had broken up for the holidays. Joel had reluctantly allowed himself to be dressed up as a shepherd when they assembled in the church to listen to the headmaster’s boring Christmas address.

Afterwards, Joel had gone home with his school report in his jacket pocket. It hadn’t been as bad as he’d feared it might be, although it could have been better. Still, he knew that Samuel would be pleased and proud: Joel was one of the top ten in his class. And he had the highest mark of anybody in geography.

He’d put his report in the middle of the kitchen table.

Then he’d walked to the hospital to visit Simon. Simon was still poorly, but the doctor told Joel that the chances of his recovering were rather better now. He might even be able to talk.

“Simon never says much,” Joel had said. “So it will be enough if he can only talk a little bit.”

When Joel left the hospital, the Greyhound was waiting for him outside. They continued up the hill to Simon’s house and fed the dogs. They did that every day. Joel had been forced to tell Kringström that he couldn’t go to practice the guitar and dust and wash up, not while Simon was ill in hospital. Kringström had heard about what had happened, and said that it was OK for Joel to attend whenever he had time.

Quite a lot had changed. Every time Joel went to do the shopping and Sonja Mattsson was behind the counter, she spent ages talking to him.

The fat old ladies were not very pleased about that. But Sonja told them they could go and do their shopping somewhere else, if they couldn’t wait until it was their turn.

Joel and Sonja had a secret they shared. That was nobody else’s business.

Samuel hadn’t gone off drinking again. Joel could never be certain that his dad wouldn’t simply disappear one of these days, but it did seem as if Samuel was now starting to think seriously about moving away from their little town by the river. Perhaps he might even try to become a sailor again, despite everything.

Samuel had finished reading Mutiny on the Bounty , and then started it all over again.

Joel had decided to postpone toughening himself up. He wouldn’t sleep in the snow again. Not now. Later, perhaps. After all, there was a long time to go until 2045.

He still thought he would be able to become a rock idol. But it had dawned on him that it would probably take rather longer than he’d thought at first. Even learning to play the guitar was pretty difficult. But he was getting better. He knew nine chords now, and the strings didn’t dig so deeply into his fingers anymore.

The Greyhound went with Joel to Simon’s house every afternoon. They never talked about what had happened that evening in her flat.

Joel waited and waited.

The day that school broke up for Christmas, the Greyhound had accompanied him to Simon’s house as usual. She suddenly disappeared while Joel was feeding the dogs.

When she came back, Joel noticed that she had painted her lips red.

They were standing in the middle of Simon’s living room.

“Now I’ll teach you,” she said.

And she did. Joel knew that he would never forget that feeling as long as he lived. The Greyhound’s lips against his.

Afterwards, she giggled.

And Joel blushed.

It was the last Sunday in Advent, the Sunday before Christmas. Joel asked if the Greyhound would like to go with him and watch the night train.

“Is that anything worth watching?” she wondered.

“Maybe somebody will get on and travel away from here,” said Joel. “Or maybe somebody will get off. Besides, I need to post a letter.”

The Greyhound could be very nosey.