Mankell Henning - When the Snow Fell

But Miss Nederström showed no sign of suspecting him. That was the main thing. So Joel’s secret visit to his classroom would remain a mystery. Unless he himself decided to reveal what had happened. Perhaps on his ninetieth birthday, in 2035. But Miss Nederström would already be dead by then. Lying in the churchyard under a heavy stone, just like Lars Olson.

Then the school day began. And it began well. The first lesson was geography, and that had always been Joel’s best subject. Especially if Miss Nederström talked about far-distant countries and people. But that day it was about Scandinavia. That wasn’t as enjoyable. Even so, Joel listened carefully. It always seemed to him that Miss Nederström also bucked up when they had geography.

That morning he was suddenly struck by the amazing thought that she had once been young as well. Had sat at a school desk just like Joel. And perhaps she had thought that geography was her favorite subject.

That was one of the hardest things for Joel to cope with. Imagining old people being the same age as he was. And that applied not least to Samuel. Joel had some times looked at pictures of Samuel as a boy about the same age as himself. He could see that it was Samuel. But it was hard. It somehow seemed to be somebody else he was looking at. When Joel looked at those pictures of Samuel, he wondered how he was going to change as he grew up. What would he see in the mirror in fifty years’ time? Not to mention a hundred? He imagined himself going to the photographer’s in 2044, the year before he might be going to die. An old man with a long white beard. But without a hunched back. That was something he was never going to get, as long as he lived. He had made up his mind about that. That New Year’s resolution would last for the whole of his life, and be repeated every year.

Time passed quickly. When they started the day with geography, it was as if the whole school day braced itself and then shot off over a surface of smooth, shiny ice. Even the boring religious studies lesson could have the occasional exciting moment. This particular time Miss Nederström talked about John the Baptist, who’d had his head cut off and placed on a plate. And Salome danced and was given the head as a reward. Miss Nederström told them that Salome had been very beautiful, and had danced wearing transparent veils. Joel reckoned that must mean she had been more or less naked. Or transparent through and through. The Greyhound giggled. Joel assumed that must mean he was right.

He sat watching the Greyhound without her noticing. She had started to change. Developed breasts. Joel often found it hard not to take hold of her. Especially her breasts. Sometimes, when he leaned over to reach something, he tried to brush against her. But she was on her guard. Not only could the Greyhound run faster than anybody else, she could also growl and show her teeth.

Joel started dreaming. About the new shop assistant at the grocer’s, dancing behind the counter, dressed in transparent veils. But the fat old ladies didn’t see a thing. It was only Joel who noticed what was happening. Then Ehnström himself appeared behind the counter. On a tray that usually held strings of sausages was a head. Still the fat old ladies didn’t see a thing. Only Joel knew what was going on. The head looked like that of Stationmaster Knif, and was still wearing his uniform cap.

He still hadn’t stopped dreaming when school was over for the day. Somebody asked if he wanted to go and play in the horse dealer’s paddock. There might be enough snow to make a slide. Joel would have loved to go, but he said no even so. There was something he had to do that couldn’t wait.

Joel stayed in the playground until the Greyhound had gone home. The person he was going to visit lived in the same block of flats as she did. He didn’t want her to know that he was going there. She would only start gossiping about it, and she was as good at gossiping as she was at running.

Joel walked up the hill towards the place where the musician and womanizer Kringström lived. Kringström was the person he was going to visit. He was bald and fat and had his own orchestra. Joel had been to see him the previous year. He’d wanted to learn to play the saxophone. He could still recall how Kringström had stared at him, with his glasses pushed up onto his forehead, surprised to hear that Joel didn’t want to play the guitar like everybody else.

But now Joel had changed his mind. That was why he was on the way to Kringström’s flat.

A rock idol had to be able to play the guitar.

He continued up the hill. There was no sign of the Greyhound. He couldn’t see her anywhere ahead of him.

He still wasn’t quite sure what he was going to do, become a rock idol or a trailer salesman. Presumably being a rock idol was more fun. Prancing round a stage with a guitar in your hands. Singing “Hound Dog” into a microphone. And in front of the stage a cheering and whooping mass of people, most of them girls who were dying to pull off your clothes or handfuls of hair.

But there again, he imagined it would be hard going, never being left in peace. Always having to be photographed. Never having time to sit back on his bed, dreaming.

He wondered if a rock idol would ever have time to act like a child again. That worried him. He’d have difficulty coping with that.

Selling trailers was different altogether. It was actually Samuel who’d put the idea into his head. They’d been having dinner in the kitchen. Fried herring, Joel could still recall. He’d ventured to ask Samuel if they’d ever be able to afford a motorcar.

“I doubt it,” Samuel had said. “But you might be able to hit upon a way of earning lots of money.”

Joel hadn’t risen to the bait.

“I suppose you earned a lot of money when you were a sailor?”

“No way!” said Samuel. “But we used to spend a lot of time at sea, where there was nothing to spend our money on. So we’d saved a fair bit by the time we came back ashore.”

Joel could see that as his dad said that, he started thinking about Jenny. He’d met Joel’s mother while he was a sailor. Samuel’s face clouded over. It seemed as if Joel’s dad was floating away into the clouds. Maybe he looked a bit angry as well. Joel sometimes wondered if Samuel also hated Mummy Jenny — because she’d put him to shame by running away.

Joel changed the subject. He went back to what they’d started with. Money. How could you best earn a lot of money.

“Tell me who earns lots of money,” he said.

“Trailer salesmen,” said Samuel.

Joel was surprised by the reply. But Samuel went on to say:

“Ten years from now, every Swede will have a trailer to hitch onto the back of their car. Trailer salesmen are going to get rich.”

But we won’t be buying a trailer, Joel thought. Or at least, if we do, Samuel and I will have to become horses and pull it.

What’s the point of having a trailer if you can’t afford a car?

As usual at such moments, Joel felt very angry. His anger was always lurking in the background, to emerge whenever he thought about how little money they had. He and Samuel were poverty-stricken. Despite the fact that there were supposed to be no poor people in Sweden anymore. But then his anger was transformed into a guilty conscience. Samuel toiled and slaved for all he was worth. He couldn’t possibly try harder than he did.

After that conversation in the kitchen Joel spent ages thinking over what Samuel had said. That was how they would be able to afford a car. If Joel sold enough trailers, they’d be able to afford it. They wouldn’t have to pull the trailer themselves.

But it was only now, when he’d made his New Year’s resolution, that he started to think seriously about the matter. He’d have to make up his mind. Rock idol or trailer salesman. It would be a difficult choice to make.