When the Snow Fell (13 page)

“Where have you got this from?” Kringström asked.

“I’ve borrowed it,” said Joel.

“It’s a fine old guitar,” said Kringström. “They don’t make them like this anymore. If they did they’d be worth many thousands of kronor.”

The very thought made Joel feel dizzy. Simon had had that guitar hanging on his wall for as long as Joel had known him. No doubt he had no idea that it was so valuable.

“But the strings are in poor condition,” said Kringström. “We’d better start by changing them.”

“I haven’t got any others,” said Joel.

Kringström shrugged.

“But I have. If you lead an orchestra you need to be equipped like a car repair shop. Spare parts for all the instruments.”

He produced a new set of strings. Joel watched him removing the old ones and fixing the new ones. Then Kringström nodded towards the piano.

“Give me a C,” he said.

Joel didn’t know where to find a C. He was forced to ask.

“The white key that comes immediately before two black ones,” said Kringström, sounding only a little bit annoyed.

Joel prodded at a C.

“You don’t need to belt it as hard as that,” said Kringström.

Joel tapped the key once more. More gently this time. And Kringström tuned the guitar.

Then he handed it to Joel, and they started to practice.

After an hour Joel had a pain in his fingers and his back and his wrists. He didn’t see how he’d ever be able to learn. Even if he could it would take so long that he’d be in the churchyard before he could play a single Elvis song. Kringström pulled at Joel’s fingers, told him to bend his wrist more and to press harder. The strings cut into the tips of Joel’s fingers.

“You’ll learn eventually,” said Kringström when the hour was up. “But it will take time.”

He told Joel what he ought to practice before the next time they met.

“I haven’t time for more than two lessons a week,” said Kringström. “And now we must decide how you’re going to pay.”

A shudder ran down Joel’s spine.

Did Kringström want paying? He’d thought Kringström did this kind of thing because it was fun.

Kringström noticed Joel’s panic. His face broke into a large smile. Joel had never seen anything like it before. Kringström looking happy.

“You can help me to clean,” he said. “I don’t want money. But you can dust down the records and music stands. And wash up when necessary. Do you know how to wash up?”

“Yes,” said Joel. “And I can clean as well.”

“Boys can’t usually do that kind of thing,” said Kringström.

“But I can,” said Joel.

Kringström nodded.

“That’s settled, then. You needn’t bother today. We’ll start next time. One hour with the guitar, then one hour with the dishcloth and duster.”

Joel put his guitar back in its case and got ready to leave. By then Kringström had already put on a new record and started playing. This time he had taken up position behind a big double bass. Joel stood in the doorway, watching. Listening. Kringström played away and seemed to have forgotten already that Joel was there.

As Joel emerged through the front door, the Greyhound appeared from behind the corner. Joel had the impression that she’d been lying in wait for him. He was on his guard immediately. What did she want now?

“Can you play yet?” she asked.

“You know full well that it takes time,” said Joel. “With your wrists and your fingers and all that. How many notes do you think have to be learnt?”

Joel set off walking. She accompanied him. There’s something she wants, Joel thought. But I’m not going to ask her what.

They walked down the hill in silence. Now and then she would run for a few feet, circling round Joel. She really was like a dog. She couldn’t keep still.

“Why didn’t you tell the truth?” she asked without warning.

Joel stopped. What did she mean?

“Why didn’t you say that you didn’t go to school because your dad was drunk?”

Joel stared at her.

“He wasn’t at all.”

“What was he, then?”

“He was ill.”

Joel could feel his cheeks burning. Nobody had permission to say that his dad was drunk. Even if it was true. And how did the Greyhound know about it anyway?

“If you’d told the truth you needn’t have been in detention. And you didn’t need to say it in front of the class. You could have waited until one of the breaks.”

“My dad was ill,” said Joel, and set off walking again. The Greyhound followed him remorselessly.

Joel stopped again.

“How do you know about it?” he asked. “Did you see him?”

“I just know,” she said, continuing to circle round Joel.

There could only be one explanation, Joel thought. The
Greyhound gossips more than anybody else in town, but that must also mean that she knows more than anybody else. The gossip has to come from somewhere, even for her.

Joel started walking again. Faster now.

“He doesn’t drink very often,” Joel said. “Less and less, in fact.”

They had come to the bottom of the hill. Joel thought the Greyhound would turn round now and run back home. But she didn’t. She carried on walking by his side.

Joel was less suspicious now. The Greyhound hadn’t spat out her comments as she usually did. It was almost as if he’d started to enjoy walking along in her company. Quite apart from the fact that she could run faster than anybody else, she was rather pretty. And not stupid. Joel could think of much worse company than her.

They had come as far as the Community Center. Joel hadn’t the slightest idea where the thought came from—all too often he spoke first and thought later. This was one of those occasions.

The poster in the case outside the entrance, advertising the film being shown that week, didn’t look especially exciting. A man and a woman in old-fashioned clothes stood with their arms around each other, staring in horror at something that couldn’t possibly be guessed. Joel assumed it was a love story. But nevertheless, as it was for adults only, there might be something exciting in the film.

“Would you like to go to the pictures?” he asked, pointing at the poster.

“It’s adults only,” said the Greyhound.

“I know how to get in even so,” said Joel. “Without paying as well.”

“I don’t believe that for a moment,” she said.

But Joel could see that she was interested already.

“Do you want to go to the pictures or don’t you?” he asked.

“I do.”

“But you must promise not to tell anybody how I get in.”

“I promise.”

“If you tell anybody, everybody will start doing what I do. And Engman will find out. Then it won’t be possible anymore.”

Engman was the cinema caretaker. So far he hadn’t found out that Joel knew a way of getting in without paying, no matter if the film was adults only or not. He’d discovered how to do it during the many evenings he’d been out in the streets looking for the dog that was heading for a distant star. Ture had been with him the first time. But since Ture moved away, Joel had always been on his own. And now here he was inviting the Greyhound to come with him. He didn’t understand it himself.

The film began at half past seven. There was only one showing. Joel pointed to a car repair shop on the other side of the street.

“You must be there by a quarter past seven,” he said. “And don’t say a word to anybody.”

She promised. Then she ran off home. Joel stood watching her, racing along the street like a flash of lightning.

For a brief moment Joel tried to imagine the Greyhound dressed in transparent veils. With nothing on underneath. But the thought horrified him.

Then he set off home. It was high time he started to make dinner.

Samuel came home. And he was sober. As they ate Joel kept glancing at him surreptitiously. Samuel seemed to be back to normal now. After dinner he sat in the armchair by the wireless, leafing through the newspaper. Joel went to his room and did what Kringström had told him to do. He would have to practice every day. Other wise he’d never learn. As seven o’clock approached he got ready to go out. Samuel lowered his newspaper and looked at him.

“Are you going out again?”

“I’m just going to return some books to the library.”

“But you were there only a couple of days ago.”

“I read a lot.”

“Show me what you’re reading!”

Joel went back to his room and fetched a book. One that he hadn’t finished reading yet.
Mutiny on the Bounty
. He knew what it was about, though. An old sailing ship whose crew set the captain adrift in a dinghy and left him to survive as best he could.

Samuel looked at the cover and read the blurb on the back.

“Maybe that’s something for me as well. I ought to read more books than I do. All I do is sleep.”

“You can borrow it,” said Joel.

Then he went out. At exactly seven o’clock he was in place in the shadows on the other side of the Community Center. Engman was just opening the doors and switching on the lights in the foyer. His wife was in the ticket office. People hadn’t started to arrive yet. Joel suspected that there wouldn’t be many in the audience. The posters were not very alluring. And there were no well-known stars in the film. The projectionist appeared. His name was Tunström and he was really a butcher, but he’d been the projectionist all the time Joel knew anything about it. He sometimes fell asleep in his booth. When that happened, his snores used to echo round the auditorium.

Joel gave a start. The Greyhound had appeared by his side. She was red in the face. Joel guessed she must have run all the way from home. How long would that have taken her? One minute?

“We have to wait here,” Joel said.

“Are you sure you’re not making it up?”

“Go home if you don’t believe me.”

She stayed put. Asked no more questions.

It was approaching half past seven. Joel was right. Not many people had turned up. Engman was standing by the entrance doors, looking not best pleased.

“It’s probably a bad film,” Joel said. “Still, it’s adults only.”

Half past seven. One minute past. Engman stepped out into the street and looked up and down. Then he closed the door.

It was time.

“Just follow me,” said Joel. “And be as quiet as you can.”

Joel led her quickly over the street and into the courtyard at the back of the Community Center. He groped his way along the wall in the shadows. The Greyhound was just behind him. He came to the stairs leading down into the basement. Carefully, he took hold of the door. If he lifted it up at the same time as pulling it towards him, it would open. Joel produced the flashlight he’d remembered to put in his pocket. The Greyhound looked scared.

“There’s no cinema down there,” she said.

“Are you coming or aren’t you? The film will probably have started by now.”

They crept into the darkness. Joel pointed the flashlight down at the floor. They could hear the sound from the screen, coming from up above. The Greyhound stayed close behind Joel. They tiptoed quietly up the stairs leading to the stage behind the screen. The Greyhound hesitated, but Joel pulled her along with him. Now they could see the pictures from behind. Joel peered cautiously into the auditorium through a slit in the screen. The upstairs seats seemed to be completely empty. He pointed to a staircase. When they got to the top Joel opened the door slowly. There was nobody there.

Every single seat was empty.

Joel pointed. They sat down in the front row.

The film had just started.

“What if Engman comes?”

“Why should he do that when there’s nobody sitting upstairs?”

They started watching the film. It really was very boring. But the Greyhound giggled every time the actors kissed.

Joel leaned against the rail and looked down into the stalls. He’d heard noises coming from the entrance door: evidently some more people had turned up to watch this boring film.

He could see them now.

He gave a start. At first he thought he was seeing things. But no, he recognized who it was.

Sonja Mattsson. The shop assistant at Ehnström’s.

And she was not alone. She had a man with her.

A man who sat down beside her, holding her hand.

Joel felt a pang of jealousy. More than jealousy. A feeling he didn’t really recognize.

He leaned back. The Greyhound was watching the film.

But Joel couldn’t concentrate.

All he could think about was the girl sitting downstairs.

The Greyhound giggled.

Now they were kissing again on the screen. Men and women, kissing each other. Some were kissing furtively, others openly, behind doors and sitting on horses. Long kisses and short kisses.

The Greyhound continued giggling.

Joel sat thinking about Sonja Mattsson in the seats down below. And about the unknown man who was holding her hand.

It was as if the film was really about Joel. Even if he wasn’t kissing anybody. A woman engaged to a captain in the U.S. cavalry was meeting another man in secret. That was what the film was about. Joel had gathered that much. He realized that he was overwhelmed with jealousy. He was the one who ought to have been sitting downstairs beside
Sonja Mattsson. Not somebody else, some totally unknown person.

But there again, he had nothing against sitting here upstairs next to the Greyhound. When he thought about the possibility of changing places with the unknown man down below, that wasn’t a good idea either.

Joel leaned forward over the rail. Sonja was still holding the unknown man’s hand.

“What are you looking at?” whispered the Greyhound.

“I don’t want to end up walking with a stoop,” Joel hissed back. “I have to keep stretching.”

He tried to concentrate on what was happening on the screen. There was still lots of kissing going on. He wondered if he ought to take hold of the Greyhound’s hand. But he was unsure of how she would react. Would she start screaming? Would she hit him? He decided it was best not to try it.

The film was boring. There were groans and moans and creaking noises down below in the stalls. The only one sitting absolutely still and staring at all the people kissing everybody else was the Greyhound. Joel thought it might be an idea to take the opportunity of kissing the Greyhound. He didn’t know how to do it, but perhaps she wouldn’t notice that. She’d just think it was a part of the film. If he did it really quickly.