When the Snow Fell (16 page)

Joel woke up with a start. He remembered immediately what had happened the previous night at the Greyhound’s place. He tried to tell himself that it had only been a dream. That it hadn’t really happened. But he couldn’t get away from facts. He had sat on that chair and the Greyhound’s friends had sneaked into the room.

Joel checked his alarm clock. He would soon have to get up and go to school. The Greyhound and her friends would all be there. And they would tell the rest of the class all about it. Tell the whole school. Joel had made a fool of himself.

He felt a stabbing pain in his stomach. He couldn’t go to school. He would never be able to go back there for the rest of his life. As Samuel was like he was, Joel would be forced to leave town on his own. It was Saturday today. Tomorrow the night train would stop at the station, the one in which he used to post his secret letters. Tomorrow he would sneak aboard himself. He would hide away and listen as the train clattered over the railway bridge, and by the time it was morning again he
would be many miles away. Then he would change his name, dye his hair a different color and become somebody else. Joel Gustafson wouldn’t exist anymore. The Greyhound and her friends would laugh in vain.

Samuel suddenly appeared in the doorway.

“You’d better get up now or you’ll be late for school,” he said.

“I’m coming,” said Joel.

“There’s a storm brewing,” said Samuel. “A snow storm.”

Joel hoped the whole town would be blown away.

“We’ll buy your new boots today,” said Samuel with a smile. “Assuming we’re not snowed in.”

“Yes,” muttered Joel.

“Let’s meet at twelve o’clock outside the shoe shop,” said Samuel. “I’ll be there on time. And have the money with me. Make sure you don’t blow away.”

He went back to the kitchen. Joel stayed in bed with the quilt up to his chin. He didn’t want any new boots anymore. It didn’t matter. He might as well carry on wearing the ones he had. In the end the sores would result in his feet dropping off. Or he would get blood poisoning and die in full view of whoever was interested. The Greyhound. And Miss Nederström. And all the rest of them.

But he couldn’t just stay in bed. Samuel would start wondering. He got up and dressed. Samuel was about to put on his fur cap.

“Twelve noon,” he said again. “Outside the shoe shop.”

Joel listened to him walking downstairs. Once, Samuel had walked around on the decks of various ships. Now he just walked up and down stairs. Year after year. While his back became more and more hunched.

Joel went to sit on the window seat. It had become colder. Minus six degrees. And Samuel was right. It was windy. The overhead streetlight was swaying back and forth. There was a whistling noise in the walls. Cold air was forcing its way in through badly fitting windows. He shuddered when he pressed his cheek against the window-pane.

In the street down below people were struggling into the headwind that was raging in a series of powerful gusts. Young and old, everybody struggled. They were lit up intermittently by the streetlights. It was still dark. Everybody was on the way somewhere. Except Joel. He was sitting on the window seat, wondering if he ought to move into the wall and share living space with the mouse gnawing away inside there. He checked the time. The first lesson had already begun. Miss Nederström had noticed that Joel Gustafson was absent again. And the Greyhound was sitting with her friends, giggling. Perhaps they had already started passing round notes, telling everybody what had happened the previous evening.

Joel pressed his hands against his stomach. It hurt. Now it wasn’t Samuel sitting inside there, gnawing away. It was the Greyhound.

Joel went back to bed. He lay under the covers fully dressed. He didn’t know what to do. He’d been shown up. The only possibility was to go away. To disappear without a trace. They would write about him in the newspapers.

Joel Gustafson, who disappeared in mysterious circumstances …

The Joel Gustafson case …

The boy who went up in smoke …

He would sit on Pitcairn Island, reading what it said in the newspapers. But by then he wouldn’t be called Joel anymore. His name was Fletcher. And he would have married the descendant of one of the old mutineers. She had come walking towards him along the beach one morning, wearing transparent veils. She resembled the Greyhound. But her lips were redder. And she ran even faster than the Greyhound. They already had a son called Joel. Joel Fletcher. Nobody would know that it was him, Joel Gustafson, who had once sat on a chair, pursing his lips.

His stomach ached less when he was dreaming. But it was hard to keep the dream going. It was trying to run away from him all the time. And then the Greyhound was back again, with all her laughing friends.

Joel knew he couldn’t stay at home. But where could he go?

He stood by the window. It was blowing a gale now. And it had started snowing.

Simon, he thought. The only person I can go to is Simon Windstorm. I can’t go to Gertrud’s. She would see straight through me and start asking questions. And I don’t want to answer them.

He put on his outdoor clothes. It was good that a storm was raging. Nobody would notice him out in the streets. Not even the headmaster, who had very sharp eyes. Everybody would be ducking into the wind and staring straight down the hill.

He went out into the wind. It really was blowing hard. He had to fight hard against it. But he’d made up his mind: he was going to go to Simon’s house. He could be in peace there. He’d be able to plan his escape to Pitcairn Island. The journey that would begin the next day when he sneaked aboard the night train. Samuel could stand waiting for him outside the shoe shop in vain. He needed the money earmarked for the boots for his journey. He would borrow it from Samuel. In secret, while he was asleep. As it would be Sunday, he wouldn’t be able to suggest that they go out to buy the boots. And he wouldn’t notice that the money was missing. Eventually Joel would pay back the money many times over. For every krona he had borrowed, he would pay back a thousand.

He was passing the railway station now. The bus to Ljusdal was about to leave. The windshield wipers were straining to keep the snow off so that the driver could see. Joel thought about the time he’d fallen under that
very bus, and avoided being killed thanks to a miracle. Now he wondered if it might have been as well if the bus had killed him. At least he wouldn’t have had to sit on that confounded chair that the Greyhound had put out for him.

The wind howled, the snow whirled. Joel kept on struggling. He was past the hospital now. On his way out of town. There were already high drifts on the road. Before long it would be impassable. Cars would get stuck in the drifts and would have to stay there until the snow-plow got through to them.

Joel very nearly missed the turnoff to Simon’s house. He had to wade through the snow. The old truck was parked outside, half covered by snow. He came to the house and banged on the door. No reply. He opened it and went in.

The house was empty. Simon wasn’t at home. Nor were the dogs. There was a faint glow in the wood-burning stove. Joel brushed off the snow and stood by the stove to warm his hands. Where could Simon and the dogs have gone to? The truck was parked outside. And Simon wasn’t the type to go for a walk if it wasn’t necessary. If he needed to go somewhere he would take the truck.

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.