Shadows in the Twilight (10 page)

'Siam Blues,' Kringström shouts. 'Are you ready?'

He stamps his foot to beat the rhythm, and Joel does
the same. Just as Kringström plays the first note, Joel
sees the Caviar Man.

He's in the group gathered in front of the stage,
watching the orchestra.

Joel dodges quickly back into the shadowy wings.
Are his eyes deceiving him again? No, it's the Caviar
Man all right. He's come!

The Caviar Man seems to be staring up wistfully at
the orchestra. His lips keep moving, as if he were
playing an invisible saxophone. Just like Joel. He
suddenly turns round and looks behind him. He's
looking for Gertrud, Joel thinks. But it's not Gertrud
who poked him in the back. It's somebody else. The
Caviar Man looks angry. He tries to make himself a bit
more room.

Then it all turns pitch black in front of Joel. It's the
World's Fattest Drummer who's moved his stool slightly
and landed slap bang in front of the peephole. Joel can't
see a thing. He goes back to the wings. It's not such a
good place as behind the curtain – if the Caviar Man
suddenly turns his head, he'll be able to see Joel
watching him. The same applies to all the couples who
are dancing. They could see him as well. Now he has to
look in several directions all at once. I could do with
some extra eyes, he thought. At least another ten . . .

When the orchestra takes a rest and leaves the stage,
Joel has started to get worried. Why hasn't Gertrud
come? he wonders. Surely she must have been pleased
to receive another letter from the Caviar Man.

'What do you think you're doing here?' says a voice
behind him.

Joel is so startled, he almost jumps out of the wings
and onto the stage.

It's the Community Centre manager, Engman. He
looks angry.

'What's a little kid like you doing in here?' he says,
looking even more angry. 'This is for grown-ups. How
did you get in?'

Nothing annoys Engman more that people trying to
sneak into a dance or a film show. Joel has heard lots of
stories about what Engman can do when he's angry.

'I belong to the orchestra,' he says, his voice shaking.

Engman stares at him.

'Are you Kringström's lad?' he asks.

'Yes,' says Joel. 'He's my dad.'

'OK,' says Engman. 'In that case you can stay here.'

Engman disappears into the wings. What will happen
if he starts talking to Kringström, Joel wonders. But he
calms down when he realises that they talk to each other
as little as possible. They are not exactly the best of
friends.

The Caviar Man has vanished. It's completely empty
in front of the stage. Joel leans forward cautiously and
looks out into the big dance hall. He can see a crowd of
people at the doors leading into the café, but there's no
sign of the Caviar Man. Nor can he see Samuel and Sara.
He makes up his mind to recapture his peephole behind
the birch tree. If he can move the stool behind the drums
slightly, the World's Fattest Drummer won't be sitting in
the way any more. All the musicians are in the changing
room. He peers out into the hall again. There are a few
people out there, but nobody is looking at the stage. He
leaps like a tiger towards the drummer's stool, but
needless to say, he bumps into a music stand. When he
thrusts an arm out to maintain his balance, he accidentally
punches one of the cymbals. The sound echoes
around the hall. He loses his hat and his glasses and
tumbles down among the drums. He recovers the hat
straight away, but the glasses must have landed under
the big bass drum. He races back into the wings again.
He looks across at the wings on the other side of the
stage, and sees the World's Fattest Drummer staring
anxiously at his drums. Joel sidles back into the
shadows. The big man on the other side of the stage
shrugs, and goes away. Joel can breathe again. He
moves back to his place in the wings where he can see
into the auditorium.

Sara is standing in the middle of the dance floor,
looking at him. Straight at him.

He's been rumbled! Joel realises that there's no point
dodging back into the shadows. Sara has discovered
him. She must have been somewhere out there, heard
the noise when he hit the cymbal, and recognised him.

But where's Samuel? Has Samuel rumbled him as
well? Joel looks at Sara. She stares back at him, as if she
couldn't believe her eyes. Then she breaks into a smile.
Smiles and shakes her head. At the same time Joel
notices Samuel. He's coming out of the door to the café.

Joel raises a finger to his lips. Will Sara understand?

Yes, she understands. She nods and raises her own
index finger to her lips.

Joel takes a step back. Now he can't be seen. But he
can hear Samuel's voice.

'What are you staring at?' Samuel asks.

'I think there was a cat in the wings over there,'
says Sara.

'A cat?' says Samuel in surprise.

'I may have been mistaken,' says Sara. 'It was
probably nothing.'

Joel stands motionless in the shadows. It's a big
moment when you fall in love with somebody. Now Joel
is in love with Sara. She hadn't said anything. She'd
turned Joel into a cat. He knew she would keep his secret.

She must wonder, Joel thinks. He makes up his mind
to tell her why he'd gone to the Community Centre.
He'd tell her one of these days. Some time in the
future . . .

The orchestra returns to the stage and the buzz of
chatter increases in the hall. Joel peers at the wall where
the girls had gathered in little groups. Still no sign of
Gertrud. But the Caviar Man has re-appeared. He's
standing with a group of other young men in front of the
stage. They are in a circle with their heads down. Joel
can see that they are looking at something, but no matter
how hard he tries, he can't make out what it is.

Kringström starts stamping his foot again, the red and
yellow lights are switched on, and he raises his saxophone
to his mouth. But the group of young men in front
of the stage have their backs turned on the orchestra.
They are laughing at whatever it is they're looking at. The
saxophone is playing, but the young men are laughing.
The Caviar Man is laughing louder than anybody else.

Then Joel realises what it is they're laughing at.

The Caviar Man is holding a sheet of paper. A sheet
of paper that Joel recognises.

It's the letter from Gertrud. The letter Joel had written
himself. On his dad's writing paper.

Joel goes all stiff. The Caviar Man is showing his
mates the letter from Gertrud, the letter that Joel wrote.
He is showing the secret letter to his friends. And they
are all laughing. They're laughing so loudly that you can
hardly hear the saxophone.

Only a couple of minutes ago, he had started to love
somebody. Sara.

Now he was starting to hate the Caviar Man. And
when Joel sees that they have stopped laughing, and the
Caviar Man tears the letter into little pieces and drops
them on the floor, where a thousand heels will grind
them into the dust, Joel hates the man more than he has
ever hated any other person before. It's as if the Caviar
Man had trampled on Gertrud . . .

Joel walks away. He goes down the stairs leading to
the back door where they had carried in the instruments.
He unlocks it and goes out. It's autumn now. Cold, with
a sky full of stars. You can hardly hear the saxophone
any more. But the Caviar Man's laughter is still echoing
inside his head.

It's noisy in front of the Community Centre. All the
people Engman refused to allow in are gathered there.
Somebody is holding onto a drainpipe and throwing up.
A portable gramophone is blaring out from a passing car.

Then Joel sees Gertrud.

She's standing in the shadows on the other side of the
street. Staring up at the illuminated entrance.

Don't go in, Joel thinks. Go home. The Caviar Man is
not worth having. I was wrong . . .

Gertrud takes a pace forward. She's now in the light
from a lamppost. Joel can see that she's wearing her best
overcoat. The one she made herself from curtains and
dresses, with fox fur trim. Where her nose ought to be she
has her best handkerchief, the one made of Chinese silk.

She sets off over the road towards the entrance. Joel
runs over to her. He stops in front of her, in the middle
of the street.

'Joel!' she says in surprise. 'What a funny hat you're
wearing!'

'Don't go in there,' says Joel. 'Don't do it.'

'I feel like dancing,' she says.

'Don't go in there,' Joel says again.

She stares at him in astonishment.

'What's the matter with you?' she asks. 'I have to
meet somebody in there.'

'I know,' says Joel. 'Don't go.'

Gertrud can't understand what's going on. What does
he mean? And why is he dressed up? Wearing a strange
hat and glasses?

Now she turns serious. Her voice is sharp. As sharp as
a knife, Joel thinks. She's going to cut me open.

'What do you know?' she asks. She's speaking so
loudly that some of the young people loitering nearby
start to show an interest, and listen to what's going on.

'What do you know?' She's almost bellowing now.
'WHAT DO YOU KNOW?'

'It was me who wrote those letters,' Joel shouts. 'I
didn't mean any harm!'

Gertrud looks at him. Her eyes are like ice.

'I didn't mean any harm,' says Joel again. 'I thought
you and the Caviar Man could get married.'

'The Caviar Man?' she exclaims. 'What are you talking
about?'

She grabs hold of him. Gives him a good shaking.
Curious onlookers gather round. Form a circle round
them. A car that can't get past sounds its horn angrily.

'What are you talking about?' she bellows again.

'It was me who wrote those letters,' yells Joel.

She eyes him up and down. The penny drops.

Then she boxes his ears. His hat and glasses fall off
and dance around on the cobblestones. She hits Joel so
hard that his head is buzzing. He almost falls over. As if
through a fog, he sees Gertrud running away. Her coat is
fluttering like a bird with a broken wing. All around him
people are laughing and giggling.

'What's going on here?' somebody asks.

'Noseless Gertrud has been fighting,' somebody
answers.

Joel wishes there was a manhole cover in front of his
feet. So that he could lift it up and disappear into the
Underworld. Perhaps there is a passage down there that
leads to the sea? Or a tunnel that runs to where Mummy
Jenny is?

He picks up the hat and glasses, and runs away.

Behind him, he can hear people laughing.

Gertrud has vanished.

His cheeks are burning. Now I'm on fire, Joel thinks.
That dream has come true. I've started to burn. Before
long there'll be flames coming from my cheeks.

He keeps on running all the way home. When he gets
there he feels as if he were going to be sick.

Life has suddenly become so hard.

There are too many questions.

Maybe that's what distinguishes children from
grown-ups, he thinks.

Understanding that there are so many questions that
don't have answers?

He trudges slowly up the stairs.

All the time, in his mind's eye, he can see Gertrud in
front of him.

Her coat flapping like the broken wing of a bird.

You can get lost inside yourself, Joel thought.

You don't have to go into the forest in order to get
lost.

You have Day and Night inside yourself. And when
twilight falls inside you, the shadows become so long . . .

Joel couldn't hide his misery.

Needless to say, Samuel realised immediately that
there was something wrong.

That was also the fault of Eklund and the Ljusdal bus.
Before the accident, Samuel had been like all other
grown-ups. Easily fooled. If Joel didn't want to tell his
dad that he wasn't feeling very well, or that he hadn't
been to school, Samuel never noticed a thing. And as he
didn't notice anything, he didn't ask any questions. But
that was before the accident. Now Samuel seemed to
look at Joel in a different way. Not a day went by
without Samuel asking Joel how he was. It had become
more difficult to fool Samuel.

Joel was awake when Samuel got back home. It was
turned midnight.

'Are you still awake?' Samuel asked. 'Why aren't you
asleep?'

'I don't know,' said Joel. 'But I'm going to put the
light out now.'

'I can tell you that dancing was great fun,' said
Samuel. 'That was a terrific idea you came up with.'

Samuel switched off the light and left. Joel had a bit
of a stomachache. His face no longer hurt from the
slap Gertrud had given him. The pain had crept down
into his stomach. But it wasn't the usual stomachache.
It felt as if there were fingers inside there, scratching
him.

Joel had felt the same kind of pain once before. It was
when he thought Samuel had abandoned him, and
vanished in the same way as his Mummy Jenny. On that
occasion, Joel had thrown a stone through Sara's window.

If only he could have told Samuel what had
happened! The whole complicated story that had begun
when Joel had been careless and fallen under the Ljusdal
bus. The good deed he'd tried to carry out; but everything
had gone wrong.

But he couldn't tell Samuel about it. His dad wouldn't
understand a thing. And he might well become very
angry.

The next morning Joel woke up very early. He'd had a
nightmare. When he opened his eyes in the darkness, he
couldn't remember what he'd dreamt. Perhaps he'd been
on fire again? He looked at the alarm clock on a stool
beside his bed: a quarter past six. As it was Sunday, he
didn't need to get up. He could stay in his warm bed all
day if he wanted to. He could hear Samuel snoring on
the other side of the dividing wall.

There was a crunching noise in the wall next to his
ear. A woodmouse was busy gnawing away at something
or other. Joel tried to go back to sleep. He closed
his eyes, and now he was out in the forest again. He still
hadn't found that secret tree. But he knew now that it
was very close by. A squirrel was sitting on a branch,
looking at him. There was something odd about that
squirrel. And then Joel realised that it was in fact a
monkey. . .

He opened his eyes again. He couldn't concentrate on
looking for that secret tree. All of a sudden Gertrud
appeared, in the middle of his story, and gave him a box
on the ear.

Joel got up and dressed. Then he went to the kitchen
and drank a glass of milk. It would soon start getting
light. Then he could go out. He enjoyed cycling around
town on a Sunday morning. There was never anybody
about. He could imagine that he was the only individual
still alive. He was the ruler of the Waste Land . . .

It was chilly outside. The saddle was wet. He could
hear Simon Windstorm's lorry in the distance. So it's
started again, he thought. Simon can't get to sleep at
night. The sound of the lorry annoyed Joel. He didn't
want to see Simon Windstorm just now. He wanted to be
left in peace.

He wondered why it was so easy to think when he
was on his bike. What did the wheels have to do with his
head? Were they a sort of dynamo that set his thoughts
in motion?

He hissed at himself.

Why did he have so many silly thoughts? Had he
inherited that from his mother, Jenny? If so, perhaps it
was just as well that she had run away?

He stopped outside the bar and dismounted. The
'Closed' notice was displayed. The bar didn't open until
one o'clock on a Sunday. But the beery locals used to
gather outside at about twelve. They often had bottles of
the hard stuff in their inside pockets that they used to
share before Ludde removed the 'Closed' notice and
unlocked the door.

Maybe it would have been better if a Miracle hadn't
happened, he thought dejectedly. Then at least I
wouldn't have been slapped by Gertrud.

He remounted his bike and started pedalling as fast as
he could. He was being chased by a terrifying gang of
murderers. He could feel them panting on the back of his
neck. Faster! He had to go faster, faster. . .

He had a puncture outside the post office. There was
a swishing noise, and his front tyre went flat. When he
examined the wheel, he saw that a nail had got stuck in
the tyre. A big, rusty nail.

I'll get rid of this damned bike, he thought. He was
furious.

I'll wheel it as far as the bridge and throw it into the
river.

Then he heard somebody shouting. He looked round.
There was nobody there. Then there came another shout.
Somebody was waving to him from an upstairs window
over the post office. That was where the Swedish
Telegraph Office was. Joel could see that it was Asta.
Asta Bagge was the local manager for Swedish
Telegraph. Was she shouting at him? He wheeled his
bike over the street. Asta had fiery red hair, and was so
thin you had to suspect that she ran herself through the
mangle every morning after getting up. Joel didn't know
anybody as flat as Asta Bagge.

'Can you do me a favour?' she shouted to him.

'Of course,' Joel said.

'Go round to the back,' Asta shouted. 'And up the
stairs. The door's not locked.'

Joel leaned his bike against the wall and went round
the corner. He'd never been in the Telegraph premises
before. When he opened the door and went in, Asta was
sitting in front of the big telephone exchange, and
connecting a long-distance call.

'Go ahead, Karlskrona,' she said into the microphone
hanging in front of her face. Then she flicked a little
black switch, and stood up.

'It's a good job I saw you,' she said. 'What's your name?'

'Joel Gustafson,' said Joel.

'Now you can do me a favour,' said Asta. 'I'll give
you a little reward for your trouble. Do you know where
I live?'

'No,' said Joel.

'There's a house behind the bakery,' said Asta. 'A red
one.'

Joel knew the one she was talking about.

'I think I forgot to switch off the cooker when I came
to work,' said Asta. 'Take these keys and hurry over to
my flat and check for me, please. Don't forget to lock up
again when you leave.'

Joel hurried off. Now he was the only one who could
stop the raging prairie fire from spreading to the
pioneers' camp. They would lose everything if he didn't
get there in time . . .

He unlocked the door and went into Asta's flat. There
was a smell of perfume. Perfume and honey. He wiped
his feet and looked round for the kitchen. He noticed the
corner of a draining board through a door standing ajar.
He opened the door wide. The cooker certainly was on.
One of the hotplates was red hot. He switched it off.
Then he explored the little flat. There was a smell of
perfume everywhere. Joel imagined that he was a
burglar. He was looking for money that was hidden
somewhere, but he didn't know where. And jewellery.
He avoided touching anything, so as not to leave any
fingerprints. A row of photographs in brown frames was
lined up on a bureau. Children stared at him, wide-eyed.
An old man was sitting on a bench by a house wall. A
poodle was wagging its tail. Joel opened the door to
Asta's bedroom. The bed was unmade. The smell of
perfume was even stronger inside there.

There was something odd about the flat, but Joel
couldn't put his finger on it. He looked round. Now he
was the detective, searching for clues that the burglar
had left behind. He suspected the culprit might be the
notorious Joel Gustafson. The master thief who had
never been caught.

Then he realised what was odd about the flat. There
was no telephone. Asta was in charge of the Telegraph
Office, but she didn't have a telephone of her own! It
was a mystery. He went through the rooms one more
time. The hotplate was no longer red. There was no sign
of a telephone anywhere.

He took another look at the photograph of the poodle.
Then he left, locking the door carefully behind him.

He checked three times, to make sure.

When he got back to the Telegraph Office, Asta was
sitting at the switchboard knitting. The earphones were
hanging round her neck.

'The cooker was on, in fact,' Joel said.

'How awful!' said Asta. 'That's never happened before.
The place could have burnt down.'

She opened her purse and took out two one-krona coins.
Two kronor just for switching off a cooker? Joel bowed
politely when she gave him the money. Perhaps that was a
job he could have when he grew up? A cooker turner-offer?
If he got two kronor every time, he'd soon be so rich that
he'd be able to buy the Pontiac in Krage's showroom.

Joel stared curiously at the big telephone exchange.
Somebody rang again, and Asta connected the call. He
asked and she explained how it worked. Joel soon
thought he'd be able to connect calls himself.

Things quietened down again, and Asta took off the
earphones.

'Is the exchange open at night as well?' Joel asked.

'It's always open,' said Asta. 'I'll have the night shift
next week. There are three of us who take it in turns. We
have a bed in the back room over there where we can
sleep. But somebody always has to be here in case a call
comes through. It could be an emergency. Somebody
might be ill. Somebody might be about to give birth and
need a taxi.'

There was another ring. Asta answered, and
connected the caller to the number requested. Then
came three more calls at the same time. Asta connected
them. Somebody wanted to speak to Stockholm. Asta
connected. And connected. And connected.

Joel saw a local telephone directory lying on a table.
He leafed through it. He came to the letter '
L'
. Then he
saw the name Lundberg, David. Telephone number 135.

The Caviar Man had a telephone!

Joel dropped the directory as if it had burnt his
fingers.

Asta hadn't noticed anything. '
You're through to
Stockholm,
' she said into the microphone.

'Do many people ring during the night?' Joel asked
when she had removed the headphones again.

'Hardly anybody rings after midnight,' she said,
picking up her knitting again. Joel could see that it was
going to be a child's jumper.

'I'd better be going now,' said Joel.

'Thank you for your help,' said Asta. Then it rang
again.

Joel wheeled his bike home. He had a repair kit in the
cellar, and would be able to mend the tyre. But it wasn't
the bicycle he was thinking about as he walked. The
Caviar Man had a telephone! That damned numbskull
who had spied on Gertrud and then cursed and sneaked
away. Slunk away like a cowardly dog.

Joel had decided that it was all the Caviar Man's fault.

He stopped dead.

He would get his revenge on the Caviar Man. That
would be the good deed he would do so that he needn't
worry about the Miracle any more. He would get his
revenge on the Caviar Man for having spied on Gertrud
and sworn at her. It would be a good deed – nobody
would know that Joel had done it. But perhaps that
didn't matter? Surely the main thing was that the good
deed had been carried out? Surely a good deed could be
as invisible as God? After all, everybody talked about
God, but nobody had seen him, had they?

Joel started walking again.

He was thinking about Asta and her telephone
exchange.

By the time he got home and opened the gate, he'd
made up his mind. He knew now how he was going to
get his revenge on the Caviar Man. Then Gertrud would
understand that he had meant well when he wrote those
secret letters. Everything would return to normal.

Two days later, on Tuesday, Samuel went away. He
was going elk-hunting and would be away for two days
and nights. He had suggested that Joel should live at
Sara's place while he was away, but Joel had objected.
He could look after himself. Samuel had eventually
given way. Joel had promised to have dinner with Sara
those two evenings.

'But what will you do if you have nightmares?'
Samuel had asked.

'Then I'll go round to Sara's,' said Joel.

'You're a clever lad,' he said. 'I've never really
thought about it before, but the fact is, you can manage
on your own as well as a grown-up.'

Joel felt proud.

As well as a grown-up, Samuel had said.

Perhaps that's what happens when you're forced to be
your own mother?

On Tuesday afternoon Samuel came home from the
forest earlier than usual. He'd already packed his
rucksack that morning. The big rifle was lying in its case
on the kitchen bench. It seemed to Joel that Samuel was
acting like a child on Christmas Eve. Could it really be
that much fun, standing in the freezing cold forest and
hoping that an elk would come lumbering past? Samuel
went elk-hunting every year. He always returned home
without having shot an elk. He hadn't even seen one. It
was always somebody else in the hunting party who'd
shot the beast.

A horn sounded in the street below.

'Are you sure you'll be able to manage?' Samuel asked.

'Of course,' said Joel. 'Off you go now! Go and shoot
an elk!'

When he reached the street Samuel turned round and
waved to Joel, who was standing in the window. Then he
clambered into the waiting car, and they set off.

Joel had thought out his plan in detail. He'd packed
a rucksack and hidden it under his bed. When it was
time to go to Sara's, he put on his boots and jacket, and
set off. It had become a bit warmer. But it was
drizzling.