Shadows in the Twilight (3 page)

All these were thoughts flashing through Joel's mind
as the bells were ringing after he'd pulled the string
outside Gertrud's door.

In just a few seconds, he'd managed to think about
what had taken several hours to happen in reality.

That was one of the unanswered questions he'd noted
down on the last page of his logbook.

How could you remember things so quickly?

He tugged at the string again.

Perhaps Gertrud wasn't at home?

Sometimes she went to prayer meetings at her church
in the evening. She also used to work her way through
the town, knocking on doors and trying to sell a
religious magazine. She had told Joel that this was how
she earned her living. And he'd heard other people say
that Gertrud No-Nose was very poor.

But she's not poor, Joel thought.

If she didn't have any money, she would have no
trouble in inventing ways of making some.

Eventually he heard her shuffling up to the door in her
slippers.

He quickly changed his face so that he looked like
somebody who had just experienced a miracle.

The door opened, and there was Gertrud.

Her face was bright blue. As blue as the bluest of
summer skies.

'Joel!' she exclaimed.

Then she pulled him into the porch and flung her arms
around him.

Joel noticed that his face turned blue as well.

That's torn it, he thought angrily.

There aren't any blue people who have experienced a
miracle. There aren't any blue people at all, full stop.

Gertrud looked solemnly at him.

'I've heard what happened,' she said. 'Thank God
things turned out all right.'

She ushered him into the kitchen, where it was very
warm. The old wood-burning stove was crackling away.

On the kitchen table was a large dish full of blue paint.

'What are you doing?' Joel asked.

'I'd intended painting that white china tea service,'
said Gertrud. 'But it was so boring that I decided to paint
myself instead.'

Joel took off his hat and unbuttoned his jacket. He
could see in the little mirror on the kitchen table that his
nose and one cheek were blue.

He looked at Gertrud, at her blue face. Even the
handkerchief stuffed into the hole where her nose should
be was blue.

He suddenly felt very annoyed by the obvious fact
that she was out of her mind.

She ought to have realised that he would come to see
her when he had just experienced a miracle.

In which case she could have avoided painting herself
blue!

She sat down opposite him and eyed him solemnly.

'I was so frightened when I heard what had happened,'
she said. 'I nearly had a heart attack! Just think
if you'd been killed, and I never saw you again, Joel.'

Joel felt a lump in his throat. He was forced to bite the
inside of his lip to prevent himself from bursting into
tears.

He tried to think of something else. Of the rucksack
he'd hung from a branch in the forest. That Sunday
afternoon, when he'd abandoned the big Geronimo
puzzle and gone out into the forest instead, to prove that
you could get lost on purpose.

That seemed so long ago! Such an incredibly long
time ago!

Gertrud still looked very serious. It struck Joel that it
was very odd for a person with a blue face to look so
serious.

And especially Gertrud! Mad Gertrud!

'It must have been a miracle,' said Joel. 'What else
could it be?'

'God performs miracles,' said Gertrud. 'He performed
one for me.'

Joel knew what she meant. Gertrud had once tried to
commit suicide. It was just after her operation had gone
wrong and she'd lost her nose. She didn't think she
could live without a nose. She would be too ugly to face
up to life. She had filled her pockets with old-fashioned
heavy irons, and jumped into the freezing cold river. But
she hadn't drowned. She had got stuck in an uprooted
tree in such a way that her head was above the water.
Nor had she frozen to death. Mr Under, the horse dealer,
had been walking along the river bank looking for a
horse that had escaped from a paddock. He saw her face
and thought it was the horse that had fallen into the
water. He ran to fetch a rowing boat, pulled her out, and
she survived.

She'd told all that to Joel herself. Not so very long
ago. One evening they'd been building an igloo out of
white sheets in the middle room, and telling each other
True Stories. Joel had told her about Mummy Jenny
who'd gone away and left Joel and Samuel on their own.
And Gertrud had told him about the time when she
threw herself into the river.

That's good, Joel thought. She knows what a
miracle is.

'What do you do?' he asked.

'Do?'

'When you've been on the receiving end of a miracle?
Do you have to say thank you?'

Gertrud smiled.

'You don't have to say thank you,' she said. 'But you
can be grateful.'

Joel wasn't satisfied by that answer.

'I don't want the miracle to be reversed,' he said. 'I
don't want to be run over by the Ljusdal bus again.'

Gertrud eyed him thoughtfully.

'Do you believe in God?' she asked. 'Like I do?'

Joel shrugged.

'I don't know. I suppose I'm the same as Samuel.'

'What's he, then?'

'A lost soul.'

Gertrud burst out laughing. She laughed so much that
the blue paint ran down her face and onto her white
blouse.

'Who said that?' she asked. 'Who said your dad is a
lost soul?'

Joel shrugged again. He always did that when he
wasn't sure what to say.

'Miss Nederström is always talking about lost souls,'
he mumbled.

Gertrud shook her head.

'God's not like that,' she said. 'But if you want to
show that you are grateful for the miracle, you can do a
good deed.'

That was it! Of course! He would do a good deed.
Why hadn't he thought of that himself? He'd read about
it in books. People who had been in great danger but
survived expressed their gratitude by doing a good deed.

Now he knew.

He nodded to Gertrud.

'I'll think of something,' he said. 'I shall do a good
deed.'

Gertrud suddenly looked sad.

That was probably the hardest thing about Gertrud to
cope with, the fact that she was always changing her mood.
Joel could also become angry or sad very quickly, but
something had to happen to cause his mood change. As
usual, it was different with Gertrud. She could be sitting
there laughing, and suddenly her laughter could change
into tears. Joel simply couldn't understand how laughter
and tears could be inside a person at the same time.

He was never quite sure what to do when Gertrud's
mood changed. It wasn't possible to talk to her, and he
always wondered if he had said or done something
wrong. But then it would pass just as quickly as it had
happened.

He sat there, trying not to make it obvious that he was
looking at her.

A sad, blue face.

Blue Gertrud.

Noseless Blue Gertrud.

He squirmed a little bit on his chair, and thought he
ought to go home. Before going to sleep he could think up
some good deed or other he could do the very next day.

But he didn't want to leave until Gertrud looked
happy again.

Not tonight.

He tried to think of something that would make her
happy.

Should he make her a cup of tea?

No, that wouldn't be enough.

Did he have a funny story he could tell her? Gertrud
liked listening to stories about what he'd been doing. It
didn't matter if he made it up, as long as it was exciting.

But he couldn't think of anything. His mind was a
blank.

Then he noticed the dish full of blue paint.

He dipped his finger into it and started to write on his
forehead. It wasn't easy, because the little mirror on the
kitchen table he was using made everything look back to
front. But with great difficulty he managed to write a
couple of words on his forehead. Gertrud wasn't watching
him. She was staring out of the window.

Eventually, he was ready. He saw that he had spelt
one word wrongly, but it wasn't possible to change it. It
would have to do.

Gertrud was still staring out of the window. Joel could
tell by the back of her neck that she was still sad.

The back of your neck can look sad, not just your
face.

'Gertrud,' he said tentatively, as if he was afraid she
would become happy too quickly.

She didn't hear him.

'Gertrud,' he said again, a bit louder this time.

She slowly turned round to look at him. It was a few
seconds before she could read what he had written on
his forehead.

'GERTRUD HAPPY,' it should have said.

But he had spelt it wrongly.

What it actually said was: 'GERRUD HAPPY.'

'I got it a bit wrong,' he said. 'But it's not easy to
write backwards.'

Gertrud was still looking serious. Joel hoped he
hadn't made a mess of it.

He was just going to wipe the words off his forehead
with the palm of his hand when that grim, blue face in
front of him suddenly lit up and her white teeth shone
through all the blue.

'I was only thinking,' she said. 'Now I'm happy again.'

Joel couldn't help but smile broadly himself. The urge
came from deep down inside him. Even though he was
keeping his mouth tightly closed, he had started smiling.

Sometimes happiness just welled up inside you.
Keeping your mouth tightly closed could do nothing to
stop it.

'I'd better be going home now,' he said.

Gertrud moistened a towel and wiped his forehead
clean.

Joel closed his eyes and thought about Mummy
Jenny's dress hanging at the back of Samuel's wardrobe.

Sometimes Gertrud had real mummy-hands.

Then he walked back home. It wasn't quite so hard to
cope with the miracle any longer. He knew now what to
do. He needed to think up some good deed or other that
wouldn't take too long to do. Then he might be able to
forget about that confounded bus. And about Eklund,
who was good at shooting bears but wasn't careful
enough when driving his bus.

Joel hurried up to the railway bridge. When he reached
the other side, he paused and looked up at the stars.

But he didn't see a dog.

He wondered why Gertrud had become sad.

There again, it wasn't really surprising. Who
wouldn't be sad if they didn't have a nose?

Or perhaps Gertrud was sad because she wasn't
married and didn't have any children?

Joel put his hands in his pockets and started to trudge
home.

He could think more about Gertrud and her blue face
tomorrow morning. Right now he needed to think about
a good deed he could do.

And also think about what to say if Samuel asked him
what he and Eva-Lisa had been doing all evening . . .

After school next day Joel paid a visit to Simon
Windstorm. It was raining, and he was in a bad mood
because he hadn't been able to think of a good deed.

Why was it so difficult?

He'd started thinking about it that morning when
Samuel had shaken him by the shoulder and urged him
to hurry up and get dressed or he'd be late for school.
There hadn't been much time for thinking the night
before. When he got back home from Gertrud's, he
found that his father had spread out one of his old sea
charts on the kitchen table. He was using his chubby
index finger to retrace the voyages he'd made years ago.

Joel felt pleased when he entered the kitchen. When
his dad was studying sea charts, he was always in a good
mood. That meant he would be keen to tell stories about
his life as a seafarer. The pair of them would pore over
the chart and relive the voyages.

Besides, Samuel never asked what Joel had been
doing at Eva-Lisa's all evening. That was also good.

'The ship's due to sail in a couple of minutes,' said
Samuel as Joel came into the kitchen.

Joel hurried to take off his boots and jacket. Then he
settled down on the wooden chair opposite Samuel, who
was sitting on the kitchen bench.

'You were very nearly left behind,' said Samuel,
pretending to be stern.

The game had started. The serious game.

'Are you Joel Gustafson?' asked Samuel. 'The new
galley hand?'

'Yes,' said Joel.

'Yes, Captain,' said Samuel.

'Yes, Captain!' said Joel.

Then they set off. The mooring cables were cast off,
the propeller started rotating, the sailors and deckhands
scurried back and forth, the mates and bosuns barked out
orders, and Captain Samuel Gustafson stood on the
bridge, keeping an eye on everything.

Samuel had never been more than an able seaman, but
when he went on a voyage with Joel he was always the
captain.

'What's the name of the ship?' Joel asked.

Samuel peered at him over his glasses.

'Today we're sailing on the
Celestine
,' he said. 'The
finest ship of them all. But I've installed an engine in
her, so that we can go faster.'

Joel glanced at the ship in its showcase beside the
cooker.

He thought he could hear a creaking sound in the
walls of the kitchen. As if the house were the ship that
was slowly turning round in the dock and aiming her
bows at the open sea.

Samuel placed his index finger on a spot on the sea
chart.

'Scarborough Fair,' he said. 'Now we're leaving this
dump.'

'What's our cargo?' Joel wondered.

'Wild horses,' said Samuel. 'And iron ore. And some
mysterious crates – only the captain knows what's
inside them.'

This is going to be a good voyage, Joel realised.
Mysterious crates were the most exciting cargo you
could possibly have. Only when you'd crossed over the
ocean and reached the port you were heading for would
you discover what was inside the crates.

'We'll pass to the north of the Orkneys,' said Samuel,
running his finger over the chart. 'We'll have to keep a
lookout for icebergs. If we run into a westerly gale we
might be forced up as far as Iceland. But what the crew
needs right now is a bowl of soup to warm them up.'

Joel saw that Samuel had put a saucepan on the stove.
He produced two deep dishes and served up the soup.

Samuel had made the soup from the remains of a leg
of beef.

'Turtle soup,' he said.

As they ate the house heaved like a ship in a storm. The
severe gale forced them as far north as the Icelandic coast:
the high cliffs could just be made out through the raging
and boiling waves. One member of the crew fell
overboard, but they managed to fish him out of the water
and haul him back on deck. Silent, majestic icebergs
drifted past, the wild horses were neighing and kicking in
the cages below deck. And all the time, Samuel was
explaining what was happening. The raging of the storm,
and the stillness afterwards. The flickering of sea-fire
during the nights. Meeting other ships, and the enormous
whales spouting in the distance. Eventually, early one
morning, they glimpsed the coast of Newfoundland, and
were able to change course for Philadelphia. There they
were met by a tug, and soon they were moored by the quay.

Samuel leaned back on the kitchen bench and
straightened his back.

'A good voyage,' he said. 'But things could have
turned out nasty for the deckhand who fell overboard.'

'It was a miracle that we managed to get him back on
board' said Joel.

'He was lucky,' said Samuel. 'Lucky, no more than that.'

'What about those mysterious crates?' ventured Joel.

'Oh, I nearly forgot them,' said Samuel, standing up
and disappearing into his room.

Joel remained on his chair, tense with excitement.

Mysterious crates always resulted in Joel being given
something by Samuel.

His dad returned to the kitchen.

'Those crates we were carrying contained old
memories,' he said.

He handed Joel a faded photograph.

It was dirty, and one corner was torn off. But Joel
could see that it depicted a ship in port. Some of the
crew were standing on a gangway, looking directly at
the camera. One of them was in uniform, the rest were
wearing normal working clothes.

One of the crewmen had moved his head just as the
photograph was being taken. That's why his face was
blurred.

'That's me,' said Samuel, pointing to the blurred face.
'Just as the photographer pressed the button, a fly flew
up my nose. So there's a fly in this picture as well, even
if you can't see it. I found this snap when I was
searching for another one. That's the way it always is.
You never find what you're looking for, but you find
something else instead. I'd like you to have the photograph.
The ship was called
Pilgrimme
, and came from
Bristol.'

'Thank you,' said Joel, laying the photograph down
carefully on the table.

This was a terrific present. He would be able to
imagine all kinds of adventures on the basis of it.

Samuel sat down on the bench again and started
darning a sock. Joel cleared the table, and suddenly felt
very tired. He wouldn't have the strength to think about
his good deed tonight. He could feel that he'd fall asleep
the moment he snuggled down in bed.

He undressed, brushed his teeth and put on his
nightshirt, which reached right down to his feet. Once
he had settled down under the blankets, he shouted to
his dad. Samuel came in with the sock in his hand, and
sat down on the edge of the bed. The bed creaked
under his weight.

'Do you think a lot about the accident?' he asked.

'No,' said Joel. 'I don't think about the bus at all.'

But that wasn't quite true. It was there all the time,
lurking behind all the other thoughts spinning round in
his head. Sometimes it forced its way to the fore, and then
it was like a beast of prey, threatening to pounce on him.

Joel tried not to think about it. But it was hard.
Thoughts can't simply cease to be thought about, just
like that. Especially nasty thoughts.

The worst thought of all was that a tree would fall on
top of Samuel while he was working in the forest.
Nothing could be worse than that. When Joel thought
about it, he was sometimes so frightened that he almost
started trembling. It was as if the tree had fallen already.
And Joel could do nothing about it. He had learnt that
you couldn't run away from the nasty thoughts that crop
up in your mind.

Perhaps the bus would become one of those thoughts?
One that never went away?

Samuel stroked him on the cheek and went back to
the kitchen. Joel tried to think about the good deed he
was going to do, but he was too tired. His thoughts
jumped and scurried about, and he couldn't catch them.

It was like trying to catch a flock of sparrows jumping
around a pool of water in the street . . .

He didn't manage to think of a good deed the next day
either. Even though he thought about it as hard as he
could. On two occasions he was thinking so hard that he
forgot to listen to what Miss Nederström was saying.
But she didn't notice that he wasn't paying attention. Or
perhaps she excused him because he had experienced a
miracle?

Everything was almost back to normal during the
breaks. But only almost. His friends still looked at him
in a slightly odd way. And Joel could feel that uncomfortable
feeling of solemnity coming back.

After school he decided to pay a visit to Simon
Windstorm. Perhaps Simon could suggest a good deed?
He was also known as The Old Bricklayer, and lived in a
broken-down house on the other side of the hospital.
Unlike Gertrud, who was just odd, Simon really was a bit
mad. He had been locked up in a secure hospital for many
years, because he was insane. Then he'd got better, and
they let him out again. But a lot of people thought he was
still mad, and a lot were frightened of him as well.

Not Joel, though.

Not since that time Simon had taken him to Four
Winds Lake.

Joel turned off from the main road and followed a
little path that wound its way through dense thickets of
young fir trees. It was easy to get lost if you didn't know
the way. Simon had made a hotchpotch of paths. It was
a sort of labyrinth. If you didn't take the right one, you
kept coming back to the main road again. Simon had
done this on purpose, so that he would be left in peace.
He lived in an old smithy, and there were some locals
who considered that he shouldn't be allowed to stay
there. Sometimes ladies dressed all in black and wearing
flat hats, as well as men also dressed all in black, would
come to Simon's door and try to persuade him to move
into an old people's home. They always came in groups,
because they were frightened of Simon. He could get
very angry at times. Once, he had thrown a hen at the
head of a lady wearing a flat hat. There was a clucking
and cackling all over the house, and the outcome was
that Simon was left in peace. But not for long. They
soon started coming back again.

Joel didn't really know if the Flat Hats had any right
to decide where Simon was allowed to live. But he had
no doubt at all that they belonged to an enemy tribe.

You had to be wary of the Flat Hats.

As Joel made his way through the tall fir trees, keeping
an eye on the paths so that he didn't take a wrong turning,
it occurred to him that he would have to get himself a real
friend. He couldn't carry on only mixing with grown-ups,
especially as they weren't all there.

Not that he had any intention of deserting Gertrud
and Simon.

It was just that he wanted to have a friend of his
own age.

Suddenly he emerged from the dense fir trees. There
in front of him was Simon's cottage, surrounded by a
garden full of scrap iron and old machines. Also parked
there was the ancient lorry in which Simon used to drive
round town when he couldn't sleep at night.

Smoke was rising from the chimney, and a hen was
pecking away on the porch.

Joel paused and took a look at Simon's pigsty. It was
an old taxicab that he had converted into a sty. A little
pink snout was sticking up where the windscreen had
been once upon a time.

Joel knocked on the front door and went in. It always
took him some time to get used to the smell inside
Simon's house. It wasn't a pleasant smell. Joel had to
breathe through his mouth so as not to feel sick.

He knew that Simon didn't get washed very often.
And there were chickens running around in all the
rooms. And a Norwegian elkhound gnawing away at its
bones next to the stove.

He needed time to grow accustomed to the smell, but
he usually managed it after a while.

Simon was sitting at the table reading a book when
Joel arrived. That's what he was usually doing when
Joel paid a visit. He would read with a pencil in his
hand, and if he came across something he didn't like, he
would rewrite it. Books were piled up all over the house.
The hens used to lay eggs in among the books, and Joel
sometimes helped Simon to find them.

Simon was wearing a thick fur coat. He wore it
throughout the summer as well as the winter. He had a
beard that sprouted out in all directions, and his hair
stood on end.

When Joel came into the room Simon was busy
altering the ending of a fat book. Joel knew that Simon
didn't like being disturbed when he was writing. He
crossed out chunks of text, and wrote a new version
between the lines. Joel squatted down and stroked the
elkhound while Simon was busy writing.

In the end, Simon threw down his pencil, turned to
look at Joel, and smiled.

'That's better,' he said. 'Now the book finishes as it
ought to do.'

'Are you allowed to make whatever changes you like
in books?' Joel wondered.

'Allowed and allowed,' said Simon, scratching at his
beard. 'I don't bother about such minor matters.'

Joel sat down on a stool by the table. Simon peered at
him. It occurred to Joel that Simon might not have heard
about the accident. Simon didn't speak to many people,
apart from Joel.

Simon could well be the only person in the whole of
the little town who had heard nothing about the accident.

Joel told him what had happened. Simon frowned and
listened. Joel moved his stool further back from the
table, as Simon smelled unusually awful today.

Maybe that could be a good deed? he thought.

Making sure that Simon took a proper bath.

But he rejected the thought. It could be a dangerous
suggestion to make. Simon might start throwing hens
around.

'I have to think up a good deed,' said Joel. 'If you've
benefited from a miracle, you have to do a good deed.'