A Bridge to the Stars

  'Pass me the sack,' he whispers.

  There is a table just inside the window.

  Ture tips the frozen soil and the sleeping ants onto the table. When the sack is empty he carefully closes the window again.

  'There we go,' he says.

  He puts the crate back where it was, then they hurry back over the railway bridge.

  Ture laughs.

  'By the time she wakes up tomorrow the ants will have thawed out,' he says. 'The whole house will be crawling with ants.'

  Joel laughs as well.

  In fact he's not at all sure that he likes this. It's one thing throwing a stone through Sara's window. He knows why he did that. But tipping ants through No-Nose's window? Why?

  To create fear, Ture has said.

  But why create fear in No-Nose?

  'Tomorrow we'll smear varnish all over her currant bushes,' says Ture. 'This is just the start.'

  Smear varnish over her currant bushes?

  That's not something Joel would ever have thought of doing.

  This isn't what his Secret Society was set up to do.

  The dog heading for a star no longer seems to be a part of it.

  'I want to look for the dog,' he says. 'I don't want to smear varnish over any currant bushes.'

  'You daren't,' says Ture.

  'Of course I dare,' says Joel. 'But I don't want to.'

  Then they start quarrelling.

  Neither of them says anything, but they quarrel even so, in their thoughts.

  They walk all the way home without saying a word.

  They go their different ways when they get to the courthouse gate.

  'See you tomorrow,' says Ture and jumps over the gate.

  Joel doesn't answer, but hands over the paper sack. Ture has been carrying the spade.

  'I have to go home now,' says Joel. 'I can't spend all tomorrow in bed.'

  He has no intention of smearing varnish over any currant bushes, he intends to look for the dog. But he doesn't say that.

  On the way home he thinks about Ture running away soon. Then Joel will be alone again with his Secret Society. At least he won't have to do things he doesn't want to do any more.

  Such as smearing varnish on currant bushes.

  It's not that he's a coward, he dares to do it all right. It's just that he doesn't want to.

  When he enters the kitchen he can sense straight away that Samuel isn't asleep in his bed. He doesn't need to check if Samuel's clothes and boots are still there. He knows even so.

  He edges open the door to Samuel's room. The bed is empty. Joel starts crying. He sits on the kitchen bench with tears running down his cheeks. He sits there for ages.

  Then he takes out the logbook from underneath Celestine. He finds a pen and writes on an empty page: 'All the crew have been lost now. The last one to be swept overboard was Able Seaman Samuel Gustafson. His son fought to the last to save him, but it was all in vain.

  The only one left on board now is Joel Gustafson.

  No other soul, only Joel Gustafson . . . '

  7

  When Joel wakes up next morning and goes to the kitchen, he sees that Samuel has not been at home all night. The stove is cold and there is no dirty coffee cup in the sink.

  He is gripped by fear once again. It's a monster inside his stomach. An animal with vicious teeth and sharp claws, a beast eating its fill inside frightened people.

  Joel decides to go out, lie down in the forest and die.

  Samuel is not going to return.

  He has gone away just like his mother did, and left Joel behind. He didn't even bother to take his son down to Mrs Westman's and leave him there.

  He tries to convince himself that this isn't the case, and that he's only imagining it, but to believe that he'd have to ignore the cold stove and the coffee cup that isn't where it usually is.

  He can't do that. There's a limit to how far he can go to fool himself.

  He gets dressed and goes out into the street. It's colder again and steam comes out of his mouth when he breathes.

  He can't go to school. That's out of the question. Everybody would be able to see by looking at him that Samuel had abandoned him and moved in with Sara, the waitress in the local bar. He makes up his mind to go so far into the forest that he won't be able to find his way back, and so can't have any second thoughts.

  The forest is most extensive to the north, he knows that. There are also a lot of deep ravines and black tarns there. Lots of people have lost their way in that part of the forest and never returned. Now he'll become one of them. The difference being that he'll get lost on purpose.

  He goes up the hill to the railway station, thinking that this is the last time. He turns round halfway up and surveys his own footprints. He remembers that his name is carved into the rock down by the river.

  That will still be there when he's gone.

  What has happened seems so unfair. How can you blame yourself when you can't choose your own parents?

  And why would Sara want to choose Samuel? Or is it Samuel who's chosen her?

  Perhaps he thinks I've been a bad mum to myself, Joel muses.

  Maybe he thinks I've been just as bad as Jenny.

  He stops when he comes to the road leading to Simon Windstorm's house.

  Perhaps he can have a taste of Simon's soup before he goes to get lost in the forest? If it's true that it will enable him to see into the future, he'll be able to find out what happens after he's dead.

  He walks through the dense fir trees, follows the lorry tracks and finds himself in the forecourt. Rusty machines, dismantled motor cars and power-looms are lying around everywhere, part-covered in snow.

  It's like a cemetery, he thinks. Although the gravestones are rusty machines and don't have names carved on them.

  He looks at the dilapidated house. There is no smoke coming out of the chimney, not a sound to be heard.

  He approaches one of the windows and peers inside. The Old Bricklayer is sitting at a table, reading a book. He has a pen in one hand, and occasionally writes something in the book.

  Suddenly, he looks up, straight at Joel, and waves to him. Joel hears Simon inviting him inside.

  When Joel takes hold of the door handle he notices that it turns the wrong way, the opposite way to all other door handles he's ever come across. He enters a murky vestibule smelling of tar. A pile of newspapers reaches up to the ceiling. There's also a tailor's dummy dressed in an old fur coat.

  The room where The Old Bricklayer is sitting smells of smoke oozing out of a stove. A few hens are pecking at the rag carpets.

  'I have some soup for you,' says The Old Bricklayer with a smile. 'I heard you coming.'

  'How could you possibly hear me?' asks Joel.

  The Old Bricklayer points into a corner of the room. There's a dog lying there, looking at Joel. A Norwegian elkhound . . .

  But it's not the dog that's heading for a star. It's similar, but not the same.

  'Lukas hears everything,' says The Old Bricklayer. 'Sit down now.' Joel sits down at the table on a peculiar chair. It's really two chairs but their backs are nailed to each other.

  'What are you reading?' he asks.

  'I've no idea what books are called,' says The Old Bricklayer. 'I read bits here and there and if there's something I don't like, I change it. This book has an ending I don't like, so I'm writing a new one as I want it to be.'

  'Are you allowed to do that?' asks Joel.

  The Old Bricklayer gives him a long, hard look.

  'There are all sorts of things you're not supposed to do,' he says. 'You're not supposed to wear odd shoes, you're not supposed to live in an old smithy, you're not supposed to have hens in the house. No doubt you're not supposed to make changes in books either. But I do all that even so. I'm not doing anybody any harm. Besides, I'm mad.'

  'Are you?' asks Joel.

  'No doubt I was once,' he says. 'All thoughts I had caused me so much pain. But that's all changed now. Now I only
think thoughts that I like. But I suppose I'm a little bit mad.'

  'You said you were going to serve me your soup,' says Joel. 'I need to know what's going to happen this afternoon and this evening.'

  The Old Bricklayer gives him another long, hard look.

  'You don't look too happy,' he says eventually. 'You look as if you have a lot of thoughts in your head that you would prefer not to be there. Is that right?'

  Joel nods.

  'Yes,' he says. 'I suppose so.'

  Joel starts to tell The Old Bricklayer all about it. The words simply tumble out of his mouth, with no hesitation. He tells him about his dad, who he now just calls Samuel, about his mother and Celestine, about The Secret Society and Sara in the bar. He tells him about the stone he threw through her window, and about the dog that's heading for a star.

  He's sure The Old Bricklayer is listening to what he has to say. He's not the type who just pretends to be listening.

  When Joel finishes speaking it is remarkably quiet in the room. The only sound is from the hens' beaks pecking at the floor.

  'You and I are going for a ride in my lorry,' says The Old Bricklayer, getting to his feet. 'There's something I want to show you.'

  Joel clambers into the cab. He's never been in a lorry before. The Old Bricklayer gets in behind the wheel, turns a key and pulls a knob. But the engine doesn't start.

  'Go and give the bonnet a bash with this,' he says, handing Joel a hammer.

  'Where exactly?' asks Joel.

  'Where you see the dents,' says The Old Bricklayer. 'Hit it as hard as you can and don't stop until I tell you to.'

  Joel does as he's bidden and the engine springs into life. Why on earth does it start when he hits the bonnet with a hammer?

  He clambers back into the cab. A hen suddenly appears from behind the seat and flutters out through the open door.

  'Ah, I wondered where she'd got to,' mutters The Old Bricklayer. 'In the summer they usually come to lay eggs behind the seats.'

  They drive out to the main road and head north.

  If we'd headed south perhaps he'd have taken me to Motala, thinks Joel. Driven through the forest, night and day, until we got there.

  After a few miles The Old Bricklayer slows down and turns off onto a forest track. He doesn't tell Joel what he is going to show him. Joel wishes the journey would never end. The white forest is like a boundless ocean, the lorry a frozen ship forcing its way through the white, icy sea.

  A big bird takes off from a fir tree and flies away. Snow cascades down from the branch it has left.

  The Old Bricklayer suddenly brings the lorry to a halt. When he switches off the engine Joel experiences a silence he has never come up against before. A thousand trees watching and listening . . .

  The Old Bricklayer gazes thoughtfully through the windscreen.

  'Time for walking now,' he says, hopping down from the cab.

  Joel trudges after him through the deep snow. The firs are lined up side by side, and Joel wonders where they are heading for. But he feels secure with The Old Bricklayer at his side. Everything he's heard about him before, all the scary rumours, have been banished.

  The forest suddenly opens up and a white lake, covered in ice and snow, is revealed before them. The firs crowd in on it, restlessly, on all sides. In the middle of the lake is something jutting up: Joel thinks it's a rock, but when he ventures out onto the snow-covered ice he sees that it is in fact a rowing boat, frozen in.

  They walk over to it. The Old Bricklayer adjusts the oars and rowlocks lying in the bottom of the boat. There are also a couple of collapsible canvas stools of the type used by men who fish through holes in the ice as spring approaches.

  The Old Bricklayer sets them up on the ice. He sits on one of them and indicates to Joel that he should do the same.

  'This lake doesn't have a name on the map,' says The Old Bricklayer. 'But I've given it one. A secret name. Four Winds Lake. I'll tell you why it's called that . . .

  'The first time I ever came here,' says The Old Bricklayer, 'I was very mixed-up. I'd just come back home after having lived in a hospital where people whose heads were full of horrible thoughts were locked up behind doors and barred windows. I was so pleased to have been released at last. Nevertheless I was sad because I was all alone and had spent far too many years hidden away in that hospital. I came out here into the forest and discovered this lake. It was in the winter, just like now, and I stood on the ice, more or less where we are sitting now, and then I shouted out my name as loud as I possibly could, Simon. Simon, I shouted. I don't know why I did that. It just happened. But when I'd finished shouting it seemed that all four winds came blowing from out of the forest. One from each point of the compass. One of the winds was cold, and whispered, "Sorrow, Sorrow" in my ear. Another one whined and growled, "Fury, Fury" in my ear. The third one was warm and winged its way gently to my ear and whispered, "Happiness, Happiness." The fourth wind was both warm and cold, and at first I couldn't hear what it was saying, but in the end I realised that it was telling me to choose which wind I wanted to have blowing at my face. I turned my back on all the other winds and let Happiness stroke my cheeks. It felt as if the sorrow I'd been feeling had just melted away. And when I left, I felt so happy. I come back here whenever I need to listen to the winds. It's like a fairy tale, this lake. Perhaps it is a fairy tale. Perhaps the winds don't really exist. But even if they don't, they still help. I reckon they might be able to help you in the same way that they helped me. Now I'm going back to the lorry, and I'll wait for you there. You have to be on your own if the winds are going to dare to appear. All you need to do is to shout your name, then wait.'

  The Old Bricklayer stands up and collapses his stool.

  'I'll be waiting in the lorry,' he says. 'You'll be able to find your way back. You can't miss our tracks in the snow.'

  The Old Bricklayer leaves and vanishes into the dark fir trees. Joel is on his own.

  There's no such things as talking winds, he thinks. It's only in fairy tales that stones can laugh and flowers can turn into pretty maids all in a row. There are no winds capable of whispering into his ear.

  Still, there's no harm in shouting your name, I suppose. Even if you don't believe that anything can possibly come of it. You can shout out your name and see if there's an echo.

  He shouts his name.

  It sounds so short, so solitary. Like somebody calling for a cat or a cow. There's no echo either.

  He shouts again, louder this time.

  No wind from the forest. Everything is still.

  But he imagines the wind inside himself. You can do that. You can create a wind that doesn't exist if you really have to.

  It's like holding one of Samuel's shells to your ear and thinking that the rushing sound is a voice.

  Abeam of sunlight emerges from the clouds, just over the tops of the trees. If he turns to face the sun, it feels quite warm on his face. The idea of lying down in the snow to die suddenly seems absolutely impossible.

  How could he ever have thought of such a thing?

  He feels almost embarrassed. It's childish, he thinks. Going out into the forest to die is childish. You can't get lost on purpose.

  The secret of this lake suddenly dawns on him.

  Maybe the four winds don't exist. But the very fact that they don't exist makes you start thinking differently from the way you thought before.

  Now he wants to get back home, fast. No doubt it will be easier to talk to Samuel today. He must have grown tired of Sara in the red hat by now.

  He folds up the canvas stool, puts it back into the rowing boat and retraces his steps. The fir trees come to greet him, and he leaps into their shadow as if into a welcoming tunnel.

  There's the lorry. The engine is coughing and wheezing, and he can see The Old Bricklayer sitting behind the wheel. He opens the door and climbs up into the passenger seat.

  'All OK?' asks The Old Bricklayer.

  Joel nods.

  'I'd
better be getting home now,' he says.

  The Old Bricklayer drives him to his front gate.

  'You didn't have any soup,' says The Old Bricklayer.

  'I'll come some other time,' says Joel.

  'Maybe,' says The Old Bricklayer, with a smile. Then he drives off.

  As he bounds up the stairs he wonders if Simon Windstorm recognised him. Did he realise that Joel was the boy who'd fallen off his bike that night in the snow? Maybe it's more interesting not to know, he thinks.

  When he opens the flat door it's obvious that Samuel is already at home. He shouldn't be. It's not late enough in the day for him to have finished work. Joel can see that he's in a serious mood.

  I'm rumbled, Joel thought. He knows I was the one who threw the stone, he knows that I haven't been to school, he knows everything...

  Now Joel will have to watch his step. Samuel can get very angry, especially if his son tells lies. Nevertheless Joel will have to try to find out precisely what Samuel knows and what he doesn't know. Unless it's necessary, a full admission won't be called for.

  But Joel is wrong. It's not what he thinks at all.

  'There's been an accident,' says Samuel. 'Somebody was hit by a falling tree. We had to take him to hospital by horse, but it was too late.'

  It has happened once before that one of Samuel's workmates died in an accident. On that occasion he stayed at home for days, studying his sea charts, before going back into the forest again.

  It strikes Joel that his father looks like a little boy, sitting on the kitchen bench with his big fists clenched on the table in front of him. His hands are large and rough, but even so they look small. Hands can look sad as well.

  Joel takes off his boots and jacket and sits down on his chair.

  If I console him he'll realise that he and I are the ones who belong together, he thinks. Not Samuel and Sara.

  The stove is cold. Joel stands up and starts loading it with paper and firewood. He keeps an eye on Samuel all the time, but he's still sitting with his little fists on the table in front of him, staring at the cloth.

  Joel lights the fire and puts on some water for coffee.