Shadows in the Twilight

  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 . . .

  4

  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.'

  'I suppose you must,' said Simon slowly. 'What you've told me was awful!'

  'I don't have any pain at all,' said Joel. 'I didn't even bite my tongue.'

  He suddenly noticed that Simon had tears in his eyes.

  He had never seen that before.

  Joel felt a lump in his throat.

  'Awful,' Simon muttered. 'Awful, awful . . . '

  'It was my own fault really,' said Joel. 'I wasn't looking where I was going.'

  A hen fluttered up onto the table and deposited a large lump of bird poo in the middle of the page Simon had just rewritten. Joel couldn't help but giggle.

  Simon wiped the tears from his eyes, and smiled as well.

  'She's given it her seal of approval,' he said.

  'A good deed,' said Joel, still giggling. 'How do you think up a suitable good deed?'

  'We must have a think,' said Simon. 'I think it's best if we put our glasses on.'

  Joel had forgotten all about that. Simon's Thinking Glasses.