Shadows in the Twilight

by Henning Mankell

  He cursed as he put on his jacket.

  Why could he never learn?

  Even though he ran for all he was worth, he was late. The classroom door was shut, and he could hear the harmonium playing the morning hymn. He hung up his jacket and curled up on the window ledge of one of the corridor windows. He'd have to wait. There was no way he could enter the classroom during morning prayers. That was one way of ensuring that Miss Nederström would pull his hair.

  Joel gazed out over the schoolyard, glittering white with frost.

  Could he think up a good excuse for being late?

  Should he blame it on the Miracle? Claim that it was so difficult to cope with it that his legs didn't have the strength to move quickly?

  He shook his head at his own thought. Miss Nederström wouldn't be fooled by that. If she was really annoyed she might make him march round and round the classroom so that everybody could see his tired legs. And Otto would sit there sniggering . . .

  The harmonium stopped playing. Joel jumped down from the window ledge. He raised his hand to knock on the door.

  Inside there were beasts of prey waiting to pounce on him.

  He lowered his hand.

  I'm ill, he thought. The good deed I have to carry out is making me ill.

  That was it. He wouldn't go to school today.

  He recovered his jacket and sneaked out through the door.

  To make sure nobody would see him, he crouched down below window level until he had turned the corner.

  When he emerged into the street, he felt well and truly relieved. He had made a good decision. He could afford to be off school for one day. Stomachache could strike very quickly. He could have got it after Samuel had gone to work. He'd been stricken by the gripes while he was finishing his breakfast. Nothing serious. But bad enough for him not to go to school.

  Now he had a whole day to himself. The first thing he would do was to collect his bike. Then he could do whatever he liked until two o'clock. School finished then, and there was a risk that he might bump into Miss Nederström after two. But until then, he could do whatever he wanted.

  He felt the ten-kronor note he had in his pocket.

  He suddenly had an idea. He wasn't sure that it would work, but it could be worth trying.

  Old Man Johanson was opening his newsagent's. Joel watched him removing the shutters from the display windows. There was a parcel of newspapers on the pavement.

  Old Man Johanson spotted Joel and pointed to the parcel.

  'The placards,' he said. 'Pin 'em up.'

  Joel squatted down and started untying the knot in the string round the newspapers. It was a granny knot and almost impossible to unravel. He noticed a rusty nail almost hidden by some stones. He stuck the nail into the knot and twisted and prodded until it came loose and he could remove the yellow placards. As he was pinning them onto the display boards he read the headlines. It said in big, black letters that an agreement had been reached.

  Who had agreed, about what?

  You had to read the newspaper in order to find out.

  It could have said instead: 'Joel Gustafson's Miracle'.

  'Joel Gustafson's struggle to do his good deed.'

  'Rolf not up to it, Gustafson decides.'

  'Will the Caviar Man come up to scratch?'

  'Who will be Gertrud's man? Watch this space!'

  Joel lifted up the parcel and put it on the counter. Old Man Johanson gave him a bottle of Coke for his efforts.

  'Can you change this for me?' he asked, holding out the ten-kronor note. 'I need a five-kronor note, and five one-krona coins.'

  Old Man Johanson opened the cash register and counted out the money.

  'Why aren't you at school today?' he asked.

  'Our teacher's ill,' said Joel.

  That was a good answer. It could easily be true, and it was difficult to check.

  But no doubt Old Man Johanson had forgotten all about it already. He was busy sorting out the newspapers.

  Joel hurried off to the cycle shop.

  It would be exciting to see if his idea worked.

  The bell rang as Joel opened the door. The owner came out from the workshop.

  'I've come to collect my bike,' said Joel. 'The red one with the broken chain.'

  The man disappeared into the workshop, then came back with Joel's bike.

  There was a sheet of paper fastened to the saddle.

  'That'll be ten kronor, please,' he said.

  'But I've only got eight kronor,' said Joel, trying to sound devastated. His voice was little more than a squeak.

  'It costs ten kronor,' said the man. 'That's what it says here, on the note. I wrote it myself.'

  Joel tried to look as if he were about to burst out crying.

  It worked.

  'All right, give me eight kronor. But it should be ten. I wrote it myself on this note.'

  Joel gave him eight kronor, and wheeled his bike out of the shop.

  Two kronor wasn't bad.

  The day had started well. He'd pulled off a good deal, and he didn't have a bad conscience about not going to school.

  He mounted his bike, and tried a few test skids on the gravel road leading down to the river. The chain felt good. Now he could try to track down the Caviar Man. He pulled up next to a round iron lid in the middle of the street. Maybe the Caviar Man was down there in the Underworld, with all his rats? Joel would lift up the manhole cover and shout down to him.

  Everything suddenly became very exciting.

  Joel had never imagined that there was an Underworld even in this dump. Underground tunnels and great big pipes and enormous rats hissing through their whiskers.

  He would be able to clamber down into a hole and disappear. All the buildings and streets and people would be up above him. Perhaps there would even be a tunnel running underneath his school? Under Miss Nederström's feet?

  He looked round. Would he dare to open the lid and climb down?

  There were too many people around who could see him. You only visited the Underworld when there was nobody to see what you were doing.

  Joel got back onto his bike and cycled to the red-painted Municipal Offices on the other side of the vicarage, on a slope down to the river. He parked his bike in a stand labelled 'Visitors to the Municipal Offices'. He opened the front door and went in.

  He found himself in a large entrance hall with a stone floor. A broad staircase led to the first floor. The walls were lined with pictures of stern gentlemen, all of them frowning at him. He listened. Not a sound. Behind a glass panel was a little room, and he could see a telephone receiver hanging down, and swinging slowly from side to side. Joel went to investigate and realised that it was a switchboard.

  The receiver was still swinging back and forth.

  Joel had the feeling that he was on a ghost ship. Somebody had let go of the handset and jumped overboard.

  He listened again. Still not a sound. When he walked over the stone floor all he could hear was a faint squeaking noise from his wellingtons. He came to a corridor. A door was standing ajar – it had a sign saying 'Head Clerk'. Joel peeped inside, but the office was empty. He continued down the corridor. The next door was closed. And the next. Then came a door that was wide open. A sign said 'Municipal Engineer'. Joel stepped inside. The walls were covered by bookshelves and map racks. There was a large map opened out on the desk, looking like a sea chart. Joel took a closer look. It was the plan of a house.

  Joel turned round to leave the room, but found there was a man standing in the doorway.

  Joel gave a start.

  The man was wearing a dark blue overall. Joel noticed that he was in his bare feet.

  'Is the engineer not here?' asked the man.

  'No, there's only me,' said Joel. 'I'm lost.'

  The man in the dark blue overalls suddenly slapped himself on the forehead.

  Joel gave another start.

  'Of course,' said the man. 'They have a meeting. All the local council bosses.
I'd forgotten.'

  The Barefooted Man looked at Joel. He didn't seem in the least unfriendly.

  'Did you say you were lost?' he asked. 'Who are you looking for?'

  'David,' said Joel.

  'David?' said the Barefooted Man. 'You certainly are lost. You'd better come with me. What do you want him for?'

  What could Joel say to that?

  Now he was in a right mess. The Barefooted Man was blocking the doorway. Joel would never be able to squeeze past him.

  The Barefooted Man suddenly smiled broadly. Joel noticed that there were lots of gaps where teeth should have been.

  'Of course,' said the Barefooted Man. 'You're David's kid brother.'

  'No I'm not,' said Joel.

  The Barefooted Man didn't hear.

  'David's kid brother,' he said. 'Come with me.'

  He took hold of Joel's arm and led him away. His grip was not hard and unfriendly. Even so, Joel couldn't wriggle free.

  Joel was starting to feel frightened. The Caviar Man might not be at all pleased to find that somebody had turned up claiming to be his younger brother.

  'I think he's in here,' said the Barefooted Man.

  They had descended into a dark basement room, and came to a halt in front of a steel door. Joel could hear a roaring sound behind the door.

  The Barefooted Man turned what looked like a motor car's steering wheel, and the door slid slowly open.

  The roaring sound grew louder.

  Joel was now beginning to feel scared stiff. Now was the time to run away. But he didn't do so. It was as if he were stuck fast in his own fear.

  The Barefooted Man opened the steel door even wider. The noise was overpowering now.

  'I think your brother's in here,' he yelled, trying to make himself heard above the roaring sound.

  Joel suddenly felt very hot. The air flowing out through the steel door was as hot as a summer's day.

  'Come on,' said the Barefooted Man, propelling Joel in front of him.

  Joel stopped dead on the threshold.

  The room in front of him was on fire.

  Enormous flames were roaring and thundering.

  The Barefooted Man was pushing Joel in front of him, straight at the flames.

  Joel suddenly remembered his dream.

  The dream in which he'd burnt up.

  The flames in front of him grew bigger and bigger.

  Soon he would be swallowed up by the Underworld . . .

  7

  Afterwards, Joel felt a bit silly.

  The Barefooted Man no doubt thought that Joel was a relative of Simon Windstorm. The Loonies.

  'What the hell do you think you're doing?' the Barefooted Man had shouted. 'You're heading straight for the furnace.'

  Then he'd grabbed Joel by the collar and lifted him to one side.

  'If you fall into the furnace, you're a gonner,' said the Barefooted Man. 'Couldn't you see that the doors were open?'

  Of course Joel had seen that the doors to the enormous furnace were open. Even so, it felt like standing in front of a hungry beast of prey that had opened its mouth wide and displayed thousands of burning tongues. And Joel had been lured towards them.

  'What's the matter with you, lad?' said the Barefooted Man, looking worried. 'Has nobody told you that fire is dangerous?'

  'Why do you go around in your bare feet?' asked Joel.

  Sometimes it was best to answer a question by asking a new one.

  'It's so hot here in the boiler room,' said the Barefooted Man. 'My feet swell up inside my shoes. So I prefer to be barefoot. What's your name by the way?'

  'Samuel,' said Joel.

  The Barefooted Man smiled.

  'David and Samuel,' he said. 'That really does sound like two brothers.'

  Joel looked round in the Underworld. The big furnace was in the middle of a gigantic room. Smoke and steam were hissing out of pipes and ventilators.

  The beast of the underworld, Joel thought.

  He was being held prisoner here.

  'Where does all this heat go to?' he asked. He was forced to shout, in order to be heard. The Barefooted Man was busy throwing big lumps of firewood into the beast's mouth.

  'To the hospital and the vicarage and the old people's home and the municipal offices, and lots of other buildings as well,' he yelled.

  'What's it called?' Joel shouted.

  The Barefooted Man straightened his back and wiped the sweat from his brow.

  'Called?' he said. 'I'm called Nilson.'

  'I meant the furnace,' said Joel.

  'Furnaces don't have names,' said the Barefooted Man. Then he changed his mind.

  'Perhaps you have a suggestion for what we should call it?'

  Joel thought for a moment.

  The furnace was a sort of dragon. A beast of prey spitting fire.

  'Lord of the Fires,' he said.

  The Barefooted Man nodded.

  'A good name,' he said. 'Lord of the Fires.'

  Then he threw in some more logs, and closed the big doors. He beckoned Joel to follow him. He led him along winding corridors that followed big pipes, and came to another steel door that he opened by rotating a thick iron handle. The door led into another long corridor, lit up by lamps hanging from the ceiling. It was raw and damp, and Joel wondered why the Barefooted Man's feet didn't seem to be cold.

  He stopped.

  'Do you know where we are now?' he asked.

  Joel shook his head.

  'We're underneath the church,' said the Barefooted Man. 'Right in the middle of the church.'

  Joel stared up at the ceiling of the stone corridor.

  Could that really be possible?

  Was the whole church really over his head?

  What if the roof fell in?

  That would mean he wasn't buried in the churchyard, but in the church itself.

  'You don't need to be afraid,' said the Barefooted Man. 'This corridor isn't going to cave in.'

  They continued along the corridor, which seemed to be endless. It kept turning at right-angles, sometimes sloped downwards, sometimes upwards.

  Where are we going? Joel thought.

  The Barefooted Man eventually came to a stop at yet another steel door.