Kringström looked at him in surprise.
'What's all this?' he asked. 'A dwarf in a hat?'
'I'm the one who wants to learn to play the saxophone,' said Joel, raising his hat. Kringström burst out laughing. He explained to the other members of the orchestra who Joel was. As if Joel had been a grown-up, they all marched up to shake him by the hand. Ross's first name was Einar. The world's fattest drummer had a hand so big that Joel's disappeared inside it.
'We'd better get a move on,' shouted Kringström. 'The pack of wolves will be after us before we know where we are.'
Joel helped to carry the instruments.
'What pack of wolves?' he asked Ross.
'The audience,' said Ross. 'The audience are a pack of wolves. If we don't play well, they gobble us up.'
It didn't take long to unpack the instruments. The sheet music was distributed and placed in the correct order, and they started tuning up. Each of them would occasionally take a swig from a bottle that was passed round from hand to hand. The manager, Engman, appeared and assured the orchestra that he had replaced the broken light bulb.
'So, we'd better get changed,' said Kringström to Joel. 'Stay here on the stage and keep an eye on the instruments.'
Joel is alone on stage. The empty auditorium in front of him is suddenly full of people. Everybody is waiting for Joel Gustafson's Orchestra to start playing. Joel does what he's heard you are supposed to do. He stamps on the floor, beating time, counts to four and raises his saxophone.
Kringström is in the wings, tying his bow tie. He notices Joel's solo performance, and signals to the other members of the orchestra. They stand in the wings and watch Joel. Then they all run onto the stage and start playing pretend instruments as well. When Joel realises what is happening, he stops playing. But Kringström urges him on.
Another kind of silence, Joel thinks. The silent instruments' orchestra . . .
Kringström takes over.
'We'd better stop now if we're going to have time to change before the pack of wolves closes in on us.'
'That sounded great,' says the World's Fattest Drummer, patting Joel on the shoulder with his gigantic hand.
Joel blushes. It was only a game, after all! A game that somebody who'll soon be twelve is too old for. . .
Then he feels his worries creeping up on him again. No game in the whole world can change reality. That's what it is, full stop. Soon Sara and Samuel will appear. And Gertrud and the Caviar Man. And the pack of wolves.
He looks at the big curtain hanging behind the orchestra. It's like an enormous painting – even bigger than the altarpiece in the church. It's summer on the curtain. A blue lake is glistening. Birch trees have come into leaf. Blue and green. There's a white seagull soaring up in the sky. Joel goes behind the curtain. It's dark and dusty there. But what he has done is to exit from the autumn of the world outside this stage, and to enter into summer instead. That's the way it should always be. You should live in a house in which every room was a different season. So that you could choose. The kitchen could be summer and the bedroom spring. The pantry could be winter and the hall autumn . . .
He discovers that there's a peephole in the tall curtain. He can stand behind one of the white birch trees and look out into the auditorium. People have started to come in. Girls with their hair up and in high heels. Boys in black winkle-pickers and Brylcreemed hair. Joel can see that there's a log jam at the very back of the room. Mr Engman, the manager, is waving his arms about. Suddenly everything turns black before Joel's eyes. It was Ross walking over the stage and starting to tune his doublebass. More and more people are entering the auditorium. The light is dimmed. But there is a hell of a noise already. The girls are standing in clusters by one of the walls. Joel knows that it's called the Mountain Wall. The boys are gathered by the opposite wall. Somebody kicks the floor, as if he were a horse. Somebody slaps somebody else on the back. More and more people are turning up. But not Sara and Samuel. And not the Caviar Man nor Gertrud either.
Now the orchestra is in place. A row of footlights shine red and yellow. Joel is standing behind the curtain, but is almost blinded. All the members of the orchestra are wearing red jackets now. Kringström's face is already sweaty.
Then they start playing. Not many people dance at first. Some of the boys venture over to the Mountain Wall, but they soon retreat to the opposite wall again. All the time Joel is keeping an eye on the swing doors where Engman is trying to keep the Pack of Wolves under control. None of those Joel is expecting to see has arrived as yet. But it's starting to get crowded out there now. Queues are forming at the swing doors. Engman is flailing his arms about. The orchestra starts to play another tune. It's a faster beat. More people are dancing now. A group of boys are standing in front of the stage, watching the orchestra. They are not dancing. They are just watching and listening.
Then Joel notices Sara and Samuel. Engman is still flailing his arms about, and Sara and Samuel make their way through the throng.
They can't see me here, Joel thinks. Not while I'm hidden behind this birch tree.
Now they are dancing. Samuel has his arm round Sara. It looks as if he is jumping. He's sticking his bottom out and pushing Sara along in front of him. Joel starts laughing behind his birch tree. He's never seen Samuel like this before. His eyes are glued to Sara and Samuel, and he forgets all about keeping an eye on the swing doors. Only when the dance has finished and Sara is wiping the sweat from her face does he remember that he has to keep a check on who comes in. It is as crowded as ever around the doors. He can't see either the Caviar Man or Gertrud.
It's Samuel's fault, he thinks in annoyance. If he hadn't brought Sara here, I'd never have forgotten to keep an eye on the swing doors.
The orchestra starts playing again. Sara and Samuel are dancing. Joel keeps his eyes skinned. He suddenly catches sight of the Caviar Man. He can see the back of his head among all the couples on the dance floor. But then he realises it isn't the Caviar Man after all. It's somebody else. And where is Gertrud?
They're not going to turn up, he thinks. It's gone wrong again . . .
It's hard work, peering through the hole in the birch tree. He has to lean forward all the time in order to see. When the orchestra finishes playing, he stands erect and stretches. He walks to the edge of the birch woods and looks into the wings. The World's Fattest Drummer is wiping the sweat from his brow. Kringström puts down his saxophone and picks up the clarinet instead.
'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 behi
nd 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?'
Shadows in the Twilight Page 15
