When the Snow Fell

by Mankell Henning

Joel led her quickly over the street and into the courtyard at the back of the Community Center. He groped his way along the wall in the shadows. The Greyhound was just behind him. He came to the stairs leading down into the basement. Carefully, he took hold of the door. If he lifted it up at the same time as pulling it towards him, it would open. Joel produced the flashlight he’d remembered to put in his pocket. The Greyhound looked scared.

  “There’s no cinema down there,” she said.

  “Are you coming or aren’t you? The film will probably have started by now.”

  They crept into the darkness. Joel pointed the flashlight down at the floor. They could hear the sound from the screen, coming from up above. The Greyhound stayed close behind Joel. They tiptoed quietly up the stairs leading to the stage behind the screen. The Greyhound hesitated, but Joel pulled her along with him. Now they could see the pictures from behind. Joel peered cautiously into the auditorium through a slit in the screen. The upstairs seats seemed to be completely empty. He pointed to a staircase. When they got to the top Joel opened the door slowly. There was nobody there.

  Every single seat was empty.

  Joel pointed. They sat down in the front row.

  The film had just started.

  “What if Engman comes?”

  “Why should he do that when there’s nobody sitting upstairs?”

  They started watching the film. It really was very boring. But the Greyhound giggled every time the actors kissed.

  Joel leaned against the rail and looked down into the stalls. He’d heard noises coming from the entrance door: evidently some more people had turned up to watch this boring film.

  He could see them now.

  He gave a start. At first he thought he was seeing things. But no, he recognized who it was.

  Sonja Mattsson. The shop assistant at Ehnström’s.

  And she was not alone. She had a man with her.

  A man who sat down beside her, holding her hand.

  Joel felt a pang of jealousy. More than jealousy. A feeling he didn’t really recognize.

  He leaned back. The Greyhound was watching the film.

  But Joel couldn’t concentrate.

  All he could think about was the girl sitting downstairs.

  — FOURTEEN —

  The Greyhound giggled.

  Now they were kissing again on the screen. Men and women, kissing each other. Some were kissing furtively, others openly, behind doors and sitting on horses. Long kisses and short kisses.

  The Greyhound continued giggling.

  Joel sat thinking about Sonja Mattsson in the seats down below. And about the unknown man who was holding her hand.

  It was as if the film was really about Joel. Even if he wasn’t kissing anybody. A woman engaged to a captain in the U.S. cavalry was meeting another man in secret. That was what the film was about. Joel had gathered that much. He realized that he was overwhelmed with jealousy. He was the one who ought to have been sitting downstairs beside Sonja Mattsson. Not somebody else, some totally unknown person.

  But there again, he had nothing against sitting here upstairs next to the Greyhound. When he thought about the possibility of changing places with the unknown man down below, that wasn’t a good idea either.

  Joel leaned forward over the rail. Sonja was still holding the unknown man’s hand.

  “What are you looking at?” whispered the Greyhound.

  “I don’t want to end up walking with a stoop,” Joel hissed back. “I have to keep stretching.”

  He tried to concentrate on what was happening on the screen. There was still lots of kissing going on. He wondered if he ought to take hold of the Greyhound’s hand. But he was unsure of how she would react. Would she start screaming? Would she hit him? He decided it was best not to try it.

  The film was boring. There were groans and moans and creaking noises down below in the stalls. The only one sitting absolutely still and staring at all the people kissing everybody else was the Greyhound. Joel thought it might be an idea to take the opportunity of kissing the Greyhound. He didn’t know how to do it, but perhaps she wouldn’t notice that. She’d just think it was a part of the film. If he did it really quickly.

  Without another thought he leaned towards her, took hold of her shoulders and pressed his lips against her.

  He could feel her lips against his. They tasted sweet. Then he drew back. But she didn’t scream. She didn’t giggle either. Joel thought she didn’t even look annoyed. Even if it was hard to see her face properly in the darkness.

  “What are you doing, are you out of your mind? Stop it,” said the Greyhound.

  “Come on, it was no big deal,” said Joel, who still hadn’t understood what he’d done.

  “You can’t,” said the Greyhound.

  “Can’t what?”

  “Kiss. Watch the film and learn.”

  “You can teach me, if you’re so good at it.”

  “Yes, I can. But not now.”

  Joel tried to concentrate on the film again. Had the Greyhound really meant what she said? That she could teach him how to kiss? Perhaps the Greyhound knew about all the things that Otto used to talk about? Knew properly?

  He looked sideways at her. She was watching what was going on in the film, but she noticed immediately that he was looking at her.

  “Stop it,” she said angrily.

  Joel looked away immediately. Now she sounded annoyed. He would have to be careful to avoid making her change her mind.

  Joel started thinking about Sonja Mattsson again. Who was this man she had come to the cinema with? Was he also somebody who had moved here from Stockholm?

  He’d better not come up here and take hold of the Greyhound’s hand.

  Thoughts were racing around inside his head. All at once there was so much to keep a check on.

  On the screen they were still riding horses, burning down beautiful big white houses and kissing behind doors. Joel was now really interested. He tried hard to see how they did it.

  He’d realized that one thing was very important: you had to close your eyes while kissing.

  Maybe that was something he could teach the Greyhound. So that he didn’t give the impression of being completely ignorant.

  Joel suddenly had the impression that the film was approaching its end. This was always a snag with going to the cinema without paying: you never got to see the end. You had to be outside when Engman switched the lights on. Otherwise there could be trouble.

  “We’ll have to go now,” he said to the Greyhound.

  “Can’t we see the end?”

  “I’m afraid not. Engman puts the lights on as soon as the film’s over and so we have to be gone by then.”

  He could see even in the darkness that she was far from pleased. He started to worry that she no longer wanted to teach him how to kiss.

  Joel stood up.

  “It’ll be finished in a minute,” he said. “I think we have to go.”

  “What’s the point of going to the pictures if you can’t see how the film ends?” she said.

  “All the endings are the same,” said Joel. “You can work it out for yourself.”

  They went back the same way as they’d come in. Just as they were passing the back of the screen the film ended. But they managed to get out through the basement door before Engman switched the lights on.

  They stood outside in the dark. Joel waited until all the people who had seen the film had gone their various ways. But he didn’t see Sonja Mattsson and the unknown man. They must have gone off in the opposite direction, out of sight from where he was standing. He waited until Engman had closed the doors with a bang before starting to move away himself. They left the back courtyard and emerged into the street.

  “It wasn’t much of a film,” said Joel.

  Needless to say, the Greyhound thought it was good. He ought to have expected that.

  “It was pretty good, surely you could see that?”

  Joel held his ground, even though he
had begun to wonder.

  “There wasn’t enough action,” he said. “They just stood around, talking.”

  “What’s wrong with that? Besides, they were speaking English.”

  Joel couldn’t think of any more reasons why he thought the film was no good.

  “I’ve seen better films,” he said lamely.

  They started walking. But not in the direction of Joel’s house, nor hers. Without Joel understanding why, he suddenly wondered if Lars Olson, lying dead in the churchyard, would have thought the film was any good or not.

  They stopped in front of the shoe shop windows.

  “I’m going to get a new pair of boots,” said Joel.

  “Provided your dad doesn’t drink up the money first,” said the Greyhound.

  Joel stared at her. He thought he ought to hit her. Or rub snow all over her.

  Then he saw that she regretted having said that. She put her hand over her mouth.

  “I didn’t mean it.”

  “Why did you say it, then?”

  “I don’t know.”

  They continued walking. Joel felt more sad than angry. If he was angry, it was with Samuel. Who didn’t know how to behave.

  “I have to say the film was really pretty bad,” said the Greyhound.

  “I’ve seen worse,” said Joel.

  Joel kept on walking by her side, and waiting. He hadn’t forgotten what she said about Samuel, but he was waiting for her to start teaching him. They walked past the bank and the pharmacy and the Highways Department yard with all the excavators and road graders. Eventually Joel couldn’t hold back any longer.

  “Aren’t you going to teach me, then?” he asked.

  The Greyhound giggled.

  “Here? Out in the street?”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s too cold.”

  “I’ve seen films in which people stand at the North Pole and kiss each other.”

  “Why don’t you go there, then?”

  “Where shall we go?”

  She didn’t reply. Joel could see that she was trying to make up her mind. He realized that it was best to say nothing, and wait.

  “There’ll be nobody in at my place tomorrow night,” she said. “So you can come round. But if you mention it to anybody, I’ll tell everybody that your dad’s a drunkard.”

  Joel was about to reply, but then he realized that she’d vanished. In a flash. There was no point in trying to catch up with her.

  He started walking home. He was already looking forward to tomorrow night. That feeling was there again, he wasn’t at all sure what it was. It would be hard to wait. He sometimes wished days could simply be whisked away. That two evenings could follow one after the other, with nothing in between.

  He stopped dead.

  I’m me and nobody else, he thought. What happens to me happens only to me.

  It was only a few nights since the first snow had crept up on him without a sound. Then he’d made his New Year resolutions. He’d already tried sleeping out in the snow. And he’d borrowed a guitar worth a lot of money from Simon Windstorm. Kringström had started giving him lessons. Sonja Mattsson had allowed him into her flat. And now the Greyhound was going to teach him how to kiss.

  Life was strange. For long periods nothing at all happened. And then everything happened all at once. Like an avalanche.

  He started bouncing again. Bouncing along the street like a ball. He would eventually find out who had been holding Sonja Mattsson’s hand. But first, the Greyhound would teach him how to kiss. And then he would no doubt persuade Sonja Mattsson to put on some transparent veils with nothing at all underneath.

  He came to the house where he lived, and continued bouncing up the stairs.

  And then he was overwhelmed by another avalanche.

  An avalanche that was black and cold and made his stomach ache.

  Samuel wasn’t at home. He’d vanished again.

  That could only mean one thing. He hadn’t been able to resist. He’d gone out drinking again.

  Joel smashed his fists down onto the kitchen table. He was so furious that he burst into tears. He didn’t want Samuel for his father anymore. He wanted to be rid of him. He would put an ad in the local paper.

  Inadequate father available for collection. N.B.—Free!

  Or perhaps there were special rubbish dumps where you could dispose of inadequate parents? Where they could mix with others just as useless as they were?

  Joel slumped down on the kitchen floor. Samuel had gone out again. And even if Joel had decided to wash his hands of him, he knew that before long he’d be obliged to go out looking for his dad.

  He spoils everything for me, Joel thought. If I’m only a little bit cheerful, then of course he feels the need to go out and drink himself silly. I ought to go to bed out there in the snow and toughen myself up. Or practice the guitar. Instead, I have to go out looking for Samuel. It’s not fair.

  Joel stayed sitting there on the floor for ages. He wasn’t furious anymore, just sad and tired. His stomach hurt. Samuel was there inside him, biting and chewing away. He stood up, went to Samuel’s room and sat down on his chair. The newspaper was lying on the floor, his pipe on top of the wireless. Joel hadn’t taken his boots off. Big pools of dirty water formed on the floor. But he didn’t bother about that.

  Mutiny on the Bounty was lying open next to the wireless. Joel leaned forward and reached for it. He noticed that somebody had underlined a few lines in pencil. It could only have been Samuel. Didn’t he realize that you could be barred from borrowing library books if you drew or wrote in them? Who would it be who was banned? Him, of course. Joel. Not Samuel. Samuel would get away with it. Because he didn’t know what he was doing when he was out drinking.

  Joel read what his dad had underlined. Quickly at first, but then more slowly.

  “Pitcairn Island, the island to which the mutineers, led by Fletcher, managed to get to, exists in reality. Even today descendants of the mutineers still live on the island.”

  Joel put the book down. Why had Samuel chosen to underline those very words? Joel had never heard anything about Samuel having visited that island when he was a sailor.

  Joel went to fetch Samuel’s big atlas of the world and all the deep oceans. Then he started looking. It took him ages. But in the end he found Pitcairn Island. A little dot in the middle of a boundless ocean. A totally isolated little dot far away from everything.

  That’s where Samuel ought to have gone, Joel thought. He might not have mutinied on a ship, but he has mutinied against me. He’s left me all alone in a dinghy. He’s gone away to Pitcairn Island….

  Joel suddenly started thinking. Was it possible that he was right? That Samuel had indeed had that idea? Of running away to Pitcairn Island? Just like Mummy Jenny had done all those years ago. Packed her bag and run away.

  Joel knew there was only one thing to do. Look for him and ask.

  Joel went out into the street. It was already late. No people about, no mutineers. Just empty, deserted streets. Joel tried to work out where Samuel might be. When it was as late as this, he would have to go to somebody’s house in order to drink. To other drinkers. There were various possibilities. Down by the railway bridge there was a ramshackle old house where some of the boozers used to gather. Joel had fetched Samuel home from there several times in the past. Then there was another place next to the old dairy. He might well have gone there.

  The house by the railway bridge was closest. Joel decided to start by looking there. Samuel was inside Joel’s stomach, gnawing away. It hurt. There was nothing Joel found worse than having to fetch Samuel when he was surrounded by other drunks, all of them on the hard stuff.

  When he got to the house there was an old man standing outside, peeing into the snow. Joel recognized him. His name was Anders Wedberg; he worked in a car repair shop and was liable to start fighting when he’d been drinking. Joel waited until he’d gone back in. Then he sneaked up to a window and peered inside. There were
four men in there, round a table with bottles on it. But no Samuel. Joel moved on.

  His boots were hurting something awful. Needless to say, Samuel wouldn’t have any money left to buy Joel a pair of new ones. And to make things worse, Joel would get blood poisoning in his ankles if he had to be out every night, looking for Samuel.

  He came to the house by the old dairy.

  There was a wireless on inside. Or perhaps it was somebody singing? Joel crept up to a window and peeped in. A curtain was drawn and there was only a narrow crack to look through.

  But that was more than enough.

  Samuel was sitting there with a glass in his hand.

  His body was swaying from side to side like a ship in a storm.

  — FIFTEEN —

  The hardest part was the last bit.

  Taking tight hold of the handle until your knuckles turned white, opening the door and entering the oozing cloud of smoke. Joel could think of nothing worse. And now he was here again. To drag Samuel home.

  His hope was that Samuel hadn’t yet had time to become completely drunk. If he was, he could be difficult. Might ask Joel to wait outside while he took a few more swigs from the bottle. Try to delay things for as long as possible.

  Joel counted to three, then opened the door. Four pairs of bloodshot eyes turned to look at him in apathetic surprise. Joel knew them all. Samuel had been to their place many times before. One of them was called the Crow, because of his big, pointed nose. The two other men in the room were brothers, known as the Goblins. They looked like a pair of shaggy dogs. Both of them used to be lumberjacks. Nowadays they got by doing odd jobs for a day or two when they needed money.

  “Have you come?” asked Samuel in surprise.

  Joel noticed to his relief that Samuel wasn’t yet so drunk that he wouldn’t be able to stand up.

  “Let’s go home now,” Joel said. “It’s getting late.”

  Samuel nodded. Joel often had the impression that in fact, Samuel was glad his son had come to fetch him. He never drank to make himself happy. Possibly in order to be less sad.

  “Stay for a bit longer,” said the Crow, trying to take hold of Joel’s arm. But Joel pushed him away. He’d been through that before.