When the Snow Fell Read online

  Quite a lot had changed. Every time Joel went to do the shopping and Sonja Mattsson was behind the counter, she spent ages talking to him.

  The fat old ladies were not very pleased about that. But Sonja told them they could go and do their shopping somewhere else, if they couldn’t wait until it was their turn.

  Joel and Sonja had a secret they shared. That was nobody else’s business.

  Samuel hadn’t gone off drinking again. Joel could never be certain that his dad wouldn’t simply disappear one of these days, but it did seem as if Samuel was now starting to think seriously about moving away from their little town by the river. Perhaps he might even try to become a sailor again, despite everything.

  Samuel had finished reading Mutiny on the Bounty, and then started it all over again.

  Joel had decided to postpone toughening himself up. He wouldn’t sleep in the snow again. Not now. Later, perhaps. After all, there was a long time to go until 2045.

  He still thought he would be able to become a rock idol. But it had dawned on him that it would probably take rather longer than he’d thought at first. Even learning to play the guitar was pretty difficult. But he was getting better. He knew nine chords now, and the strings didn’t dig so deeply into his fingers anymore.

  The Greyhound went with Joel to Simon’s house every afternoon. They never talked about what had happened that evening in her flat.

  Joel waited and waited.

  The day that school broke up for Christmas, the Greyhound had accompanied him to Simon’s house as usual. She suddenly disappeared while Joel was feeding the dogs.

  When she came back, Joel noticed that she had painted her lips red.

  They were standing in the middle of Simon’s living room.

  “Now I’ll teach you,” she said.

  And she did. Joel knew that he would never forget that feeling as long as he lived. The Greyhound’s lips against his.

  Afterwards, she giggled.

  And Joel blushed.

  It was the last Sunday in Advent, the Sunday before Christmas. Joel asked if the Greyhound would like to go with him and watch the night train.

  “Is that anything worth watching?” she wondered.

  “Maybe somebody will get on and travel away from here,” said Joel. “Or maybe somebody will get off. Besides, I need to post a letter.”

  The Greyhound could be very nosey.

  “Who to?”

  “Nobody you know.”

  “To a girl?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I promise.”

  Lots of people had gathered on the platform when the train arrived. There was a squeaking and clattering as the enormous iron wheels ground to a halt. Station master Knif strutted around, making sure that every thing functioned as it ought to do. Joel led the Greyhound to the mail coach. He had the letter in his hand.

  “Who’s it to?” she asked again.

  “I’ll tell you another time. But it’s not to a girl.”

  When Knif wasn’t looking, Joel popped the letter into the box.

  This time he’d attached a real postage stamp.

  They remained on the platform, watching the train heading south, towards the railway bridge and the world.

  Then they wandered around town, stopping at various shop windows to admire the Christmas decorations.

  Joel asked if the Greyhound would like to go with him and pay a visit to Gertrud. She hadn’t been there yet. And Joel thought it was a long time since he’d been there himself.

  She would love to. But not tonight. It was late already. Her parents would be worried if she didn’t go home now.

  Joel saw her home.

  He watched her disappear through the front door. Looked forward to meeting her the next day again. He needed to practice kissing.

  It was cold. The sky was clear and full of stars. Joel stopped between two streetlights and gazed up at the heavens.

  He thought about the letter he’d written that was now on its way southwards. Wondered if it would ever reach its destination.

  But he was quite sure about the address, in any case.

  To

  The descendants of Mr. Fletcher

  Pitcairn Island.

  He set off for home. Samuel would be expecting him.

  You always have to have a few secrets, if not more, Joel thought. You can’t keep on living if you don’t.

  Before, I had the secret I shared with Sonja Mattsson.

  I have another one now.

  Now I also have the letter to Pitcairn Island.

  But he wasn’t absolutely sure that he wouldn’t tell the Greyhound about the letter. It was at least as important to share secrets as it was to keep them.

  Perhaps she would think it was childish? Writing letters to somebody who might not even exist. On an island at the other side of the world, as far away as it was possible to get.

  Too bad.

  He had learnt how to kiss.

  But he was still childish. And he wanted to carry on being childish.

  For as long as he enjoyed being childish.

  He was walking quickly because it was cold.

  Just as he opened the gate, and noticed Samuel’s shadow in the upstairs window, it started snowing.

  * * *

  I wasn’t surprised this time, Joel thought.

  Snow is silent. It creeps up on you.

  But this time I was ready for it.

  Then he dashed in through the door. Everything felt better now. It was Christmas. Samuel had bought a Christmas tree that they’d helped each other to decorate. There was a smell of candles. And the Greyhound was around, and would still be around tomorrow.

  Samuel was in the kitchen, waiting for him. He looked serious. Joel was afraid Samuel would tell him off for being out so late.

  “I’m on holiday,” Joel said. “I don’t need to get up early tomorrow.”

  Samuel was still looking hard at him.

  “Simon is dead.”

  Joel heard what Samuel said. But it didn’t sink in.

  “No,” said Joel. “Simon’s not dead. I talked to the doctor. He said that Simon was getting better. He’ll probably even be able to speak again.”

  “Simon is dead,” said Samuel again.

  Joel shook his head.

  “He seemed to be getting better,” Samuel explained, “but then he just died. Stopped breathing. And was gone.”

  “But why?”

  Joel didn’t have any other questions. That was the only one he could think of.

  Why did Simon have to die, when Joel had rescued him and dragged him ashore like a shipwrecked sailor in a sea of snow?

  “Death always creeps up on you and makes a mess of everything,” said Samuel.

  Joel felt as if he had a knot in his stomach. He thought about the dogs. Were they sitting on the steps outside Simon’s front door, howling? And the hens in the cab of the truck. How were they grieving?

  “Simon can’t be dead,” Joel said again. “I’ve borrowed his guitar. He can’t die until I’ve returned it.”

  “Simon is dead,” said Samuel yet again.

  And now the message finally got through to Joel. Simon really was dead.

  Later, during the night, when he couldn’t sleep, Joel curled up on the window seat. He tried to make himself as small as possible, so that there was room for him. Just like there used to be.

  This is evidently what life is like, he thought. Always, all the time. Death can intrude and make a mess of things at any time. So why should he insist on living to be a hundred? And going to bed in the snow in order to toughen himself up?

  I have to choose, he thought. Now that Simon is dead. Decide if I’m going to carry on being childish or not. If that’s a choice I have.

  He tried to find an answer. But there wasn’t one. In the end, he fell asleep on the window seat.

  And the snow kept on falling silently through the night.

  Written in the house by the
river

  My name is Joel. My dad is Samuel. Our surname is Gustafson. On the wall in the house where we live is a ship called Celestine, in a display case. I think it is similar to the Bounty. We live on the bank of a river where ships never ride at anchor. All that flows past here is tree trunks, logs; the water is cold, there aren’t any palm trees. But in the summer we hear the whining of mosquitoes.

  We’re going to travel to Pitcairn Island, my dad and I.

  I can’t say when we’ll arrive, because I don’t know when it will be possible for us to set off. Maybe when the snow has melted away and spring has come? One can always hope.

  Do you ever have snow on Pitcairn Island? It’s not possible to work that out by looking at a map. But if you do have snow, I can bring my skis with me. Samuel is very bad at skiing.

  We’ve read about your mutiny, and we think you did the right thing. Captain Bligh was a cruel man. He didn’t understand how bad things were for the crew. How hard it can be to leave paradise. Where women wander along the beaches in transparent veils with nothing on underneath. Fletcher was a hero. May he rest in peace.

  We shall be traveling to Pitcairn Island in order to live there. Do you have a B&B place? It will have to be cheap, as we don’t have much money.

  Samuel wonders if there’s a school. But I don’t think that’s very important.

  Samuel can chop down trees in the forest. He’s very good at that. If you have a forest, of course.

  As for me, Joel Gustafson, I’m still very childish. But I don’t normally cause any trouble.

  When we get there, it would be great if a woman wearing transparent veils could surprise Samuel on the beach.

  Me as well.

  With best wishes,

  Joel Gustafson

  Written this 19th day of December.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  HENNING MANKELL is the prizewinning and internationally acclaimed author of novels for both adult and young readers. His Inspector Wallander mysteries dominate bestseller lists across Europe. Born in a village in northern Sweden, Mankell divides his time between Sweden and Africa, where he works with AIDS-related charities. He is also the director of Teatro Avenida in Maputo, Mozambique. Mankell’s previous novels for young people about Joel and his father are A Bridge to the Stars and Shadows in the Twilight, both available from Delacorte Press.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the

  product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to

  actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Translation copyright © 2007 by Laurie Thompson

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Delacorte Press, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York. Originally published in Sweden as Pojken som sov med snö i sin säng by Henning Mankell, copyright © 1996 by Henning Mankell, by Rabén & Sjögren, Stockholm, in 1996. This translation was originally published in Great Britain by Andersen Press, Limited, London, in 2007.

  Delacorte Press is a registered trademark and the colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.

  Visit us on the Web! www.randomhouse.com/teens

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Mankell, Henning.

  [Pojken som sov med snö i sin säng. English]

  When the snow fell / Henning Mankell; translated from the Swedish by Laurie Thompson.

  p. cm.

  Summary: Now almost fourteen, Joel becomes a local hero to his small Swedish town when he saves an old man from freezing to death in the woods.

  eISBN: 978-0-375-89267-7

  [1. Single-parent families—Fiction. 2. Fathers and sons—Fiction. 3. Sweden—History—20th century—Fiction.] I. Thompson, Laurie. II. Title.

  PZ7.M31283Wh 2009

  [Fic]—dc22

  2008020623

  Random House Children’s Book supports the First Amendment

  and celebrates the right to read.

  v3.0

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Other Books By This Author

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  About the Author

  And Time Continued to Race Past…

  Written in the house by the river

  Copyright