A Bridge to the Stars (13 page)

He's on the point of falling asleep when he hears No-Nose's trombone again. He can see her swaying in time
to the music as she plays. All those repeated notes, over
and over again.

He remembers what she said: Don't promise me,
promise yourself.

I must write up everything that happens in the
logbook, he thinks. I promise to do that. I promise
myself not to forget.

The following day Joel falls asleep at his desk again,
but he wakes up so quickly that Miss Nederström doesn't
notice. His eyelids are so heavy that he has to sit with his
head in his hands, and hold them up with his fingers.

After school he hurries home. He lies down on the
bed and sets the alarm clock. He can snatch an hour's
sleep before he needs to start lighting the stove.

He's very tired, but he can't sleep. He imagines himself
staring up at the iron railway bridge. It gets higher and
higher even as he watches. In the end it looks to him as if
the top of the arches disappear into the clouds.

He sits up in bed.

He knows he can't do it.

If he falls off the bridge, he'll die. Just like Evert did
when the tree hit him.

But what can he do?

The only thing he can think of is not to go out tonight.
Not to go out at all until Ture has run away.

But what had Ture said? That he wasn't going to go
away until Joel had climbed over the bridge?

His thoughts are buzzing around in his head. Is it
really all that dangerous, climbing over the bridge arch?
Provided he holds on tightly and doesn't look down?
He's good at climbing trees, after all. He never falls,
never gets dizzy.

Of course I dare do it, he tells himself, and discards
the frightened thoughts. It's the thoughts that are scared.
Not me . . .

When his dad comes home the potatoes are ready.

Samuel has a cold. He's coughing and shivering and
thinks he has a temperature. He goes to bed as soon as
he's finished eating. Joel takes him a cup of coffee.

Samuel suddenly starts talking.

'Joel,' he says. 'As soon as you leave school we'll go
away from here. We'll move to somewhere with a harbour.

I can't stand these forests any longer. I want to see the open
sea. As soon as you leave school, we'll move.'

Three more years, Joel thinks. Only three more years!

Joel jumps up on the bed and sits astride his father.

'Is that definite?' he says. 'Absolutely definite?'

His father nods. Yes, it is.

'But you're too heavy to be sitting on me like this,'
he says.

Joel moves and sits on the edge of the bed.

He has so many questions.

Which sea? Which town? Only three more years . . .

'I think I must get some sleep,' says his father. 'I feel
as if I've got a temperature.'

He closes his eyes, and Joel goes to sit in the window.
One year, two years, three years. He tries to work out
how he can make those three years pass as quickly as
possible.

The summers always pass quickly. So do the springs.
It's the autumns and winters that are so long. Especially
the winters, that never seem to end. Time always passes
more quickly after Christmas than before.

He realises that the three years will pass very slowly.
There's nothing he can do about that.

Then he starts thinking about the railway bridge. It's
out there in the darkness, waiting for him.

The scared thoughts come creeping up on him again,
but he sends them packing. I'll show that Ture, he
thinks. I'll show him all right . . .

His father is fast asleep when he tiptoes out into the
darkness, shortly before midnight.

It's grown colder again. The snow under his feet is
frozen. The sky is clear and full of stars, and the new
moon hovers over the wooded hills. He pauses to look at
The Plough. It's the only constellation whose name he
knows.

In the southern sky is a constellation called The
Southern Cross. His dad's told him about it. Sailors
used to navigate by that constellation a long time ago.
You can stand on deck and look at The Southern Cross.
In the middle of the night when a warm breeze is
blowing.

He finds that hard to imagine. Standing to look at
stars without it being cold.

He approaches the bridge.

If Ture is waiting by the goods wagons, he can carry
on waiting there until it dawns on him that Joel has gone
straight to the bridge.

He stares up at the arches and tries to make them
shrink by looking at them. They are not so high, not so
narrow as they seem.

It will take three minutes to creep over an arch.

Maybe five.

Five minutes isn't very long.

It's such a short part of your life that you don't even
notice it.

Now he can see Ture running towards him from the
direction of the marshalling yard.

Joel suddenly finds it hard to keep his fear at bay
again. He sees that Ture has the pair of shears with him.

That makes him angry, and when he gets angry his
fear starts to go away. It doesn't vanish altogether, but it
grows smaller.

'You could have left the shears at home,' he says.

'Stand in the middle of the bridge and I'll pee all over
your head.'

Ture smirks.

'You'll never climb over the arch,' he says. 'You'll
slither back down again.'

'We'll see about that,' says Joel. 'Go and stand in the
middle.'

Ture shrugs and heads for the middle of the bridge.

Now Joel is alone with the bridge.

It's bigger than ever now.

Joel stands by the abutment and gazes up at one of the
arches soaring up into the darkness. Underneath is the
frozen river.

OK, it's just a matter of climbing. Not thinking. Not
looking down.

He clambers up onto the parapet, next to where the
arch begins. If he stretches both arms out he can just
reach far enough to cling onto the sides.

That's what he must do. Press up against the centre of
the arch, hold on tightly to the two sides, and slowly
ease his way upwards.

He lays his hand on the iron. The cold immediately
penetrates his glove. He closes his eyes and starts edging
upwards.

Like a frog, he thinks. Like a frog trying to get away
from a beast of prey that's just behind him.

The iron rivets are scraping against his knees.

First he moves one hand, then the opposite leg. Then
the other hand and the other leg. Slowly, slowly . . .

He's surrounded by silence.

He closes his eyes and keeps edging upwards. One
hand, the opposite leg.

The iron is extremely cold and already he feels frozen
to death. Every time he eases himself upwards it
becomes harder to keep his fear at bay.

Why am I doing this? he asks himself in desperation.
I'll never do it. I'll fall down and kill myself. . .

Then he hears Ture shouting to him.

Only then does he realise how high up he is. Ture's
voice sounds so far away.

'Come down,' he shouts. 'Come down . . . '

Why should he go down? Is Ture so afraid that he'll
succeed?

He keeps on edging upwards like a terrified frog. The
rivets are digging into his skin and he can feel that his
arms are starting to go to sleep.

Oh, Dad, he thinks. I'm not going to make it. You'll
have to come and help me . . .

He notices that the arch is beginning to level out.

Then he comes to the very top. Now he'll have to
start going downwards. Now he'll have to climb
headfirst.

Panic strikes.

He can't keep going.

He clings on with all his strength. He can't move.

Neither forwards nor backwards.

It suddenly feels warm down one of his legs. He
doesn't know why.

He shouts out, just once, a piercing shriek into the
darkness . . .

He has no idea what's happening down below.

He thinks he can hear The Old Bricklayer's lorry. Or
is it No-Nose's trombone, perhaps?

Otto is standing there, laughing. Miss Nederström is
there as well, and she's angry. The whole bridge is full
of people laughing. The whole school are down below
on the bridge, pointing and laughing . . .

He can also hear his father's voice.

But his dad isn't laughing. He's shouting something,
but Joel can't hear what it is because the voice is coming
from so far away.

The voice is slowly getting nearer.

Now he can hear that his father is quite close.

'Lie completely still. Don't move at all, Joel. Don't
move . . . '

Why is he saying that?

Joel is incapable of moving. He'll have to lie here at
the top of the arch for the next thousand years . . .

Now his father's voice is right behind him.

'Don't move,' he whispers. 'Lie completely still . . . '

Then something happens that he'll never forget, for as
long as he lives.

His dad takes hold of Joel's back, so tenderly.

He can't see a thing because his face is pressed up
against the cold arch. But even so, he knows it's his
father's hand. There's only one hand like that in the
whole wide world.

He feels the hand and hears his father's voice
behind him.

'Creep backwards. Slowly. I'll hold on to you . . . '

Joel starts to return slowly to the ground.

He's no longer clinging on to the axis of the earth.
He's going slowly back to the ground.

He edges slowly down with his numb arms and legs.

All the time his dad is whispering reassuringly to him.

At last he feels the bridge parapet against his foot.

His dad lifts him down and hugs him tight. Then he's
lifted into the cab of a lorry and it's The Old Bricklayer
sitting behind the wheel.

Ture is hanging around outside. Joel can see that his
face is different. Ture is scared.

His father carries him up the stairs. Mrs Westman is
watching from her doorway. He hears his dad telling her
about an accident that didn't happen.

Then he's in his own bed and Samuel is rubbing his
feet.

He drinks something hot, and then all he wants to do
is sleep . . .

But before he goes to sleep he wants his dad to tell
him about the sea.

About breakers and dolphins, and the warm monsoon
winds that come from India . . .

It still feels as if he's clinging on to the cold iron arch.

His dad tells him about the warm monsoon winds, and
only then can he start to loosen his grip on the freezing
cold arch.

Then everything becomes a dream.

Celestine
grows out of her case and turns into a big
sailing ship bobbing in the swell as the sun starts to set.
She's waiting for a wind to blow. Joel is in his hammock
below deck. Swaying slowly from side to side, deeper
and deeper into slumber . . .

The following day Joel found out what had happened.

When he woke up his dad was sitting on his bed, and
through the door he could see Mrs Westman busy with
a saucepan in the kitchen. Even before his dad rolled
up the blinds Joel knew that spring was on the way at
last.

He could tell from the birds chirruping outside the
window.

He no longer felt cold when he woke up, but his
knees were sore and when he felt under the covers he
found he had scabs on both his legs.

Samuel hadn't gone to work in the forest that day.
He'd stayed at home, sat on Joel's bed and talked to
him.

It was Ture who had realised that Joel would never
be able to get down from the arch. He'd run towards
the streetlights and before long Simon Windstorm had
come trundling up in his lorry. Ture had stood in the
middle of the road, waving with both hands. Simon
Windstorm had barely been able to understand what
Ture said, partly because he was so agitated and out of
breath, and partly because of his odd dialect.

But Simon had understood enough to grasp that an
accident had taken place, or perhaps was about to take
place.

They'd driven to the railway bridge and he'd seen
what looked like a bundle of clothes clinging on to the
top of the arch. When he asked who it was up there,
Ture said it was Joel Gustafson, and Simon gathered it
was the boy who had been with him to Four Winds
Lake. He'd left Ture on the railway bridge in case
anything were to happen, then driven to the house
where he'd dropped Joel a few days previously.

As he didn't know which was Joel's door, he'd
knocked on all of them. Old Mrs Westman had been
scared to death and hardly dared to open up. She'd just
peeped out hesitantly through a narrow crack. Samuel
had answered the door, full of cold and with a
temperature. When he heard that Joel was stuck on top
of one of the arches on the railway bridge, he'd barely
paused to get dressed. He'd pulled on his trousers over
his pyjamas, and forgotten to put a sock on one foot.
Joel could remember the rest, more or less, himself.

His dad had climbed up behind him and helped him
down. Then Simon Windstorm had driven them home
in his lorry.

Now it was morning.

Mrs Westman had knocked on the door as early as
five o'clock to see if she could help them with
anything. She'd lit the stove, and sighed and tutted at
the terrible accident that had very nearly taken place.

But Joel was asleep.

He'd shouted out in his sleep several times, as if
he'd been climbing up the arch again.

His dad carried the worn-out old armchair into Joel's
room and stayed there all night, wrapped in a blanket.

Simon Windstorm had stayed for a coffee, but as
Joel was asleep and it was clear that he didn't seem to
be ill, he'd driven home in his lorry. That was at about
four o'clock.

Before leaving he'd told Samuel that he and Joel had
been to the little lake they called Four Winds Lake. He
also told Samuel some of the things Joel had told him
about.

They had no idea where Ture had disappeared to,
with his shears. They didn't even know who he was.

But why had he been on the bridge in the middle of
the night with a pair of shears? There are a lot of things
that Samuel wants to ask Joel about, but he decides to
wait a bit. Just now the most important thing is for Joel
to understand that he's not still stuck on the top of that
arch. He has to grasp that it's only a memory.
Something that's over and done with. Something he
might not be able to forget. Nor should forget. But it's
in the past now.

Joel listens to what his father has to say.

But even as he does so, he's thinking about
something entirely different. He's thinking about the
dog he saw that night.

The dog that had stopped, sniffed the air and looked
all around, as if it were scared of something.

Without knowing why, Joel suspects everything
that's happened has to do with that dog.

He has to find the dog.

Maybe his dad could help him to look for it if he
explains how important it is for him to find it?

His knees hurt and he'd rather not think about what
had happened during the night.

It's something important that he can't understand.

What happened up there when the arch flattened out
at the top? What happened when he was beaten by the
bridge?

'A penny for your thoughts,' says his dad.

Joel shakes his head.

'I'm not thinking about anything,' he says.

That's a silly answer. Nobody can think about
nothing. But he doesn't want to share the thoughts that
are buzzing around in his mind with anybody.

His dad looks tired.

Joel wonders why he isn't angry. He ought to be.
Joel could have fallen off the arch and killed himself.

'You could have killed yourself, you know,' says his
dad, as if he'd been reading Joel's thoughts. 'I'd never
have got over that.'

Those were his exact words.

I'd never have got over that.

At that moment Joel realises that his dad will never
abandon him. He'll never do what his mum did.

Even if he does go with Sara and sleeps in her bed,
he'll never run away.

Joel is absolutely certain of that now.

If he hadn't tried to climb over the arch he might
never have got to know that.

It does occur to him that he ought to have realised
even so.

He ought to have brushed aside the nasty thoughts.
Ignored them.

In the afternoon Samuel goes to Svenson's grocery
shop to buy a few things.

Mrs Westman has gone back to her embroidery. The
whole house is silent.

Joel gets up and puts on his dad's dressing gown. It's
so long that it trails behind him.

Who came out on top? he wonders. Was it the bridge
that won, or was it me? I didn't climb over the arch,
but I didn't fall off and kill myself.

Maybe nobody won. Who's the winner if nobody
wins?

He fetches the logbook from under
Celestine
and
starts writing. 'During yesterday's violent storm
Captain Samuel Gustafson climbed up a mast to rescue
an injured lookout. Once again Captain Samuel
Gustafson carried out yet another heroic deed . . . '

Joel reads through what he's written, and it occurs to
him that he ought to go back to the railway bridge. He
must establish how high up he was. He has to do that
in order to work out what really happened . . .

His dad makes pancakes for dinner. He burns
himself on the stove and the pancakes turn black and
stick to the pan. He'd also forgotten to buy any jam.

'I made a bit of a mess of this,' he says
apologetically. 'There was a time when I could make
perfect pancakes on a ship at the height of a storm.
Now they're all black and burnt.'

'No problem,' says Joel. 'Burnt pancakes are pretty
good as well.'

When they've finished eating Joel announces that he
intends to go out.

His dad frowns.

'Where are you going?'

'I'm not going to climb over the arch. I'll soon be
back.'

'You ought to stay in tonight.'

But Joel was already lacing up his boots.

'I'll soon be back,' he says.

When he comes out into the street, he finds that it's
still thawing. Perhaps winter is coming to an end at
last.

Samuel is watching him from a window. Joel waves.

He arrives at the bridge just as the evening's last
train is thundering past. It's a passenger train heading
for the northern forests and whatever lies beyond. Joel
stops to count the carriages. The engine puffs away as
it clatters over the bridge. He watches it disappearing
into the darkness.

Then he walks out onto the bridge and gazes up at
the gigantic arches.

He was lying up there.

He got that far.

So far that he panicked and peed himself.

When he pictures himself up there at the top of the
arch, a terrified frog clinging on for dear life, he is
overcome by fear.

Only now does it register what he's done.

If he'd continued he'd have been bound to lose his
grip and fall onto the frozen river.

He'd have ceased to exist. It would have been as if
he'd never lived.

He sees somebody walking over the bridge, and
recognises Ture. Ture von Swallow with his shears.

They stand face to face, without speaking.

Then Ture holds out the shears.

'You didn't complete the climb,' he says. 'And you
didn't pee on my head.'

Joel sees red.

'I can do it again,' he says.

'If I hadn't run for help, you'd still be up there,' says
Ture.

Then Joel thumps him.

His fist hits Ture in the face. Ture is so surprised that
he falls over backwards and drops the shears. It dawns
on Joel that Ture is even worse than Otto. He can argue
and fight with Otto, but all the time he knows why.
Ture is different. Ture makes it seem as if The Secret
Society is his, and that Joel is a servant who has to do
as he's told.

The worst thing about Ture is that it's so hard not to
do what he tells you. It's so easy to think that what he
says is right.

In fact it's the shears that make Joel so angry. When
he sees them he realises that Ture still thinks he should
cut back Gertrud's climbing plants.

Ture has got to his feet again, but the shears are still
lying between the rails.

Now he'll hit me back, Joel thinks. But Ture just
stares at him.

Joel can see that he's frightened, and that gives Joel
the upper hand.

'You come here and claim you're something
special,' he says. 'Special and stuck-up . . . '

Now he'll thump me, Joel thinks.

But Ture just keeps on staring at him. That's when
Joel realises that what Ture has said about running
away isn't true. He doesn't know why he is sure of
that, but he's certain even so.

'You're no longer a member of my Secret Society,'
he says. 'You'll have to start a society of your own.'

It seems to Joel that Ture looks so small.

He comes here and plays the Big Man, Joel thinks.
Speaks in a funny way and thinks he's somebody
special just because his father's a judge and he has a
room of his own with lots of fancy machines.

There are stewards on board ship. Servants. His dad
has told him about them. But Joel has no intention of
being Ture's steward.

'If we're going to be friends, you'll have to act like
a civilised human being,' says Joel.

That's something he's heard his dad say. You can't
have friends who don't act like civilised human beings.
But Ture is no doubt incapable of that. He wants
servants, not friends. He wants people to feel
frightened by him, and then do whatever he tells them
to do.

Joel walks away. He doesn't turn round to look. He's
pleased with himself because he ended up on top. But
at the same time he thinks of Ture's room and all the
things he could have done there. Being the only
member of his Secret Society isn't very good either.
But he decides that it's necessary. And perhaps Ture
will change for the better?

It seems to Joel that life consists of far too many
perhapses.

And there's far too little you can know for certain.

Samuel is in the window looking out for him when
Joel comes home. Joel waves, then tries to reach the
top of the stairs in three jumps. He nearly manages it.
Soon he'll be successful.

The following day he goes to school as usual.
Nobody seems to know about what happened at the
bridge. Not even Otto, who's back at school again, and
marches towards him over the playground with his
sneering smile.

Joel realises he is the bearer of a big secret . . .

That evening, when they've finished eating, he starts
getting ready to go out.

'Going out again?' asks his dad. 'What are you going
to do this time?'

Joel would prefer to tell him the truth. That he's
going to see if the girl without a nose is at home.

But he doesn't mention that. His dad might start
asking awkward questions about why his son is going
to visit somebody who nobody but the ladies in the
Pentecostal church mixes with.

Certain questions have to be avoided. If you don't
want to tell lies, there's only one possible answer.

'I'll see,' says Joel. 'I haven't made up my mind yet,
but I won't be long.'

That's a good answer. It's so vague that it can mean
anything at all.

When he runs over the bridge he can't help but stop
and gaze up at the arches soaring up above his head. A
pity he hadn't scratched his name into the iron at the
very top. If anybody else climbed up they would
discover that they weren't the first to conquer the
bridge.

When Joel gets to No-Nose's house, he notices that
she's been trying to scrape the varnish off her currant
bushes. And she's used shears to cut off the branches
that had been completely choked by the varnish.

He pauses at the gate and tries to make up his mind
what to say. He can't very well say they tipped the ants
through her window because it was funny. That's a bad
answer. An answer fit to make anybody angry.

Create fear, was what Ture had said. But he doesn't
want to use Ture's words. He's not even sure he really
understands what Ture meant. There's only one answer
he can give. It's an answer that's both good and bad.

He can say that he doesn't know why he did it.

And even if he wasn't there when Ture smeared the
currant bushes with varnish, he's not going to say so.

Ture doesn't exist.

He knocks on the door.

After a while, he knocks again.

Still nobody answers. There are lights in several
windows, so she must be at home. Why doesn't she
answer the door? He knocks one more time, belting the
door quite hard now. Then he hears the gate squeaking.