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Authors: Henning Mankell

The Journey to the End of the World (Joel Gustafson Stories) (22 page)

BOOK: The Journey to the End of the World (Joel Gustafson Stories)
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The last evening of Samuel’s life, he’d got it into his head that he wanted to play cards. Joel had brought him a pack of cards. Samuel was in an unusually good mood, and wasn’t in pain.
They played poker. For fantasy money.
Samuel bet a million. And Joel bet a million as well. But neither of them could work out who’d won.
In the end, a nurse came and told Joel it was time for him to go home.
‘We’ll continue tomorrow,’ said Samuel. ‘Then I’ll win back all the money I’ve lost.’
‘But you were the winner!’
‘Well, we’ll see if you can beat me next time, then.’
Joel was still sitting on the chair at the side of the bed.
‘I used to play cards with Jenny,’ Samuel said. ‘And we used to have lots of fun. Believe you me. When things were good, they were very, very good. I’ve never regretted that she was the person who was your mother. It’s important for you to know that.’
Joel stood up and put on his jacket.
‘The cold isn’t going to go away,’ said Samuel. ‘But it’s warm in Brazil. There’s no such place as the end of the world. But there is a place called Brazil.’
Samuel died during the night. After Joel had left he fell asleep and never woke up.
Joel was told when he arrived at the hospital the next day.
He started crying. But he didn’t cry for long.
Instead he thought about the last words Samuel had spoken to him.
There’s no such place as the end of the world. But there is a place called Brazil.
It seemed that there might be a secret message hidden in those words. That the end of the world is only a dream. A place that doesn’t have a name. That doesn’t exist on any map. But Brazil does. You can go there.
They asked Joel if he wanted to see his father.
But Joel said no.
He knew what Samuel looked like. He didn’t need to see somebody who no longer existed.
Joel went home. Despite the cold he walked slowly. The first thing he did was to write a letter to the shipping line.
I’m coming.
Greetings,
Joel Gustafson
Then Sara turned up. And Göransson. And Ehnström. And some of Samuel’s old workmates. Some old men that Samuel used to go out drinking with also came, but Sara threw them out without more ado.
Both Göransson and Sara suggested that Joel should go and stay with them. But Joel said no. He didn’t want to.
That evening Joel crossed over the bridge on his way to Gertrud’s house. She must have seen him coming. Or possibly heard him. As he went through the gate she came out to meet him.
‘Samuel’s dead,’ said Joel.
‘I know.’
Joel ought to have known that it wouldn’t be news to her. Although Gertrud seldom went out, she knew about everything that happened.
They sat in her kitchen.
He found it difficult to look at her. If he did, he’d start crying. And he didn’t want to do that.
They sat in silence. Joel knew nobody as easy to be silent with as Gertrud.
After a while Gertrud asked him to tell her what it was like, being a sailor. Joel told her.
She asked about Jenny.
He had no idea how Gertrud could have known that he’d found his long-lost mother.
Last of all she asked what he was going to do now.
‘I’ve got a ship waiting for me in Gothenburg,’ he said. ‘Then I don’t know.’
‘You’ll come back here, surely?’
‘Why should I do that? When Samuel no longer exists?’
‘I exist.’
Joel didn’t answer. She was right. She was still there. And there were other people he knew and liked.
‘You grew up here,’ she said. ‘All your memories are here. I’m sure you’ll come back.’
It was long past midnight when Joel went home.
The house felt empty and spooky. Joel had closed the door of Samuel’s room. What he’d have really liked to do was to lock it and throw away the key.
He went to bed. Thought about what Göransson had said regarding the funeral. He wondered if he ought to phone or write to Jenny. But he didn’t want to talk to her. So it would be a letter.
Joel sat up in bed.
He’d have to put a death notice in the local newspaper. He’d almost forgotten that.
But what should it say?
Samuel Gustafson
Much loved and missed
Those were not appropriate words. Not for Samuel.
Joel got up and went to sit at the kitchen table. He took out a piece of paper and a pencil. Thought about various possibilities. Then eventually made up his mind.
But when he went to the newspaper office the following day Mr Horn, the editor, frowned when he saw the text Joel wanted to insert.
Samuel Gustafson
Who has journeyed to the end of the world
‘I don’t know if we can print that,’ he said.
‘Why not? It’s my dad who’s dead.’
‘The text isn’t really appropriate.’
‘Why not?’
‘Mr Horn shook his head.
‘I don’t know if it’s suitable.’
‘But that’s what Samuel thought death was. A journey to the end of the world.’
Mr Horn continued to shake his head.
‘Have you spoken to the others about this?’
‘What others?’
‘The other mourners? The rest of the family?’
‘There is nobody else. Only me.’
Mr Horn was starting to melt.
‘I’ve never published anything like this before in the deaths’ column. That’s for sure.’
‘But this is precisely what I want it to say.’
Mr Horn looked hard at Joel. Eyed him seriously for a long time. Then he nodded.
‘I’ll get a lot of flak,’ he said. ‘But if that’s what you want, that’s what you’ll get.’
When Joel left, he thought that Samuel would have been pleased. He’d never had much time for God. But the end of the world was something else again.
Something that existed, and yet didn’t exist.
That’s the journey Samuel had undertaken.
The funeral took place a week later.
Joel was dreading it. But Sara and Göransson had been on hand for him all the time.
A few days before the funeral the local vicar, Boman, had asked Joel to come and see him.
Joel put on his best clothes and went to the vicarage. He’d never met Rev. Boman before. He was a new, young clergyman who’d only arrived in his new parish a couple of months ago.
Boman asked Joel to sit down, and expressed his condolences. Joel mumbled something inaudible in response.
‘I saw the death notice in the newspaper,’ Boman said. ‘And I understand that you were the one who wrote it. I must say the text was most unusual.
He’s journeyed to the end of the world
.’
‘Samuel was unusual,’ said Joel. ‘That’s the way he wanted it.’
‘How was he unusual?’
‘He thought the house we lived in was a ship. And that our flat was the bridge. And he was a good lumberjack. Göransson says so.’
‘An unusual man,’ said Boman. ‘Is that how you’d like me to describe him at the funeral?’
Joel could feel a lump in his throat. He was close to tears, but braced himself.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Samuel was unusual.’
And that is what Boman said at the funeral.
There weren’t many people in the church. Joel was in the front row, between Sara and Göransson. The coffin was brown. Joel avoided looking at it. He still couldn’t grasp that Samuel was lying in there.
Samuel had gone away
.
He’d gone on a journey
.
He’d signed on for an invisible ship and was on his way to a port that didn’t exist on any map
.
But perhaps the name of the ship was
Celestine?
Samuel’s grave was by the west wall of the churchyard.
As the coffin was lowered into it, Joel couldn’t stop himself bursting into tears. All the time he tried to cling fast to the idea that Samuel was on a ship on the way to somewhere. On the way to a warmer climate. But despite all his efforts, he couldn’t help himself. Not at that moment.
Afterwards they had coffee at the Tourist Hotel.
Göransson told Joel that they would have to go through the contents of the flat the very next day. Now that Joel had decided not to stay there, other tenants would be moving in.
It took a week.
The furniture vanished. Joel packed his belongings in his sailor’s kitbag and a suitcase.
In the end the only thing left was a mattress. A sheet, a pillow and a blanket. Joel would sleep in the house one final night. Then he would leave.
He said goodbye to Göransson and Sara.
And that last evening, he took a walk round the town.
It was still cold.
He wandered along the familiar streets. Paused outside the Community Centre and studied the film posters. Walked round the deserted schoolyard. Round and round until he ran out of strength.
He was in a hurry now. In a hurry to get away.
He went back to the empty flat and fell asleep almost immediately on the mattress.
The night outside was full of moonlight, the sky full of stars.
15
Joel woke up with a start.
When he opened his eyes it was completely dark. He felt freezing. It was as if the cold from the floor had forced its way through the mattress and all his clothes. He lay still in the darkness and listened. There was a creaking and tapping from the walls and the roof beams. He thought about all the times he’d woken up and heard those very same noises. They had always been there, ever since he’d been very young. So young that he had virtually no other memories.
He pulled the covers up to his chin and curled up. The alarm clock was standing on the floor next to him. The hands were lit up. A quarter to five. Half an hour from now the clock would ring.
He could feel a pain in his stomach. Something was stabbing at him. It was his very last night in the house by the river. His last night and his last morning. He was about to leave. New people would move in that very same day. They would bring with them different furniture, and hang different pictures on the walls. Then there would be no trace left of Samuel or Joel. Time would pass. Other voices would be heard in the two bedrooms and the kitchen. Other fingers would make marks on the wallpaper. Other ears would be woken up during the cold winter nights by the beams groaning and creaking inside the walls. Soon nobody would remember that a lumberjack and his son had once lived in this house.
That hurt. The idea was massive and scary. Joel curled up as tightly as he could.
He wished everything had been as before. That Samuel’s snores would come rolling through the half-open door. But everything was silent. Apart from the walls groaning and creaking in the cold.
When he was little, he’d sometimes thought that it was possible to bring time to a standstill. To cling on to a moment he’d enjoyed. But that wasn’t possible any longer. Joel wondered what exactly it meant, being grown up. Before, he’d have asked Samuel. But that wasn’t possible any more.
Nothing would be like it used to be. Nothing at all.
I’m so lonely now, Joel thought.
Samuel is dead. And Jenny Rydén can never be my mum. She can only be a friend. In the same way that Eva and Maria can only be my friends.
In a few hours’ time I shall leave this place.
Nobody will come to the station to wave me off. Nobody will notice that I vanish.
Joel could feel that he was starting to cry. He didn’t want to do that. He was fifteen years old, and a sailor. Somebody like that doesn’t cry. Children can cry. And adults. But not somebody who’s fifteen years old. That’s an age when it’s forbidden to give in to anything. Especially tears.
Joel listened. The walls creaked. He allowed the thoughts and memories to wander through his mind. He’d always lived in this house. Once upon a time Mummy Jenny had lived here as well. But one morning she packed a suitcase and went away. He’d been so little at the time that he didn’t remember it happening. The only person around for the whole of Joel’s life had been Samuel. Nobody else. Samuel with his drooping shoulders and badly shaved cheeks, his tired eyes and his longing for the sea.
Celestine
had always been there as well, in her case. And the sea charts over which they had made their fantasy voyages together.
BOOK: The Journey to the End of the World (Joel Gustafson Stories)
12.67Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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