A Bridge to the Stars by Henning Mankell Read Free Book Online Page B

starts bashing on her
ceiling with her walking stick.
    At last it starts burning. Joel gives the potatoes a
quick scrub, and pours some water and a pinch of salt
into the big pan. Four big potatoes for Dad, three little
ones for himself.
    Then he goes to the showcase and carefully lifts up Celestine and takes out his logbook. Samuel might turn
up at any moment, so he doesn't have much time before
the heavy footsteps start echoing up the stairs.
    He's caught on to the fact that it's easier to think when
he writes. And there's an awful lot of things he needs to
make up his mind about.
    Just what should he tell Ture?
    The Secret Society hasn't exactly done very much.
Can he really admit that he's the only member? He
thinks about what Ture has said, about what's going to
happen in a week's time.
    Joel has never seriously thought about running away.
You have to know where you're going to when you run
away. You have to have a plan, some special aim in mind.
    If he knew the whereabouts of his mum, Jenny, he
could have set out to discover what she looked like.
    If he'd had a telescope like Ture, he could have hidden
behind a bush and spied on her. No doubt she is so like
him that it would be like examining yourself in a mirror.
    Children do not take after their parents, he decides, as
he puts another piece of firewood into the stove. It's the
parents who take after their children.
    The only times he's thought of running away have
been when he's been angry with his father. That time
when he was given a stool instead of a kite, he thought
about wandering off into the forest and lying down in
the snow to die. His dad would find him the next
morning when he set out into the forest to work.
    He listens for footsteps on the stairs, then sits down at
the kitchen table again. I'll have to use my imagination,
he thinks. I'll have to make up whatever doesn't exist
for real.
    If Ture is going to run away next week, he'll never
find out that what Joel tells him isn't true.
    He writes down the names of his classmates that he
likes: they can become members of The Secret Society.
The ones he doesn't like, such as Otto, will be excluded.
They have committed serious acts of treachery and been
forced out of the society.
    He also writes down the name on the grave he
generally jumps over in the cemetery. Nils Wiberg is a
member of the society who died in mysterious circumstances.
Then he remembers Rev. Sundin, the old dean,
who died last year, the day after the end of term. He can
also be a member who died in unusual circumstances.
And the judge who died on the steps outside Stora
Hotellet! What was his name? Törnqvist? He can also be
a dead member.
    He suddenly recalls what Ture had said. About living
over the courthouse, and his dad being a district judge.
That means he must be the replacement for Törnqvist,
he decides. Now I have something I can show Ture. The
icy step he slipped on and broke his neck.
    That was as far as he got, as the front door banged and
he could hear footsteps approaching up the stairs.
    He listens to the stamping of his father's feet. What
do they sound like today?
    It's quite loud, but he doesn't sound angry or weary.
They're not bottle-steps today, more like storytelling-steps.
Real seafarer's strides.
    Even so, there's something not quite right about them.
There seems to be a sort of echo.
    Joel hurriedly replaces the logbook under Celestine and sticks a fork into the biggest of the potatoes.
    The flat door opens and Joel understands why the
footsteps sounded so odd.
    His father is not alone.
    Behind him is a woman in a red hat, black overcoat
and rubber overshoes. Joel recognises her immediately.
It's Sara, who works as a waitress in the local bar. Big-breasted
Sara, who wanders around balancing trays and
beer bottles and is always laughing so that you can see
the big gap in her bottom teeth.
    That slut! What's she doing here?
    Joel has occasionally been in the bar to sell copies of
the local weekly paper. He's watched