When the Snow Fell by Henning Mankell Read Free Book Online

obviously, the main one was that Joel still wasn’t even fourteen. Perhaps there was a law saying that anybody who wasn’t allowed to ride a moped wasn’t allowed to sell trailers either. Perhaps also there was an age limit for rock idols. How old had Elvisbeen when he first started? Joel decided to ask Kringström. If anybody knew, he ought to. Even if everybody knew that he hated rock ’n’ roll, and preferred to play something slow and relaxed like a foxtrot.
    Joel had reached the top of the hill. There was the block of flats that Kringström lived in. Still no sign of the Greyhound. Joel noted that Kringström’s big black van was parked outside the front door. That meant he was at home. Nobody had ever seen Kringström walking through the streets if he could avoid it. If he had to go anywhere, he always took the van. There was a corner shop over the road from his front door. Kringström even went there by van.
    Joel walked up the stairs and rang the doorbell. Kringström answered it. As usual, he had his glasses pushed up onto his forehead.
    “You were the one who said he wanted to learn how to play the saxophone,” he said, and was obviously offended. “But nothing came of it.”
    Joel had prepared an answer.
    “The dentist said that I shouldn’t play wind instruments.”
    There wasn’t a jot of truth in that, of course. There was nothing wrong with Joel’s teeth. But Kringström seemed to believe him. It hadn’t been difficult for Joel to lie. There were different kinds of lies: white lies and black ones. And then some that Joel thought were gray. This was a gray lie. It didn’t affect anybody, and it solved theproblem. And it also closed down unnecessary conversation even before it had started.
    “I want to learn how to play the guitar instead,” Joel said.
    “I thought as much,” said Kringström. “That’s what I thought a year ago.”
    Kringström let him in. Joel remembered the flat from last year. It was like stepping into a music shop that somebody lived in. There were records everywhere. Mainly 78 rps. But some new LPs had arrived since Joel had been there before. Kringström slumped down into a shabby old armchair and pointed to the other chair. That was for Joel to sit on. As far as he could see, there were no other chairs in the flat, apart from a Windsor-style chair in the kitchen. But on the other hand, there was an apparently infinite number of music stands scattered over the flat in every conceivable place. There was even one in the bathroom. Kringström evidently liked to practice new music all the time. Even when he was on the lavatory.
    “What did you say your name was?” Kringström asked.
    “Joel Gustafson.”
    Kringström looked surprised. So he’d forgotten.
    “And you want to learn to play the guitar?”
    “I’ve been thinking about a career as a rock idol.”
    Kringström stared at him in astonishment.
    “You mean to say you regard that screeching and whining as a career?”
    “All Elvis Presley does is sing.”
    Kringström gestured impatiently with one hand.
    “Don’t talk to me about that man,” he said. “He ruins young people’s taste for music.”
    Joel realized it would be best not to protest. He didn’t want to risk Kringström’s throwing him out. The most important thing was learning to play the guitar.
    “So you want to be a rock idol,” said Kringström in disgust. “And what had you thought of calling yourself?”
    “Snow Elvis,” said Joel without hesitation.
    “Good Lord,” said Kringström, shaking his head.
    “But first and foremost, I want to learn to play the guitar,” Joel said.
    “I’ll think about it,” said Kringström. “Come back in a few days’ time when I’ve had time to think about it.”
    Kringström had other things to do now. Joel left the flat and went back down the hill. At least the worst was over now. With a bit of luck Kringström wouldn’t turn him down. Before too long Joel would also be able to winkle out