When the Snow Fell by Henning Mankell Read Free Book Online Page A

of him all the secrets you needed to know in order to become a rock idol. Not least how old Elvis Presley had been when he’d made his debut.
    He speeded up as he walked down the hill. There was something else he wanted to do before going home to prepare dinner. He wanted to call in at Ehnströms Livs to make sure that the new shop assistant was still there. That she hadn’t simply been something he’d dreamt about.
    As usual there were lots of old women jostling with each other inside the shop. But it didn’t matter today, as Joel wasn’t going to buy anything.
    She was still there. And now that he observed her from a distance, he could see that she was beautiful. He could very well imagine her dancing in transparent veils. He could feel his body becoming excited at the thought. All the strange things going on inside him that he still hadn’t managed to work out. Sooner or later he’d have to talk to Samuel about it. Even if he wasn’t at all sure that his dad would be able to give him any answers.
    But the shop assistant was still there. He still didn’t know what she was called. But he’d find out. And where she lived as well.
    One of the fat women bumped into him.
    “Mind what you’re doing,” she said angrily. “Do you have to stand right behind me?”
    “You’re nothing but a Hound Dog,” said Joel cheekily.
    Then he marched out of the shop.
    He hurried home. It had been a good day. He’d done everything he’d planned to do.
    The very next day he would start shadowing Ehnström’s new shop assistant.
    But before that he had another important thing to do.
    He must meet Gertrud. The young woman who lived on the other side of the river. And didn’t have a nose.
    He would go and see her that very same evening.

— SIX —
    The railway bridge loomed ahead of Joel.
    It was lurking there like a petrified dinosaur. The moonlight glistened in the enormous iron arches.
    Not so long ago Joel had tried to climb up one of the arches and gotten stuck. In the end, Samuel had come to the rescue.
    Joel shuddered at the thought. If he’d fallen, he would no longer be alive. He’d be like Lars Olson. A skeleton six feet down in the cold earth, with a stone over his head.
Joel Gustafson. Died at the age of eleven
.
    He was on his way over the bridge to Gertrud’s house. He both wanted and didn’t want to think about death. If you thought about it, it was like beckoning it to come. You shouldn’t fondle death like you stroked a cat. You should be as wary of it as of a lion in the jungle. But atthe same time, the thoughts insisted on forcing their way into his mind. It was difficult to keep them out.
    Joel had decided that death was more difficult to understand than life—which was complicated enough. It wasn’t possible to imagine yourself as nothing. To think that you could no longer think.
    And moreover, you’d be dead for such a long time. That was the hardest thing of all. Lars Olson had already been dead for twenty years. That was longer than Joel had been alive. But there were lots of people who’d been dead for hundreds of years.
    If only you didn’t need to be dead for so long, Joel thought as he contemplated the railway bridge.
    Then it might have been tolerable.
    He looked up at the moon. It was seven o’clock. He’d had dinner with Samuel. Now he was on his way to Gertrud’s. It was several weeks since he’d seen her last.
    He braced himself and started running over the bridge. It was easier to get up speed if he imagined that he was being chased. There were lots of possible pursuers he could think of.
    He imagined a cavalry of fat old women riding behind him on horseback, wielding their carrier bags like swords and clubs.
    He came to the abutment on the other side of the river. The fat old women disappeared from his mind. He turned onto a little road that followed the river to the left, and came to Gertrud’s house in its overgrowngarden. It contained a rowan tree and some currant bushes. Her