He comes in and sits on Joel's bed.
'It wasn't a very pleasant experience,' he says.
Joel sits up in bed and helps his father off with his tie.
Samuel suddenly gives him a big hug.
'Go to sleep now,' he says.
Joel can see that his eyes are red. He leaves the room
and before long, Joel hears him gargling in the kitchen.
The radio is on at very low volume in his father's room.
The bed creaks, and then the radio goes quiet.
Joel puts the alarm clock under his pillow. Then he
goes back to sea in his thoughts, stands on the bridge
and feels a warm breeze caressing his cheeks . . .
He woke up at midnight and got dressed, and now he's
waiting for Ture in the shadow of a goods wagon.
His ears are skinned – he doesn't want Ture to creep
up on him again without him hearing.
He turns round and tries to penetrate the darkness. He
can hear an engine in the distance and wonders if it's
The Old Bricklayer driving round in his lorry.
All of a sudden he finds Ture standing by his side.
He's done it again.
'Where were you last night?' asks Ture.
Joel explains what happened. It's too dark for him to
see if Ture believes him or not.
'Let's go,' says Ture when Joel has finished.
Joel follows him down to the bridge.
Ture stops under the enormous arches and suddenly
produces a pair of shears he'd had hidden under his
jacket.
'Now it's your turn,' he says. 'Last night I did what
we'd agreed to do. I smeared her currant bushes with
varnish. It's your turn tonight. You're going to cut the
plants she has climbing up her walls with these shears.'
'We hadn't agreed to do anything,' says Joel. 'I didn't
want to smear varnish over her currant bushes And I
don't intend to cut back any of her plants.'
'Just as I thought,' says Ture. 'You're a coward.'
'I'm not a coward.'
'You daren't do it.'
'I do. But I don't want to.'
Ture looks scornfully at him.
'If you betray The Secret Society, you have to crawl
over the arch,' he says, spitting. 'Well, you've betrayed
it. You didn't turn up last night. I waited but you never
appeared. In a Secret Society you don't come out with a
series of excuses. You do what you've agreed to do.'
Ture gazes up at the high arches.
'Well, I'm waiting,' he says with a smirk.
The penny drops. Ture wants him to climb over one
of the arches.
'I couldn't come last night,' he says. 'That's all there
is to it.'
He wishes he'd said that in a firm voice. Instead of
speaking so softly and hesitantly.
Ture holds out the pair of shears.
'It's the climbing plants or the bridge,' he says.
'But I've told you, I couldn't come!'
It sounded as if he were almost squeaking. A scared
little baby bird that hardly dares to open its beak.
Joel tries to think. It's hard to think clearly when you
have to think quickly. He knows that, but he hasn't yet
learnt how to do it.
'I need a pee,' he says to gain time.
He takes a few strides to one side and turns his back
on Ture.
'You could have a piss from the top of the bridge,'
says Ture, and Joel can tell that he's smirking.
Joel unzips his flies and tries to produce a few drops
while he thinks.
He doesn't want to clip any climbing plants. He
doesn't want to climb over the arch either.
Why should Ture force him to choose between doing
something that's wicked and something else that's also
bad? He hasn't betrayed The Secret Society. There's no
rule that says you mustn't oversleep.
Ture uses so many words, he thinks. He can talk till
the cows come home. Joel feels angry.
He doesn't want to tip ants in through open windows
and he doesn't want to smear currant bushes with varnish.
He wants to look for the dog.
He doesn't want to do anything he doesn't want to do.
Even so, he grabs hold of the shears.
'I'll do it,' he says. 'But not because I've betrayed
The Secret Society.'
They cross over the bridge and turn into No-Nose's
street. They stop outside her gate.
'I'll wait here,' says Ture.
'You can wait wherever you like,' says Joel.
He opens the gate slowly. The house is in darkness.
Even so, he has the feeling that it's watching him. Like
a bird of prey waiting to pounce on him.
Cautiously, he moves closer. When he turns round, there
is no sign of Ture. He's hidden himself in the shadows.
In front of him is the wall and the climbing plants. In
winter there are only bare branches spreading all over
the wall like a big spider's web, but in summer the
whole wall is covered in green leaves.
He listens again.
He carefully inserts the shears between the wall and
the branches, and clips.
And again. And again.
A door opens and a light goes on. He's bathed in light
and his heart starts pounding.
No-Nose Gertrud is standing in the doorway, looking
at him. The black hole that ought to be a nose is gaping
wide. He notices that she is barefoot.
'What do you think you're doing?' she says.
It doesn't occur to Joel to run away.
She doesn't sound angry at all, he thinks. Not
frightened either. Just sad.
'Come here,' she says.
Joel glances at the gate, but Ture is nowhere to be
seen. He knows he ought to run away. She wouldn't be
able to catch up with him.
But he stays where he is even so.
'Come here,' she says again.
If only she'd sounded angry, thinks Joel. Then I could
have run away. But how can you run away from
somebody who just sounds sad?
He goes up to the door.
'Come into the kitchen where we can talk,' she says.
'It's so cold out here. I'm freezing.'
Joel knows he shouldn't go inside with her. He'll be
trapped if he does. But he can't help but go in anyway.
It's warm in her kitchen. He's standing in the middle
of the floor and doesn't know what to do with the pair of
shears.
She leaves the room. When she comes back he sees
she's stuffed a handkerchief into the hole under her eyes.
The dirty snow is dripping off Joel's boots. He tries to
stand in such a way that she can't see the pool. No-Nose
is wearing a black coat, and he can see that she only has
a nightgown underneath.
'Who are you?' she asks.
Joel doesn't answer.
I can invent a name, he thinks. Or I can say I'm
called Otto.
'I'm not going to hit you,' she says. 'Even though I'm
very strong. I just want to know why you're doing this.
One morning I find my kitchen full of ants. The next
morning I discover that somebody has killed my currant
bushes. They'll never have any berries again. And now
you are clipping off my climbing plants.
Create fear, Joel thinks. That's what Ture said.
Create sorrow is what he ought to have said.
And where is Ture now? He ought to have come to
rescue Joel. If any member of The Secret Society is
captured, other members have to help to set him free, of
course. You don't need to make a rule about that.
Joel doesn't know what to say. He stares down at the
floor and tries to hide the shears behind his back.
'Why?' she asks again.
'I want to go home now,' says Joel.
That is the only thing he can think of to say that is
absolutely true. Without warning she leaves the kitchen
again. A gramophone starts playing, and when she
reappears she's carrying a trombone. She stands in front
of him and starts playing, the same tune as on the
gramophone. She's stuffed a scarf into the bell of the
trombone, to muffle the sound. She sways in time to the
music, and Joel thinks she plays well – it sounds as if the
trombone is part of the gramophone record.
Then the needle gets stuck. There's a crackling
noise and the same notes are repeated over and over
again.
Gertrud does the same thing with her trombone. She's
watching him all the time. The same notes, over and
over again. Then she stamps on the floor, the needle
rights itself and the record plays to the end.
Afterwards, when everything is quiet, the sound of
the trombone is still echoing in Joel's ears.
'Why do you think I played?' she asks.
Joel shakes his head. He doesn't know.
'Just because you're deformed, it doesn't mean
you're an idiot,' she says. 'Even if you don't have a nose
you can learn how to blow and make the trombone sing.
If I'd still had a nose I don't suppose I'd ever have learnt
how to play the trombone . . . '
Then she smiles at him.
'Do you understand what I mean?' she asks.
Joel shakes his head again. No, he doesn't follow.
'I like redcurrants and blackcurrants,' she says. 'I like
to have leaves climbing up my wall in summer. I like
ants as well, but not when I find them in my kitchen in
winter.'
She puts the trombone down on the table.
Joel tries to imagine what it looked like when the
kitchen was full of ants.
'I know what people whisper about me,' she says. 'I
know a lot of people think I shouldn't be allowed to
walk around in the street like other folk. Perhaps they
think I ought to be shut up in a cage and put on show as
a freak? For ten years I couldn't bear to look at myself
in a mirror. Now I can. And I want my currant bushes
leaving in peace.'
It's easier now, thinks Joel, now that she sounds
angry. You can understand that.
'What's your name?' she asks.
'Joel Gustafson,' he says.
He regrets mentioning his surname the moment he's
said it. It would have been enough just to say Joel.
'Why did you do all this?'
How can you explain something you can't explain?
he wonders. Besides, it was Ture who said they must
create fear. Ture, who's no longer there. Ture, who hid
in the shadows and allowed Joel to be the only one who
was caught.
'I want to know,' she says.
She grabs hold of him by the shoulders and gives
him a good shake. He can feel that she's strong. Her
face is very close to his.
He can't help but stare at the handkerchief stuffed
into her nose. She shakes him very hard. Then she
drops her hands.
'Go now,' she says. 'But come back and tell me why
you did it once you've understood why yourself.'
She looks at him, with sadness in her eyes.
'Don't promise me to come,' she says. 'Promise
yourself. Go now. . . '
She shuts the door behind him.
As he goes out through the gate he can hear that she's
started playing the trombone again.
He looks round for Ture. No sign.
He can still hear the sound of the trombone coming
through the house walls. He wishes he'd told her the
facts. At the same time, he's relieved that she let him
go.
He runs down the street to the bridge. It's still thawing,
and he slips and almost falls.
As he crosses the bridge Ture suddenly emerges from
the shadows.
'I didn't expect that,' he says. 'That you'd get caught.'
Joel is furious now.
He hurls the shears down at Ture's feet.
'I'm glad you'll soon be running away,' he says.
Ture eyes him scornfully.
'Before I run away I'll make sure you climb over that
arch,' he says. 'You got caught before you did what
you'd promised to do.'
'I'll climb over the bridge tomorrow night,' says Joel.
'I'll stand on the top and pee all over you.'
Then he runs off. He can hear Ture laughing behind
him.
I shall climb over that arch, he thinks indignantly. I
shall climb up and stand at the very top and pee all over
his head. The Secret Society is mine, not his.
My task is to find a dog heading for a distant star. Not
creating fear in people who in fact only feel sorrow.
Ture is so odd, he thinks. He uses so many words. You
can never be sure what he's thinking. He's not like the
rest of us. No doubt he's rich. He doesn't go to school . . .
As he turns a corner The Old Bricklayer comes
driving past in his lorry. Joel stops and waves, but The
Old Bricklayer doesn't see him. Joel watches the red
rear lights gleaming like animals' eyes in the darkness.
Adventure, he thinks. This is where it's to be found!
Simon Windstorm, No-Nose, Four Winds Lake . . .
And the dog.
The dog running and running inside his head . . .
Samuel is snoring away in his room. Joel gets
undressed and creeps into bed.
Is he dreaming about the sea? Joel wonders. Dreaming
about Jenny or Sara? Or is he dreaming about me?
He looks at the hands of his alarm clock glowing in
the darkness.
Twenty-four hours from now he'll have climbed over
the iron bridge. Scrambled up one side of the arch, stood
up on top, unzipped his fly, and then scrambled down
the other side.
He'll show Ture von Swallow how you conquer a
bridge. Then Ture can run away if he wants, but he'll
never be able to claim that Joel Gustafson is a coward.
What was it he'd thought the first time he saw Ture on
the rock by the river?
That he was an unpleasant, smirking stranger? Somebody
who made him angry on sight? Well, now Joel will
show him. Joel will sort him. . .
He checks his alarm clock. Nearly two.
Climbing over the bridge arch is dangerous, he thinks.
It's not allowed because it's dangerous.
He suddenly feels scared. What has he let himself in
for?
Can he think up something else to do, so that he
doesn't need to climb? The only thing would be to take
the shears and cut back the rest of the plants growing up
No-Nose's wall.
But he can't do that. He would never be able to
survive seeing her open the door again and stand
barefoot on the cold steps.
Exhaustion is rolling over him in waves.
It's a long time to tomorrow, he thinks. So many
seconds that he can't possibly count them all.