In the end, Simon threw down his pencil, turned to look at Joel, and smiled.
‘That’s better,’ he said. ‘Now the book finishes as it ought to do.’
‘Are you allowed to make whatever changes you like in books?’ Joel wondered.
‘Allowed and allowed,’ said Simon, scratching at his beard. ‘I don’t bother about such minor matters.’
Joel sat down on a stool by the table. Simon peered at him. It occurred to Joel that Simon might not have heard about the accident. Simon didn’t speak to many people, apart from Joel.
Simon could well be the only person in the whole of the little town who had heard nothing about the accident.
Joel told him what had happened. Simon frowned and listened. Joel moved his stool further back from the table, as Simon smelled unusually awful today.
Maybe that could be a good deed? he thought.
Making sure that Simon took a proper bath.
But he rejected the thought. It could be a dangerous suggestion to make. Simon might start throwing hens around.
‘I have to think up a good deed,’ said Joel. ‘If you’ve benefited from a miracle, you have to do a good deed.’
‘I suppose you must,’ said Simon slowly. ‘What you’ve told me was awful!’
‘I don’t have any pain at all,’ said Joel. ‘I didn’t even bite my tongue.’
He suddenly noticed that Simon had tears in his eyes.
He had never seen that before.
Joel felt a lump in his throat.
‘Awful,’ Simon muttered. ‘Awful, awful...’
‘It was my own fault really,’ said Joel. ‘I wasn’t looking where I was going.’
A hen fluttered up onto the table and deposited a large lump of bird poo in the middle of the page Simon had just rewritten. Joel couldn’t help but giggle.
Simon wiped the tears from his eyes, and smiled as well.
‘She’s given it her seal of approval,’ he said.
‘A good deed,’ said Joel, still giggling. ‘How do you think up a suitable good deed?’
‘We must have a think,’ said Simon. ‘I think it’s best if we put our glasses on.’
Joel had forgotten all about that. Simon’s Thinking Glasses.
They looked like ordinary glasses. The only difference was that the lenses were painted black. When you had them on, you couldn’t see anything.
Simon stood up and looked round the room.
‘I wonder where I’ve put them,’ he mumbled. He turned to look at Joel. ‘Where would I usually put my glasses?’ he asked.
‘On a shelf,’ suggested Joel, recalling where his dad usually put his glasses.
Simon nodded.
‘A shelf,’ he said. ‘Where is there a shelf?’
Joel looked round. There were no shelves in the room.
‘In the pantry,’ he suggested. ‘There are shelves in there.’
‘You’re right,’ said Simon. ‘There are shelves in the pantry.’
He vanished into the pantry. Joel could hear the clashing of dishes and the clattering of pans. The clinking of empty bottles and the rustling of paper bags. Then Joel heard a triumphant yell, and Simon reappeared with two pairs of glasses in his hand.
‘Now we can think,’ he said. ‘And if that doesn’t help, we can take the Seven-Windowed Wagon and drive out to the Four Winds Lake.’
The Seven-Windowed Wagon was his ancient lorry. Simon claimed he’d named it after the king’s finest coach.
They each put on the glasses. They were really old motorbike goggles that fitted tightly on all sides. Everything was black, even though they hadn’t closed their eyes.
‘So, let’s have a think,’ said Simon.
There wasn’t a sound. The elkhound was snoozing under the table. A hen was pecking in a corner.
Joel tried to concentrate on thinking up a good deed.
In fact, he was finding it very hard not to start giggling again.
That was something he’d noticed recently. Whenever something serious was happening, he found it very hard not to start giggling. It was as if an invisible hand had started tickling the soles of his feet.
As soon as he thought about it, he started giggling.
I mustn’t giggle, he told himself sternly.
That set him off giggling uncontrollably. The giggles just seemed to come bubbling up out of his mouth. As if they’d been flowing over a mass of giggles he had buried inside himself.
Simon will be angry, he thought.
It didn’t help. He giggled away even so.
But Simon wasn’t angry. Joel had the feeling that Simon was one of the very rare grown-ups who hadn’t forgotten what it was like to be nearly twelve years old.
There weren’t many who hadn’t forgotten.
His dad, Samuel, had forgotten. But not Gertrud.
Miss Nederström had forgotten. But not Simon Windstorm.
‘This is no good,’ said Simon. ‘We might as well take our glasses off.’
Joel loosened the strap round the back of his neck securing the goggles.
‘We’ll have to drive out to Four Winds Lake,’ said Simon.
In normal circumstances Joel would have been overjoyed to go with Simon to the mysterious lake hidden deep in the forest. He loved clambering into the passenger seat beside Simon.
But not today.
Today there was something holding him back.
It was as if Joel had become scared of big motor vehicles.
If he was a passenger in the big lorry, he could hardly be run over.
But perhaps they might run over somebody else?
No, he didn’t want to go in the lorry today.
‘I haven’t time,’ he mumbled. ‘I have an appointment with my dad.’
Simon nodded.
‘I’m sorry I can’t help you,’ he said. ‘But perhaps the bottom line is that you have to think of a good deed yourself.’
Joel left.
It had stopped raining. Ragged clouds were scudding over the sky.
He took a wrong turning in the middle of the labyrinth, and ended up outside Simon’s house again.
He felt angry, but set off once more. This time he made no mistake. The fir trees became less dense, and he emerged onto the main road.
Now he was tired of thinking about good deeds. He wished he’d been able to chase them off like you scare off a swarm of mosquitoes by flapping and waving your arms about.
If only that idiot Eklund hadn’t been driving so carelessly, he thought. Then I wouldn’t have had to experience that miracle.
I have no time to mess about with good deeds, Joel thought. I have to find myself a good friend. And I want to be a better football player.
I haven’t got the time.
He trudged homewards, kicking the gravel so hard that he hurt his toes.
Joel felt sorry for himself.
He didn’t have a mother. Nor did he have any close friends. All he had was Simon Windstorm, who smelled something awful, and Gertrud, who didn’t have a nose.
There were so many things he didn’t have.
I’m like Gertrud, he thought. She doesn’t have a nose, and I don’t have a mum...
He suddenly stopped dead, in the middle of the road.
Perhaps he’d just had a brilliant idea for a good deed.
He couldn’t help Gertrud to find a new nose.
But it was obvious that she needed a man!
She was thirty years old, and unmarried. She didn’t have any children.
Perhaps he could help her to find a husband!
That was it!
The good deed he would perform was to find a man for Gertrud. So that she didn’t need to spend her evenings all alone. A man she could marry.
But where would he be able to find such a man?
It didn’t take him long to find the answer to that.
The bar! Where Sara worked! Lots of men sat there all day long, drinking beer. He’d heard Sara complaining to Samuel that there were far too many unmarried men spending all their time in the bar when they weren’t at work, drinking beer.