In the end, just as he was about to give up, he found the solution.
Mr Under’s, the horse dealer’s, garden.
It was big, there were lots of trees, and Mr Under had nothing against other people besides himself strolling about in it. There was also a little birdbath, which was the nearest to a statue you could find in this place.
In addition, Mr Under wasn’t at home. Every autumn he used to travel south in order to buy horses.
Joel could hide behind the woodshed. It was only a few metres from there to the birdbath.
So that was that! They’d meet at eight o’clock on Saturday evening.
So now he needed to write the two letters. To make sure the handwriting was different, he wrote Gertrud’s letter with his right hand and the Caviar Man’s with his left. The one from the Caviar Man was hardest to write: the letters kept wandering off in all directions and he got cramp in his fingers. But eventually, they were done.
He read through what he had written.
Gertrud’s letter first:
‘Meet me by the birdbath in the horse dealer’s garden at eight o’clock on Saturday evening. If you aren’t there, I shall suffer the thorn of despair. A secret admirer.’
Joel wasn’t sure about the ‘thorn of despair’. He’d stolen the phrase from one of the poems. But what did it mean? He’d chosen it because the poem was written by a woman.
The letter written by the Caviar Man was longer. Joel assumed that men wrote longer letters than women. But maybe it was the other way round in reality?
‘Oh, fondest love of my heart. Meet me at the birdbath at eight o’clock on Saturday evening. I’m aching to meet you after a thousand years of longing. I kiss your tears. Will you drive me to despair? A secret admirer.’
Joel wasn’t sure about ‘fondest’ — wouldn’t it be better to say ‘dearest’? But that was what it said in the poem, so no doubt it was right.
He folded the letters and sealed the envelopes.
At that moment, Samuel entered the room.
‘Are you writing letters?’ he asked.
‘I’ve ordered some catalogues,’ said Joel.
‘I haven’t written a letter for ages,’ said Samuel. Joel thought he sounded sad about that.
‘You can write to me,’ he said. ‘I promise to answer.’
Samuel smiled.
‘It’s late,’ he said. ‘Time to go to bed if you’re going to be able to get up for school tomorrow morning.’
Joel had intended to take his bike before going to bed, and post the messages in Gertrud’s and the Caviar Man’s letter boxes. But he was too tired. He’d have to wait until the next day.
It was cold the next evening.
There was a crackling noise from under his tyres when Joel set off. He parked his bike by the railway bridge and ran the rest of the way to Gertrud’s house. He paused outside the gate. He could see her shadow outlined against the curtains.
So, now I’m going to do my good deed, he thought, and put the letter into the box fastened to the gatepost.
When he came to Lasse the Cabbie’s back yard, everything was calm and quiet. Joel had left his bike in a side street, and crept forward cautiously through the shadows. Now he was General Custer’s messenger again, sneaking through enemy territory with a message that could mean life or death to the recipient.
There were two letter boxes attached to the fence. He bent down, and managed to make out the names even though the streetlight was a long way away.
Then he slid the letter into the slot.
He had to be certain that he hadn’t made a mistake, as the letter box was secured with a little padlock.
So, he’d done it at last!
On Saturday night his good deed would be complete. Then he could concentrate on his geography game. Become a better football player, and find himself a real friend.
He cycled back home. The streets were deserted. He met only one car, outside the Grand Hotel.
He parked his bike in its stand.
Then it dawned on him what he had done.
He froze stiff.
He hadn’t written David Lundberg on the envelope.
He’d written the Caviar Man.
‘To the Caviar Man from a secret admirer.’
How could David know that he was the Caviar Man? Besides, he might not be too pleased about being compared with caviar.
Damn and blast, Joel thought.
I’m an idiot, idiot, idiot!
Everything is ruined.
He sat down on the freezing cold steps outside the front door.
How on earth could he have written Caviar Man on the envelope?
How could he possibly have been so stupid?
8
That evening Joel realised that there is no anger greater than the anger you direct at yourself.
He had never been so furious with himself as he was now.
Even his father wondered what was the matter with him.
‘What are you wandering around and muttering at?’ he asked.
‘I’m swearing,’ said Joel.
Samuel looked at him in surprise.
‘Why?’
‘Why not?’ said Joel.
‘There’s usually a reason for swearing,’ said Samuel. ‘I swear when I stumble in the forest. Or twist my ankle. Or hit myself on the thumb.’
‘I’ve hit myself on the head,’ said Joel.
Samuel looked worried.
‘Have you fallen off your bike?’ he asked.
‘I’ve hit myself inside my head,’ said Joel.
Then he went to his room and slammed the door behind him.
Samuel could see it was best to leave Joel in peace. He went back to his armchair and continued reading the newspaper.
Joel got his own back on himself by eating all the pastilles he had left. All 72 of them. If he got stomachache as a result, that would serve him right for being so stupid as to write the Caviar Man on the letter to David.
Thoughtlessness, that’s what it was. He’d learnt that from Miss Nederström. If you did something stupid you were thoughtless.
It was a good word. It meant that your head was empty. Your skull was no more than a tin can on which there happened to be a pair of blue eyes, a nose and a mouth. And tousled hair. A rusty tin can by the name of Joel Gustafson. A rusty, thoughtless tin can.
Of course David wouldn’t go to the birdbath on Saturday evening. He would read the letter twenty times without understanding a thing. Then he’d tear it into little pieces and throw it into the wastepaper basket. At best he would forget all about it. At worst, he would start thinking. No doubt the Barefooted Man had told him about the peculiar kid brother who’d paid a visit to the Underworld. He would realise right away that it was an imposter. Then he would start searching the town for him.
It was clear to Joel that he would have to change his appearance. Dress up as somebody else. But what would he say when Miss Nederström asked him why he looked different? What would Samuel say? And his classmates?
And Otto! Needless to say, Otto would put two and two together. Nobody was as good as Otto when it came to ferreting out facts. He’d tip off the Caviar Man, Joel would be captured and thrown into the jaws of the beast of prey. He would be a human sacrifice in the mouth of the Lord of the Fire.
Joel went to the kitchen and tried to change his appearance in the cracked shaving mirror. He sprinkled water onto his hair and tried to make a parting. But his hair just stood on end, no matter how wet he made it. Water ran down inside his shirt collar and formed pools on the floor. He put on his father’s spare pair of reading glasses that he found on a shelf. But no matter how hard he tried, they simply slid down his nose the moment he moved.
You ought to be able to change your sex, he thought. One day Joel, the next Joella.