He stood in the doorway of Samuel’s room.
‘When will my beard start to grow?’ he asked.
Samuel lowered his newspaper and stared at him in surprise.
‘Why do you ask that?’
‘I just wondered.’
‘You’ll have to wait for a few years yet,’ said Samuel, returning to his newspaper. ‘Think yourself lucky. You don’t have to worry about getting shaved.’
‘I’m going to grow a long beard,’ said Joel. ‘I’m never going to shave.’
He went back to his room.
There was nothing he could do.
His big plan was in ruins.
Not even General Custer could help him. When he stood before the strict general and tried to explain how he had lost the letter containing the vital information, he couldn’t think of anything to say.
The general passed sentence on the spot. Joel would be shot at dawn, when the first rays of sun turned the prairie red...
And all this was due to him not looking both ways before running across the street outside the bar. If Eklund had only turned up ten seconds sooner or ten seconds later, nothing would have happened.
Joel used to think that what made a day exciting was when something unexpected happened. Now he wasn’t so sure any more. You ought to know about some events before they happened. And you should also be able to forbid certain things from happening.
He wondered if he ought to say a prayer.
Not because he thought it would help. But there was no harm in trying. Perhaps Miracle People had certain rights that other people didn’t have?
He put his hands together and mumbled a prayer, as fast as he could.
‘Dear God, please make the Caviar Man come to the birdbath on Saturday. Amen.’
He regretted it immediately.
Perhaps God didn’t like the idea of people who didn’t really believe in him saying prayers. Maybe it was a bit like cheating when you were playing cards?
There was nothing he could do.
He went into Samuel’s room. His dad had taken off his socks and was clipping his toenails.
‘Are you still wandering around and swearing?’ Samuel asked.
‘No,’ said Joel. ‘But I want to tell you something I want for my twelfth birthday.’
‘Are you really going to be twelve next?’ said Samuel. ‘Good heavens, but time flies!’
‘Can I?’
‘Ask for whatever you want. As long as it’s not too expensive.’
‘It costs nothing,’ said Joel.
‘Good,’ said Samuel. ‘What do you want?’
‘I want us to move,’ said Joel. ‘Now. Soon.’
Samuel stopped clipping his toenails and eyed Joel up and down.
‘To the sea,’ said Joel. ‘I want you to become a sailor again, and to take me with you. I want us to move now.’
‘Not until you’ve finished school,’ said Samuel. ‘Then we can move, perhaps. But not before.’
‘I’ve learnt enough,’ said Joel. ‘I want us to move now.’
Samuel gave him a searching look.
‘Has something happened to make you want to move now?’ he asked.
Joel very nearly came out with the truth. Explained everything that had happened. But something stopped him. He didn’t want to reveal what a thoughtless rusty tin can he really was. Maybe Samuel might say it was impossible to take such an empty-headed fool with him to sea? He couldn’t afford to risk that.
‘Nothing has happened,’ said Joel. ‘Nothing ever happens here, except when I get run over by the Ljusdal bus.’
‘That’s not something to joke about,’ said Samuel. His voice was suddenly as sharp as Miss Nederström’s.
Joel didn’t like that voice. It frightened him.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Joel. ‘Of course we’ll have to wait until I’ve finished school before we move.’
‘Exactly,’ said Samuel. ‘Then we shall see.’
His voice was back to normal again now. A bit rough and hoarse. Just as Joel was used to hearing it.
Joel got undressed and settled down in bed.
In order not to think about the Caviar Man and the letter, he decided he would tell himself a story. He searched his brain for stories he’d started before, but never finished.
There was one about how he was looking for a secret tree in the depths of the forest, not far from Four Winds Lake. A map was buried at the foot of this tree. If he found it, he’d be able to sail to The Forgotten Island. A big island somewhere in the Indian Ocean. An island that could only be found by somebody who had the map.
That was a good story. It could have no end of endings.
When Samuel had been in to say goodnight, Joel curled up and closed his eyes. Now he is no longer in bed. It’s a summer’s morning, soon after school has broken up. He’s sitting in the front seat, next to Simon Windstorm, and they’re on their way to Four Winds Lake. Simon doesn’t smell foul any longer. He’s newly bathed and perfectly clean. He’ll soon stop the lorry and drop Joel off. Joel has to look for the secret tree by himself. Simon is merely his chauffeur. He obeys Joel’s slightest gesture. The window is open and a butterfly starts flying in circles round Joel’s face. It’s no ordinary butterfly. Joel soon discovers that the pattern on its wings is not a haphazard mixture of colours. There is a message written on those wings. A mysterious message indicating where he should go in order to find the secret tree. Joel follows every movement the butterfly makes. The message on its wing is beginning to make sense...
Joel falls asleep.
The Caviar Man can’t reach Joel in his dreams. Big swarms of butterflies keep watch over Joel’s slumber.
Samuel tiptoes into the dark room and tucks Joel in.
Then he leaves the kitchen door ajar, so that a narrow strip of light wanders over the floor and settles on Joel’s face.
Two days later, it’s Saturday.
Joel has woken up early. Despite not having been woken up by anybody.
He knows straight away that it’s Saturday, and that he doesn’t have to go to school.
He pulls the covers over his head, and tries to imagine that it’s Sunday instead. That Saturday never existed. A day that was missed out, and nobody noticed. But when Samuel starts clattering about with the coffee pot in the kitchen, it’s still Saturday. Joel sits up.
What the hell am I going to do? he thinks.
Shall I go there tonight, and hide behind the woodshed?
Or shall I just forget all about it?
He tumbles out of bed and gets dressed. There are holes in his underpants, and in one of his socks. When he raises the blind, he sees that it’s frosty outside again. Red leaves seem to glow against the white background.
There’s a mumbling and bumbling coming from the kitchen.
Samuel is trying to button up his shirt.
He and Sara are going off in a car today. They’re going to visit a friend of Samuel’s who’s celebrating his fortieth birthday. Samuel has borrowed a car from Nyberg, the bouncer. Sara fixed it. The intention was that Joel should go as well, but he’s said that he’d prefer to stay at home. He still hasn’t been able to make up his mind whether he should hide behind the woodshed in horse dealer Under’s garden, or not. He’s done everything he could think of in order to help him reach a decision. He’s tried drawing the shortest straw — if he draws the short one three times in succession, he hides behind the woodshed. If not, he forgets about it. He’s borrowed Samuel’s pack of cards and tried cutting in various ways in order to decide. At least four cards out of ten must be spades. In that case he’ll hide behind the woodshed. But that didn’t work either. He’s tried counting paving stones and jumping over the cracks, but that didn’t help. And so he told Samuel that he’d prefer to stay at home.
‘I’m busy inventing a game,’ he told Samuel. ‘I thought I’d take it to school on Monday and show it to Miss Nederström.’