Joel checks one of Samuel’s sea charts to see how the town of Hull is spelt. Joel knows for certain that Samuel once bought a hat there. So it must be possible to buy a tie there as well. There can’t be Hat Towns and Tie Towns, he thinks. And how could the Caviar Man know if Gertrud had been to Hull or not? If that’s a problem after they are married, they’ll have to sort it out by themselves.
‘I can’t do everything,’ Joel shouts into the empty kitchen.
They’ll have to do something themselves!
He puts the tie and the letter into the envelope.
When it comes to writing the name on the envelope, he very nearly makes the same mistake again. Nearly puts the Caviar Man instead of David.
But he writes: ‘Mr David Lundberg’.
That’s that. Later on he will put the letters in the appropriate letter boxes.
He peels the potatoes, fills a pan with water and sits down at the kitchen table to keep an eye on them and make sure they don’t boil over. Between now and Saturday there’s a big problem he has to solve. How is he going to be able to get into the Community Centre and make sure that Gertrud and the Caviar Man really do meet? He’ll have to find some way of sneaking inside and hiding. But how will he be able to manage that?
The next day everything is back to normal at school. Miss Nederström is in a good mood, and everybody seems to have forgotten that the previous day she had twisted Joel’s ear. Moreover, Otto is ill, so Joel doesn’t have to put up with his sneering face.
After school Joel cycles to the Community Centre. He rides round the building five times, trying to find a good solution to his problem.
What would Geronimo have done? Joel wonders. How would he have tricked his way into the fort?
Joel tries to think the way Geronimo would have thought. If it had been a question of defending the fort, he would have tried to think his way into General Custer’s mind. Red Indians were best at capturing forts, but the white soldiers were best at defending them.
What would Geronimo have done?
Joel dismounted and studied the fort. The Community Centre Fort. In the display cases outside the entrance were film posters. Just now there was a romantic film running, starring Vivien Leigh and Gary Cooper. Joel imagined Vivien Leigh without a nose, and Gary Cooper with blond hair like the Caviar Man. Then the film could have been about Gertrud and the Caviar Man.
A notice in the next display case announced that Kringström’s orchestra would be playing at the dance on Saturday evening.
That gave Joel his idea.
Kringström would help Joel to get into the Community Centre Fort.
Joel knew that Kringström lived in the same block of flats as the Greyhound, Eva-Lisa. She had told Joel that when Kringström wasn’t performing somewhere with his orchestra, all he did was listen to gramophone records. He used to play them so loudly that all his neighbours had complained. So he had built a room inside a room so that no noise could escape through the walls of his flat.
Kringström played the clarinet and saxophone. But if anybody in his orchestra was ill, he could stand in for them and play any instrument you liked.
A brilliant idea occurred to Joel.
Not even Geronimo could have thought of a better plan!
Joel cycled up the hill to the block of flats where Kringström lived. As he didn’t want the Greyhound to see him and start asking awkward questions, Joel sneaked in through the back door as quickly as he could. Kringström lived on the ground floor. Joel rang the bell. But perhaps Kringström was in his soundproof room listening to gramophone records? If no sound could leak out of there, perhaps no sound could get in either? Such as the doorbell. Joel rang again. Should he hammer on the door instead? Perhaps the neighbours would come to investigate and wonder what was going on? He rang once more. The door opened, and Kringström appeared, in dressing gown and slippers, even though it was late afternoon.
‘Ah, good afternoon,’ said Joel. ‘I’d like to speak to Mr Kringström, please.’
Kringström adjusted his glasses, which had been up on his forehead, and eyed Joel up and down.
‘I don’t want to buy anything,’ he said.
‘I’m not selling anything,’ said Joel. ‘I want to learn to play the saxophone.’
‘You don’t say,’ said Kringström. ‘The saxophone? Not the guitar, like everybody else?’
‘No,’ said Joel. ‘I want to learn to play the saxophone.’
‘Well I never!’ said Kringström. ‘Come in so that I can have a good look at you!’
He stepped to one side and ushered Joel in.
Joel knew that Kringström lived alone. He had been married and divorced lots of times. He had a reputation of being a womaniser, even though he was over fifty and nearly bald. It was even said that he’d had a relationship with the scary Eulalia Mörker.
But now he lived alone again. Joel entered the flat and had the impression he was in a music shop. There were gramophone records everywhere. Mainly 78s in brown covers. But there were also some LPs and some little EPs. The walls were covered in shelves. Where there were no records, there were instrument cases. Joel followed Kringström into another room — and here was the room within a room. In the middle of the floor, like a ticket office. No windows. Just a door. Kringström removed a pile of records from a chair and invited Joel to sit down.
Joel told him his name. He tried to be as polite as he possibly could.
‘The saxophone, eh?’ said Kringström, scratching his nose. ‘Why don’t you want to learn how to play the guitar like everybody else?’
‘I think the saxophone sounds best,’ said Joel. ‘Almost like an organ.’
Kringström nodded.
‘And you want me to teach you, is that it?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ said Joel.
Kringström sighed.
‘I don’t have the time,’ he said. ‘But I think I’m the only person in this dump who can play the saxophone.’
‘We don’t need to start right away,’ said Joel. ‘I don’t think I can afford a saxophone yet.’
Kringström flung out his arms.
‘You can borrow a saxophone from me,’ he said. ‘But I don’t know if I can teach you, even though I play it myself.’
Kringström reached down to pick up the shiny golden saxophone lying on the floor beside him.
He handed it to Joel.
‘Blow!’ he said. ‘See if you can get a sound out of it!’
Joel raised the mouthpiece to his lips and blew. All that came out was a hissing sound. He tried again, blew as hard as he could. Now there was a little squeak, as if somebody had stood on a cat’s tail.
Kringström shook his head.
‘Give it to me,’ he said.
And he played. The tune resounded round the room. The windowpanes rattled. Notes ran up and down, as if they were racing up and down stairs.
Somebody banged loudly on one of the walls. Kringström stopped playing immediately.
‘They don’t understand music,’ he said sadly.
‘We could practise round at my place,’ said Joel. ‘The woman who lives below us is nearly deaf.’
‘I’ll think it over,’ said Kringström. ‘We don’t need to decide anything here and now.’
Now came the crucial moment. Joel would have to ask the most important question.
‘Could I perhaps sit behind the orchestra and listen?’ he asked. ‘When the orchestra’s performing?’
‘Of course you can,’ said Kringström. ‘But we shan’t be performing until Saturday.’
‘Yes, at the Community Centre,’ said Joel. ‘Could I sit behind you and listen then?’
Kringström smiled.
‘If you help us to carry the instruments in,’ he said.