But he couldn’t tell Samuel about it. His dad wouldn’t understand a thing. And he might well become very angry.
The next morning Joel woke up very early. He’d had a nightmare. When he opened his eyes in the darkness, he couldn’t remember what he’d dreamt. Perhaps he’d been on fire again? He looked at the alarm clock on a stool beside his bed: a quarter past six. As it was Sunday, he didn’t need to get up. He could stay in his warm bed all day if he wanted to. He could hear Samuel snoring on the other side of the dividing wall.
There was a crunching noise in the wall next to his ear. A woodmouse was busy gnawing away at something or other. Joel tried to go back to sleep. He closed his eyes, and now he was out in the forest again. He still hadn’t found that secret tree. But he knew now that it was very close by. A squirrel was sitting on a branch, looking at him. There was something odd about that squirrel. And then Joel realised that it was in fact a monkey...
He opened his eyes again. He couldn’t concentrate on looking for that secret tree. All of a sudden Gertrud appeared, in the middle of his story, and gave him a box on the ear.
Joel got up and dressed. Then he went to the kitchen and drank a glass of milk. It would soon start getting light. Then he could go out. He enjoyed cycling around town on a Sunday morning. There was never anybody about. He could imagine that he was the only individual still alive. He was the ruler of the Waste Land...
It was chilly outside. The saddle was wet. He could hear Simon Windstorm’s lorry in the distance. So it’s started again, he thought. Simon can’t get to sleep at night. The sound of the lorry annoyed Joel. He didn’t want to see Simon Windstorm just now. He wanted to be left in peace.
He wondered why it was so easy to think when he was on his bike. What did the wheels have to do with his head? Were they a sort of dynamo that set his thoughts in motion?
He hissed at himself.
Why did he have so many silly thoughts? Had he inherited that from his mother, Jenny? If so, perhaps it was just as well that she had run away?
He stopped outside the bar and dismounted. The ‘Closed’ notice was displayed. The bar didn’t open until one o’clock on a Sunday. But the beery locals used to gather outside at about twelve. They often had bottles of the hard stuff in their inside pockets that they used to share before Ludde removed the ‘Closed’ notice and unlocked the door.
Maybe it would have been better if a Miracle hadn’t happened, he thought dejectedly. Then at least I wouldn’t have been slapped by Gertrud.
He remounted his bike and started pedalling as fast as he could. He was being chased by a terrifying gang of murderers. He could feel them panting on the back of his neck. Faster! He had to go faster, faster...
He had a puncture outside the post office. There was a swishing noise, and his front tyre went flat. When he examined the wheel, he saw that a nail had got stuck in the tyre. A big, rusty nail.
I’ll get rid of this damned bike, he thought. He was furious.
I’ll wheel it as far as the bridge and throw it into the river.
Then he heard somebody shouting. He looked round. There was nobody there. Then there came another shout. Somebody was waving to him from an upstairs window over the post office. That was where the Swedish Telegraph Office was. Joel could see that it was Asta. Asta Bagge was the local manager for Swedish Telegraph. Was she shouting at him? He wheeled his bike over the street. Asta had fiery red hair, and was so thin you had to suspect that she ran herself through the mangle every morning after getting up. Joel didn’t know anybody as flat as Asta Bagge.
‘Can you do me a favour?’ she shouted to him.
‘Of course,’ Joel said.
‘Go round to the back,’ Asta shouted. ‘And up the stairs. The door’s not locked.’
Joel leaned his bike against the wall and went round the corner. He’d never been in the Telegraph premises before. When he opened the door and went in, Asta was sitting in front of the big telephone exchange, and connecting a long-distance call.
‘Go ahead, Karlskrona,’ she said into the microphone hanging in front of her face. Then she flicked a little black switch, and stood up.
‘It’s a good job I saw you,’ she said. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Joel Gustafson,’ said Joel.
‘Now you can do me a favour,’ said Asta. ‘I’ll give you a little reward for your trouble. Do you know where I live?’
‘No,’ said Joel.
‘There’s a house behind the bakery,’ said Asta. ‘A red one.’
Joel knew the one she was talking about.
‘I think I forgot to switch off the cooker when I came to work,’ said Asta. ‘Take these keys and hurry over to my flat and check for me, please. Don’t forget to lock up again when you leave.’
Joel hurried off. Now he was the only one who could stop the raging prairie fire from spreading to the pioneers’ camp. They would lose everything if he didn’t get there in time...
He unlocked the door and went into Asta’s flat. There was a smell of perfume. Perfume and honey. He wiped his feet and looked round for the kitchen. He noticed the corner of a draining board through a door standing ajar. He opened the door wide. The cooker certainly was on. One of the hotplates was red hot. He switched it off. Then he explored the little flat. There was a smell of perfume everywhere. Joel imagined that he was a burglar. He was looking for money that was hidden somewhere, but he didn’t know where. And jewellery. He avoided touching anything, so as not to leave any fingerprints. A row of photographs in brown frames was lined up on a bureau. Children stared at him, wide-eyed. An old man was sitting on a bench by a house wall. A poodle was wagging its tail. Joel opened the door to Asta’s bedroom. The bed was unmade. The smell of perfume was even stronger inside there.
There was something odd about the flat, but Joel couldn’t put his finger on it. He looked round. Now he was the detective, searching for clues that the burglar had left behind. He suspected the culprit might be the notorious Joel Gustafson. The master thief who had never been caught.
Then he realised what was odd about the flat. There was no telephone. Asta was in charge of the Telegraph Office, but she didn’t have a telephone of her own! It was a mystery. He went through the rooms one more time. The hotplate was no longer red. There was no sign of a telephone anywhere.
He took another look at the photograph of the poodle. Then he left, locking the door carefully behind him.
He checked three times, to make sure.
When he got back to the Telegraph Office, Asta was sitting at the switchboard knitting. The earphones were hanging round her neck.
‘The cooker was on, in fact,’ Joel said.
‘How awful!’ said Asta. ‘That’s never happened before. The place could have burnt down.’
She opened her purse and took out two one-krona coins. Two kronor just for switching off a cooker? Joel bowed politely when she gave him the money. Perhaps that was a job he could have when he grew up? A cooker turner-offer? If he got two kronor every time, he’d soon be so rich that he’d be able to buy the Pontiac in Krage’s showroom.
Joel stared curiously at the big telephone exchange. Somebody rang again, and Asta connected the call. He asked and she explained how it worked. Joel soon thought he’d be able to connect calls himself.
Things quietened down again, and Asta took off the earphones.
‘Is the exchange open at night as well?’ Joel asked.
‘It’s always open,’ said Asta. ‘I’ll have the night shift next week. There are three of us who take it in turns. We have a bed in the back room over there where we can sleep. But somebody always has to be here in case a call comes through. It could be an emergency. Somebody might be ill. Somebody might be about to give birth and need a taxi.’