There was another ring. Asta answered, and connected the caller to the number requested. Then came three more calls at the same time. Asta connected them. Somebody wanted to speak to Stockholm. Asta connected. And connected. And connected.
Joel saw a local telephone directory lying on a table. He leafed through it. He came to the letter ‘L’. Then he saw the name Lundberg, David. Telephone number 135.
The Caviar Man had a telephone!
Joel dropped the directory as if it had burnt his fingers.
Asta hadn’t noticed anything. ‘You’re through to Stockholm,’ she said into the microphone.
‘Do many people ring during the night?’ Joel asked when she had removed the headphones again.
‘Hardly anybody rings after midnight,’ she said, picking up her knitting again. Joel could see that it was going to be a child’s jumper.
‘I’d better be going now,’ said Joel.
‘Thank you for your help,’ said Asta. Then it rang again.
Joel wheeled his bike home. He had a repair kit in the cellar, and would be able to mend the tyre. But it wasn’t the bicycle he was thinking about as he walked. The Caviar Man had a telephone! That damned numbskull who had spied on Gertrud and then cursed and sneaked away. Slunk away like a cowardly dog.
Joel had decided that it was all the Caviar Man’s fault.
He stopped dead.
He would get his revenge on the Caviar Man. That would be the good deed he would do so that he needn’t worry about the Miracle any more. He would get his revenge on the Caviar Man for having spied on Gertrud and sworn at her. It would be a good deed — nobody would know that Joel had done it. But perhaps that didn’t matter? Surely the main thing was that the good deed had been carried out? Surely a good deed could be as invisible as God? After all, everybody talked about God, but nobody had seen him, had they?
Joel started walking again.
He was thinking about Asta and her telephone exchange.
By the time he got home and opened the gate, he’d made up his mind. He knew now how he was going to get his revenge on the Caviar Man. Then Gertrud would understand that he had meant well when he wrote those secret letters. Everything would return to normal.
Two days later, on Tuesday, Samuel went away. He was going elk-hunting and would be away for two days and nights. He had suggested that Joel should live at Sara’s place while he was away, but Joel had objected. He could look after himself. Samuel had eventually given way. Joel had promised to have dinner with Sara those two evenings.
‘But what will you do if you have nightmares?’ Samuel had asked.
‘Then I’ll go round to Sara’s,’ said Joel.
‘You’re a clever lad,’ he said. ‘I’ve never really thought about it before, but the fact is, you can manage on your own as well as a grown-up.’
Joel felt proud.
As well as a grown-up, Samuel had said.
Perhaps that’s what happens when you’re forced to be your own mother?
On Tuesday afternoon Samuel came home from the forest earlier than usual. He’d already packed his rucksack that morning. The big rifle was lying in its case on the kitchen bench. It seemed to Joel that Samuel was acting like a child on Christmas Eve. Could it really be that much fun, standing in the freezing cold forest and hoping that an elk would come lumbering past? Samuel went elk-hunting every year. He always returned home without having shot an elk. He hadn’t even seen one. It was always somebody else in the hunting party who’d shot the beast.
A horn sounded in the street below.
‘Are you sure you’ll be able to manage?’ Samuel asked.
‘Of course,’ said Joel. ‘Off you go now! Go and shoot an elk!’
When he reached the street Samuel turned round and waved to Joel, who was standing in the window. Then he clambered into the waiting car, and they set off.
Joel had thought out his plan in detail. He’d packed a rucksack and hidden it under his bed. When it was time to go to Sara’s, he put on his boots and jacket, and set off. It had become a bit warmer. But it was drizzling.
Sara had made meatballs. Joel thought it was important that he didn’t eat too much. If he did, it would make him tired. The meatballs were lovely, but he forced himself not to eat too many.
‘Didn’t you like them?’ asked Sara, looking disappointed.
‘Yes, they were very good,’ said Joel. ‘But I’ve eaten so many.’
It was ice cream for afters. He found it hard not to eat too much.
Sara was still looking worried.
‘Don’t you feel well?’ she asked.
‘I’m just a bit tired,’ said Joel. ‘I’ll go home and go to bed early tonight.’
‘Are you sure you don’t want to sleep here?’ Sara asked.
‘I always sleep best in my own bed,’ said Joel.
‘You’re a remarkable little man,’ said Sara, shaking her head. ‘Anybody would think you were a grown-up already.’
Joel was back home by eight o’clock. He went into Samuel’s room and fetched a blanket. Then he lay down on top of his bed with the blanket over him. He’d set the alarm clock for midnight. He’d moved the stool further away, so that he’d be forced to get out of bed in order to switch it off when it rang. He tossed and turned for ages before falling asleep.
He woke up with a start when the alarm went off. His head was buzzing, and he couldn’t remember why he’d woken up. Then it dawned on him. He was wide awake in a flash. To build up his strength before his nocturnal expedition, he went to the pantry and ate a few spoonfuls of jam. Then he crept cautiously down the stairs and out into the street.
The sky was covered by heavy clouds. It was raining. He hurried towards the Telegraph Office. Then he heard Simon Windstorm’s lorry approaching. He managed to hide himself in the shadows until it had gone past. Once this was all over, he’d pay another visit to Simon. Once he’d done his good deed and could forget all about ever having been involved in a Miracle...
The lights were on in the Telegraph Office windows. He crept along in the shadows to the back of the building and made his way to the door. It wasn’t locked. He walked slowly up the stairs, counting them as he went. When he came to the ninth step he paused and heaved himself up onto the twelfth with the help of the banister rail. He’d noticed the first time he’d walked up those stairs that the tenth and eleventh steps creaked. He listened in the darkness outside the door. A faint strip of light shone onto the landing through the crack underneath the door. He peeped in through the keyhole. The chair in front of the telephone exchange was empty. He turned the handle ever so carefully and opened the door. He could hear snores coming from the back room. He closed the door and carefully took off his rucksack. Then he tiptoed to the door of the back room. Asta Bagge was lying on top of the bed, asleep. The blue jumper she’d been knitting had fallen on the floor. Joel closed the door again. Then he hurried over to the switchboard. Yes, he could remember what to do. But he wasn’t going to receive any incoming calls. He was going to make some calls himself.
He recited in his head what he needed to do. Plug a cable into the number he wanted to call, turn on the switch that would make the telephone ring in the house of whoever he wanted to speak to, keep the microphone switched on and speak when the person at the other end had lifted the receiver.
But it would be some time before he could make his first call. He had a lot to do before he was ready. He took his diary and a pencil from his pocket. Then he fetched the telephone directory. He started working his way through all the names, in alphabetical order. Now and then he noted down a number on the inside cover of his diary. It was the only place where there was any space left.