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‘I hope it was good news,’ said the bald man behind the desk. Every time he saw Joel he became more friendly.

‘It couldn’t have been better,’ Joel said.

He sat down at the desk with the paper in front of him, pen in hand. He didn’t really want to use Samuel’s pen when he wrote to Jenny, but he didn’t have any other.

What should he write?

He read Jenny’s letter once again. He could hear her voice. What had Samuel shouted at her? That she was a shit heap.

Was that something you could really say to a woman? Samuel must be a boor. Had he really been planning that for over ten years? To tell Mummy Jenny that she was a shit heap?

Joel decided once and for all that Samuel was incomprehensible. He had an incomprehensible dad. A person nobody could understand. A boor.

He was worried that he might have inherited that boorish character. That there might be aspects of it inside himself. Only seeds so far, but seeds that might sprout and grow as he grew older. Might he one day go around calling women things he shouldn’t?

He knew now what he was going to write. And he would be very careful to avoid any spelling mistakes.

When he’d finished writing, he read it through.

To Jenny Rydén,

I’d like you to know that I’m not as boorish as my father, Samuel Gustafson. I never bellow. I’d love to see you again.

Greetings from Joel Gustafson

That would have to do. He hadn’t made any spelling mistakes. He folded the sheet of paper and put it in an envelope, which he sealed.

He was able to buy a stamp in reception. He’d noticed a postbox in the street not far from the hotel. He went there and posted the letter.

So that was that done.

When Samuel came back from the hospital, Joel had just been out for a meal. He’d gone to a different café, but the food tasted exactly the same. He was looking at the picture of the woman leaning against a tree, and thinking about Sonja Mattsson, when the door opened.

Samuel was wearing a hat.

A grey hat with a light blue band.

Joel stared at him. The hat was drooping down a long way below Samuel’s ears.

‘Wherever did you find that?’ he asked.

‘Find?’ said Samuel. ‘I bought it. And it was far too dear. But I thought I had a right to treat myself to something for once.’

‘And so you bought a hat?’

Samuel examined himself in the mirror.

‘Isn’t it elegant?’

‘It’s elegant. But what are you going to do with it?’

‘I’m going to wear it.’

‘Out in the forest?’

‘When I’m in my best clothes. On Sundays.’

Joel sighed. It was just as both Jenny Rydén and he himself had established: Samuel was a totally incomprehensible person. He never got dressed up on Sundays. He never went for walks. The hat would end up on a shelf in the wardrobe. And it would stay there.

Joel changed the subject.

‘What did they have to say, at the hospital?’

‘They’ll be getting in touch. By letter. So we can go home now.’

Samuel walked past Joel and sat down on the chair.

Joel noticed immediately that Samuel smelled of Pilsner. That meant that he hadn’t been at the hospital all day. But his eyes were not shiny. So he wasn’t drunk.

‘Have you eaten?’ Samuel asked.

‘Yes. Have you?’

‘No. But I’m not hungry.’

That’s not true, Joel thought. Samuel tells lies just as badly as he shaves himself. He’s eaten already, and he’s been drinking beer. And no doubt bought rounds for lots of old men he’s never seen before. I expect he also told them he was a sailor. On shore leave.

‘Have you any money left?’ Joel asked.

He was starting to wonder if they’d be able to pay for the hotel room if they stayed for two more nights.

‘I have enough for us to get by on,’ said Samuel. ‘And we’ll be going home tomorrow anyway.’

Joel could see that there was no point in waiting any longer. He’d have to speak to Samuel. It was a case of now or never.

‘When are we going to look at the boats?’

‘We can do that tomorrow. Before we set off home.’

He doesn’t want to, Joel thought. All that talk about me having to finish school first, and then we could move and Samuel could become a sailor again.

All talk. Nothing but talk.

Joel took a deep breath and braced himself.

‘I’m not going with you,’ he said. ‘I’ll be collecting my seaman’s discharge book a couple of days from now. Then I’m off to sea. I can’t wait for you any longer.’

Samuel stared long and hard at him. It slowly dawned on him that Joel was serious.

He said nothing. He seemed to be retreating into himself.

‘That’s a bit of a shock,’ he said eventually.

‘Why? It’s what I’ve been dreaming about for ages. And I thought we were going to go to sea together.’

‘I have to wait for the letter from the hospital.’

Lucky for him that there’s something he has to wait for, Joel thought. But even if there hadn’t been, he’d have thought up something. Any excuse at all to delay matters.

Then Samuel seemed to get a second wind.

‘This is what we’ll do,’ he said. ‘We’ll go back home tomorrow, and then we can plan everything calmly and carefully. I’ll resign from the logging company. And then we’ll go to Gothenburg. There’s more boats to choose from there. Stockholm’s nothing. It’s not a good idea to sign up for the first boat you clap eyes on. Then we’ll start our travels. Best would be a boat heading for South America. They are good boats. Good boats and good ports. And you have to be careful which shipping line you choose. That’s the way it is. There are good boats and there are bad boats. I think that’s what we’ll do.’

Joel listened. He’d sat down on his bed.

He felt sorry for Samuel. Because all he said was just words. Words that would never lead to anywhere, least of all up a gangway.

Samuel didn’t want to go back to sea. Or didn’t dare. Or didn’t have the strength. Or perhaps it was a combination of all three.

Joel felt sorry for him.

But he couldn’t change his mind now. If he did, he’d become like Samuel. He’d stay up north in that house by the river. At first he’d get a job as an errand boy for the ironmonger’s shop. And then? Whatever happened next, he’d stay up there. And if he eventually had any children of his own, he wouldn’t even have a sea chart on which he could show them the places he’d been to when he was a sailor.

‘What do you think?’ asked Samuel.

‘I’m not going with you. I can’t wait any longer.’

Silence again. Joel waited.

‘Where will you live? While you’re waiting for a ship?’

The answer was obvious.

‘Maybe I can stay with my mum.’

Now he’s said it. For the first time. Not Jenny. Not Jenny Rydén. But my mum.

Samuel said nothing for a long time.

‘That means that I’ll be on my own,’ he said. ‘I’ve looked after you for all these years, and now you’re leaving me. And moving in with your mum.’

‘I’m going to sea. With luck I might get a job on a boat without having to wait.’

‘I’ll be on my own,’ said Samuel.

Joel could feel that it was getting difficult now. Whenever Samuel started to feel sorry for himself he could carry on moaning and complaining for ever.

‘You’re the one who doesn’t want to become a sailor again. That’s not my fault.’