The only person he wanted to speak to was Gertrud.
But he didn’t even go to visit her. It was as if he wanted to be in peace with Samuel.
After a few weeks Samuel became so ill that he had to go into hospital. Neither he nor Joel had expected it to go as quickly as this. Now Samuel was in a room with four beds. His pains came and went like breakers on a beach. They had taken the sea charts with them to the hospital, and continued their make-believe voyages.
They laughed often and a lot, sometimes so loudly that a nurse came to see what was going on.
But sometimes they were serious as well.
‘You can ask Göransson to help you,’ Samuel kept saying. ‘When it comes to sorting out the flat and its contents.’
Göransson worked for the logging company. He was Samuel’s boss. He sometimes came to visit Samuel in hospital. And Sara visited him as well. Even Ehnström came. Ehnström and his wife. But Joel always left the room when they were there. He hadn’t forgotten what she’d said that time in the shop.
It was forbidden to consume strong drink in hospital, but Göransson had brought Samuel a bottle of cognac that he took a sip from now and then. It didn’t worry Joel. He thought he would almost miss never again having to drag Samuel home when he was drunk.
Joel was alone in the house by the river. Every evening he left the hospital once Samuel had fallen asleep. It was still very cold. It sometimes seemed to Joel that the house was like a sailing ship with all its sails in tatters. Now it was going to be chopped up. Nothing would be left of it.
When he wasn’t visiting Samuel, Joel wrote letters to various shipping lines. And all the time he tried to avoid thinking about what was going to happen.
One morning, while he was having breakfast, there was a knock on the door. It was Göransson. Joel offered him coffee. Göransson was a man who didn’t beat about the bush.
‘I’m sure you know your dad’s going downhill. He’s not got much longer to live. You’re a sensible lad, and I’ve no doubt you are aware of the situation.’
Joel nodded. There was nothing he could say.
‘I’ve promised Samuel that I’ll help you. But first I have to know if you want to carry on living in this flat. I’ve spoken to the owner of the house, and you can stay on if you want to. For the same rent.’
Joel didn’t answer.
But he had a question:
‘Was Samuel a good lumberjack?’
Göransson looked at him in surprise.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Of course he was. One of the very best.’
‘That’s all I wanted to know. And I’m not intending to stay on here.’
‘What have you thought of doing with the furniture?’
‘I don’t want it.’
‘You ought to think about if there’s anything you’d like to keep. Then I’ll help you to sell what’s sellable: we’ll have to throw away the rest.’
Göransson stayed for nearly an hour. Joel didn’t really want to talk about all the things that were going to happen. But at the same time, he was grateful to Göransson for helping him.
When Göransson had left, Joel worked his way through the flat, picking out what he wanted to save.
The sea charts. The photographs of Samuel. And some old letters.
Samuel’s discharge book. And the old alarm clock that had always stood by his bed.
But nothing else.
A few days later a letter arrived.
Joel was informed that he could sign on for a ship called the Rio de Janeiro. It was on its way from Argentina and was going to a shipyard in Gothenburg where it would undergo repairs. If Joel was interested, they wanted him to sign on at the beginning of March.
Joel was pleased. But he didn’t know if he’d be able to.
Nevertheless, he wrote a reply. He spelled out the truth. He wanted to, but he didn’t know if he’d be able to.
That same afternoon he told Samuel about the letter.
‘That’s a good shipping line,’ Samuel said. ‘And it sounds like a good boat. Good boats must have a good name. Rio de Janeiro. Names don’t come any better than that. When do they want you to sign on?’
Joel tried to avoid answering. But Samuel persisted. He wanted to know.
‘Of course they told you that. You can’t fool me.’
‘The beginning of March,’ Joel mumbled.
Samuel lay for a while without speaking.
‘The beginning of March,’ he said eventually. ‘And it’s the beginning of February already.’
The last evening of Samuel’s life, he’d got it into his head that he wanted to play cards. Joel had brought him a pack of cards. Samuel was in an unusually good mood, and wasn’t in pain.
They played poker. For fantasy money.
Samuel bet a million. And Joel bet a million as well. But neither of them could work out who’d won.
In the end, a nurse came and told Joel it was time for him to go home.
‘We’ll continue tomorrow,’ said Samuel. ‘Then I’ll win back all the money I’ve lost.’
‘But you were the winner!’
‘Well, we’ll see if you can beat me next time, then.’
Joel was still sitting on the chair at the side of the bed.
‘I used to play cards with Jenny,’ Samuel said. ‘And we used to have lots of fun. Believe you me. When things were good, they were very, very good. I’ve never regretted that she was the person who was your mother. It’s important for you to know that.’
Joel stood up and put on his jacket.
‘The cold isn’t going to go away,’ said Samuel. ‘But it’s warm in Brazil. There’s no such place as the end of the world. But there is a place called Brazil.’
Samuel died during the night. After Joel had left he fell asleep and never woke up.
Joel was told when he arrived at the hospital the next day.
He started crying. But he didn’t cry for long.
Instead he thought about the last words Samuel had spoken to him.
There’s no such place as the end of the world. But there is a place called Brazil.
It seemed that there might be a secret message hidden in those words. That the end of the world is only a dream. A place that doesn’t have a name. That doesn’t exist on any map. But Brazil does. You can go there.
They asked Joel if he wanted to see his father.
But Joel said no.
He knew what Samuel looked like. He didn’t need to see somebody who no longer existed.
Joel went home. Despite the cold he walked slowly. The first thing he did was to write a letter to the shipping line.
I’m coming.
Greetings,
Joel Gustafson
Then Sara turned up. And Göransson. And Ehnström. And some of Samuel’s old workmates. Some old men that Samuel used to go out drinking with also came, but Sara threw them out without more ado.
Both Göransson and Sara suggested that Joel should go and stay with them. But Joel said no. He didn’t want to.
That evening Joel crossed over the bridge on his way to Gertrud’s house. She must have seen him coming. Or possibly heard him. As he went through the gate she came out to meet him.
‘Samuel’s dead,’ said Joel.
‘I know.’
Joel ought to have known that it wouldn’t be news to her. Although Gertrud seldom went out, she knew about everything that happened.
They sat in her kitchen.
He found it difficult to look at her. If he did, he’d start crying. And he didn’t want to do that.
They sat in silence. Joel knew nobody as easy to be silent with as Gertrud.
After a while Gertrud asked him to tell her what it was like, being a sailor. Joel told her.