‘With Mats.’
‘Who’s Mats?’
‘My older brother.’
‘And how do you and Mats get into this building?’
‘We go up a big stone staircase.’
‘And in through a door?’
‘Yes.’
‘And the man from the ship is waiting for you in there?’
‘Yes... He’s sitting there, and he’s, like, waiting.’
‘Does he say anything to you?’
‘No. I think he nods.’
‘Does he do anything else?’
‘He holds out his hand.’
Gerlof thought about this, then asked, ‘Does he want something from you?’
‘Yes, our money.’
‘Your money? How much money?’
‘All of it. From Mats. Mats gives him the money.’
‘Does the man give...’
... you anything in return? he was going to ask, but at that moment he heard the gate and the boys came running up the path. They were back from mini-golf.
‘Hi, Jonas!’ Kristoffer shouted.
Jonas opened his eyes, his concentration broken. He waved to his friend, then quickly got to his feet as if he were embarrassed, and mumbled to Gerlof, ‘Got to go.’
‘I know, but thanks for the chat.’
Jonas nodded and hurried over to join Kristoffer.
The memory of a man in a big red building. And Africa. Gerlof sat there puzzling over the mystery all evening, but he couldn’t solve it.
In the end, he went indoors.
Jonas had gone home but, as usual, his grandchildren were sitting there watching a film with lots of car chases and explosions. They put on a film most evenings, but turned down the volume when Gerlof was around. That was one thing they had learned.
He went to the bathroom, then into his bedroom.
‘Goodnight, boys,’ he said, closing the door.
He would sleep in the cottage tonight. It seemed like the quieter option, in spite of everything.
Two hours later, the cottage was quiet; the boys had switched off the television and gone to bed. Gerlof’s head sank deeper and deeper into the pillow; he was almost asleep.
But suddenly he opened his eyes; he was wide awake.
The boys watch a film almost every evening.
The thought made him sit up, turn on the light and open his notebook. He read through what Jonas had said with fresh eyes and blinked in surprise, because his almost-sleeping brain had worked through all those random memories and come up with a possible solution to the mystery of Jonas and Africa.
Gerlof picked up a pen with trembling hands and wrote down one word so that it wouldn’t go out of his head by morning. Then he reached for the phone book. He needed to speak to someone, an old acquaintance from the local history society.
He found the number and keyed it in. The person at the other end picked up after only three rings, and Gerlof spoke quietly, so as not to wake his grandsons.
‘Good evening, Bertil — it’s Gerlof Davidsson.’
‘Gerlof? Oh... good evening.’
‘Am I disturbing you? Were you asleep?’
‘Not at all — I stay up late in the summer. We’ve been sitting out on the veranda, my brother and I, so it’s absolutely—’
‘Good,’ Gerlof interrupted him. ‘It’s just that I have a question that might sound a bit odd. But it’s important, and it’s about the Marnäs manor house. Are you still running things up there?’
‘I am — I can’t get out of it.’
‘I’m looking for someone who had a summer job there five years ago, selling tickets. A young man, but I don’t know his exact age — just that he was young.’
‘Five years ago? ’94?’
‘That’s right. Can you think of anyone who fits the bill?’
Bertil didn’t say anything for a moment.
‘The only person I can remember who had a summer job was Pecka. He would have been about twenty back then...’
‘Pecka?’
‘That’s what he called himself, but his real name is Peter, Peter Mayer. He worked for us for one summer, then he moved on.’
‘Do you know where to?’
‘He had lots of different jobs. As far as I remember, he joined the crew of a fishing boat for a while, then he worked at a couple of campsites and in a grocery store. I don’t think things worked out too well for him; he had some problems with his temperament, and disciplinary issues, if you know what I mean.’
‘I think I do,’ Gerlof said. ‘One last thing... Do you have a list of the films you’ve shown at the manor house?’
‘Not here, but there’s one in the office.’
‘Could I have a look at it?’
‘Of course,’ Bertil said. ‘I’ll drop by in the morning.’
‘Thank you, Bertil — thank you very much.’
Gerlof said goodnight and ended the call. Then he went back to his notebook to write down a name he had never heard before: PETER MAYER.
Then he turned off the light and went back to sleep.
Jonas
Jonas had finished sanding for the day and had treated himself to a dip in the pool afterwards. As usual, he was alone. Nothing that had happened over the past few days had changed that. Casper had gone off on his moped; he hadn’t really seemed to care when Jonas finally told him that his old rubber dinghy had sunk. Dad was at the restaurant, and Mats and Urban were working down at the Ölandic.
There were, of course, boys of approximately his own age in the village. Kristoffer was a year younger, and perhaps a little childish, but he was still a pretty cool companion. After his swim, Jonas cycled over to the Davidssons’ cottage.
‘Jonas!’
As he walked in through the gate, he saw Kristoffer’s grandfather Gerlof in his usual spot in the garden. He waved his little notebook at Jonas.
Gerlof seemed bright and cheery this Wednesday, as if he was bursting with news. Jonas went over to him, and Gerlof started talking right away.
‘Kristoffer’s inside, you can go and see him in a minute, but I just want to show you something first. I wrote something down after we’d had our chat yesterday. It’s about the ship, and the man you saw on board. Would you like to see?’
Jonas didn’t really want to think any more about the ghost ship, but he didn’t have much choice.
‘Good. Here it comes.’
Gerlof held out his notebook and pointed to three words written in pencil, in shaky handwriting. Jonas leaned forward and read, ‘The Lion King’. He read it twice, then looked up at Gerlof.
‘It’s a film,’ Gerlof said. ‘I’ve only seen it on video with my grandchildren, but it’s been on in the cinema, too... Do you remember it?’
Jonas nodded; he had seen it several times. ‘It’s about animals in Africa,’ he said. ‘A father lion is killed by his brother and thrown off a mountainside. And there’s loads of music.’
‘Exactly,’ Gerlof said, looking pleased. ‘It was when you said the word “Africa”... During the night, I got the idea that the man who was after you might have been working in a cinema when you and your brother went to see The Lion King. I checked with an acquaintance who’s involved in showing films on the island, and it was on at the manor house in Marnäs five years ago, in the summer of ’94. Were you here then?’
‘I think so.’
‘Good. Because Marnäs manor house is a big red building, made of wood. Just like the one you described to me.’
Jonas remembered now. He had been seven years old that summer; Mats had been twelve. Dad had taken them up to Marnäs, but he hadn’t stayed for the film, he had just dropped them off and picked them up afterwards. So they had gone to the cinema on their own, for the first time ever. They had gone into the building and up to the ticket office, and...