A Bridge to the Stars by Henning Mankell Page B

she's
saying.
    Sitting on the edge of the bed is Samuel.
    He's naked, and is listening to what Sara has to say.
    Through the curtain Joel can see the long, red scar on
his father's thigh. The scar he got when a hatch burst
open in a severe storm off the Hebrides, and he almost
lost a leg.
    He's giving that scar to Sara . . .
    Joel is overcome by a deep sense of pain and sorrow
as he perches there on the ladder. It's as if he no longer
exists, as if he were condemned to perch on that ladder,
frozen stiff, for a thousand years.
    Why has he been abandoned? He's never abandoned
anybody. After all, he's his own mum.
    He doesn't know how long he stands there on the
ladder. But he doesn't climb down until his sorrow has
slowly given way to contempt and fury.
    He doesn't climb down until he feels strong enough to
avenge himself.
    He digs out a stone from under the snow next to the
wall. It's not very big, only half the size of his fist, but
it's big enough.
    Now he has to make sure he doesn't miss.
    He'll only have one throw, no more. If he misses and
then tries again, he'll be discovered.
    It doesn't matter if he is discovered, of course, but he
hopes to avoid that even so. He has to hit his target with the
first stone. He's not bothered about the ladder. Explaining
to the ironmonger how the ladder turned up underneath her
window will be even more revenge on Sara.
    He takes aim. He's taken his glove off, and holds the
cold stone in his frozen hand.
    Then he hurls the stone, and feels a pang of regret as
he lets go. The stone hits the window right in the middle,
and the glass is shattered with a crack that echoes all
round the courtyard.
    He runs off as fast as he can. He doesn't stop until
he's back at home, and the cold air feels like sandpaper
in his throat.
    When he's got his breath back, he tiptoes cautiously
past old Mrs Westman's door.
    He wonders if she'll tell his father that he's been out
in the middle of the night.
    Samuel will understand what has happened if she does.
    But the thought only worries Joel a little bit.
    He turns on all the lights in the flat before untying his
boots with his freezing cold fingers. One of the laces has
got a knot that he can't unravel. He fetches the bread
knife and cuts it off. He undresses and snuggles down
into bed in order to warm up.
    He's not going to think about his father as such any
more. From now on he will call him Samuel.
    It strikes him it was silly to leave the lights on. He
switches them all off then creeps back into bed. Then
he waits, waits for Samuel to come back home. But
he's so tired, he can't keep his eyes open and he nods
off to sleep.
    His dreams are restless, nasty, long-drawn-out.
Dreams he won't remember anything about . . .
    When he wakes up next morning Samuel has already
left for the forest. Joel stands in the kitchen doorway and
sees that he has been there and made coffee. The stove
is still hot.
    The bootlace Joel had cut off is lying on the floor like
a strip of a shed snakeskin.
    Joel is tired. He must hurry up if he's going to get to
school on time.
    But when he emerges into the cold dawn he decides
that he's not going to go to school. He can't face it, he
has to do some thinking. Mind you, it's not sure that
he'll have the strength to think either. It would be good
if he had a tap inside his head that he could open, and let
all his thoughts run out . . .
    For no obvious reason he finds himself heading north
out of the little town. First the long hill up to the railway
station. Beyond that is the hospital, and then the endless
forest.
    In a little hollow by the road, almost completely
hemmed in by dense fir trees, is The Old Bricklayer's
house. It's a dilapidated smithy that has been converted
into a private home. The garden is full of junk and
overgrown currant bushes.
    Joel pauses and peers in through the dense fir trees.
He can see wheel tracks in the snow. Then somebody
shouts to him.
    'Come here,' somebody says. 'Come and give me a
hand.'
    He looks