heavy nut on the end, opened the kitchen window and lowered the nut until it reached the ground, tied the end of the string to the broom handle, fixed it in place with a stool and measured so that it was protruding exactly thirty centimetres through the window. Then he wound the string around the handle several times so that it was hanging free above the ground. A plumb line.
With the ruler in his hand he went back down in the lift. Outside he met the kids who had been sitting in the oak tree earlier on. They were looking up at his kitchen window. They were both wearing identical black jackets, and were presumably brothers. The older one pointed up at the window and asked, ‘What are you doing?’
‘Measuring,’ said Joel, unfolding the ruler.
‘Can we help?’
‘Come on then.’
The younger one held out his hand for the ruler. ‘Can I measure?’
‘No,’ said Joel, walking over to the weight that was slowly swinging to and fro among the bare rose bushes. He had had bad experiences with children and folding rulers. Five seconds and they were busted. The rulers.
He could have managed without the ruler. As soon as he stopped the weight from moving, he could see with the naked eye that it was less than ten centimetres from the wall. He measured anyway. Eight centimetres. A difference of twenty-two centimetres, therefore, between the ground and his apartment.
How tall is the building? Thirty metres? Twenty-two divided by three thousand makes…
No. What were you supposed to do? Joel turned to the older boy. He was about eleven or twelve years old, and looked clever.
‘How do you calculate degrees?’ he asked.
The boy shrugged his shoulders. ‘With a thermometer, I suppose.’
‘Not that kind of degree.’
‘What kind, then?’
The younger boy, who might have been about nine, pointed to the nut. ‘Can I have that?’
Joel tried to undo the knot. When he couldn’t do it he used his door key to break the string and gave the nut to the boy. ‘Just don’t drop it on anybody’s head.’
Together they stood looking up at the building. Joel wanted to tell the boys it was listing, but didn’t want to frighten them. The younger boy pointed halfway up, a few windows below Joel’s.
‘That’s where we live,’ he said. ‘There’s a mouse in our kitchen.’
‘There is not,’ said the older boy.
‘There is too! Daddy showed me the mousetrap so I wouldn’t hurt myself on it.’ The boy measured something in the region of twenty centimetres between his hands. ‘It’s this big.’
‘The trap,’ said Joel.
‘Yes,’ said the little boy and his older brother laughed out loud. The younger one realised some joke had been made at his expense, and looked crossly from Joel to his brother and back again.
‘Daddy said it had taken things from the bathroom, so there!’
‘In that case,’ said his brother, ‘why didn’t he put the trap in there?’
‘So we wouldn’t
stand
on it, of course!’
As if to emphasise the danger posed by the mousetrap, he stamped on the ground and marched off towards the sandpits. The older one looked at Joel and raised his eyebrows:
Kid brothers, what can you do,
and followed him.
Joel went back inside and rang Anita’s doorbell. When no one answered, he took the lift up to his apartment. As soon as he walked in he could feel the tilt.
Hasn’t anyone else noticed anything?
He considered going over to see Lundberg on the otherside—they were on nodding terms—but didn’t know how to explain the situation. Lundberg would probably react in the same way as the man with the earphones: ‘Yeah? And?’
He sat down and took out his modelling tools. Instead of gluing the matchsticks in place one at a time, he worked in the same way as a real shipbuilder: first of all he made a plank out of three hundred and twenty matchsticks, then hammered the plank in place with rivets and strengthened it with glue. He had half-finished one of the final planks for the deck. Since
With the ruler in his hand he went back down in the lift. Outside he met the kids who had been sitting in the oak tree earlier on. They were looking up at his kitchen window. They were both wearing identical black jackets, and were presumably brothers. The older one pointed up at the window and asked, ‘What are you doing?’
‘Measuring,’ said Joel, unfolding the ruler.
‘Can we help?’
‘Come on then.’
The younger one held out his hand for the ruler. ‘Can I measure?’
‘No,’ said Joel, walking over to the weight that was slowly swinging to and fro among the bare rose bushes. He had had bad experiences with children and folding rulers. Five seconds and they were busted. The rulers.
He could have managed without the ruler. As soon as he stopped the weight from moving, he could see with the naked eye that it was less than ten centimetres from the wall. He measured anyway. Eight centimetres. A difference of twenty-two centimetres, therefore, between the ground and his apartment.
How tall is the building? Thirty metres? Twenty-two divided by three thousand makes…
No. What were you supposed to do? Joel turned to the older boy. He was about eleven or twelve years old, and looked clever.
‘How do you calculate degrees?’ he asked.
The boy shrugged his shoulders. ‘With a thermometer, I suppose.’
‘Not that kind of degree.’
‘What kind, then?’
The younger boy, who might have been about nine, pointed to the nut. ‘Can I have that?’
Joel tried to undo the knot. When he couldn’t do it he used his door key to break the string and gave the nut to the boy. ‘Just don’t drop it on anybody’s head.’
Together they stood looking up at the building. Joel wanted to tell the boys it was listing, but didn’t want to frighten them. The younger boy pointed halfway up, a few windows below Joel’s.
‘That’s where we live,’ he said. ‘There’s a mouse in our kitchen.’
‘There is not,’ said the older boy.
‘There is too! Daddy showed me the mousetrap so I wouldn’t hurt myself on it.’ The boy measured something in the region of twenty centimetres between his hands. ‘It’s this big.’
‘The trap,’ said Joel.
‘Yes,’ said the little boy and his older brother laughed out loud. The younger one realised some joke had been made at his expense, and looked crossly from Joel to his brother and back again.
‘Daddy said it had taken things from the bathroom, so there!’
‘In that case,’ said his brother, ‘why didn’t he put the trap in there?’
‘So we wouldn’t
stand
on it, of course!’
As if to emphasise the danger posed by the mousetrap, he stamped on the ground and marched off towards the sandpits. The older one looked at Joel and raised his eyebrows:
Kid brothers, what can you do,
and followed him.
Joel went back inside and rang Anita’s doorbell. When no one answered, he took the lift up to his apartment. As soon as he walked in he could feel the tilt.
Hasn’t anyone else noticed anything?
He considered going over to see Lundberg on the otherside—they were on nodding terms—but didn’t know how to explain the situation. Lundberg would probably react in the same way as the man with the earphones: ‘Yeah? And?’
He sat down and took out his modelling tools. Instead of gluing the matchsticks in place one at a time, he worked in the same way as a real shipbuilder: first of all he made a plank out of three hundred and twenty matchsticks, then hammered the plank in place with rivets and strengthened it with glue. He had half-finished one of the final planks for the deck. Since
Similar Books
