then.”
“Yeah. And other colors.”
There were already other colors on this path. Shadow colors.
“And in the end no colors at all,” she said.
“Black,” I said. “The black’s still there.”
“That’s not a color,” she said.
“What is it then?”
“It’s a… nothing. I don’t like black. It’s what you wear to funerals. And I don’t like funerals.”
“Who does?” I asked.
“I don’t know what the point is of having them.”
“Well… I guess the dead sort of have to be sent away somewhere.”
“Sent away?”
“You can’t exactly have them sitting at the kitchen table at home, can you?” I pictured my dad sitting in front of me with a cup of coffee. Or a glass of whiskey. “Or in front of the TV.”
“Maybe they have a favorite show,” said Kerstin.
Now we were in the other part of the forest—my forest. The shadows lifted and disappeared among the branches. It got lighter and it smelled lighter too.
“What do you think a dead guy’s favorite TV show would be?” Kerstin continued.
“Could be anything,” I said. “It’s all crap anyway.”
“How do you know? Do you watch them all?”
“Not a single one.”
“But you still know that it’s all crap?”
I didn’t know anything, but I didn’t want to talk about that right now. We didn’t have a TV at home. A lot of people had started buying TVs when they first came out a few years ago, but Papa had said that it was just a bunch of crap, and then… well, then we couldn’t afford one.
“I thought you had seen some samurai movies on TV,” said Kerstin.
“Do they show movies like that?”
“I don’t know. But I guess they should. They show Ivanhoe and William Tell. And Robin Hood.”
“They’re not samurai,” I said. “They’re from England.”
“William Tell’s from Switzerland.”
“Well, they’re not from Japan anyway,” I said.
“How far away is Japan?”
I looked down at the path.
“All you have to do is start digging and eventually you’ll get there.”
Like at a funeral
, I thought as soon as I’d said it. Kerstin looked like she was thinking the same thing, but she didn’t say anything.
Funerals were also meant to make people remember. Everyone had to remember for as long as possible. I hadn’tliked it when I’d been forced to sit in church with Mama and her sisters and all the others. I didn’t want to go to any more funerals. I didn’t want to remember that way. I wanted to remember in my own way without having to follow all those rules. I didn’t like graves, either, or cemeteries. You were supposed to stand in front of a gravestone and remember, but it was just a stone. It had no soul. It was an unnecessary weight lying on top of the one buried below.
The glade opened up. The shadows were all gone now. We were there.
“It’s not finished yet,” I said.
“You already told me that.”
She walked toward the wall. Somehow, it seemed lower than it was. It was the same with the towers. I looked at them through different eyes now. They had become unfamiliar—like they had been built by others.
“It’s nice,” she said.
“It could be one day,” I said.
She looked around. I thought the whole area looked smaller now. I shouldn’t have shown her the glade and the castle with its courtyards and walls. I didn’t feel proud of the castle anymore.
“It’s really nice,” she said and smiled.
“You think so?”
“Sure.”
“There’s a lot left to do,” I said.
“I can help you.” She held up her hands. “Many hands—”
“Spoil the broth,” I said. But I immediately regretted having said that.
“That’s not how it goes,” she said and smiled again. She didn’t seem to take offense. “And you’ll need help here if you’re going to be finished this summer.”
“We won’t be finished this summer.”
“But you’ve got to, don’t you?”
“We’ll continue,” I said.
“Continue? After the summer?”
I nodded.
“I don’t
“Yeah. And other colors.”
There were already other colors on this path. Shadow colors.
“And in the end no colors at all,” she said.
“Black,” I said. “The black’s still there.”
“That’s not a color,” she said.
“What is it then?”
“It’s a… nothing. I don’t like black. It’s what you wear to funerals. And I don’t like funerals.”
“Who does?” I asked.
“I don’t know what the point is of having them.”
“Well… I guess the dead sort of have to be sent away somewhere.”
“Sent away?”
“You can’t exactly have them sitting at the kitchen table at home, can you?” I pictured my dad sitting in front of me with a cup of coffee. Or a glass of whiskey. “Or in front of the TV.”
“Maybe they have a favorite show,” said Kerstin.
Now we were in the other part of the forest—my forest. The shadows lifted and disappeared among the branches. It got lighter and it smelled lighter too.
“What do you think a dead guy’s favorite TV show would be?” Kerstin continued.
“Could be anything,” I said. “It’s all crap anyway.”
“How do you know? Do you watch them all?”
“Not a single one.”
“But you still know that it’s all crap?”
I didn’t know anything, but I didn’t want to talk about that right now. We didn’t have a TV at home. A lot of people had started buying TVs when they first came out a few years ago, but Papa had said that it was just a bunch of crap, and then… well, then we couldn’t afford one.
“I thought you had seen some samurai movies on TV,” said Kerstin.
“Do they show movies like that?”
“I don’t know. But I guess they should. They show Ivanhoe and William Tell. And Robin Hood.”
“They’re not samurai,” I said. “They’re from England.”
“William Tell’s from Switzerland.”
“Well, they’re not from Japan anyway,” I said.
“How far away is Japan?”
I looked down at the path.
“All you have to do is start digging and eventually you’ll get there.”
Like at a funeral
, I thought as soon as I’d said it. Kerstin looked like she was thinking the same thing, but she didn’t say anything.
Funerals were also meant to make people remember. Everyone had to remember for as long as possible. I hadn’tliked it when I’d been forced to sit in church with Mama and her sisters and all the others. I didn’t want to go to any more funerals. I didn’t want to remember that way. I wanted to remember in my own way without having to follow all those rules. I didn’t like graves, either, or cemeteries. You were supposed to stand in front of a gravestone and remember, but it was just a stone. It had no soul. It was an unnecessary weight lying on top of the one buried below.
The glade opened up. The shadows were all gone now. We were there.
“It’s not finished yet,” I said.
“You already told me that.”
She walked toward the wall. Somehow, it seemed lower than it was. It was the same with the towers. I looked at them through different eyes now. They had become unfamiliar—like they had been built by others.
“It’s nice,” she said.
“It could be one day,” I said.
She looked around. I thought the whole area looked smaller now. I shouldn’t have shown her the glade and the castle with its courtyards and walls. I didn’t feel proud of the castle anymore.
“It’s really nice,” she said and smiled.
“You think so?”
“Sure.”
“There’s a lot left to do,” I said.
“I can help you.” She held up her hands. “Many hands—”
“Spoil the broth,” I said. But I immediately regretted having said that.
“That’s not how it goes,” she said and smiled again. She didn’t seem to take offense. “And you’ll need help here if you’re going to be finished this summer.”
“We won’t be finished this summer.”
“But you’ve got to, don’t you?”
“We’ll continue,” I said.
“Continue? After the summer?”
I nodded.
“I don’t
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