up enough
courage to close his eyes and count up to ten. He had
decided that before he was twelve, he would have
enough courage to keep his eyes closed and not hold
on to the handlebars until he'd counted up to twenty-five.
When he finally stumbled into the kitchen he poured
himself a big glass of milk, and emptied all the pastilles
he still had left onto the table.
123 of them.
If they had been pearls, he'd have been rich.
He scooped the pastilles back into their boxes and
put them in the shoe box under his bed. He'd drawn a
black skull on that box, so that nobody dared open it. A
length of cotton hanging down from the lid could easily
be a fuse . . .
When he returned to the kitchen, he noticed that he
had a stomachache.
Nothing serious yet. Just something nagging away in
the background.
He sat stock still on the kitchen bench, to see if that
would bring on something more painful. But no: it was
still just a nagging ache.
He breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't like the gripes.
Being in pain was painful. If you had a really nasty
stomachache, so bad that it brought tears to your eyes, it
made the whole of your body hurt. Even the thoughts
you had inside your head were painful.
He sat absolutely still, to make sure that the stomachache
didn't get worse. He counted slowly to 123. Then
he could breathe out again. He wasn't going to get the
gripes today.
Nothing could match knowing that you weren't going
to be in pain.
He felt inspired to do something useful. Now was the
time to work out his strategy.
How could he set up a meeting between Gertrud and
the Caviar Man?
He thought again about what he'd read in books about
how grown-ups met in order to decide if they ought to
get married. But nothing of what he remembered
seemed suitable in this case.
Then he thought about Samuel and Mummy Jenny.
They had written letters to each other, Samuel had
told him.
Many years ago, his ship had been in dock in
Gothenburg for repairs. Samuel and some of his shipmates
had gone ashore one evening. He'd been walking
along the street, stumbled on a paving stone and fallen
headlong into the arms of Mummy Jenny.
So that was one way of meeting, and having a son
called Joel who experienced a Miracle.
You stumble in the street and fall into somebody.
And then you write letters.
Samuel had told Joel that after Jenny had prevented
him from hurting himself on the pavement in
Gothenburg, he'd persuaded her to give him her address.
Then he had written to her from all the foreign ports
he'd visited. And in one of the letters they had arranged
to meet in Gothenburg. In a park, behind a statue.
Joel thought carefully about all this.
He suspected it might be too difficult to arrange for
the Caviar Man to stumble on a paving stone and fall
headlong into the arms of Gertrud.
So he would have to miss that part out and go straight
to the letter stage.
They could send secret letters to each other and
arrange a secret meeting. Then no doubt everything
would proceed of its own accord.
Secret letters that Joel Gustafson would write.
But how did you write a letter like that? He had no
idea.
The library, he thought. There must be a book there
about secret letters. A book as important as that had to
exist!
He checked the kitchen clock. There were a lot of
hours to go yet before Miss Arvidson opened the library.
He would have to be patient.
By four o'clock he had only 72 pastilles left. He
thundered down the stairs and cycled to the library.
Miss Arvidson, the lady in charge of the library, was
very strict. She thought that nobody ever borrowed the
right books. Moreover, she refused to allow children to
borrow the books they wanted. On several occasions
Joel had put exciting books about murders and other
crimes on her desk, but she had pursed her lips and
informed him that those books were for adults only.
Joel couldn't imagine how a book about writing
secret letters could be for adults only. Why should
anybody have to wait until they were
courage to close his eyes and count up to ten. He had
decided that before he was twelve, he would have
enough courage to keep his eyes closed and not hold
on to the handlebars until he'd counted up to twenty-five.
When he finally stumbled into the kitchen he poured
himself a big glass of milk, and emptied all the pastilles
he still had left onto the table.
123 of them.
If they had been pearls, he'd have been rich.
He scooped the pastilles back into their boxes and
put them in the shoe box under his bed. He'd drawn a
black skull on that box, so that nobody dared open it. A
length of cotton hanging down from the lid could easily
be a fuse . . .
When he returned to the kitchen, he noticed that he
had a stomachache.
Nothing serious yet. Just something nagging away in
the background.
He sat stock still on the kitchen bench, to see if that
would bring on something more painful. But no: it was
still just a nagging ache.
He breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't like the gripes.
Being in pain was painful. If you had a really nasty
stomachache, so bad that it brought tears to your eyes, it
made the whole of your body hurt. Even the thoughts
you had inside your head were painful.
He sat absolutely still, to make sure that the stomachache
didn't get worse. He counted slowly to 123. Then
he could breathe out again. He wasn't going to get the
gripes today.
Nothing could match knowing that you weren't going
to be in pain.
He felt inspired to do something useful. Now was the
time to work out his strategy.
How could he set up a meeting between Gertrud and
the Caviar Man?
He thought again about what he'd read in books about
how grown-ups met in order to decide if they ought to
get married. But nothing of what he remembered
seemed suitable in this case.
Then he thought about Samuel and Mummy Jenny.
They had written letters to each other, Samuel had
told him.
Many years ago, his ship had been in dock in
Gothenburg for repairs. Samuel and some of his shipmates
had gone ashore one evening. He'd been walking
along the street, stumbled on a paving stone and fallen
headlong into the arms of Mummy Jenny.
So that was one way of meeting, and having a son
called Joel who experienced a Miracle.
You stumble in the street and fall into somebody.
And then you write letters.
Samuel had told Joel that after Jenny had prevented
him from hurting himself on the pavement in
Gothenburg, he'd persuaded her to give him her address.
Then he had written to her from all the foreign ports
he'd visited. And in one of the letters they had arranged
to meet in Gothenburg. In a park, behind a statue.
Joel thought carefully about all this.
He suspected it might be too difficult to arrange for
the Caviar Man to stumble on a paving stone and fall
headlong into the arms of Gertrud.
So he would have to miss that part out and go straight
to the letter stage.
They could send secret letters to each other and
arrange a secret meeting. Then no doubt everything
would proceed of its own accord.
Secret letters that Joel Gustafson would write.
But how did you write a letter like that? He had no
idea.
The library, he thought. There must be a book there
about secret letters. A book as important as that had to
exist!
He checked the kitchen clock. There were a lot of
hours to go yet before Miss Arvidson opened the library.
He would have to be patient.
By four o'clock he had only 72 pastilles left. He
thundered down the stairs and cycled to the library.
Miss Arvidson, the lady in charge of the library, was
very strict. She thought that nobody ever borrowed the
right books. Moreover, she refused to allow children to
borrow the books they wanted. On several occasions
Joel had put exciting books about murders and other
crimes on her desk, but she had pursed her lips and
informed him that those books were for adults only.
Joel couldn't imagine how a book about writing
secret letters could be for adults only. Why should
anybody have to wait until they were
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