When the Snow Fell by Henning Mankell Page A

some coffee.
    He hated everything to do with strong drink, especially the Swedish version of spiced vodka, called
brännvin
. He had no need to make any New Year’s resolutions concerning
brännvin:
he would never start drinking it. It was enough to see what it did to Samuel.
    Joel used to find bottles hidden away all over the house, labeled “Absolutely pure
brännvin.”
He found them hidden in the firewood bin, and in the case of apples they had tucked away in the pantry, for eating in the winter. He’d even found a bottle once in the cupboard where they kept sheets and pillowcases.
    He’d read somewhere that the great Indian chieftain Geronimo used to call
brännvin
“firewater,” but Joel knew what it really was.
    Spirits turned Samuel into a shipwrecked sailor.
    The drink took the boat away from a sailor.
    And Samuel was and would always be a sailor, even though he worked in the forests nowadays, chopping down trees.
    Joel made the coffee very strong. He knew that would help to sober Samuel up. Meanwhile, Samuel was lolling about at the kitchen table. He must have fallen down in the street somewhere. One of his pants legs was wet and dirty. Joel didn’t want to ask where his dad had been. When Samuel was on a drinking spree he would go to the homes of other men in town who spent all their time being washed up like driftwood on a beach, like shipwrecked sailors.
    Joel still had a stomachache, but it felt better now that he’d found Samuel. His biggest fear was always that Samuel would fall into a snowdrift one of these days and doze off to sleep.
    Despite the amount of spirits that Samuel had drunk over the years, he had never learnt how to cope with it.
    Joel wanted to know what had happened. Why had Samuel started drinking just now? When he’d been keeping off the booze for so long?
    But first Samuel must drink his coffee. Joel poured out a cup and put it on the table in front of his father. He’d put three sugar lumps in it.
    Samuel’s eyes were very red. Joel sat down at the table opposite him. It was the spirits glowing red in Samuel’seyes. The firewater had burnt, and all that was left of it was a glow deep down in Samuel’s eyes.
    “I’m very sorry about this,” said Samuel.
    “So am I,” said Joel testily.
    Samuel slurped at his coffee. He was holding the cup in both hands. Joel waited until he’d put it down again.
    “What’s the matter?” he asked.
    “Nothing,” said Samuel.
    Joel didn’t ask anymore. He knew that Samuel would tell him what had happened sooner or later. It might be soon, or it might take time. But sooner or later, when the spirits had begun to leave his body, he would say what was wrong.
    Meanwhile Joel sat at the table, daydreaming. He thought about Sonja Mattsson and the way she sat with her legs tucked underneath her. If he didn’t have Samuel to run around after and take responsibility for, he could move in with her. He would be able to practice there on the guitar he hoped to borrow from Simon Windstorm. Her flat smelled of perfume, not of wet wool.
    “It’s Sara,” Samuel said all of a sudden.
    “What’s the matter with Sara?”
    “She doesn’t want to anymore.”
    Joel still didn’t understand what had happened. Samuel raised his head, which seemed to be attached very loosely to his body. Like a leaf clinging to a tree in autumn. A leaf that was about to fall off.
    “She met me when I came home from the forest,” saidSamuel. “And she said she’d been thinking. And that it was probably best if we stopped seeing each other.”
    So she’s broken it off, Joel thought.
    That was the explanation. But he still didn’t understand. Samuel had always said how well they got on together. How they laughed a lot. And he spent the night with her once a week.
    “Didn’t she explain why?” Joel asked.
    Samuel shook his head. He’ll start crying in a minute, Joel thought.
    At that very moment Samuel burst out crying. It cut through Joel like a knife. This was