Read Online A Bridge to the Stars by Henning Mankell - Free Book Online
Authors: Henning Mankell
Tags: english
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a
nobleman and, in all seriousness, claims that his name is
von Swallow? The only thing Joel is sure is good is the
heroism rule he has invented.
Joel leads the way through the dark streets, down
towards the iron bridge over the river. He takes short cuts
through rear courtyards and narrow alleys between cold
walls. Although it's not necessary, he picks the most
roundabout and awkward route he can think of.
Clambering over the roof of the shed where the Highways
Department keeps its welding equipment is unnecessary,
of course. Nor is it essential to struggle through the broken-down
greenhouse owned by Mr Under, the horse dealer.
But Ture doesn't complain. He follows a couple of paces
behind Joel, and Joel notices that he's good at climbing.
They pause outside the block of flats where Otto
lives.
'This is where an enemy lives,' says Joel. 'He's been
excluded. He's called Otto and he's a real bastard.'
'Excluded from what?' wonders Ture.
The light from a streetlamp illuminates his face, and
Joel can see that he is not grinning scornfully.
'You'll find out soon enough,' says Joel. 'How old are
you, by the way?'
'Twelve,' says Ture. 'You as well?'
'Nearly,' says Joel.
When they stop the next time they're in the middle of
the railway bridge. The enormous arches tower up over
their heads.
Joel quickly invents another rule. Too bad if it's a rule
that is going to cause pain.
He bends down and touches the ice-cold parapet with
his tongue. His tongue sticks to the metal immediately,
and it hurts when he pulls it loose.
Then Joel tells Ture about The Secret Society. About
who is in it, who has been excluded and who are dead.
He talks about the dog he is looking for, but he doesn't
mention that he imagines it is on its way to a star. He's
not sure why he keeps that back. Perhaps he wants to
keep some of the secret for himself?
'Even if you're going to run away in a week's time
you can still be a member,' says Joel. 'But there's
something you must promise, and another thing you
must do. You must hold your tongue against the bridge
parapet and count up to fifty. And you must promise to
crawl over those enormous iron arches if you betray The
Secret Society.'
Without hesitation Ture crouches down and presses
his tongue against the freezing cold parapet.
Joel realises straight away that Ture has never done
this before. Licked cold iron in the middle of winter. The
trick is simply to touch the iron with the very tip of your
tongue, so that it doesn't hurt too much when you try to
take it away.
Joel is worried. What if he can't get it loose again?
What if it sticks fast and is torn off?
When Ture has finished counting to fifty he pulls his
tongue away. Joel can see that it hurts something awful,
and that Ture wasn't prepared for that at all. He pulls a
face and spits blood into the palm of his hand.
'I promise,' he says. 'I'll crawl over the arch if I
betray The Secret Society.'
'You have to stand up at the top of the arch and pee
into the river as well,' says Joel.
'I have no intention of evading my obligations,' says
Ture. 'Now what do we do?'
'Look for the dog,' says Joel.
But there is no sign of the dog that night.
They roam about the little town.
The Old Bricklayer, Simon Windstorm, goes past in
his lorry, and Joel explains that the driver is a madman
who never sleeps.
'He hasn't slept for thirty-four years,' he says, to
make Simon even more mysterious.
'You'll die,' says Ture. 'If you haven't slept for as
many years as that, you're dead. That would mean
there's a dead man driving around in that lorry.'
'Maybe he is dead,' says Joel. 'We'll look into that
one of these nights.'
Outside the Grand Hotel are a couple of drunks,
leaning against each other. Joel recognises them. The
short fat one is Mr Rudin, the ironmonger. The tall thin
one is Walter Kringström who runs a dance orchestra
and plays the clarinet.
In the background, in the forecourt of the hotel, Mr
Roth, the restaurant owner, is trying to start his
nobleman and, in all seriousness, claims that his name is
von Swallow? The only thing Joel is sure is good is the
heroism rule he has invented.
Joel leads the way through the dark streets, down
towards the iron bridge over the river. He takes short cuts
through rear courtyards and narrow alleys between cold
walls. Although it's not necessary, he picks the most
roundabout and awkward route he can think of.
Clambering over the roof of the shed where the Highways
Department keeps its welding equipment is unnecessary,
of course. Nor is it essential to struggle through the broken-down
greenhouse owned by Mr Under, the horse dealer.
But Ture doesn't complain. He follows a couple of paces
behind Joel, and Joel notices that he's good at climbing.
They pause outside the block of flats where Otto
lives.
'This is where an enemy lives,' says Joel. 'He's been
excluded. He's called Otto and he's a real bastard.'
'Excluded from what?' wonders Ture.
The light from a streetlamp illuminates his face, and
Joel can see that he is not grinning scornfully.
'You'll find out soon enough,' says Joel. 'How old are
you, by the way?'
'Twelve,' says Ture. 'You as well?'
'Nearly,' says Joel.
When they stop the next time they're in the middle of
the railway bridge. The enormous arches tower up over
their heads.
Joel quickly invents another rule. Too bad if it's a rule
that is going to cause pain.
He bends down and touches the ice-cold parapet with
his tongue. His tongue sticks to the metal immediately,
and it hurts when he pulls it loose.
Then Joel tells Ture about The Secret Society. About
who is in it, who has been excluded and who are dead.
He talks about the dog he is looking for, but he doesn't
mention that he imagines it is on its way to a star. He's
not sure why he keeps that back. Perhaps he wants to
keep some of the secret for himself?
'Even if you're going to run away in a week's time
you can still be a member,' says Joel. 'But there's
something you must promise, and another thing you
must do. You must hold your tongue against the bridge
parapet and count up to fifty. And you must promise to
crawl over those enormous iron arches if you betray The
Secret Society.'
Without hesitation Ture crouches down and presses
his tongue against the freezing cold parapet.
Joel realises straight away that Ture has never done
this before. Licked cold iron in the middle of winter. The
trick is simply to touch the iron with the very tip of your
tongue, so that it doesn't hurt too much when you try to
take it away.
Joel is worried. What if he can't get it loose again?
What if it sticks fast and is torn off?
When Ture has finished counting to fifty he pulls his
tongue away. Joel can see that it hurts something awful,
and that Ture wasn't prepared for that at all. He pulls a
face and spits blood into the palm of his hand.
'I promise,' he says. 'I'll crawl over the arch if I
betray The Secret Society.'
'You have to stand up at the top of the arch and pee
into the river as well,' says Joel.
'I have no intention of evading my obligations,' says
Ture. 'Now what do we do?'
'Look for the dog,' says Joel.
But there is no sign of the dog that night.
They roam about the little town.
The Old Bricklayer, Simon Windstorm, goes past in
his lorry, and Joel explains that the driver is a madman
who never sleeps.
'He hasn't slept for thirty-four years,' he says, to
make Simon even more mysterious.
'You'll die,' says Ture. 'If you haven't slept for as
many years as that, you're dead. That would mean
there's a dead man driving around in that lorry.'
'Maybe he is dead,' says Joel. 'We'll look into that
one of these nights.'
Outside the Grand Hotel are a couple of drunks,
leaning against each other. Joel recognises them. The
short fat one is Mr Rudin, the ironmonger. The tall thin
one is Walter Kringström who runs a dance orchestra
and plays the clarinet.
In the background, in the forecourt of the hotel, Mr
Roth, the restaurant owner, is trying to start his
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