But by the time Joel had
come to the bottom of the hill and paused to regain his
breath before entering the back door of the bar, he had
decided that the best place for Gertrud to meet the man
he hadn't yet found for her was probably the
Community Centre.
Joel sat down on a chair in the corner where he was
least in the way. Sara had vanished through the swing
doors again, carrying a tray full of beer bottles. He tried
to think up a good way of getting Sara to help him,
without her realising it. If he could get her to tell him
about the men sitting out there in the bar, which ones
were unmarried and which ones were nice, he'd be able
to choose the one he thought would be most suitable for
Gertrud.
But what characteristics would be most suitable for
Gertrud?
What kind of man would she most like to have?
It wasn't easy to think in the kitchen, with Ludde
creating havoc at the sink all the time. And Sara and the
other waitresses running in and out, emptying trays and
loading them up again with new bottles and glasses.
'I'll soon be coming for a sit down,' said Sara, before
disappearing with her tray.
The other two waitresses, Karin and Hilda, said the
same thing.
'We'll soon be coming for a sit down and a rest.'
Joel didn't say anything. He was regretting not having
waited a bit longer before coming to the bar. He ought to
have thought through what kind of man Gertrud would
want first. Then he should have worked out how Sara
could be tricked into helping him.
This was typical of Joel – he often forgot to think
before starting to do something.
And this was the result. Just then Ludde dropped
another glass that shattered on the checked tile floor.
'Now!' exclaimed Sara, throwing down her tray and
slumping onto a chair. 'Time for a rest!'
She poured herself a cup of coffee, put a lump of
sugar in her mouth, and started slurping. Then she
looked up at Joel, and smiled.
'I'm so pleased,' she said. 'So pleased that nothing
happened to you. You wouldn't believe how much the
blokes out there are talking about the accident. You've
given them something to talk about. Everybody knows
who Joel Gustafson is now.'
Joel couldn't make up his mind if that was a good
thing or a bad thing.
Perhaps in future people would turn round in the
street to look at him and think: there goes that Joel
Gustafson who was run over by the Ljusdal bus without
suffering a single scratch.
Maybe they would even give him a nickname. Like
Mr Under the horse dealer, who was only ever referred
to as Neighing Ned.
Or Hugo, who was an electrician and the best player
in the local ice-hockey team.
How many people knew that his name was Hugo
when everybody called him Snotty?
The world is full of nicknames, Joel thought. Snotty
and Fleabag-Frankie and Paintpot-Percy, who was a
painter and decorator. There was a chimney sweep
known to everybody as Jim even though his real name
was Anders. Not to mention the baker everybody called
Bluebottle, because he had a front tooth missing and
made a buzzing sound when he talked. Or the stonemason
known as Buggery, because that was more or less all he
ever said. Or the vicar whose name was Nikodemus but
was called Knickers by those who knew him. But most
people just said Vicar. Then there was a skier known as
Skater-Sammy, and a drayman nicknamed Pop. But
oddest of all was surely the carpenter called Johanson
who was known to everybody as The Welder.
What would Joel's nickname be?
Joel Ljusdal Gustafson?
Lucky Joel?
Miracle Gustafson?
Joel frowned, and pulled a face at the very thought.
That was the worst thing about nicknames – it was
always somebody else who invented them.
You ought to be able to choose your own nickname.
'What are you pulling a face at?' asked Sara, with a
laugh.
'Nothing,' said Joel.
'It was nice of you to come and visit me.'
'I wanted to ask you something,' said Joel, without
knowing what he wanted to ask her about.
Sara nodded, and looked at him.
Just then the swing doors were flung
come to the bottom of the hill and paused to regain his
breath before entering the back door of the bar, he had
decided that the best place for Gertrud to meet the man
he hadn't yet found for her was probably the
Community Centre.
Joel sat down on a chair in the corner where he was
least in the way. Sara had vanished through the swing
doors again, carrying a tray full of beer bottles. He tried
to think up a good way of getting Sara to help him,
without her realising it. If he could get her to tell him
about the men sitting out there in the bar, which ones
were unmarried and which ones were nice, he'd be able
to choose the one he thought would be most suitable for
Gertrud.
But what characteristics would be most suitable for
Gertrud?
What kind of man would she most like to have?
It wasn't easy to think in the kitchen, with Ludde
creating havoc at the sink all the time. And Sara and the
other waitresses running in and out, emptying trays and
loading them up again with new bottles and glasses.
'I'll soon be coming for a sit down,' said Sara, before
disappearing with her tray.
The other two waitresses, Karin and Hilda, said the
same thing.
'We'll soon be coming for a sit down and a rest.'
Joel didn't say anything. He was regretting not having
waited a bit longer before coming to the bar. He ought to
have thought through what kind of man Gertrud would
want first. Then he should have worked out how Sara
could be tricked into helping him.
This was typical of Joel – he often forgot to think
before starting to do something.
And this was the result. Just then Ludde dropped
another glass that shattered on the checked tile floor.
'Now!' exclaimed Sara, throwing down her tray and
slumping onto a chair. 'Time for a rest!'
She poured herself a cup of coffee, put a lump of
sugar in her mouth, and started slurping. Then she
looked up at Joel, and smiled.
'I'm so pleased,' she said. 'So pleased that nothing
happened to you. You wouldn't believe how much the
blokes out there are talking about the accident. You've
given them something to talk about. Everybody knows
who Joel Gustafson is now.'
Joel couldn't make up his mind if that was a good
thing or a bad thing.
Perhaps in future people would turn round in the
street to look at him and think: there goes that Joel
Gustafson who was run over by the Ljusdal bus without
suffering a single scratch.
Maybe they would even give him a nickname. Like
Mr Under the horse dealer, who was only ever referred
to as Neighing Ned.
Or Hugo, who was an electrician and the best player
in the local ice-hockey team.
How many people knew that his name was Hugo
when everybody called him Snotty?
The world is full of nicknames, Joel thought. Snotty
and Fleabag-Frankie and Paintpot-Percy, who was a
painter and decorator. There was a chimney sweep
known to everybody as Jim even though his real name
was Anders. Not to mention the baker everybody called
Bluebottle, because he had a front tooth missing and
made a buzzing sound when he talked. Or the stonemason
known as Buggery, because that was more or less all he
ever said. Or the vicar whose name was Nikodemus but
was called Knickers by those who knew him. But most
people just said Vicar. Then there was a skier known as
Skater-Sammy, and a drayman nicknamed Pop. But
oddest of all was surely the carpenter called Johanson
who was known to everybody as The Welder.
What would Joel's nickname be?
Joel Ljusdal Gustafson?
Lucky Joel?
Miracle Gustafson?
Joel frowned, and pulled a face at the very thought.
That was the worst thing about nicknames – it was
always somebody else who invented them.
You ought to be able to choose your own nickname.
'What are you pulling a face at?' asked Sara, with a
laugh.
'Nothing,' said Joel.
'It was nice of you to come and visit me.'
'I wanted to ask you something,' said Joel, without
knowing what he wanted to ask her about.
Sara nodded, and looked at him.
Just then the swing doors were flung
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