The Journey to the End of the World (Joel Gustafson Stories) by Henning Mankell

at a clock outside a watchmaker’s shop. It said seven minutes past twelve.
    Samuel stood up.
    ‘You’d better take the map,’ he said. ‘I don’t think I’m as good at finding the way as I thought I’d be.’
    Now it was Joel taking the lead. He kept checking the map to make sure they were going the right way. They soon came to the water. There was the Royal Palace, and there were bridges, hotels, museums, and most important of all, boats. But Joel was disappointed to find that there weren’t any cargo ships. Small white passenger boats, the occasional fishing boat. But no big ships. No ships of the kind that would need a sailor like Samuel, or a young boy like Joel who would be signing on for the first time.
    ‘Where are all the boats?’ he wondered. ‘Like the ones that you used to work on?’
    ‘Oh, they’ll probably be in the harbour at Värtahamnen,’ said Samuel. ‘Or in Frihamnen.’
    Joel stopped dead, unfolded the map and looked up Värtahamnen. But that was miles away from where they were now.
    It would have to wait until another day.
    They continued on their way.
    Samuel had started sweating. He couldn’t walk as fast as Joel, and several times used his handkerchief to mop his brow.
    Joel stopped at the corner of a street. A large open square was spread out in front of them. If the city had been a forest, they would have come to a large clearing.
    ‘This is it,’ said Joel, after checking the map. ‘Medborgarplatsen.’
    Samuel bit his lip. Joel found himself doing the same thing. He didn’t like copying what Samuel did, but he couldn’t help it.
    There was a pavement café in the square. Samuel pointed at it and nodded.
    ‘I must have a cup of coffee,’ he said. ‘And something cold. Meanwhile you can scout around and see if you can find the shop.’
    ‘Shouldn’t we do that together?’
    ‘We have to find the place before we can do anything,’ said Samuel. ‘You’ll be best at doing that on your own.’
    Joel left Samuel at the pavement café.
    It felt as if he were setting out on the most important reconnaissance expedition of his life. He knew that was a childish thought, but he couldn’t help thinking the way he did. He was childish. And he’d decided he was going to stay that way for as long as he wanted to.
    He suddenly stopped dead.
    It had dawned on him where the limit was.
    There was a river that childishness would never be able to swim over. And he would soon find himself on the bank of that river when he stood in front of Mummy Jenny and said:
    Here I am. Joel.
    He started walking round the square. Noticed how nervous he was. He could just make out Samuel somewhere in the background.
    He was close to Mummy Jenny now. Assuming the letter from Elinor in Gothenburg was right. And it must surely be.
    He continued walking round the square, looking for a grocer’s shop.
    He paused several times, when he thought he had seen The Black Wave.
    He found himself back at his starting point, and frowned. There wasn’t a grocer’s shop here.
    He walked all the way round again. Same result. No grocer’s shop.
    He was quite sure. He hadn’t overlooked it.
    Samuel was stirring his empty cup with a spoon. Joel joined him at the table.
    ‘There is no shop,’ he said.
    Samuel looked at him uncomprehendingly.
    ‘What do you mean, there isn’t a shop?’
    ‘You heard what I said. There isn’t a grocer’s shop in this square. What did it actually say in the letter?’
    ‘That Jenny works in a grocer’s shop in this square.’
    ‘How could she know that?’
    ‘Elinor would never write anything she wasn’t sure about.’
    ‘Have you got the letter with you?’
    ‘I left it at home.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘I know exactly what it says. I’ve read it so many times, I know it more or less off by heart.’
    Joel didn’t know where his anxiety came from, but it was suddenly there. It was as if a blast of cold wind had blown past.
    He didn’t know what was the matter.
    But he hadn’t