The Deal of a Lifetime and Other Stories by Fredrik Backman

Author:Fredrik Backman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster

“What’s on those pieces of paper?” the boy asks.

“Those are all my ideas,” Grandpa replies.

“They’re blowing away.”

“They’ve been doing that for a long time.”

The boy nods and wraps his fingers tightly around Grandpa’s.

“Is your brain ill?”

“Who told you that?”

“Dad.”

Grandpa exhales through his nose. Nods.

“We don’t know, really. We know so little about how the brain works. It’s like a fading star right now—do you remember what I taught you about that?”

“When a star fades it takes a long time for us to realize, as long as it takes for the last of its light to reach Earth.”

Grandpa’s chin trembles. He often reminds Noah that the universe is over thirteen billion years old. Grandma always used to mutter, “And you’re still in such a hurry to look at it that you never have time to do the dishes.” “Those who hasten to live are in a hurry to miss,” she sometimes used to whisper to Noah, though he didn’t know what she meant before she was buried. Grandpa clasps his hands to stop them from shaking.

“When a brain fades it takes a long time for the body to realize. The human body has a tremendous work ethic; it’s a mathematical masterpiece, it’ll keep working until the very last light. Our brains are the most boundless equation, and once humanity solves it it’ll be more powerful than when we went to the moon. There’s no greater mystery in the universe than a human. Do you remember what I told you about failing?”

“The only time you’ve failed is if you don’t try once more.”

“Exactly, Noahnoah, exactly. A great thought can never be kept on Earth.”

Noah closes his eyes, stops the tears in their tracks, and forces them to cower beneath his eyelids. Snow starts to fall in the square, the same way very small children cry, like it had barely started at first but soon like it would never end. Heavy, white flakes cover all of Grandpa’s ideas.

“Tell me about school, Noahnoah,” the old man says.

He always wants to know everything about school, but not like other adults, who only want to know if Noah is behaving. Grandpa wants to know if the school is behaving. It hardly ever is.

“Our teacher made us write a story about what we want to be when we’re big,” Noah tells him.

“What did you write?”

“I wrote that I wanted to concentrate on being little first.”

“That’s a very good answer.”

“Isn’t it? I would rather be old than a grown-up. All grown-ups are angry, it’s just children and old people who laugh.”

“Did you write that?”

“Yes.”

“What did your teacher say?”

“She said I hadn’t understood the task.”

“And what did you say?”

“I said she hadn’t understood my answer.”

“I love you,” Grandpa manages to say with closed eyes.

“You’re bleeding again,” Noah says with his hand on Grandpa’s forearm.

Grandpa wipes his forehead with a faded handkerchief. He’s searching for something in his pockets. Then he looks at the boy’s shoes, the way they swing a few inches above the tarmac with unruly shadows beneath them.

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