‘Everything is the same here,’ he said. ‘Maître d’s come and go, as do the waiters. The students grow younger and younger, the weather worse and worse, and the knowledge that is taught is more and more difficult to respect.’
He expected no reply so turned and made his way back to his table.
By the time the orange mousse was set on the table Bengler was quite tipsy. He waved the maître d’ over.
‘Is it possible that the hotel could provide someone to watch the boy for a while?’ He pointed at Daniel. ‘I’m thinking of spending a few hours in the smoking room. It’s not a suitable environment for a child.’
The maître d’ promised to enquire at the front desk. Daniel had finished all his food. During the long passage from Cape Town, Bengler had taught him to use a knife and fork. He could see that Daniel had to make an effort to do as he had been taught, but he didn’t spill anything or cram the food into his mouth. The maître d’ returned.
‘They think it would be possible to have one of the chambermaids watch him.’
Bengler paid the bill and stood up. He took a step sideways. Daniel smiled. He thinks I’m playing, thought Bengler. An intoxicated person is someone who’s playing, nothing more. They left the dining room. The Loop had disappeared. Conversations stopped again as they passed various tables. Once more Bengler got the feeling that he ought to say something. But what would he say? What could he actually explain? Or did he somehow feel a need to excuse himself for breaking an invisible rule of etiquette by bringing a black boy into a public dining room?
It turned out that the girl who was sent to look after Daniel was the same girl who had brought the hot water earlier.
‘All you have to do is stay here,’ said Bengler. ‘You don’t have to talk or play with him. Just stay here. What’s your name?’
‘Charlotta.’
‘Just see that he doesn’t open the window,’ Bengler went on. ‘Or go out of the door. I’ll be down in the smoking room.’
Daniel seemed to understand what he said. He sat on the edge of the bed and looked at Bengler.
The room beyond the dining room was just as he remembered it. The tobacco smoke that hovered like a motionless fog, the sweet smell of arrack punch, the dim light from the kerosene lamps. He stood in the doorway and looked around. It was as if he recognised all the faces even though the people there were strangers to him. A chair right next to one of the windows was free. He went over to it. The thought of punch didn’t appeal to him so he ordered cognac. For the first time in ages he felt free. Daniel was a burden. He had taken it on himself, but still the boy was a burden. Had he ever thought about what a responsibility he had shouldered? The cognac muddled his thoughts. All he knew was that he had to take Daniel with him to Hovmantorp. Then he would present his desert finds and, based on that, attempt to find a way to make a living. What that would involve he had no idea. He could travel around and give lectures. But who would be interested in insects? He ordered another glass of cognac. In one of the darkest corners of the room two women sat drinking with some students. Suddenly he saw Matilda before him. A powerful desire filled him, now he had returned. Matilda must be nearby, if she was still alive, if she hadn’t left for Denmark or Hamburg. One of the women on the sofa got up. She was not beautiful; her face was ravaged. She disappeared through the draperies. Bengler followed her. She was standing in front of a mirror and straightening her hat.
She smiled when he stopped next to her. For sale, he thought. She wasn’t in Lund when I left. Now she’s here, she’s come from somewhere and she’s for sale. The same way Matilda had come from Landskrona after her father violated her.
‘I’m looking for a woman,’ said Bengler.
She smiled but with her lips pressed together. Bengler knew what that meant: she had bad teeth. Or perhaps she had syphilis, which could be seen on the tongue.
‘I’m already engaged,’ she said. ‘But some other evening. Gentlemen are so unpredictable. The one sitting in there wants to marry me. But what he’ll want to do tomorrow, nobody knows.’
‘Her name is Matilda,’ said Bengler. ‘Matilda Andersson. She used to keep me company. Then I left on a long voyage. Now I’ve come back.’
The woman at the mirror continued straightening her hat. Bengler looked at her breasts under the tight-fitting blouse. He could feel his excitement growing.
‘Matilda is a common name. Just as common as mine, Carolina. Describe her for me.’
Bengler didn’t know what to say. He could describe her naked body, the shape of her breasts and thighs, but how had she dressed? He tried to remember. But he saw her only without clothes.
‘I can’t,’ he said. ‘She had blue eyes, brown hair. Maybe it was naturally curly, maybe she had it curled. She smelled sour.’
The woman was finished with her hat. She moved close to him.
‘What do I smell like?’
‘Like liquorice root.’
‘Forget her. Tomorrow I can keep you company.’
She gave his face a quick caress. He couldn’t help grabbing her breast. She laughed, twisted away and then vanished back through the draperies. Bengler walked through the lobby and out in to the street. It was warmer now after the downpour.
Somewhere he heard a horse whinnying. He looked up at the corner room where Daniel had probably fallen asleep by now. The desire for a woman was very strong. He thought about Benikkolua. Why couldn’t he have taken her along as well as Daniel? The thought of the woman in front of the mirror suddenly made him sick. In the cool autumn evening he began to hate this town. If it hadn’t been for the money he would never have come back. Matilda wasn’t even a memory, only a mirage, just like there in the desert. What had been was no more. Now it was only him and Daniel and the cognac, which made him feel like he was standing on the heaving deck of a ship again.
He went back inside, paid for his drinks, and heard the women laughing in the dark when he left through the draperies. I’m a person who’s doing a lot of different things for the last time, he thought. I will never come back to this room.
When he came upstairs to the corner room the chambermaid was asleep in a chair. Daniel was also sleeping. The girl jumped when Bengler touched her shoulder. Once more he felt desire flare up. How old could she be? Sixteen or seventeen, hardly more. She was very pale.
‘I’ll pay you,’ he said. ‘Did he go over to the window?’
‘He sat on the edge of the bed playing with his fingers.’
‘Is that all?’
‘Then he played with his feet.’
‘And then?’
‘Then he went to bed. He never looked at me.’
‘He seldom looks at people,’ said Bengler. ‘On the other hand, he does sometimes look straight through people who cross his path.’
Bengler had taken out a riksdaler coin. That was too much. Without really wanting to, he took a note out of his pocket.
‘There will be more money to be made,’ he said. ‘If you’re nice to me.’
She understood and jumped up. She ought to slap me, Bengler thought. Instead she blushed.
‘I have to go,’ she said. ‘You don’t have to pay me for this. I didn’t do anything. Just sat here.’
Bengler grabbed her arm. She tensed up.
‘I have to be careful,’ he said.
She started to cry. Shame crashed furiously over Bengler. What in hell am I doing? he thought. I’m trying to buy this girl who doesn’t even know what love is, knows nothing besides cleaning, curtsying and being pleasant.
‘I didn’t mean any harm,’ he muttered. ‘Take the coin.’
But the girl fled and he was left standing with the coin in his hand. His shame was raging. He went over to the window and looked down at the street. The students were leaving with their women. He watched the woman with the hat and thought: I have to get out of here. His old life was gone. He had left it behind in the desert. Now he had his insects and Daniel.