‘Quite right,’ replied Father. ‘But people tire quickly. One must always be aware of holding their attention, and not go on too long.’
‘That’s something that preachers should learn.’
Father laughed. Daniel thought it was an ingratiating laugh.
‘It’s unusual to meet a female correspondent,’ he said. ‘Before, they were always men. So something seems to be changing after all.’
‘Women are seeking positions in society,’ she said. ‘An old, rotten stronghold is about to collapse. Men are on the barricades, except for the fearless and young, but we shall not give in.’
‘I understand that Fru Myrén is a radical, then?’
‘Not Fru, Fröken.’
‘So, Mamselle Myrén.’
‘Not Mamselle either. That’s French and shouldn’t be used in this country. I am Fröken and thus unmarried. And self-supporting.’
‘Are correspondents paid so well?’
‘I am also a milliner with seven employees.’
‘Here in Mariefred? Can you make a living at that?’
‘We fill orders for shops in Stockholm. We have made hats for the Royal Court. That gained us a clientele among the aristocracy.’
Daniel noticed that she pronounced certain words with great emphasis, as if she didn’t like what she was talking about. In his ears, the words ‘Royal Court’ sounded almost the same as when Father said the word ‘damn’.
‘So Fröken Myrén wants to write an article? Naturally I will be at your service.’
‘I would also like to speak with the boy. I hear he has already learned the language, which surprises me.’
‘He speaks very little. But of course I can tell you his story. May I suggest that Fröken Myrén accompany us to the dinner that awaits us at the inn?’
‘That would not be proper. It could be misconstrued.’
‘I understand. Rumour spreads quickly in such a small town. Just as it does in a big desert. In that case, we’ll have to do the interview right now. We’re leaving Mariefred early in the morning for an engagement in Strängnäs.’
The woman removed her hat, opened a small handbag, and took out a notebook and a pencil. Father opened the case with the insects in it, took out the skipping rope, and handed it to Daniel.
‘Out in the foyer,’ he said. ‘And be quiet. I know you can.’
‘I would like to talk to him too,’ said the woman.
‘Then we’ll call him in.’
Daniel understood that Father wanted to be left alone. He took the skipping rope and went out into the foyer. An old woman sat asleep with her knitting by the front door. Daniel walked around and looked at things. On the ceiling were paintings of angels playing among the clouds. He thought that it must be just as hard to float among the clouds as it was to walk on water. But neither was impossible. He started to skip. The old woman slept on. His feet scarcely touched the stone floor. He tried to imagine that it was water. One day he would be so skilled that he would not only walk on water, he would be able to skip on it too.
After a while he grew tired. The old woman was still sleeping. He peeked through the door into the big hall. Father was standing there lecturing the woman, who was writing it all down. Daniel entered cautiously and sat down at the back of the hall. He could hear everything Father was saying, because he was speaking quite loudly. Now and then the woman would ask a question. She also spoke loudly enough for Daniel to understand the words. They were talking about insects. Daniel leaned his head against the seat in front of him and closed his eyes. He wondered when he would have time to practise keeping his feet on the surface of the water. Kiko had appeared to him the night before: that had to mean that they were waiting for him.
His thoughts were interrupted when he heard his name. He looked at Father. He was standing still now, and he was talking about him. Daniel began to listen. Then he became confused. Who was Father actually talking about? He was telling about a lion that had been wounded by a gunshot and had dragged an unconscious boy into the bushes to eat him. Was he the boy in the story? Daniel had never in his life seen a lion. Nor had Be. Kiko thought he had seen one at a distance once. Was he supposed to have been dragged off by a wounded lion? He got up and sneaked forward among the chairs to come closer. He sat down on the floor and peeked through the chairs. The floor was filthy. The sailor suit that Father had sewn for him would get dirty, but it couldn’t be helped.
There was no doubt. Father was talking about him, and nothing he said was true. According to his story, Father had saved him from the lion and then carried him for four days without water through the desert. There they had been attacked by a band of robbers, but Father had not only saved their lives, he also managed to convert the robbers to the Christian faith, and after that Daniel had been his faithful apostle.
Daniel had heard that exact word before: apostle. He understood that it meant he had followed along voluntarily across the sea, that it had been his own wish, a desperate desire to accompany Father when he told him that it was time for him to return with the insects he had collected.
Not a word of what Father was telling her was true! Daniel wondered whether he was talking about some other boy who had followed him across the sea. Someone who no longer existed, whom Father never talked about? But that couldn’t be right. Father was talking about him, and what the woman was writing in her notebook was all lies.
Father was lying.
He was making up a story that was not true at all.
Daniel sat on the floor and felt a strong impulse to start screaming. That’s not right, that’s not how it happened. I’ve never even seen a lion. But he held his tongue. He couldn’t scream because he didn’t understand why Father was telling this story about him. What he said about the insects was right: there was not one detail that was untrue.
Father finished and wiped the sweat from his brow with his handkerchief. Daniel crept back out to the foyer. There he began skipping, furiously. He slammed his feet against the stone floor as hard as he could. The old woman suddenly opened her eyes and stared at him. But she didn’t believe what she saw and went back to sleep. Father came out to him.
‘Didn’t you hear me calling you?’ he asked. ‘And didn’t I tell you to skip quietly?’
Daniel didn’t answer.
‘She wants to talk to you, though I’ve already told her most of the story. Just tell her your name and that you believe in God. That will be enough.’
Daniel followed Father into the hall. The woman had taken off her gloves to write. Her fingers were very slender and white. Daniel wanted to grab hold of them and hold on tight, so tight that Father wouldn’t be able to pull him loose.
‘I’ve heard your story,’ she said and smiled. ‘It’s quite a remarkable account, which will thrill many readers. In contrast to all the terrible things we read about slavery and injustice, this is a story that tells us something good.’
‘Goodness is necessary,’ said Father mildly. ‘Without goodness, life is a wasted effort.’
The woman looked at Daniel.
‘My name is Ina,’ she said. ‘Can you say my name?’
‘Ina.’
‘Do you understand what a remarkable experience this is? To hear my name spoken by a person who was born far away in a desert?’
‘I have never seen a lion.’
Daniel hadn’t prepared this. The words came out by themselves. I have never seen a lion.
Father frowned. ‘He thinks that “lion” is the name of a Swedish animal,’ he explained. ‘Maybe an elk. Isn’t that right, Daniel?’
‘I have never seen a lion.’
‘Now, answer her questions,’ said Father. ‘Dinner won’t wait for ever. We can’t go to bed hungry.’