She leafed her way back to the photographs again. The similarity was striking. And the last name was the same. It could not be a coincidence. She carefully folded up the paper and took it with her, walked into the kitchen, nodded at Johnny, crammed the paper into the trash, hesitating a couple of seconds as if to check if she were frightened before walking out into the dishwashing area.
Manuel was just pushing the dishwasher closed. He turned his head and Eva studied his face again but without seeing any fear or doubt.
“Eva,” he said and laughed as if she had made a funny and unexpected face.
“Manuel,” she said, and searched for the right words in English before she continued. She wanted to be precise.
“Have you lied to me about why you are here? You said you wanted to work and earn some money.”
He stopped and the look he gave her confirmed her suspicions.
“Do you have a relative who is in prison?”
Manuel searched for something to steady himself, found the counter, cast a nervous glance at the door before he slowly moved himself along the counter and sat on a stool.
“Have you talked to Slobodan?”
Eva shook her head.
“No, but is it true, then?”
Manuel nodded.
“My brother Patricio is in prison,” he whispered. “How did you find out?”
This reassured Eva somewhat. Apparently Manuel did not know about the escape.
“Why is he in prison?”
Manuel was silent for a long time while he debated with himself. Then he told her the story of how his brothers had been tempted to become drug runners, how one of them had died in Germany, and how the other had been caught in Swedish customs.
Eva felt immediately that she did not want to be pulled into anything. Patrik’s problems were enough. She caught a glimpse of Johnny’s chef’s hat and heard Donald say something that was drowned out by the roar of the dishwasher. She did not want to hear more. She thought about her sons and her fear became anger.
“Drugs,” she spit with such disgust in her voice that Manuel lifted his head and looked sadly at her.
“You are my friend,” he said.
“Never!”
“Let me explain,” Manuel said, as if speaking for his life. “I did not want to lie to you. I came to Sweden to visit my brother and to help him. I don’t like drugs. It costs us our lives.”
He assured her of his innocence. Became agitated and loquacious. I don’t want this, Eva thought. I want to work and have a decent life. She did not even want to have a meeting about drugs and youth. She did not want to hear Helen’s complaints and rants, nothing about drugs, she did not want Manuel’s sad eyes.
“Go now,” she said, and turned her back.
“I dreamed that you came to Mexico,” Manuel said. “That you wanted to see my country…”
Eva paused for a tenth of a second, but then opened the hinged doors to the dining room and left.
Manuel stood as if turned to stone. Eva, his friend, had told him to leave. When Slobodan had said he should leave Dakar for good he had not cared. He had returned for Eva’s sake. He did not need to do more dishes, he did not need to make money, and he had no desire to see the fat one anymore. Tomorrow the fat one would be gone from the restaurant, perhaps for good.
He washed dishes at Dakar because he liked Eva and wanted to see her. He pulled off his apron and laid it like a shroud over the dishwasher. He hesitated in the dressing room. Should he leave without saying good-bye to the others? No, he should let it be, it was best simply to leave.
He kicked off the rough shoes he had borrowed, put on his sandals and jacket, and went out into the night. A rustling sound came from the garbage cans outside the door. Strangely enough, it made him feel better. They still have to put up with the rats, he thought ungenerously, but immediately felt guilty. It was Feo, Tessie, and Eva who brought out the trash. It was not Slobodan who ran the risk of being bitten.
He walked slowly across the yard. Now the fat one got what he wanted after all, he thought, and walked up the alley to the street where Dakar had its entrance. Suddenly he saw movement in some bushes. He stopped and tried to see what it was that had set the branches in motion.
The old terror from Oaxaca returned. The police was his first thought, but he dismissed it just as fast. Why would they be hiding behind some bushes?
He came out onto the street and looked toward the restaurant entrance. The fat one was standing there. Manuel thought he saw him sway. At the same time he saw in the corner of his eye how a shadow slipped away from the bushes on the other side of the street. Manuel automatically crouched down behind a parked car. The shadow figure was pressed against the wall, then took several careful steps. Manuel thought there was something familiar about the figure. He glanced at Dakar and saw how Slobodan slowly started walking down the street. A taxi passed and Slobodan turned his head and raised his hand awkwardly, as if he was thinking of flagging it down. He is drunk again, Manuel thought.
The shadow on the other side of the street had now speeded up and when it passed a shop window Manuel received the shock of his life. Patricio! It was Patricio who was half-running on the sidewalk. Manuel could not believe his eyes, it could not be Patricio. The clothes looked unfamiliar, the cap was pulled down over his face, but the carriage was his brother’s, the long gait and the swinging of his arms. That was how Patricio would make his way through the mountains, half-running, leaving everything behind. But it could not be him. Patricio was in prison. His mind was playing games with him.
Slobodan had now stopped and was trying in vain to bend down in order to tie his laces. He cursed and continued.
The shadow figure on the other side of the street was now only some twenty meters from Slobodan. Manuel became convinced that the shadow was following the fat one.
“Hermanito,” he shouted, but not too loudly, afraid that the fat one would hear him.
The man on the other side of the street froze.
“Here,” Manuel shouted, now convinced that it really was Patricio, and held his hand up over the top of the car.
The man on the other side of the street turned his head and Manuel staggered when he saw his brother’s face.
Patricio looked just as shocked. He stared at Manuel for a couple of seconds before he ran across the street and they fell into each other’s arms.
Patricio pulled back from Manuel.
“The fat one is over there,” he said and pointed.
“I know.”
“I’m going to kill him,” Patricio said.
“No, it’s wrong,” Manuel said harshly, and at the same time wiped the tears from his cheeks. “We won’t get Angel back.”
“Don’t butt in!”
Manuel put his arms around Patricio’s shoulders.
“Did you escape from prison?”
Patricio nodded while his gaze followed the fat one, who was now drawing out of sight and finally turned a corner.
“He’s gone,” Manuel said.
Patricio’s entire stance changed after Slobodan Andersson disappeared. He collapsed into a heap, sobbing.
“Patricio,” Manuel said with so much love in his voice that the city around them no longer existed, no cocaine and no prison walls, no death and no reprimands stood in the way of the happiness the brothers felt.
This state of unity lasted until Manuel asked the question.
“Why?”
Patricio looked down.
“It just happened,” he said. “There were some others…”
“There are always these others,” Manuel growled, but the flare of anger subsided when he saw his brother’s crushed expression.
“We can’t stand here,” he said and pulled Patricio with him into the shadows.
Patricio started to say something but Manuel put up his hand and shushed him. What should we do, he wondered. His previous plans were no good now. He had to remove Patricio from the streets, hide him, and figure out a way to… yes, what?