What had he said as she left the dishwashing area? That he had believed she had wanted to visit his country. She pushed the paper away and tried to imagine herself in Mexico. She had toyed with this thought, of course. And it was not only from curiosity about another country or the fact that she had recently read an article about the Caribbean. It was also Manuel the man. After her initial assessment, when she had pegged him as a movie villain, she had gradually adjusted her impression. He was perhaps not exactly handsome, but he possessed a strength that appealed to her.
She was drawn to fit, wiry men. She did not like couch potatoes with jutting stomachs and poor posture, she might as well admit it.
She had noticed how he studied her in secret. These had not been unpleasant looks, as opposed to Johnny in the kitchen who stared at her with a mixture of disdain and lust. Blushing, she thought about how she had put in a little extra effort to make herself look good before yesterday’s shift, and the look he had given her in the changing room had been exhilarating, in a somewhat bewildering way.
She was not in love with this lying Mexican, but it was as if her new job also involved a new relationship to life and the future. She was not stuck. She could develop. She could make money and have the opportunity to travel, as she had dreamed of for so long. She could meet a man to flirt with and perhaps love. Love in a new way, not like with Jörgen. Dakar promised this. Even the new, trendy hairstyle that had been more or less forced on her, but that she had immediately liked, was a confirmation of all this.
It was in this context that Manuel had entered Dakar as a messenger of the fact that the world was bigger than just Uppsala. However many articles she read, and however many travel programs she watched on television, a living person was a much more effective catalyst for dreams.
Eva had met people from foreign countries before-taking a walk through Sävja was enough for that-but Manuel’s stories about Mexico and his village vibrated with a love and a longing that Eva absorbed with all her senses. She could not put her finger on what it was exactly, but he had intensified her longing.
Now he was gone for good. She felt it as a betrayal, as if she had been double-crossed at the start of a budding and promising romance.
Hugo stumbled groggily into the kitchen. Eva stood up and quickly put breakfast on the table. She smiled at the sound of Patrik in the bathroom.
“How are you doing?”
Hugo grunted something and shouted at Patrik to hurry up.
When they were done with breakfast-it took five minutes because both of the boys had slept in-and they had hurried off to school, the telephone rang. Eva glanced at the wall clock. It was shortly after nine.
She lifted the receiver and heard Feo’s agitated voice. He told her he had been called by Donald, who in turn had a received a call from Oskar Hammer at Alhambra. Oskar had told Donald about the visit from the police and that he had been forced to hand over all keys. Dakar, Alhambra, and Slobodan’s apartment were being searched. The police had not wanted to tell him what it was all about, but Hammer had guessed that it was a matter of suspected tax fraud.
When Donald had rushed down to Dakar, he had been stopped by a police officer who stood at the entrance like a bouncer. Donald had managed to catch sight of a dog inside.
“It must be drugs,” Feo said. “The tax authorities don’t bring a dog.”
“Do they think Manuel…?”
“No, why would they be interested in him? An illegal worker is not enough for them to hit Alhambra and Slobodan at home. It must be something else. Damn it!”
Eva knew Feo was thinking of his job, and it struck her that the same went for her. If the police closed Dakar she would be unemployed again.
“Did Donald say anything else?” she asked.
“He tried to talk to the police, but they were cold as fish so he went home. We’ll have to see.”
“Are you going down there?”
“I’m supposed to work today,” Feo said despondently.
When she had hung up she just sat at the kitchen table. It was too much. First the revelation about Manuel and his drug brother who had escaped, and now this.
Eva stood up with a sigh, took out the telephone book from a kitchen drawer, found the number of the police, dialed the numbers, and found herself speaking with a recorded, mechanical voice that urged her to make a selection from one of the available options. After a couple of seconds she slammed the receiver down onto the table and the call was disconnected.
Fifty-Eight
Manuel woke up with a start. The sun was high and beamed down from a clear blue sky. A sudden shadow in his face had awakened him, and when he opened his eyes a man was standing there. Manuel sprang to his feet, the man jumped back and uttered something that caused Patricio to awaken and sit up.
The man said something they did not understand. Manuel exhaled. It was the fisherman, the one who usually walked by with a fishing rod over his shoulder.
Manuel made a calming gesture to Patricio.
“Not understand,” Manuel said in English.
The fisherman laughed but kept speaking in Swedish. Then he bent over, pretended to pick something up from the ground, and brought his hand to his mouth while he had a wide smile on his face.
Manuel stared at him without comprehension, but when the man pointed over the edge of the bank in the direction of the fields, he realized the fisherman meant the strawberries. Manuel nodded eagerly.
The man pulled his hand over his brow, made a face that was supposed to indicate pain, and then put a hand on his back.
Patricio regarded the whole pantomime with amazement.
“What does he want?” Patricio asked.
“He thinks we work with strawberries.”
The man entertained the brothers for several more minutes with charades about how poor the fishing was and how good the sun felt.
Then he took his leave and went downstream. Manuel thought he looked happy as he walked.
“He’s fishing,” Patricio said and watched the slow-moving water flowing by.
He got up and went to the water’s edge. Manuel watched him as he sat in a crouch and wet his hand in the water, before he turned his head and met his brother’s gaze.
“Do you remember when we stood by the Rio Grande?”
Manuel nodded. How could he forget?
“We were foreigners there, too. We had to be on guard even with the friendly people. What if that fisherman was simply pretending?”
“I don’t think so,” Manuel said.
“Like Hamilton, the broccoli farmer who bought beer and gave us food,” Patricio said. “We thought he wished us well, but then he called the cops and withheld our wages.”
“I remember,” Manuel said, “but there is no sense in worrying about this now.”
He understood his brother, but was also irritated at his doubts.
“You are free!” Manuel said, and threw his arms wide, as if he could scrub away all the doubt with a single stroke.
“Am I?”
Patricio turned back to the river and stared into the water.
“We have to stay here a few days until the police calm down,” Manuel said, “but you have to believe it will work out.”
Patricio said nothing. Manuel came to think of Eva. What was she thinking about him? That he was a liar, of course, but she probably also thought he was a drug dealer. He would so have liked to have her as a friend, and it hurt him that she did not think well of him. It felt both unfair and unnecessary. He should have trusted her and talked about why he traveled to Sweden. Then they might perhaps still have been friends.
He had understood that she had been attracted by the thought of traveling to Mexico. It had not simply been an innocent joke between them. In her eyes he had seen a longing and a spark that was lit. She had considered the possibility, but now all that was gone.
Manuel cursed himself for having disappointed her and he wondered if the wound could be healed.