The Demon of Dakar (35 page)

“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?

“Wait here,” he told his brother, “don’t go anywhere. I’ll get the car.”

“What car?”

“I’ve rented a car.”

He left and half-ran down the street. A patrol car came gliding along. Manuel jumped over a low fence and landed in a thicket. The patrol car drove on. Eva has called the cops, he thought, getting up and running to the car that he had parked on the street on the next block.

He had been chased by the police once before. That was when he and a dozen other Indian activists had left the headquarters of Consejo Inídgena Popular de Oaxaca to take the bus and join the demonstrations in Oaxaca’s central square. The police were waiting behind the school by Carretera Nacionàl and threw themselves over the group. Manuel managed to climb the school wall and through the schoolyard to the other side of the neighborhood. In the background he heard sirens and the barking of police dogs. Manuel ran for his life. Two policemen came after him, one tired after only a couple of hundred meters, the other Manuel managed to shake next to the soccer field by crawling into a shed. Manuel heard the policeman’s heavy panting, and he fingered his machete. If the dogs came at least he had this.

Manuel spent the whole night there before he dared leave his hiding place. When he came down to the square the following day the demonstration had been dispersed and only a torn poster bore witness to the small-farmers’ monthlong protest.

Now there were no police
in sight and no sound of dogs. He swung out onto the street from his parking spot and made a U-turn. As he
passed Dakar, some customers were stepping onto the street. They were noisy, laughing, and sauntered away. It was a good sign and Manuel grew calm. If the police were inside Dakar, the guests would probably have stayed inside from curiosity.

He rolled slowly to the place where he had left Patricio.

Manuel was awakened by bird
song, or rather, a violent screeching outside the tent. After a second or so, when he became conscious of the previous evening’s events, he threw back the blanket and sat up. Patricio was gone. They had fallen asleep next to each other, like they used to when they slept in the mountains, and in the darkness Patricio had asked Manuel to tell him about the village.

Manuel crawled out of the tent and looked around before he crawled up the slope. From the top he anxiously scanned the riverbank area. He worried that Patricio had run away yet again, but then he saw him. His brother was sitting some hundred meters downstream, up close to the river. Perhaps he even had his legs and feet in the water.

Manuel walked over to him slowly, following the edge of the field, plucking a couple of grass stalks and trying to figure out what time it was. The sun was still low in the sky.

Patricio turned when Manuel came down the riverbank with running steps. They smiled at each other.

“It was worth the escape just for this moment,” Patricio said. “Now I could go back to prison.”

Manuel sat down at his brother’s side.

“You are going home,” he said.

“How can I do that?” Patricio asked after a while.

Manuel told him what he had been thinking. Patricio was speechless.

“It won’t work,” he said when Manuel had finished explaining his plan. “The police will take me.”

“Maybe,” Manuel said, “but it is worth a try.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll manage,” Manuel said, but did not sound completely convinced. “You have to get home.”

“But that costs money.”

“That I have,” Manuel said. “I have a lot of money.”

Patricio did not ask where his brother had acquired these funds. Maybe his time in prison had taught him not to be too curious.

While the sun rose and slowly moved across the sky they went through all the details and what could go wrong. Manuel was surprised that Patricio was being so compliant. He raised no objections as he usually did. Instead he listened and repeated what Manuel said.

“Should we take a dip?”

“The river is full of plants,” Patricio said.

“I know a good place.”

While they undressed, Manuel teased Patricio about his potbelly. He only laughed, patted his stomach, and jumped in the water. They splashed and played like children, spraying each other and diving in the muddy water.

If only Angel were with us, Manuel thought suddenly, and was overcome with the grieving thoughts that had dominated his mind the past six months. But he did not want to ruin Patricio’s joy, and therefore he said nothing.

What if his plan to get Patricio out of the country failed? His brother still deserved whatever few moments of freedom he could snatch. He knew that their nighttime talks in the tent and their swim in this foreign river would forever appear among of the happiest moments in their lives. One day, if they got to be together in the future, they would think back on this day and remember it with gratitude.

Nothing could be allowed to muddy this brief moment of shared joy.

When they had put their
clothes back on, Manuel took the bag out of the hiding place and showed Patricio the money. He said nothing, asked nothing, but Manuel felt obliged to tell him how he had come to
be in possession of such a fortune. If Patricio had his own views or was critical of his brother’s actions, he did not say it, simply fingered the bunched bills a little absently.

Manuel put the money back in its place. Patricio appeared lost in thought. It was as if the sight of all the dollars depressed him. Perhaps the bills reminded him of Angel?

After a couple of hours
Manuel decided to go up to the arts and crafts village for provisions. He had seen a small cafe there. If only they could get a little bread, they would be fine. They could take water from the river.

They had agreed to stay by the river until the police reinforcements in connection with the escape had thinned out some. The likelihood was that the highways around Uppsala had roadblocks.

If Eva had called the police and told them about Manuel, they would also be looking out for him and his plan would fail. But he did not think Eva had said anything, even though she had reacted so harshly and unsympathetically. That reaction was harder to bear than if she had gone to the police. But Manuel knew he only had himself to blame. He had lied to her, and she felt betrayed. He tried not to think of her, but it was difficult. There was something about the woman that was incredibly attractive to him. Was it her generosity and openness? Maybe it was only that he had been flattered by her eager questions about his life, or else it was simply that he was dazzled by her breasts under the form-fitting blouse, her smile, and blond hair?

In the tent, he had dreamed that they bathed together in the river. Now he had to stop dreaming. Eva was a memory.

He bought sandwiches and soda
at the cafe. He did not think anyone paid attention to him. The parking lot was full of cars and groups of tourists and young families wandered between the cottages. Manuel saw a man painting something that Manuel imagined was going to be a large toy. He stopped and watched the craftsman slowly
brush yellow paint onto the broad planks and realized it was going to be a small house. He was amazed that one would put so much effort into a pretend house.

The painter looked up and gave Manuel a hasty but friendly glance. Manuel felt irritated and realized that envy was the source. Everything looked so harmonious, everyone appeared well-nourished and well-dressed. There were no poor people selling trinkets or begging. The craftspeople appeared carefree and pleased with their work. Everything was so different from Mexico.

Back in the village children played with scraps. If they in fact had any spare time to play, they had to make their own toys. No one built special houses for them.

Manuel continued on, passing trees laden with apples and families who had spread blankets in the grass. They ate and drank. Some of them were playing a game with wooden sticks that they swung through the air in order to strike down the wooden sticks of their opponent.

A young couple was walking in front of him. The man had his hand on one of the woman’s buttocks. They stopped and kissed. Manuel walked past them and tried to avoid staring at them.

When he got back to the tent, Patricio was sleeping. Manuel sat down on the side of the bank. He thought about Gabriella in the village and from there it was not a great leap to Eva. His brother snored and turned. Some birds flew up from the water.

The sight of the man’s hand on the woman’s buttock had excited him. He thought of Eva. It was as if his thoughts automatically returned to her.

Manuel stretched out in the grass and was asleep within a couple of minutes.