The Demon of Dakar - Kjell Eriksson [124]
Whore, Manuel thought, but took it back immediately. Eva was not a whore. She was a fine woman. The fact that she was divorced was not her fault, he was sure of it. She lived for her children and for her dreams, so much he had understood. Behind her interest in Mexico there was a longing, a desire to experience something new, if only in her thoughts. It occurred to him that perhaps she was interested in him. The day before she had asked him about his village and daily life there, and today she had asked if he was married. Why would a woman ask that?
He scraped an oval dish clean but his movements became slower and slower until his hands grew completely still. He stared unseeing into the tiled wall in front of him and tried to imagine Eva in Mexico. It both worked, and it didn’t. A white woman was changed when she came to Mexico and his village, just as a Zapotec became another when he left the mountains and encountered white society. Would she speak to him there as she did here in Sweden? Would she retain her laughter and curiosity or become frightened by all the poverty?
It was only when he heard Feo’s voice from the bar that he started scrubbing again.
Feo must have entered through the street entrance and Manuel knew it had to be past five o’clock. Perhaps Feo was off today and only dropping by for a visit? Just as he had looked forward to speaking with Eva, he wanted to talk a little with Feo.
The dishes were done and he arranged all the pots along the counter so they could air dry, but then grabbed a dish towel and dried them. No one would be able to say he did not do his job.
Despite the clatter from the dishwasher and the pots, Feo’s voice could be heard clearly. Manuel went out into the kitchen and gently cracked the door to the dining room, an area he had only caught sight of before.
Now he worked up the courage to go out there. The dining room was considerably larger than he had thought. Eva was in the process of setting tables at the far end of the room. She smiled and waved with a napkin. He walked on. Feo was standing at the bar. He was talking to someone behind the counter whom Manuel was unable to see.
It struck him that he liked it at Dakar. Imagine if … Yes, he could work here, become good friends with Feo and get to know Eva properly, perhaps visit her home and meet her two children. They could travel to Mexico together and then he could show her everything beautiful and satisfy her curiosity.
But it was a dream, Manuel realized this the moment a couple of customers entered the restaurant and he quickly retreated to the kitchen.
Everything was a dream. Angel was dead, Patricio was in jail, and he himself had buried thousands of dollars under a bush by a river. The fat one was smuggling drugs and new brothers would be lured into his trap if Manuel did not do something about it.
He could not remain a dishwasher at Dakar. He would never become friends with the others. Eva would be only a memory. He must see his brother and punish Slobodan Andersson. Everything else was only dreams.
Manuel heard thundering laugher from the kitchen. He peered over the shelves and saw Feo, dressed in a suit and tie, with a pleased but also embarrassed expression.
The person laughing was Donald, and the reason, Manuel gathered as soon as he came out into the kitchen, was the suit. Feo took a turn around the room as if on a catwalk.
“Where are you going?” Manuel asked.
“Dinner with my wife and her parents,” Feo said, and now he looked purely embarrassed.
“You look elegant,” Manuel said.
Feo nodded, but did not appear convinced. Donald walked over to him and pinched his cheek. When he removed his hand, there was a red mark.
Donald said something in Swedish and it sounded neither superior nor mean-spirited—Manuel identified an almost tender tone, and Feo assumed something of his usual carefree manner.
“Yes, he looks good as a gentleman,” Manuel added.
Donald glanced at Manuel.
“We are all gentlemen here,” he said harshly, and then directed all his attention at the