The Demon of Dakar - Kjell Eriksson [137]
Tessie called out to her, interrupting her thoughts. Together they moved a couple of tables and set out new tablecloths.
It had been a good evening. She had gotten past her worst nervousness and was no longer as embarrassed about asking Tessie for advice.
Eva cleaned some glasses. She noticed that Slobodan was watching her. He was sitting at the bar with a glass in front of him. Eva had heard from Tessie about last night’s events, how the proprietor had drunk himself into a stupor, thrown up in the kitchen, and how Feo and Manuel had had to help him home.
In a way Eva thought it was good. He had shown a weakness. Maybe the violent drunken episode was an expression of grief at Armas’s death. Eva glanced at him. He really did look worried, and she hoped he would have the sense to stop drinking in time.
A couple of newspapers lay scattered on a table. She had started to fold them up when her gaze fell on a headline. The word extra was printed in bold letters, then “New escape—hostage drama,” and below this a picture of the four men. Astonished, she read the short article, flipped to page five where there was a slightly more detailed report but still not as much as one would have assumed in the case of a dramatic escape in which someone had been taken hostage. She realized it must have been added just before going to press, and that they had not managed to include more than the main points.
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