The Demon of Dakar - Kjell Eriksson [146]
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.
Patricio interrupted his thoughts by standing up and helping himself to a sandwich and soda. He ate and drank in silence.
“Is it edible?” Manuel asked.
“I’ve had worse,” Patricio replied, smiling.
Manuel laughed with relief when he realized that his brother was making an effort to bridge the discord and the tense atmosphere.
“I’m also going to have some,” he said, taking out the wrapped sandwich and sitting down next to his brother.
“This