The Demon of Dakar - Kjell Eriksson [156]
The fat one was perhaps on the other side of the door, several meters away, within reach, and yet not. It didn’t matter, because Manuel had decided never again to use force. It was a ridiculous decision, he realized this, for if he ever returned to Mexico the violence would be there as a reality. If he in the future participated in a demonstration or a protest in the main square, then it would be under threat from batons and firearms. If he was attacked, would he then not defend himself, strike back? He did not know. Maybe the time of demonstrations was over now.
He had to wait for an hour until the door to Dakar opened. It was Feo. Manuel heard this from the curses that the Portuguese used when he lifted the lid of the garbage container. The lid shut with a bang and Feo closed the door behind him. Everything became quiet again.
Perhaps another thirty minutes went by. The door opened again. Manuel was struck with fear when he heard Eva’s voice. She yelled something into the kitchen, and he thought he heard Feo reply.
The door banged shut and Manuel heard Eva’s steps in the gravel. He looked out from behind the container. She was alone. He stood up slowly.
“Eva,” he whispered softly.
She froze in the middle of unlocking her bike.
“It’s me, Manuel.”
She turned slowly. He could tell she had trouble seeing him and so he stepped out further, while tilting his head up toward the illuminated window.
“You?”
Manuel nodded.
“What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to talk to you.”
She shook her head but didn’t say anything. He took this as encouragement.
“I’ll be going home soon and I wanted to say good-bye.”
“Why …” she started energetically, then fell silent as if her voice had been carried off by the wind, or as if she could not find the right words in English.
“You think I’m lying, but I’m not,” Manuel assured her and took another couple of steps forward.
“Stay where you are! Where is your brother?”
Manuel shook his head.
“This is not about him. This is about us. I don’t want to leave Sweden without saying it.”
“What is it you want to say?”
Eva’s voice was hoarse. He could hardly hear what she said.
“That I wish, that I want … for you to visit my country.”
He took some quick steps up to her, grabbed something from his pocket, and held it out.
“What is it?”
“A present.”
She accepted the rolled-up sock.
“I have nothing else,” Manuel said, “but it’s clean.”
Without a word she pushed the sock into her pocket and bent down to unlock the bike. Manuel wanted to say so much but he did not know how to proceed. He was afraid she would run away, curse him, or start to scream at the top of her lungs.
“He tricked my brothers, you know that. So I set up a trap for him. I wanted to see him in prison, but now I can’t do it anymore. I have to make sure that my brother gets home.”
“He is in jail,” Eva said.
“No, he ran away,” Manuel said, confused. “But now I should go. Tessie or someone else might come.”
Eva stared down into the ground.
“But how will you get home?”
“My brother will fly home on my passport and my ticket,” Manuel explained. “Then I will see what I do.”
Eva stared at him.
“Don’t you get it? The police are looking for you, too.”
“Have you spoken with the police?”
“I haven’t said anything, but they know you are in Sweden. The papers have claimed that you belong to a Mexican drug cartel and that you came to Sweden to … Arlanda will be full of police.”
“Full of police?” he repeated.
Eva nodded.
“I have to go,” he said.
“Armas. Did you …?”
“He tried to shoot me,” Manuel said. “I defended myself. Believe me! I am not an evil person.”
The whites of her eyes glowed in the dark as she studied him. Manuel felt that she was trying to decide what she should believe.
“You do have to go now,” she said finally.
“In the sock there is a note with my address. The phone number of a neighbor. He is nice and speaks a little English.”
Eva laughed unexpectedly.
“The neighbor is nice,” she repeated.
Manuel reached out his hand and nudged her cheek. She flinched but did