The Demon of Dakar - Kjell Eriksson [19]
Donald, who was the head chef, was much more restrained. He had wished Johnny welcome but not said much else. He always worked at the meat stove and disliked, not to say hated, Slobodan Andersson.
“The lying poodle is a miscreant, a spectacularly failed combination of Skåne and Belgrade,” he said when Johnny asked how Dakar’s management worked.
“Slobodan is a pig, but a good pig,” Feo objected. “He is perhaps not … what do you say about dogs that do their business inside?”
“House-broken,” Johnny suggested.
“Exactly. Slobban is perhaps not house-broken, but he makes things happen.”
As he talked he put a couple of pieces of halibut into the frying pan. Donald stood frozen at the stove. A fillet was sizzling in the pan. Tessie requested another order of halibut. Donald nodded, and Feo laughed.
“Yes, please, another halibut. Hello there, Tessie!” he yelled out after Tessie, who left as quickly as she came in. Donald shot him a sharp look.
Johnny smiled to himself. He thought that he would enjoy working in Dakar’s kitchen. He had not thought about Sofia in Jönköping for several hours.
“How long has Tessie been working here?” he asked Feo.
“She started at about the same time as me. She is from New York.”
“Long Island,” Donald added.
Feo grinned.
“She is never in love, that is her biggest problem,” he continued. “She needs a man.”
Pirjo returned from the bathroom. Tessie came in with two new orders.
“Two anglerfish,” Donald said.
“Loud and clear,” Feo replied.
Johnny helped Pirjo. Gonzo came in from the dining room, went without a word to the dirty dishes, and started loading up the dishwasher.
It was his last week. Everyone had heard how he and Armas, in connection with opening up after the summer break, had screamed at each other in the changing room. Armas had emerged with a satisfied expression, as if he had killed a rat.
Gonzo came out after five minutes but did not go out into the dining room. It was only after Armas came in and told him that Gonzo went out to do his job. Everyone was amazed that he had not left immediately. He also didn’t try to engage his coworkers’ support in the conflict, only muttering to himself.
No one asked him what it was all about, but Tessie had mentioned something about Gonzo trying to pressure Armas, that he had information that could hurt Armas. It was gossip of the kind that Feo and Donald thought laughable—what could little Gonzo know that could possibly harm the powerful Armas?
A woman came into the kitchen a little after nine. Donald glared at her but said nothing.
“The bathroom is to the right in the corridor,” Feo said.
Sometimes customers went through the wrong door.
“I’m supposed to start working here,” the woman said.
“You are the new one! Wonderful! We need many beautiful women here, isn’t that right, Johnny?”
Feo closed the door of the warming cabinet and wiped his hands on the cloth he had tied at his waist.
“Welcome. I am Feo.”
“Thank you. I’m starting tomorrow and I’m more than a little nervous. I’ve never waitressed before.”
“Typical Slobodan,” Donald muttered.
“That is Donald. He is nice, I promise. Johnny talks funny and he is also new. You will have to start a club, don’t you think? What is your name?”
“Eva Willman.”
“Of course I will,” Feo exclaimed in an attempt at a pun, and Donald stared at him.
“Your anglerfish,” he said and Feo threw himself over the stove.
Johnny introduced himself and shook hands.
“You are the brother of Simon’s mother, aren’t you?”
Johnny nodded.
“It was through her …”
He returned to the dessert but snuck glances at the new waitress while Feo enthusiastically talked about Dakar. She was around Johnny’s own age. His sister Bitte had told him that Eva was divorced with two teenage boys. Johnny studied her from behind. He had noticed that he had started staring at women, not to check them out but to find faults and defects, as if his time with Sofia had perverted his sight.
She had rejected him too many times, and when she later approached him, he was unable to make love. Their cooling relationship had made him