The Demon of Dakar - Kjell Eriksson [20]
A woman’s laughter in the street, the hint of a beautiful curve in a woman’s body, or a woman’s voice now left Johnny largely indifferent. If any feelings made themselves known then it was simply disdain, a cold dismissiveness. Where he had earlier thought he saw genuine joy, desirable beauty, and promising optimism, he now increasingly saw hypocrisy and falseness.
Women had become a foreign and antagonistic group.
The feeling of being rejected was not pleasant, and he was not happy with the change, it was nothing he had wished for. In moments of clarity he questioned his perception, tried to get some insight into what it was that had perverted him. Was it simply the disastrous relationship with Sofia? Was there something in himself that had nurtured these feelings?
Sofia had rejected him, and not only in bed. He felt that she had also shut him out of the different parts of her life, as if he was not worthy of accompanying her.
“You are so immature,” she would say, and he would feel as if he were a child caught doing something wrong.
He became more and more disgusted with himself, as if he had allowed himself to become a victim, and one day he did what Sofia had perhaps wanted for a long time. He packed up his few possessions and left.
Now he stared at the waitress who was laughing together with Feo. Johnny heard the Portuguese tell her about the expected baby, how happy he was and what a fantastic woman he lived with, and he saw how Eva lit up.
Donald sighed, making a little extra noise when he carelessly tossed the pan into the sink.
“Fix the pan,” he told Pirjo, who obeyed him immediately and started scrubbing it under the faucet.
Her face was flushed from the heat in the kitchen. She cast a brief glance at Johnny, pushed some stray hairs off her forehead, and turned her body as if she wanted to hide from the world.
You think I’m nothing but an old man, Johnny thought, and wished he could show his disdain for all little girls who thought they were hotshots in the kitchen.
Tessie appeared in the window again. After a period of calm, the pressure was once again mounting in the dining room. It was as if waves of customers were washing in over Dakar.
Johnny sensed that Gonzo was not being much help. He was not going to put in much effort this last week.
“One veal,” Tessie said, but Donald did not answer.
“Did you get it or do you want it in writing?” Tessie said with such aggression in her tone that even Donald looked up.
Then he turned his back to her, nabbed a piece of meat, and threw it in the pan.
“Deep down she’s nice,” Feo said. “All Americans think everyone hates them.”
“Why do you say that?” Eva asked. She had placed herself in the doorway.
“They’re bombing the hell out of everyone,” Feo said.
“They should bomb this place,” Donald said.
“Then you would die,” Feo said.
“I am dead.”
Donald smiled unexpectedly at Johnny and leaned nearsightedly over a plate. He painstakingly arranged a few leaves in a salad, then straightened his back and regarded the arrangement before bending down again for a final adjustment.
Tessie turned up again.
“Sweet love,” Donald said in English, and pushed over a plate.
The waitress stared at him, but the hint of a smile swept across her for the moment rather tense features before she left.
“Just think what a little diplomacy can achieve,” Donald said, and Johnny was forced to revise his opinion of him. There would be many times that he would get to experience how Donald awakened from a basically catatonic state and started to engage in wry and lightly ironic banter.
The new waitress hung around and watched them attentively in their work. It was as if Feo’s introduction and jocular patter had done her good, because she looked relaxed. Johnny could see that she, like most visitors in a restaurant kitchen, was careful not to get in the way.