The Demon of Dakar - Kjell Eriksson [79]
“You are right,” he said, “we are cowards. Everyone who works in a kitchen is a coward, you should learn that. If someone has balls, he’ll take his knives and leave, that’s how it is. Such a chef is unhappy.”
“More unhappy than the coward?” Feo asked.
“Yes,” Donald said.
“Is that why you don’t want to join the union?” Johnny hazarded, though he regretted it as soon as he said it.
“As if that is any of your business. No, that isn’t why, and you should have been able to figure it out.”
Johnny got it. With Donald’s work ethic and with the quality of the dishes he presented, there was a negligible chance that he would be badly treated by his employer. Not even if he joined the union. He was too valuable.
Their hands did not rest while they gabbed. They prepared sauce bases, sliced meat, took some things out, wrapped others in plastic, and continued their preparations. Only Eva stood passively. She lingered in the kitchen. There was still a quarter of an hour to go before her shift officially began. She wanted to absorb as much as possible of the new world that was opening to her.
The atmosphere here was completely different from the post office. Perhaps it was the stress that created the raw tone that dominated. There was an urgency to her former job as well, but it was as if the warmth of the stoves, the clatter of china and silverware, the steam from pots and pans, the sudden sizzle of meat, and the waitstaff’s shouted orders … everything created a never-ending restlessness.
“Can you help me, Eva?”
Johnny was busy stocking the refrigerator.
“How are the boys?” he asked softly.
“They’re fine,” Eva said and looked up.
He held her gaze.
“Patrik has started to talk,” she went on, “but he is still grounded.”
She looked at her reflection in the mirror that the roll of aluminum foil attached to the wall provided and where her face appeared cracked in a thousand wrinkles, before she tore off a sheet and handed it to Johnny.
“What do the cops say?”
“Let’s talk later, okay?”
Johnny nodded.
“Thanks for the help,” he said and Eva sensed that the thirty seconds she had helped him were as important for Johnny as for herself.
“Let’s get a cup of coffee,” she said. “I mean some day before we start work.”
He nodded and glanced at the others.
“Then you can start your own chapter of the union,” said Donald, who had his back to them. He then turned his head and gave them a look of amusement.
“Only if you join us,” Eva said, and swept out of the kitchen.
It was ten o’clock when Eva got home. Her legs were tired and her headache did not want to go away, but she felt satisfied and sent Tessie a mental note of gratitude. She had let Eva go home early. It was as if no one was being so precise anymore, and she had also been understanding when Eva withdrew to call home.
Patrik had answered every time, irritation in his voice, but he turned out to be sitting up waiting for her in the kitchen when she got home.
Hugo was in his room. She heard the sound effects from his computer game. She opened the door a little wider and said hello. His tense back and the concentration in his face testified to a crucial moment in one of these games he spent most of his time on.
She went to the bathroom and got herself some pain relievers.
“Hi, have you had anything to eat?”
Patrik nodded and Eva followed his gaze to the kitchen counter. They had even loaded their dishes in the dishwasher and wiped the counters.
She laughed and put her hand through his hair.
“Was it fun?”
“There were a lot of people,” Eva said. “But they let me go early. When the dinner guests start to get finished it’s mostly drinks and such, and I’m not so good at that yet. The bartender has promised to show me some things. I can’t even tell all the different kinds of beer apart yet.”
“What did they say about that guy who was murdered?”
“No one knows anything, there’s just a lot of talk.”“Was he a good guy?”
Eva shrugged.
“I met him twice and he said all of five words. What about you, what have you been up to?”
“Nothing,” Patrik said.
“Do you want some tea?”
She