Хеннинг Манкелль - After the Fire

‘Nowhere. Or to another cafe.’

‘Why have you come to Paris?’

‘Let’s keep walking,’ she replied.

We went into a bistro near Rue de Cadix; it wasn’t lunchtime yet, and there were very few customers. We sat right at the back. The waiter was old and walked with a limp. Lisa ordered a bottle of red wine; she chose the most expensive item on the grubby wine list. Her selection made me feel even more anxious. The waiter — who stank of sweaty armpits — brought the bottle and two glasses. Lisa noticed the smell too. She smiled at me.

‘I came because I was wondering what you really think.’

‘Think about what?’

‘I’ve noticed how you look at me, from that very first time when I wanted to hear about the fire. I wasn’t really surprised when you turned up asking to stay the night. You’re not the first man who’s stood there howling on my doorstep.’

‘I wasn’t howling. And what I told you was absolutely true.’

She frowned, as if my answer had annoyed her. When she spoke I realised she was angry.

‘You don’t have to lie to me.’

‘I haven’t lied to you.’

She pushed away her glass and leaned across the table.

‘You’ve lied to me,’ she insisted.

‘I haven’t.’

‘You have!’

This came out as a yell; she sounded like my daughter. In my peripheral vision I could see that the waiter had noticed what was going on, but he simply turned away and carried on wiping down tables.

That’s what the world is like, I thought vaguely to myself. People turning away everywhere you look.

I tried to remain calm, to pick up my glass without shaking. I swallowed the contents and got to my feet. I put some money on the table without saying a word, then walked out. I headed down the street as fast as I could; when I reached the Metro station at Porte de Versailles, I hurried underground and caught the train to Montparnasse.

I immediately regretted my actions. What had Lisa been trying to tell me? I sat in that rattling train carriage feeling totally exposed. She had seen inside my grubby old-man’s thoughts and decided to find out what I really wanted. Did I actually imagine that there could be any kind of romance between us? Didn’t I realise that she was offended now she had discovered what my motives were?

I carried on past Montparnasse and didn’t get off the train until we reached the Right Bank. I was in Châtelet once more. When I emerged into the daylight, it had started raining. I went into a newsagent’s and bought an umbrella.

I had just put it up when my phone rang. I stood outside a shoe shop under the projecting roof.

It was Olof Rutgersson. He immediately asked where I was.

‘Out in the rain,’ I replied. ‘With a newly purchased umbrella.’

‘I just wanted to let you know that Madame Riveri will be picking up your daughter at three o’clock this afternoon. I knew she was good, but even so I have to say this is sensationally fast. She must have had a very positive personal relationship with the judge in charge of the case. Your daughter will be released. Madame Riveri is going to call you to arrange a meeting place. For the exchange.’

‘The exchange?’

‘She hands over your daughter, you pay her for her work.’

‘Is Louise being deported?’

‘I don’t know, but if our esteemed Madame Riveri says she’s going to be released, then she’s going to be released. And that’s the most important thing.’

‘Thank you for all your efforts too.’

‘The Swedish Foreign Office and our embassies are always happy when we manage to achieve a positive outcome in any situation. Please let us know when you and Louise are safely back in Sweden. It might be as well if she avoids any further pickpocketing activities in France; she now has a criminal record, and French justice has a long memory.’

We ended the call with a few polite phrases. I put my phone away, thinking that Lisa Modin would never upset me again. Nor would I bother her with my dreams of some kind of relationship.

I ambled along in the rain, choosing my route at random. I wondered if I had ever visited as many cafes as I had during these few days in Paris.

Jansson called again. I asked if there was any new information about the fire, but there wasn’t. However, there were rumours of a connection between this latest blaze and the one that had destroyed my house.

‘Perhaps I’m no longer regarded as an arsonist?’

‘That was never the case.’

‘Don’t lie to me. There’s no point.’

‘People are afraid it will happen again.’

I could understand that. Fear spreads quickly, especially among the elderly. I sat there at my table thinking how ironic it was that out in the archipelago I was one of the younger residents. At least during the autumn, winter and early spring.

I was still thinking about Lisa. I tried to make myself feel contempt for her, but I couldn’t do it. I shouldn’t have walked out; I should have let her finish what she had to say. I’m sure I would have been able to convince her that she was wrong. I wasn’t the man she thought I was.

I stayed in the cafe until lunch was over and there were only a handful of customers left. A blind woman patted her guide dog, who was lying at her feet. Seeing her wrinkled hand stroking the dog’s fur was like witnessing a movement that had gone on for all eternity.

My grandfather had dominated my childhood out on the island, but my grandmother had been there too, providing the security I didn’t recognise or value until I was an adult. In the final years of her life she lived in a home, suffering with severe dementia. She used to go outside at night because she believed that my grandfather was at sea in a heavy storm. Even when there wasn’t a breath of wind, the storm raged within her; she was constantly worried about her husband.

They died only a few hours apart. First her, then him. There was no life for the one left behind when the other had gone. According to what I had heard, from Jansson needless to say, my grandfather had found out in the morning that she had passed away. He had folded up the newspaper he was reading, put his glasses in their case and lain down on his bed. Two hours later he was gone too.

My reminiscences were interrupted by the sound of my phone. This time it was Madame Riveri, suggesting that we should meet. She had made a note of my hotel; could I be there in an hour? She would bring Louise.

I thanked her, paid for my coffee and went back to the hotel. A brief power cut on the Metro was alarming; what if I wasn’t there to receive Louise and Madame Riveri’s bill? Fortunately the problem was short-lived and I was there in time. While I was waiting I asked Monsieur Pierre if there was a room available for tonight. There was, but I didn’t make a booking because I had no idea what Louise’s plans might be.

It had stopped raining. I went out into the street as the appointed time approached. I thought I caught a glimpse of Lisa; I never wanted to see her again. No, that wasn’t true. I didn’t want to give up my dream, however hopeless it had turned out to be.

Madame Riveri and Louise arrived by taxi. Louise was very pale. We went into the hotel; Madame Riveri went off to the ladies’ powder room and left us alone in the deserted bar.

‘I know nothing about the life you live here,’ I said, ‘but if you like you can stay in the hotel tonight. They have a room.’

She nodded without saying a word. I went back to reception and booked a single room.

‘It’s for my daughter,’ I said.

‘I assume she’s the lady sitting in the bar?’ Monsieur Pierre said. ‘May I ask if the lady who arrived with her is your wife?’

‘No. Louise’s mother is dead. I’m on my own.’