Хеннинг Манкелль - After the Fire

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Monsieur Pierre said sadly. ‘It’s not good for any human being to live alone.’

Madame Riveri returned; she was in a hurry. I thanked her for everything she had done and asked if it had been difficult to secure Louise’s release.

‘I explained that she was pregnant and pointed out that she didn’t have a criminal record. Then it was fairly straightforward, particularly as the judge and I get on very well. I also told him that Louise’s father had come to Paris to take her home.’

‘She’s staying here tonight, then we’ll see what happens.’

Madame Riveri took an envelope out of her bag.

‘There’s no rush as far as the payment is concerned, but don’t forget about it. If you do, you’ll be sorry.’

She said goodbye to Louise, then swept out of the hotel.

I went up to Louise’s room with her, which was on the same floor as mine. She didn’t have a bag with her; I asked if she had any money. She didn’t.

‘I need clothes,’ she said.

I gave her some money. I wanted to ask her where she had been living in Paris, where her belongings were, but I knew this wasn’t the right time. No doubt she was grateful for my help, but she didn’t want to be under an obligation to me.

Before I left her room I asked if she’d like to have dinner with me later.

‘I’m too tired,’ she said. ‘I want to wash off the dirt from prison, then I need to sleep.’

‘I’m in room 213,’ I said. ‘We’ll have breakfast together tomorrow when you’re feeling better.’

That evening I ate in a Chinese restaurant nearby, then watched a black and white Fernandel film on the television in my room. Louise wasn’t the only one who was tired.

I woke just after midnight; someone was knocking on my door. I stumbled across the room to find Louise standing there. She seemed to be shivering.

‘Can I sleep here?’ she said.

I didn’t ask why. I had a big double bed; she lay down on the unused side and turned away from me.

I switched off the light. After a little while she reached out with one hand. I took it and held it, then we both fell asleep.

My house was on fire. The staircase leading to the ground floor seemed endless, not the twenty-three steps I had counted out loud as a child. I kept on running, but the staircase just kept on growing longer as the fire came closer and closer. I stumbled and fell, and then I woke up.

Louise was fast asleep. She hadn’t moved at all; her hand was still in mine.

I listened to her breathing. I could hear the breathing of many of the people I had listened to during my life. My father’s heavy, often irregular snores that came and went, silence giving way to something like a growl, then silence once more. My mother’s virtually inaudible breathing. My grandfather: sometimes he didn’t seem to be breathing at all, then he would loudly draw air into his lungs. My grandmother’s snores, often accompanied by whistling noises, as if the wind was blowing through the gaping cracks in the boathouse.

Strangely enough, I had no recollection of Harriet’s breathing from when she had slept beside me. She would often complain that I woke her up with my snoring. She had left no traces of her sleep; I searched my memory, but I couldn’t find her sound.

Thinking about all those sleeping people made me drop off again. When I woke a few hours later, Louise had got up. She was standing by the window peeping through a gap in the curtains, the grey light falling on her. Her belly was clearly visible now. A baby was growing in there, and I didn’t even know the name of its father. The sight evoked an intense feeling of joy. I had never experienced anything like it.

Louise noticed that I was awake. She turned to me, still holding onto the curtain.

‘Thanks for not snoring,’ she said. ‘I’ve slept away those terrible days in prison.’

‘You were certainly in a deep sleep,’ I said. ‘I woke up and thought you were far, far away.’

‘I dreamed about a dog. It was wet, and its fur almost looked like a coat of rags. Every time I tried to get near it, it started howling as if it was frightened of me.’

She crawled back into bed, while I got up, shaved and had a wash. I dressed and went down to the breakfast room. Louise joined me after half an hour. Now I recognised her. That washed-out pallor had gone, and she ate with a good appetite.

‘Why haven’t you asked me where I live?’ she said.

‘You usually complain when I ask you questions.’

‘That’s just your perception. What are you going to do today?’

‘That’s entirely up to you, but maybe we should go back to Sweden?’

She looked at me searchingly, as if my words had taken her by surprise.

‘Not yet,’ she said. ‘I want to show you where I live. If you’re interested?’

‘Of course I am.’

I thought I ought to tell her that Lisa Modin was in Paris, but I decided to leave it for the time being. If there was one thing I didn’t want right now, it was my daughter storming out of the hotel in a temper.

I told her about Jansson’s calls and showed her the pictures he had sent.

‘Weird,’ she said. ‘Creepy. Where’s this island?’

I tried to explain but without success. She said she understood, but I was pretty sure she hadn’t a clue which island I was talking about. However, she was relieved that I could no longer be suspected of arson.

‘Did you believe it?’ I asked. ‘Did you believe I set fire to my grandparents’ house?’

‘Not really, but you have to remember that I don’t know you particularly well.’

‘The torch,’ I said. ‘Why did you deny that it was you flashing the torch?’

At first she didn’t seem to know what I was talking about, then she shook her head with a smile.

‘It amused me, messing with your head.’

‘But why?’

‘Perhaps because you treated Harriet so badly.’

‘But I looked after her when she was sick!’

‘Maybe, but not before. Not when you were together. She told me.’

‘You made me row across from the skerry in the middle of the night — wasn’t that enough?’

‘No. I thought about you and Harriet a lot that night.’

I didn’t want to hear what Harriet had said about me, so I changed the subject.

‘Did you steal my watch when you brushed against me?’

‘If I have a speciality, it’s taking people’s watches.’

‘You must be very skilful; I didn’t notice a thing. But you could have told me it was you.’

‘I knew you’d realise eventually — that’s why I left it behind.’

She got to her feet, even though she didn’t appear to have finished her breakfast.

‘Let’s go,’ she said. ‘I want to go home.’

We went upstairs and put on our outdoor clothes. I allowed myself to be led by my daughter, just as I had followed Lisa Modin the previous day.

We took the Metro and changed trains at Châtelet, using the same line on which I had travelled to Jourdain all those years ago. I wondered if it really was such a small world — would we end up getting off there? However, Louise didn’t move until Télégraphe, two stations further on. Many of those who disembarked were North Africans. Around me I could hear just as much Arabic as French. The station was terribly run-down, with the alcoholics who had always been there sitting or lying on several of the benches. They looked like statues that had fallen over.

When we emerged from underground, I thought of Morocco or Algeria.

Louise glanced at me with an unexpected smile.

‘Some people feel scared when they arrive here,’ she said.

‘Not me. I might not know for sure, but I have a good idea of what the world really looks like.’