Хеннинг Манкелль - A Treacherous Paradise

Ana understood without his needing to say anything more.

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘You will have access to the brothel whenever you feel like it. Gratis, naturally.’

Pandre stood up and looked at a clock hanging on the wall.

‘I’m sorry, but I have to go now,’ he said. ‘One of my clients, who I unfortunately failed to defend successfully, is due to be hanged in the municipal prison. He has requested that I should be present. It’s not something I’m going to enjoy doing, of course; but on the other hand, it doesn’t upset me all that much. Anyway, I take it that we have reached an agreement. I can pay a visit to your black woman next week.’

It required quite an effort on Ana’s part not to storm out of the room when the lawyer displayed such total indifference to the plight of a client who was about to be hanged. Just how would this man be able to help Isabel?

‘Is it a man who’s going to be hanged?’ she asked.

‘Of course it’s a man.’

‘Black?’

‘White. A poor man who could only afford an Indian lawyer to defend him.’

‘What had he done?’

‘He cut the throat of two women, a mother and daughter, in an attack of jealousy. Very brutal. It was obviously impossible to avoid the death penalty. Some accused can be saved, others can’t. And some don’t deserve to be saved. Unless we are intent on transforming human beings into beasts of prey.’

Pandre bowed, rang a bell and left the room. The obsequious secretary came in, and noted down her address in Lourenço Marques.

‘What does munshi mean?’ she asked.

‘The word means “a man who is a teacher” in Hindi. It is usually an honorary title. Herr Pandre is a wise man.’

‘But nevertheless his clients are hanged?’

The secretary flung out his arms as if he were regretting what he’d said.

‘That very rarely happens. Herr Pandre has a good reputation.’

‘Does he have any black clients?’

‘He never has had so far.’

‘Why not?’

‘The courts decide which lawyers will represent blacks. All blacks have to be defended by whites.’

‘Why?’

‘To avoid any suggestion of bias.’

‘I don’t understand that.’

‘Laws and jurisprudence are matters for specialists. Herr Pandre understands. As I said, he is a wise man.’

The following day she travelled back to Lourenço Marques. She had not forgotten the secretary’s words.

When she returned to the brothel Felicia informed her that somebody had placed a headless chicken on the steps outside the prison governor’s residence. An amateurish drawing of Isabel on a piece of brown wrapping paper from one of the Indian stalls had been attached to one of the chicken’s legs. It could only mean that a lynching might take place at any time.

The threat had become more menacing, more imminent. Things are closing in on me, Ana thought. Everywhere, everything.

After her trip to Johannesburg Ana began spending more of her time in the brothel. Felicia, who was by now her only confidante, had told her that certain clients had suddenly begun to mistreat the women. Ana therefore wanted to be present among them as the men were hardly likely to try anything on in her presence. She could see immediately that the women were both surprised and grateful. On the other hand, if any of them treated a customer off-handedly or merely did the minimum necessary to satisfy his desires, Ana would immediately give the person concerned a telling-off. They were not allowed to use their treatment of clients as a way of taking revenge on those who wanted to harm Isabel.

One morning Ana gathered all the women together, along with Zé and Judas, and told them about her visit to Johannesburg and the meeting with Pandre. She didn’t say anything about the promise she had given him for the time being, but she could tell by the reaction she received that even if there was an element of surprise and astonishment, they were delighted to discover that Ana had not abandoned Isabel. While the whites in Lourenço Marques regarded her as a disgraceful criminal who had killed an innocent man, for the blacks she was not exactly a heroine — she had after all killed the father of her children — but a woman who had made a valiant attempt to rise out of her misery and offer some resistance.

Ana thought that was an appropriate description of Isabel’s fate: that she had risen up and offered some resistance. Even if she was now locked up in a cramped prison cell, guarded by menacing and often drunken soldiers, it was as if she had walked away from her plight and left behind all the white people who despised her.

That same day, a white man she had never seen before came to the brothel and asked for a job. It did happen from time to time that white men, often in a bad way thanks to a fever or alcohol, came to her asking for work. She had hitherto always sent them packing as they had nothing to offer her that could be of use.

But the man standing before her now made a different impression. He wasn’t dressed in shabby clothes, nor was he unwashed with a straggly beard. He introduced himself as O’Neill, and explained that he had worked as a bouncer in bars and brothels all over the world. He also produced a well-thumbed bundle of references from previous employers.

Ana had often wished she had a white bouncer in the brothel. Even if Judas and the other security guards did what they were supposed to do, she was never absolutely sure that they would react as she wanted them to.

She decided to employ O’Neill on trial for a few months. He seemed to be strong and radiated determination. She thought it would soon become clear if he was a person she could employ permanently.

Later on Ana had a conversation with Felicia under the jacaranda tree. It was evening by now. Felicia was waiting for one of her regular customers from Pretoria, a religious gentleman farmer who was always talking about his eleven children, and that the only reason he visited the brothel was that he no longer wanted to have sex with his wife because she was worn out after giving birth to all those children.

Ana asked her about Isabel’s family. There was so much she still didn’t know. It also surprised her that none of Isabel’s relations had been to see her in the fort. Ana was the only person who visited her, apart from Father Leopoldo who always did the rounds of those imprisoned there. Ana had been to the cathedral again to see him, and he told her that Isabel never spoke to him either. She kept it to herself, but that knowledge gave her a feeling of relief. She knew that she could well have become jealous if Isabel had chosen a priest to talk to.

Felicia was dressed in white, just as the gentleman farmer always wanted her to be.

‘I don’t know much,’ said Felicia. ‘Isabel’s sisters are looking after the children. She also has an elder brother called Moses. He works in the mines in Rand. He’ll no doubt come here as soon as he can. If he can.’

‘Are her parents still alive?’

‘They live in Beira. But the sisters have decided not to tell them anything about what has happened.’

‘Why not?’

Felicia shook her head.

‘Perhaps because they are afraid that the news would cause their parents such great grief that it kills them. They are old. Or maybe they don’t want them to be afraid that the whip would start lashing their shoulders as well. Everybody seems to be waiting for the brother who works in the mines.’

‘When will he come?’

‘Nobody knows. Neither when nor if he can come.’

Ana began talking about the headless bird that had been lying on the prison governor’s steps.

‘Who could have done that?’

Felicia drew back, as if Ana were accusing her of doing it.