Хеннинг Манкелль - The Eye of the Leopard

‘How can you know?’

Luka seems unperturbed by his outburst. ‘A car drives much too fast through the night, Bwana ,’ he says. ‘All mzunguz drive in different ways. Bwana stops outside Bwana Duncan’s house. Fires off his shotgun, yells in the night. Luka wakes up and thinks madame must be sick. Madame is never sick unless she has malaria.’

‘Now fix my coffee,’ says Olofson. ‘It’s too early to listen to long explanations.’

Just after six o’clock he gets into the Jeep again and tries to imagine that he is Judith. He does her chores, checks off on a roll call that all the workers have arrived, ensures that the eggs are gathered and leave the farm. He makes an estimate of the feed supply and organises a tractor transport to the mill whose turn it is to deliver maize waste.

At eleven o’clock a rusty car with worn-down shock absorbers pulls up in front of the mud hut where Judith has set up her office. Olofson walks out into the sharp sunshine. A conspicuously well-dressed African comes towards him. Again Olofson finds himself involved in a complicated greeting procedure.

‘I’m looking for Madame Fillington,’ says the man.

‘She’s ill,’ replies Olofson.

The African looks at him, smiling and appraising him.

‘I’m Mr Pihri,’ he says.

‘I’m Madame Fillington’s temporary foreman,’ says Olofson.

‘I know,’ says Mr Pihri. ‘It’s precisely because you are who you are that I have come here today with some important papers. I’m the Mr Pihri who does small favours for madame now and then. Not large favours. But even small favours are necessary from time to time. To avoid problems that might become bothersome.’

Olofson senses that he has to be careful. ‘Papers?’ he says.

Mr Pihri at once looks sad.

‘Madame Fillington usually offers me tea when I come to visit,’ he says.

Olofson has seen a teapot inside the hut, and he calls to one of the Africans bent over the illegible roll call lists to fix tea. Mr Pihri’s sorrowful face is then transformed by a large smile. Olofson decides to smile too.

‘Our authorities are scrupulous about formalities,’ says Mr Pihri. ‘We learned that from the British. Perhaps our authorities today exaggerate their scrupulousness. But we must be careful with people who visit our country. All papers must be in order.’

This also applies to me, Olofson thinks. Why did this smiling man have to come today of all days, when Judith is sick?

They drink tea in the dimness of the hut and Olofson sees Mr Pihri dump eight teaspoons of sugar into his cup.

‘Madame asked me for help in facilitating the processing of your visa,’ says Mr Pihri, as he drinks his tea in slow sips. ‘Of course it is important to avoid unnecessary impediments. Madame and I usually exchange services to our mutual benefit. It makes me very sad to hear that she is ill. If she died it would be particularly disadvantageous.’

‘Perhaps I can assist you in her stead,’ says Olofson.

‘That would be excellent,’ replies Mr Pihri. From his inside pocket he takes some papers, typed and stamped.

‘I’m Mr Pihri,’ he says again. ‘Police officer and a very good friend of Madame Fillington. I hope she doesn’t die.’

‘I am of course grateful on her behalf. I would be happy to do you a service in her place.’

Mr Pihri continues to smile. ‘My friends and colleagues at the Immigration Department are quite busy at the moment. The workload is extremely heavy. They also deny many applications for temporary residency. Unfortunately they must sometimes reject people who would like to stay in our country. Naturally it is never pleasant to have to leave a country within twenty-four hours. Especially when Madame Fillington is ill. I only hope she doesn’t die. But my friends at the Immigration Department showed great understanding. I’m happy to be able to deliver these papers, signed and stamped in due order. One should always avoid trouble. The authorities take a dim view of any individuals who lack the required documents. Unfortunately, sometimes they are also forced to incarcerate people for an indefinite period.’

Mr Pihri looks sad once again.

‘The prisons in this country unfortunately suffer from neglect. Especially for Europeans who are used to quite different conditions.’

What the hell does he want? Olofson wonders.

‘I am naturally very grateful,’ he says. ‘I would like to express my appreciation on behalf of Madame Fillington.’

Again Mr Pihri smiles.

‘The boot of my car is not very big. But 500 eggs could be fitted into it with no problem.’

‘Load 500 eggs into Mr Pihri’s car,’ Olofson tells one of the crouching office workers.

Mr Pihri hands him the stamped documents.

‘I regret that from time to time these stamps must be renewed. It is always good to avoid problems. This is why Madame Fillington and I meet regularly. In this way one can avoid much unpleasantness.’

Olofson escorts Mr Pihri to his car, where the egg cartons are stacked in the boot.

‘My car is getting old,’ says Mr Pihri in a worried voice. ‘Perhaps it will simply stop running one day. Then it would be quite troublesome for me to visit Madame Fillington.’

‘I’ll tell her that your car has begun to run poorly,’ replies Olofson.

‘I would be grateful. Tell her also that just now there is an excellent used Peugeot for sale by one of my friends in Kitwe.’

‘I’ll mention it to her.’

They repeat the complicated greeting procedure.

‘It was very nice we could meet,’ says Mr Pihri.

‘Naturally we are very grateful,’ replies Olofson.

‘Trouble should be avoided,’ says Mr Pihri as he gets behind the wheel and drives off.

Corruption’s Song of Songs, thinks Olofson as he walks back to the dark hut. Like a well-groomed beard. A polite, quiet talk...

When he studies the documents that Mr Pihri left, he finds to his astonishment that Judith has applied for and been granted a visa for him as a ‘resident’ for a period of two years.

He is instantly agitated. I’m not going to stay here, he thinks. I have no intention of letting myself be entrapped by her plans for her own future...

When he returns to the house to eat lunch, Judith is awake. She is still lying in his bed. She is pale and tired, and it’s a big effort for her to smile. When he starts to speak she shakes her head.

‘Later,’ she says. ‘Not now. I’m too tired. Luka will give me what I need.’

When Olofson returns in the evening she has moved back to her own room. He observes how forlorn she looks in the wide double bed. The illness has diminished her, he thinks. Her skin has shrunk. Only her eyes are unchanged, just as big and restless as ever.

‘I’m feeling better,’ she says. ‘But I’m very tired. Every time I get malaria my powerlessness gets worse. I despise weakness, not being able to do anything.’

‘Mr Pihri came to visit,’ he tells her. ‘He left me some papers with a lot of stamps on them and I gave him what he wanted, 500 eggs.’

‘Smiling the whole time,’ says Judith. ‘He’s such a crook, one of the worst. Although he is reliable; playing the corruption game with him always gives results.’

‘He wants a new car. He has picked out a used Peugeot.’

‘He’ll get it when I have a sufficiently difficult matter for him to solve.’

‘Why did you apply for a two-year residence visa for me?’

‘I don’t think they come any shorter than that.’

As sick as she is, she can still lie, he thinks. When she gets well I’ll have to ask her why. He listens outside her door and hears her soft snoring.

Then he makes a pilgrimage through the house, counts the number of rooms, finds his way through deserted guest rooms, and stops outside a door he hadn’t noticed before. He’s at the end of a winding corridor, and the door is scarcely visible, set into the brown panelling.