Хеннинг Манкелль - The Eye of the Leopard

The old men come staggering out from the beer tavern to witness the spectacle with their own eyes. They don’t care about the fate of the world, but nevertheless they become her mute supporters. Their need for revenge is boundless. Whoever drives a stake into the heart of the anthill deserves all the support imaginable. Blinking at the light they stumble out of the pilsner’s dark room. With glee they note that nothing looks the same this morning. They understand at once that Janine needs all the support she can get, and one daring fellow staggers across the street and offers her a beer, which she amiably declines.

At that moment Hurrapelle comes skidding to a stop in his new car, alerted by an agitated member of the congregation who woke him with the shrill ring of his telephone. And he does what he can to stop her. He entreats her, entreats as much as he can. But she only shakes her head; she’s going to stay there. When he realises that her decision is unshakeable, he goes to his church to take counsel with his God about this difficult matter.

At the police station they are consulting the legal texts. Somewhere there must be a paragraph that permits an intervention. But it can hardly be called ‘reckless endangerment’, can it? It’s not ‘incitement to riot’ or ‘assault with a deadly weapon’ either. The policemen sigh over the gaps in the law books, leafing feverishly through the thick text, while Janine stands at her post on the corner.

Suddenly something reminds them of Rudin, who several years before had set fire to himself. That’s where the solution lies! Taking into custody a person who is incapable of taking care of herself. Sweaty fingers leaf further, and finally they are ready to intervene.

But when the police officers come marching and the crowd eagerly waits to see what’s going to happen, Janine calmly takes down her placard and walks away. The police gape, disconcerted, the crowd of people grumbles, and the old men from the tavern applaud with satisfaction.

When calm has been restored it is possible to argue about what she had written on her shameless placard: ‘No to the atom bomb. Only one Earth.’ But who wants a bomb on their head? And what did she mean by ‘Only one Earth.’? Are there supposed to be more? If the truth is to be preached, people refuse to have it served up by just anyone who claims to have been warned, and least of all by some woman with no nose.

Janine walks with her head held high even though she usually looks down at the ground. She is thinking of standing on her corner again next Saturday, and no one will be able to stop her. Far from the arenas where the world plays out in earnest, she will make her small contribution in accordance with her abilities. She walks across the river bridge, tosses her hair, and hums ‘A Night in Tunisia’. Under her feet dance the first ice floes of the spring thaw. She has proven herself in her own eyes and she has dared to act. She has someone who desires her. If everything is transitory after all, at least she has experienced this outpouring of life, when the pain was completely suppressed.

There is a movement in their life, this last year that Hans Olofson lives in the house by the river. Like a slow displacement of the Earth’s axis, a movement so slight that it’s not noticeable at first. But even to this isolated town in the sticks, a swell comes rolling in to tell them about a world outside which will no longer tolerate being relegated to endless darkness. The perspective has begun to shift, the quaking from distant wars of liberation and uprisings penetrates through the walls of the fir ridges.

Together they sit in Janine’s kitchen and learn the names of the new nations. And they notice the movement, the vibration from distant continents where people are rising up. With amazement, and a certain amount of alarm, they see how the world is changing. An old world in dissolution, where rotten floors are collapsing to reveal indescribable misery, injustice, atrocity. Hans begins to understand that the world he soon intends to enter will be a different one to his father’s. Everything will have to be discovered anew, the sea charts revised, the changed names replacing the old ones.

He tries to talk with his father about what he’s witnessing. Tries to encourage him to whack his axe into a stump and go back to sea. Usually the conversation ends before it has really begun. Erik Olofson is defensive and doesn’t want to be reminded. But then something unexpected happens.

‘I’m going to Stockholm,’ Erik Olofson says as they’re eating dinner.

‘Why?’ Hans asks.

‘I have a matter to take care of in the capital.’

‘You don’t know anybody in Stockholm, do you?’

‘I got an answer to my letter.’

‘What letter?’

‘The letter I wrote.’

‘You don’t write letters, do you?’

‘If you don’t believe me, we won’t talk about this any more.’

‘What letter?’

‘From the Vaxholm Company.’

‘The Vaxholm Company?’

‘Yes. The Vaxholm Company.’

‘What’s that?

‘A shipping company. They handle transport throughout the Stockholm archipelago.’

‘What do they want with you?’

‘I saw an advert somewhere. They need seamen. I thought it might be something for me. Domestic harbours and coastal traffic in the inland waters.’

‘Did you apply for a job?’

‘Are you listening to me?’

‘So what did they say?’

‘They want me to come to Stockholm and present myself.’

‘How can they tell by looking at you that you’re a good sailor?’

‘They can’t. But they can ask questions.’

‘About what?’

‘Why I haven’t been to sea in so many years, for instance.’

‘What are you going to say?’

‘That the children are grown and can take care of themselves.’

‘The children?’

‘I thought it would sound better if I said I had more than one. Seamen are supposed to have a lot of children, that’s always been the case.’

‘And what are the names of these children?’

‘I’ll think of something. I just have to come up with some names. Maybe I can borrow a photo from somebody.’

‘So you’re going to borrow a picture of someone else’s children?’

‘What’s the difference?’

‘It makes a hell of a lot of difference!’

‘I probably won’t even have to prove they’re mine. But I know how ship owners are. It’s best to be prepared. There was a ship owner in Göteborg one time who demanded that anyone who wanted to go out on his boats had to be able to walk on his hands. The Seamen’s Association protested, of course, but he had it his way.’

‘Can you walk on your hands?’

‘No.’

‘What are you telling me, anyway?’

‘That I have an appointment in Stockholm.’

‘When are you leaving?’

‘I haven’t decided yet.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Maybe I’ll say the hell with it.’

‘Of course you have to go! You can’t keep wandering around in the woods.’

‘I don’t wander around in the woods.’

‘You know what I mean. When I finish school we’ll leave this place.’

‘And go where?’

‘Maybe we can ship out on the same vessel.’

‘On a Vaxholm boat?’

‘What the hell do I know? But I want to go further. I’m going out in the world.’

‘Then I’ll wait till you’ve finished school.’

‘Don’t wait! You have to go now.’

‘That won’t work.’

‘Why not?’

‘It’s already too late.’

‘Too late?’

‘Time ran out.’

‘When?’

‘About six months ago.’

‘Six months ago?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you’re only telling me now? Why didn’t you go?’