The Shadow Girls

by Henning Mankell

‘She’s eighty-seven years old.’

  ‘I’ve heard her myself. And why can’t an eighty-seven year old woman be a phone sex operator?’

  Humlin was starting to get the gnawing feeling that there was something to what Andrea was saying. He was just having trouble putting it all together.

  ‘What exactly does this work involve?’

  ‘There are ads at the back of every newspaper with phone numbers for these kinds of services. You call up to talk dirty and hear someone moan on the other end and God only knows what else. One of your mother’s friends came up with the idea that there might be a market for older men who would want to masturbate to the sounds of women their own age.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Well, she was right. They formed one of these services, an incorporated business, actually. It’s run by four women, the youngest of whom is eighty-three and the oldest ninety-one. As it happens, your mother is the CEO. Last year, after deductions they made a profit of four hundred and forty-five thousand kronor.’

  ‘What kind of deductions? What are you talking about?’

  ‘I’m just telling you that your mother spends a few hours every day making sexy sounds into the phone for money. I’ve heard her myself and she sounds very convincing.’

  ‘Convincing?’

  ‘That she’s horny. Don’t play stupid. You know what I mean. How is your book coming along?’

  ‘I’m going to Gothenburg next week to get things going.’

  ‘Good luck.’

  Andrea got up and started to clear the table. Humlin stayed where he was. What Andrea had told him made him both angry and uneasy. He knew deep down that what she had said was true. He had a mother who was capable of just about anything.

  *

  When Humlin got on the train to Gothenburg a week later he had spent most of the time in between fielding questions from more reporters wanting to know all about the crime novel he wasn’t going to write but that was nonetheless scheduled to come out next autumn. He had also had a fight with Viktor Leander who called him on the phone to accuse him of being a spineless plagiarist who stooped to stealing his best friend’s ideas. In exchange for the promise of total secrecy Humlin had finally managed to convince Leander that the rumour was false and no crime novel written by his hand was ever going to be published.

  The man he had most wanted to speak to, Lundin, had been unreachable all week. Humlin had even called him at home in the middle of the night without receiving any answer. He had also not confronted his mother about the scandalous information he had heard. But he had forced himself to accept what Andrea had told him as the truth. One day when he was alone he had drunk two glasses of cognac and then called the number that Andrea had pointed out to him in the newspaper. The first two times he had not recognised the women’s voices, but on his third attempt he was horrified to recognise his mother’s – albeit disguised – voice on the other end. He had thrown down the receiver as if he had been bitten by it, then poured himself some additional glasses of cognac to calm his nerves.

  Humlin sank down in his seat and wished he was on an aeroplane that was going to take him far away, rather than on a train to Gothenburg. He leaned back and closed his eyes. The previous week had exhausted him. But just as he was falling asleep someone close by started talking loudly into their mobile phone. Humlin decided to set all thoughts aside for a moment and pulled an evening paper towards him. He still felt a shiver of unease when he looked at an evening paper. After all, there was still the possibility that some reporter would find the events in Mölndal interesting enough to write about. Especially now that Humlin’s name had been figuring more frequently in the media, due to the book he was not going to write.

  He picked at his food unenthusiastically and spent the rest of the trip looking out over the darkening landscape. A secure foothold, he thought. Here I am in the middle of my life, of the world of the Swedish winter. And I lack a secure foothold.

  *

  Törnblom met him at the station in a rusty van. Once they pulled out from the station they immediately got stuck in traffic.

  ‘Everyone’s already there,’ Törnblom said with satisfaction. ‘They are very excited.’

  ‘What do you mean they’re already there? I’m not supposed to meet with Leyla and her brother for another four hours.’

  ‘They have been there since this morning. It’s a big event for them.’

  Humlin gave him a suspicious look. Was he being serious or sarcastic?

  ‘I don’t know exactly where this is going to lead. It may end in nothing,’ Humlin said.

  ‘The most important thing is that you do something. In this country immigrants are still treated like victims. Because of their circumstances, their poor language skills, for almost any other reason you can think of. Sometimes they think of themselves as victims. But most of them simply want to be treated like normal people. If you can help them tell their stories, you will have done a lot.’

  ‘Why do you say “them”? I’m working with Leyla, that’s it.’

  The traffic let up for a couple of metres, then stopped again. A wet snow began to fall.

  ‘We’ll be more than just her and her brother tonight.’

  ‘What do you mean? How many more?’

  ‘We had to put in a couple of extra chairs.’

  Humlin put his hand on the door as if he was preparing to jump out.

  ‘Extra chairs? How many people are we talking about?’

  ‘Oh, around fifty, I’d say.’

  Humlin really did try to open the door. The handle came off in his hand.

  ‘What kind of car is this?’

  ‘It normally does that. I’ll fix it later.’

  ‘How can there be fifty people coming?’

  ‘Leyla decided to invite a couple of her friends who also want to write,’ Törnblom said.

  ‘And how does that make fifty people?’

  ‘She has a big family. And then there are also neighbours, friends.’

  ‘Why all these relatives?’

  ‘I already told you. They have to protect the virtue of their daughters. I think you should be proud that they are so interested in this project.’

  ‘I came here to talk to one girl. Not with any others and not with their families. I want you to take me back to the station.’

  Törnblom turned to face him.

  ‘Come on, it’ll be fine,’ he said. ‘When the families see that you’re a man who can be trusted, fewer people will come in the future.’

  ‘I don’t care how many people stop coming. I’m here to talk to one girl. That was the arrangement. Take me back to the station immediately. I mean it!’

  ‘There’s one other person who’s coming that I should mention.’

  ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘A reporter.’

  ‘How did he find out about this?’

  ‘I called him.’

  ‘Damn you, Törnblom.’

  ‘You can imagine what he’ll write if you don’t show. These girls have already been let down by society. And now you as well?’

  Humlin sat silently with the car handle in his hand. Why does no one listen to me? he thought. Why do I have to talk to fifty people when I came to talk to one?

  The traffic was finally starting to let up. The snow fell more heavily. By the time they reached Stensgården and the boxing club Humlin felt a strong inclination to cry. But he followed Törnblom into the fully packed room. People sat tightly pressed together along the walls of the room. They were of all ages and appearance. There were a few very old people and a few young children who were crying loudly. The room was filled with the smell of exotic spices that Humlin could not identify.

  He stopped once he had entered the room and looked around. Leyla and her girlfriends sat at a table at the far end of the room. To his great surprise one of the friends was Tea-Bag.

  He turned around, but Törnblom was blocking the exit.

  There was only one way for him to go.
/>   6

  AT A QUARTER past ten that evening Humlin was knocked down by a giant Finnish gypsy man by the name of Haiman. Haiman hadn’t liked the way Humlin had patted his niece Sasha on the cheek. He felt it was too intimate. Sasha was not one of Leyla’s girlfriends gathered around the table and why Humlin ever took it into his head to pat her cheek was never clarified. But the blow that struck Humlin was forceful. Haiman had been playing rugby with his friends on a field in Frölunda for many years. His fist hit the totally unprepared Humlin on the left cheek and sent him straight into the wall before he crumpled on the ground. According to Törnblom – who had seen many knockouts in his life – it was a thing of beauty.

  When Humlin came to his senses about an hour later he was lying on a stretcher at the hectic emergency room at the Sahlgrenska Hospital. Törnblom was standing at his side. It took Humlin a few seconds to orient himself.

  ‘The doctor said that nothing’s broken. You were lucky.’

  ‘Lucky,’ Humlin spat. The pain shot all the way down into his throat.

  ‘I can’t hear you. You’ll have to speak up.’

  Törnblom found a piece of paper and a pencil in his pockets. He handed them to Humlin who wrote the question: What happened?

  ‘It was a misunderstanding. Everyone is very sorry. There are about twenty people waiting here at the hospital to see how you are feeling. They want to come in and say hello. They’re very concerned about you.’

  Humlin shook his head in horror at the thought.

  ‘They won’t come in unless I tell them it’s all right. It was a misunderstanding. A culture clash,’ Törnblom said.

  Törnblom gave him an enthusiastic pat on the shoulder. The pain in Humlin’s cheek increased.

  ‘This was exactly the kind of cultural insight you were looking for, wasn’t it?’

  Humlin wrote another sentence while his hand shook with fury.

  I never asked to be hit in the face by a lunatic.

  ‘Haiman is normally a very peaceful man. He just felt you were behaving inappropriately. You shouldn’t pat the girls on the cheek. It can be misunderstood. But you were lucky. The doctors don’t think you have a concussion. Still, they want you to stay overnight.’

  Humlin kept writing.

  I want to go home. I’m never coming back.

  ‘Of course you’ll be back. You’re just a bit shaken up. Everyone thought you were wonderful. This is all going to work out.’

  A bright light hung above Humlin’s head and shone straight into his eyes. He turned away from it, looked at Törnblom and slowly shook his head. If he had been able to do so, he would have hit him. He wrote some more and said he never wanted to see any of the people waiting to see him ever again. Törnblom nodded in an understanding way and disappeared behind a curtain. Humlin fingered his cheekbone. The whole area was very swollen and throbbed with pain. Törnblom came back.

  ‘They’re happy to hear that you’re fine. They all look forward to seeing you again. I told them you thought the evening had been a promising start.’

  Humlin wrote furiously on the scrap of paper.

  Go away.

  ‘I’m waiting for Amanda. She’s going to sit with you for a few hours. Tomorrow I’ll come and get you and take you either to the airport or the train station, as you wish. And we’ll have to set a date for when you’ll be back.’

  Humlin cursed silently and shut his eyes. He heard Törnblom leave. He tried to keep the pain at bay by thinking back to everything that had happened before the blow that had sent him into total darkness.

  *

  Törnblom had been blocking the exit. When the two of them entered the room a sudden silence had descended on everyone gathered there. He felt everyone’s eyes on him and then the murmurs had started up again, even more loudly. Humlin tried to avoid looking at everyone as he made his way to the table where Leyla, Tea-Bag and one other girl were seated. They had pulled up a seat for him. He thought with increasing desperation that when he reached the table and sat down he would be expected to know how to proceed.

  For some reason he suddenly thought of his stockbroker. Maybe it was because the noise in the room reminded him of the chaos of the various stock exchanges he had seen on TV. Or perhaps it was simply because it had been over a week since he had been in touch with Anders Burén, the broker in charge of his investments. For a couple of years these investments had been unbelievably lucrative, but lately his shares had started to plummet, like all the rest of the stocks around the world.

  If I survive this I should give him a call tomorrow, Humlin thought. He immediately started worrying that something dramatic was taking place somewhere in the world at this very moment, the effects of which would soon render all his investments as worthless as if they had been wiped out by a tidal wave. When he reached the table all chatter around the room ceased. He nodded to Tea-Bag, but it was Leyla who stretched out her hand in greeting. Tea-Bag seemed to be testing him somehow. The third girl sat with her face turned away from him.

  When he took Leyla’s hand it was like grasping a dead, sweaty fish. But fish don’t sweat, he thought in a confused way. And girls must be allowed to sweat if they get nervous. Perhaps I can use this image in some future poem, although it seems unlikely I will publish another collection. My future right now is determined by two books I will never write. The marketing campaign for one of them is already underway.

  Humlin held on to Leyla’s hand, afraid that he would lose his tenuous hold on the situation if he let go of it. He greeted them all in a friendly fashion. Somewhere in the room behind him someone started clapping enthusiastically.

  ‘I see you brought some friends with you,’ Humlin said to Leyla, trying to sound casual.

  ‘They really wanted to be here. You’ve already met Tea-Bag.’

  Humlin shook Tea-Bag’s hand. She pulled her hand back as if he had squeezed too hard. He didn’t manage to catch the third girl’s name. She didn’t stretch out her hand and sat turned away from him. He sat down on the empty chair. At the same time a group of people in the room who had been sitting at the very back got up and made their way to the front.

  ‘They’re my parents,’ Leyla explained.

  ‘All of them?’

  ‘The two tallest ones are my brother and sister. The other two are my parents.’

  Leyla pointed to them as she spoke. They all looked equally short to Humlin.

  ‘My family would like to be introduced to you.’

  ‘I thought only your brother was going to come,’ Humlin said.

  ‘I have three brothers. My grandmother is also here. And two aunts on my father’s side.’

  Humlin was introduced to the family members one by one. They were friendly enough but were also clearly looking him over. Humlin heard their names but forgot them all immediately. When all the introductions were over they started their way back through the rows of other people. Humlin felt sweat running down his chest, inside his shirt. The windows looked nailed shut. He looked over at Törnblom who was standing by the door like a bouncer. Humlin felt a growing panic and cursed the fact that he had for once in his life forgotten to bring the pills he had for calming his nerves.

  ‘This is Tanya,’ Leyla said, indicating the girl who sat with her head turned away.

  Humlin half-expected to hear a new group of family members approach the table, but heard nothing. Tanya must have come on her own.

  ‘Where are you from?’ Humlin asked.

  ‘She’s from Russia,’ Leyla answered.

  ‘And you are here to learn to write? To tell your story?’

  ‘She has been through more than any of us,’ Leyla said. ‘But she doesn’t talk very much.’

  This turned out to be an accurate observation. Tanya did not say a single word all evening. Humlin looked at her surreptitiously from time to time. He assumed she was the oldest of the three, perhaps twenty-five or twenty-six. She was the complete opposite of Leyla, slender and with a beautiful oval face framed by straig
ht brown hair that fell to her shoulders. She was very tense and stared at a fixed point on the wall. Humlin realised that he didn’t have the slightest idea what she could be thinking, not even when he employed all of his imaginative powers. He also realised, with the usual mixture of anxiety and anticipation, that he was starting to feel attracted to her.

  Next to Tanya was Tea-Bag, the young woman he had first met in Mölndal and who had asked him the question that was the real reason he had returned to Stensgården. That time she had struck him as outspoken and strong. Now she seemed preoccupied and insecure and never quite met his gaze.

  There was a hush in the room. Humlin realised that the orchestra had arrived, and that he was the conductor. He had to think of something. He turned to Leyla.

  ‘Why do you want to write?’ he asked.

  ‘I want to be a TV star,’ she said.

  Humlin was taken aback.

  ‘A TV star?’

  ‘Yes, to be on TV, ideally a programme that comes on every night for ten years.’

  ‘Well, I hardly think I can help you with that goal. We’re not going to be talking about the TV business.’

  Humlin didn’t know how to continue. The whole situation seemed preposterous. A low buzz had started up again in the room. On one side he had Leyla, who was sweating and who had just told him she wanted to be a TV star, on the other side was Tanya, who still had her face turned away from him, and Tea-Bag whom he no longer recognised. In order to buy some time he pointed to the pads of paper the girls all had in front of them, labelled ‘Törnblom’s Boxing Club’.

  ‘I want you to write two things,’ he said and was immediately interrupted by someone with a heavy accent asking him to speak up.

  ‘This is not actually intended to be a lecture,’ Humlin replied in a loud voice. ‘What I want at this point is for the girls to write down the answers to two questions: “Why do you want to write?” and “What do you hope to do in the future?”’

  A murmur of surprise and anticipation filled the room. Törnblom made his way over to the table with a glass of water.

  ‘Can’t we open a window in here? It’s so hot!’ Humlin asked.