Daniel

by Henning Mankell

  Wickberg fell silent, out of breath after his long speech. He pulled out a hip flask and took a swallow and then offered it to Father.

  ‘French cognac.’

  Father drank and smacked his lips contentedly.

  ‘It tastes like morning. Especially when the evening before ended in chaos,’ said Wickberg.

  ‘You had a proposal of some sort?’

  ‘Most definitely.’

  Again Wickberg began to speak. He spoke for a long time. Daniel tried to follow his words, but they rattled out of his mouth and finally became only a pressure in his ears. Daniel had moved close to Father. In the mornings he needed to feel his body warmth to stay calm. Father put his arm around him as he listened. When Wickberg stopped talking he asked some questions and received answers. Then Wickberg handed him some papers which he read through carefully. In the meantime Wickberg pulled out a wad of banknotes from one of his stockings and placed it on the table. From one of the voluminous pockets in his coat he then took out a small wooden box in which he kept an inkwell and pen. Father signed one of the papers. Then they drank again from the hip flask before Wickberg got up, bowed and left. Father picked Daniel up in his arms.

  ‘So, something good came of last night after all. I knew it. When I was in the desert I learned never to lose faith. Now we can leave this damn room and move to decent quarters. But first we have to do a little travelling.’

  Daniel knew what travelling meant. It made him nervous. Maybe they would head into the forest again, where there was no water.

  A few hours later they moved out of the attic room after Father argued with the landlord about the rent. Again their luggage was pulled on a cart through the narrow alleyways. By now Daniel was used to having people stare at him. He didn’t look down and he noticed that if he returned their stares they would turn their faces away.

  They didn’t go far. The alley opened onto a body of water, and Daniel felt his worry ebb away. They went across a bridge and then stopped at a boat by the dock that was puffing smoke from its black smokestack. The baggage was stowed on board and Daniel stood at Father’s side when the lines were cast off.

  ‘We’re not going far,’ said Father. ‘We’ll be there this evening. This isn’t a sea, but a lake.’

  Daniel tried to figure out what the difference could be between a sea and a lake. The water looked the same. He wanted to ask, but Father had lain down behind the luggage, pulled his coat over his head and gone to sleep. Daniel stood and looked at the city slowly disappearing behind them. Around him there were always curious people looking and pointing, but he didn’t care any more. Father seemed to be content, and they were close to water. That was the only thing that was important.

  When Father woke up they went below deck and sat at a table with a white tablecloth and ate lunch. Daniel noticed that Father always acted differently when he had money. He was no longer hesitant, his movements were resolute.

  ‘We’re going to display the insects,’ he said when they had finished eating. ‘Wickberg is a good man. He’s setting up a tour for us, I’m being well paid, and if it goes well we can keep doing it. But now you have to promise me not to start climbing on people’s heads when I lift up the cloth. Otherwise Wickberg will take back his money and we’ll have to move back to the room in the attic. Do you understand what I’m saying?’

  ‘Yes, Father.’

  ‘You promise that it won’t happen again?’

  ‘Yes, Father.’

  Father reached out his hand and placed it on Daniel’s.

  ‘What actually happened? I saw something in your eyes. As if you had discovered something.’

  ‘It was Kiko,’ Daniel replied.

  He thought that now he could now explain everything to Father, and he wouldn’t get angry or shake his head.

  ‘Kiko?’

  Daniel realised that Father didn’t know who Kiko was. He had never asked about the life Daniel had lived before he ended up in the pen at Andersson’s. How was he going to explain that before him there was a man named Kiko?

  ‘Kiko,’ Father said again.

  ‘He and Be were the ones who raised me. Kiko painted an antelope on a rock. He taught me about the gods. One day he was dead, like Be.’

  Daniel spoke very slowly. He searched for the right words and tried to pronounce them as clearly as possible. Father looked at him in astonishment.

  ‘You’re talking,’ he said. ‘Whole sentences!’

  It was as if he had forgotten about Kiko and hadn’t heard what Daniel said.

  ‘You’re a remarkable boy,’ Father went on. ‘You’ve already begun to learn Swedish. You talk like me, with a Småland dialect. And yet you come from a desert far, far away.’

  Daniel waited for Father to ask about Kiko, but he went on and on about the language, about the fact that Daniel could speak. What he said was of no importance.

  Late in the afternoon they arrived at a small town where they put ashore. Wickberg stood waiting on the quay. Next to him were two boys with a cart. Wickberg had turned his red coat inside out so that the grey lining was on the outside. He nodded with pleasure as he shook Father’s hand and patted Daniel on the head.

  ‘Everything will be fine. The mayor, who is an amateur botanist, is lending us the meeting room in the town hall. He promises a large turnout. Handwritten posters have been put up. But for Strängnäs they’re going to be printed. A ghastly snake swallowing a person. A black man with a spear. To draw people in, it looks like the black man is naked.’

  Daniel saw Father frown.

  ‘I’m not showing any snakes.’

  ‘That doesn’t matter.’

  ‘I want it to be truthful and scientific.’

  ‘Snakes are good. They bring in the crowds. In Strängnäs we can use a smaller snake.’

  Wickberg broke off the conversation and they set off for town.

  ‘It’s important to look up,’ Father muttered.

  Daniel wondered what he meant. He looked up at the rooftops, at the clouds. But he didn’t see any danger threatening.

  That evening Daniel was sitting under his linen tablecloth again. He practised what he was going to say and promised himself not to run towards Kiko even if he was there.

  Father gave a better speech that evening. Daniel could hear that. He wasn’t nervous and his voice was steady and firm. Sometimes he also managed to get a laugh from the audience. Daniel thought he ought to feel grateful to Father. Even though he had taken him along on this unbelievable journey, kidnapped him, he did have good intentions towards Daniel, although it wasn’t clear what they were. On occasion he used to hear the grown-ups talking about trials that made people stronger. Kiko’s brother Uk had once been wounded by a leopard, and he dragged himself a long way with a broken leg. That had been a trial. It had taught not only Uk but the others in the family to be even more careful when any of the big cats were in the area. But he had no idea what trial he himself would have to go through. Maybe it was as simple a task as learning something that only one white man had been able to do before: to walk on water.

  He felt Father’s hand on his head, the firm grip around the cloth. When it was slowly pulled away he was ready. A murmur passed through the hall. He heard a woman laugh hysterically, but he didn’t lose his composure. He bowed, said his words and stood quite still. Kiko wasn’t in the hall. Father smiled at him and then opened Daniel’s mouth so everyone could see his teeth. Father squeezed and pulled on his arms, but not so hard that it hurt. When Daniel puffed out his cheeks the audience applauded. Afterwards he sat quietly when people came forward to look at him.

  I wonder what it is they see, he thought. Judging by their eyes I think they see something that fills them with uneasiness. Not fear, not amazement, but uneasiness.

  At last it was all over. Wickberg strutted about rubbing his hands. His stockings were bulging with money.

  ‘This is going to go well,’ he said. ‘Tomorrow in Strängnäs we might extend the performance and stay two
days.’

  ‘But no snakes,’ said Father, closing his bag.

  ‘No big ones, at least,’ replied Wickberg, vanishing out of the door.

  Father nodded to Daniel.

  ‘Tonight we’re staying at a hotel,’ he said. ‘And now dinner awaits.’

  At the same moment the door at the back of the hall opened and a woman came in. She was dressed in black but with a red veil around her hat.

  When Daniel saw her face he knew at once that something important was about to happen.

  But he couldn’t say what it was.

  CHAPTER 16

  Once Be, who liked to play games, had put a piece of kudu skin over her head and wrapped red strips of cloth around her face so the skin wouldn’t blow off. When Daniel saw the black-clad woman walking down the centre aisle between the red plush seats, he thought she was sent by Be. The night before, Kiko had been there in the dark. He must have told Be and now she was the one who came, but not in person; she had sent someone in her place. The woman was young, younger than Father and Be and Kiko. He was sure that she didn’t have any children of her own yet. She smiled when she looked at him. Father had straightened up and was flexing his fingers. He was just like Kiko, Daniel thought. If a beautiful woman crossed Kiko’s path he would tense his leg muscles and rub his nose. Be always used to laugh at him. Sometimes she would bite him on the arm. Then Kiko would blush and say that the woman walking by might be good-looking but she didn’t spark his desire in the least.

  Father was just the same. Something happened when the woman with the red veil came up to the podium.

  ‘I hope I’m not disturbing you,’ she said. ‘I saw your presentation, or perhaps one should call it a lecture. I liked what I heard. And what I saw.’

  ‘Insects are neglected creatures,’ replied Father. ‘They can teach us a lot about life. And not merely the industriousness of the bee and the strength of the ant. There are grasshoppers that exhibit a good deal of cunning. And a special hymenopteran which has the remarkable ability to transform itself into a stone.’

  ‘And the boy,’ said the woman, looking at Daniel, ‘he aroused many thoughts.’

  Father straightened his necktie.

  ‘My name is Hans Bengler,’ he said. ‘As I announced before the lecture. With whom do I have the honour of speaking?’

  ‘Ina Myrén. I’m a correspondent for one of the newspapers in the capital.’

  ‘Excellent,’ said Father. ‘I hope you are favourably disposed.’

  ‘Actually I came to hear more about your journey,’ said the woman. ‘About how you met the boy in the desert. I had a feeling that your story was recounted only in broad outline.’

  ‘Quite right,’ replied Father. ‘But people tire quickly. One must always be aware of holding their attention, and not go on too long.’

  ‘That’s something that preachers should learn.’

  Father laughed. Daniel thought it was an ingratiating laugh.

  ‘It’s unusual to meet a female correspondent,’ he said. ‘Before, they were always men. So something seems to be changing after all.’

  ‘Women are seeking positions in society,’ she said. ‘An old, rotten stronghold is about to collapse. Men are on the barricades, except for the fearless and young, but we shall not give in.’

  ‘I understand that Fru Myrén is a radical, then?’

  ‘Not Fru, Fröken.’

  ‘So, Mamselle Myrén.’

  ‘Not Mamselle either. That’s French and shouldn’t be used in this country. I am Fröken and thus unmarried. And self-supporting.’

  ‘Are correspondents paid so well?’

  ‘I am also a milliner with seven employees.’

  ‘Here in Mariefred? Can you make a living at that?’

  ‘We fill orders for shops in Stockholm. We have made hats for the Royal Court. That gained us a clientele among the aristocracy.’

  Daniel noticed that she pronounced certain words with great emphasis, as if she didn’t like what she was talking about. In his ears, the words ‘Royal Court’ sounded almost the same as when Father said the word ‘damn’.

  ‘So Fröken Myrén wants to write an article? Naturally I will be at your service.’

  ‘I would also like to speak with the boy. I hear he has already learned the language, which surprises me.’

  ‘He speaks very little. But of course I can tell you his story. May I suggest that Fröken Myrén accompany us to the dinner that awaits us at the inn?’

  ‘That would not be proper. It could be misconstrued.’

  ‘I understand. Rumour spreads quickly in such a small town. Just as it does in a big desert. In that case, we’ll have to do the interview right now. We’re leaving Mariefred early in the morning for an engagement in Strängnäs.’

  The woman removed her hat, opened a small handbag, and took out a notebook and a pencil. Father opened the case with the insects in it, took out the skipping rope, and handed it to Daniel.

  ‘Out in the foyer,’ he said. ‘And be quiet. I know you can.’

  ‘I would like to talk to him too,’ said the woman.

  ‘Then we’ll call him in.’

  Daniel understood that Father wanted to be left alone. He took the skipping rope and went out into the foyer. An old woman sat asleep with her knitting by the front door. Daniel walked around and looked at things. On the ceiling were paintings of angels playing among the clouds. He thought that it must be just as hard to float among the clouds as it was to walk on water. But neither was impossible. He started to skip. The old woman slept on. His feet scarcely touched the stone floor. He tried to imagine that it was water. One day he would be so skilled that he would not only walk on water, he would be able to skip on it too.

  After a while he grew tired. The old woman was still sleeping. He peeked through the door into the big hall. Father was standing there lecturing the woman, who was writing it all down. Daniel entered cautiously and sat down at the back of the hall. He could hear everything Father was saying, because he was speaking quite loudly. Now and then the woman would ask a question. She also spoke loudly enough for Daniel to understand the words. They were talking about insects. Daniel leaned his head against the seat in front of him and closed his eyes. He wondered when he would have time to practise keeping his feet on the surface of the water. Kiko had appeared to him the night before: that had to mean that they were waiting for him.

  His thoughts were interrupted when he heard his name. He looked at Father. He was standing still now, and he was talking about him. Daniel began to listen. Then he became confused. Who was Father actually talking about? He was telling about a lion that had been wounded by a gunshot and had dragged an unconscious boy into the bushes to eat him. Was he the boy in the story? Daniel had never in his life seen a lion. Nor had Be. Kiko thought he had seen one at a distance once. Was he supposed to have been dragged off by a wounded lion? He got up and sneaked forward among the chairs to come closer. He sat down on the floor and peeked through the chairs. The floor was filthy. The sailor suit that Father had sewn for him would get dirty, but it couldn’t be helped.

  There was no doubt. Father was talking about him, and nothing he said was true. According to his story, Father had saved him from the lion and then carried him for four days without water through the desert. There they had been attacked by a band of robbers, but Father had not only saved their lives, he also managed to convert the robbers to the Christian faith, and after that Daniel had been his faithful apostle.

  Daniel had heard that exact word before: apostle. He understood that it meant he had followed along voluntarily across the sea, that it had been his own wish, a desperate desire to accompany Father when he told him that it was time for him to return with the insects he had collected.

  Not a word of what Father was telling her was true! Daniel wondered whether he was talking about some other boy who had followed him across the sea. Someone who no longer existed, whom Father never talked about? But that couldn’t be right. Fath
er was talking about him, and what the woman was writing in her notebook was all lies.

  Father was lying.

  He was making up a story that was not true at all.

  Daniel sat on the floor and felt a strong impulse to start screaming. That’s not right, that’s not how it happened. I’ve never even seen a lion. But he held his tongue. He couldn’t scream because he didn’t understand why Father was telling this story about him. What he said about the insects was right: there was not one detail that was untrue.

  Father finished and wiped the sweat from his brow with his handkerchief. Daniel crept back out to the foyer. There he began skipping, furiously. He slammed his feet against the stone floor as hard as he could. The old woman suddenly opened her eyes and stared at him. But she didn’t believe what she saw and went back to sleep. Father came out to him.

  ‘Didn’t you hear me calling you?’ he asked. ‘And didn’t I tell you to skip quietly?’

  Daniel didn’t answer.

  ‘She wants to talk to you, though I’ve already told her most of the story. Just tell her your name and that you believe in God. That will be enough.’

  Daniel followed Father into the hall. The woman had taken off her gloves to write. Her fingers were very slender and white. Daniel wanted to grab hold of them and hold on tight, so tight that Father wouldn’t be able to pull him loose.

  ‘I’ve heard your story,’ she said and smiled. ‘It’s quite a remarkable account, which will thrill many readers. In contrast to all the terrible things we read about slavery and injustice, this is a story that tells us something good.’

  ‘Goodness is necessary,’ said Father mildly. ‘Without goodness, life is a wasted effort.’

  The woman looked at Daniel.

  ‘My name is Ina,’ she said. ‘Can you say my name?’

  ‘Ina.’

  ‘Do you understand what a remarkable experience this is? To hear my name spoken by a person who was born far away in a desert?’