Daniel (22 page)

He tried one more time to make the water obey him. First he stroked his hand over its wet pelt. Then he put his foot on the same spot. But the water broke, the pelt twitched.

He began to cry. The tears ran slowly down his cheeks. He wiped them away and dipped his hands into the water. Maybe that would help. But on this night as well the water refused to bear him.

 

When he came back and cautiously opened the door, Father was awake. He had lit a paraffin lamp and was sitting upright in the bed.

‘I woke up and you weren't here,' he said. ‘Where have you been?'

‘I went out,' said Daniel.

‘That's no answer. Don't you understand that I worry about you?'

‘I had to pee.'

Father looked at his watch.

‘You've been gone for almost an hour. So you're lying.'

‘I peed two times.'

‘I should really spank you,' said Father. ‘If it happens again I'll have to start tying you up again. What did you do?'

Daniel considered telling the truth, but something held him back, something was warning him. Father wouldn't understand. The worst thing that could happen would be for him to start tying him up again.

‘I went out to look at the moon,' he said. ‘I didn't know I shouldn't. My name is Daniel. I believe in God. I beg your pardon.'

Father looked at him in silence.

‘As strange as it seems, you're probably telling the truth,' he said at last. ‘But if you do it again it'll be the rope.'

Daniel lay down behind Father's back.

The lamp was blown out.

Daniel no longer felt any safety behind Father's huge back. Now it was like a rock that threatened to fall over on top of him.

In his dreams he finally found Be and Kiko once more. Be had a red veil over her face, she was playing again, and Kiko sat carving new arrows. It was as if Daniel had never been gone. But he had grown, he was older now. Old enough to accompany the men on the hunt. He tried to explain to Kiko that he was still a child, but Kiko wouldn't listen, or else he laughed, and Be slapped him playfully on the back and told him to stop dreaming. Then Kiko shook him by the arm and he woke up, and Father was leaning over him telling him it was time to get up.

‘You were yelling in your dream,' he said. ‘You were calling for Kiko.'

‘Kiko is the man I grew up with,' Daniel said.

‘You have no other father but me. Everything that happened back then is gone. It no longer exists.'

‘The same way there was never any lion.'

Father's face darkened.

‘I won't permit that,' he said. ‘I ask very little of you, but if I say that there was a lion, then there was one. That lion will make us money. It will draw the public. More than those real lions that people sometimes exhibit in cages or pits.'

He held up Daniel's trousers.

‘They're dirty. I don't know what you've been doing. We don't have time to get them cleaned now. We'll have to wait until we get to Strängnäs.'

Daniel got out of bed. His legs were heavy. His feet were still sticky from the muddy water. Father stood in front of his shaving mirror, humming. Daniel could see the woman in his eyes.

 

They went on board the same boat that had brought them the day before and sailed across a fjord that narrowed and turned into a strait between low islands. On board the vessel were two horses. A boy Daniel's age sat holding them by two ropes. He looked at Daniel but he didn't stare. Daniel sat down next to him. The boy touched his hair and laughed. Daniel pointed at the horses.

‘They're going to be slaughtered,' said the boy. ‘In Strängnäs they'll get clubbed on the head.'

‘Why?'

‘They're old.'

‘I've seen a lion,' said Daniel. ‘A lion that dragged me off to tear me to pieces.'

The boy gave Daniel a close look.

‘I don't believe it,' he said. ‘I think you're lying.'

‘Thank you,' said Daniel, and held out his hand.

The boy took it. His grip was very strong.

 

That afternoon they landed at a quay and disembarked. Wickberg was waiting for them and further off, behind some stacks of timber, Daniel saw the woman with the red veil.

At that instant he decided that she was someone he could tell the truth to: she would listen to what he had to say.

As soon as they stepped ashore on the quay amid the screeching of gulls, an argument broke out between Wickberg and Father. Wickberg had unrolled the finished printed poster, and Father was furious. There was not only a dangerous snake with a forked tongue, but Daniel was depicted as a grinning, evil wild man with fangs.

‘I can't approve this!' Father yelled. ‘This goes against everything we agreed on!'

Wickberg seemed to have been prepared for this reaction.

‘But it will pull in the public. If it draws a crowd you get a percentage. That's the agreement. If nobody comes the whole thing might go into liquidation.'

‘We don't have a company. This is a lecture tour with serious content.'

‘What difference does the content make if people don't turn up? As soon as they get there they'll forget about the snake. When they see the boy their hearts will melt. They won't see a wild man but a scared little Negro slave.'

Father gave a start as if Wickberg had stuck him with a needle.

‘Negro slave?'

Wickberg drew Father aside because people on the quay were beginning to show more interest in their loud argument than in Daniel.

‘You've been away a long time, Hans Bengler. Black people in this backward country are either wild men or slaves. They either boil missionaries or are kept in chains. If you want to change this impression, you have to get them to come.'

Daniel understood that they were talking about him, but he was more interested in the woman who was still hiding behind the timber. He wanted to run over and grab hold of one of her slender hands, but he knew that she was standing there because she didn't want to be seen.

Wickberg rolled up the poster.

‘You'll realise that I'm right soon enough,' he said, nodding meaningfully towards the money stuffed in his stockings.

‘You're a scoundrel,' said Father. ‘But the rest of the contract is all right.'

Wickberg went red in the face.

‘Don't ever call me a scoundrel. Anything else, but not that!'

‘Everyone is afraid of his real name,' said Father. ‘But I'm be content to call you a brigand.'

Wickberg grabbed his heart and then felt his wrist to take his pulse.

‘Don't play games with your heart,' said Father. ‘There's no queen of hearts inside your coat. There's a spade with a low number. When people start coming by themselves, the snake and the wild man go.'

Wickberg nodded, resigned.

 

The baggage was transported to a hotel, a building of red brick. Wickberg booked a private room for them. After they got settled in the room, Father took Daniel to a shop that sold sailor suits. The man behind the counter started shaking when he had to measure Daniel's waist. Father was tired and annoyed.

‘Damn fumbling!' he shouted. ‘The boy is perfectly normal. Narrow waist.'

A pair of trousers was selected, tried on, and they fitted without alterations. They went back to the hotel room, where Wickberg was waiting.

The woman with the red veil was gone. Daniel turned time after time on the street to check if she was there.

‘What are you looking for?' asked Father.

‘Nothing,' said Daniel.

 

Wickberg had ordered a large supper. Father's mood instantly improved when he saw the table.

‘Tonight we're not working,' said Wickberg. ‘It's important to rest up. Besides, Strängnäs is a slow town. People have to have time to think about it, make up their minds, air out their clothes. But tomorrow it'll be a full house.'

‘Which hall?'

‘The bishop is terrified of everything that doesn't come from on
high. He forbade the use of the diocese's large hall. The mayor is afraid of the bishop, so he closed the town hall. All that was left was the Freemasons' hall. It's got poor acoustics, but we'll hang a cloth from the ceiling.'

Father tossed back one of the glasses that Daniel had learned was called a
shot
. He smacked his lips and looked pleased.

‘Tomorrow there will be a dinner after the performance as well. A writer named Ehrenhane is the host.'

‘What does he write?'

‘Rubbish. Heartfelt tributes to the Royal House. But he doesn't take his convictions seriously. He visits whores in Copenhagen, conspires with the radicals, and sometimes invites tramps to dinner.'

‘Are you referring to me?'

‘Not at all. But not many travellers from foreign lands ever pass through this town. As a young man he was also passionate about pressing plants. He has a colossal collection of oak leaves at home.'

Daniel picked at his food. He still had a knot in his stomach. Somewhere nearby was the woman with the veil, he knew it.

‘Aren't you hungry?' asked Father, who noticed he wasn't eating.

‘I have a stomach ache.'

‘He's tired,' said Wickberg. ‘He can have a sandwich in the room.'

‘Yes, please.'

Father scrutinised him. ‘No going out at night!'

‘No,' Daniel replied. ‘I'm going to bed.'

He found his way up the stairs by himself. When he entered the room he stood by the window and looked down at the street. There was a single lamp post with a flickering light. He knew that Father would tie him up if he went out. That would ruin everything. The water would be forbidden to him. At the same time he knew that he had to meet the woman who had stood behind the wood and waited. She had come for his sake, he was convinced of that. Maybe she would speak to Father about his travels, continue listening to his lies, but she had understood that there was never any lion. She had come to hear his story, and maybe she would be able to help him walk on water.

He remained standing at the window. A lone dog ran through the light towards some unknown destination. Then a man came staggering by. He leaned against the lamp post and vomited. Then he too disappeared.

There was a knock at the door. Daniel gave a start. He thought it was Father testing him to see if he would say
Come in
or if he would open the door without finding out who was standing there. He waited. The knock came again. It was very cautious. Daniel pictured the hand. Without gloves, it was white with slender fingers. He rushed to the door and opened it.

Ina Myrén stood there, and she had no gloves on. Daniel grabbed her hand and pressed it to his face. He couldn't help crying. He suddenly remembered a pain that he had felt long ago when Be had been seized by inconceivable rage and slapped him hard on the face. He had started bleeding, and then she had pressed his face so hard into the sand that he almost suffocated. Someone had grabbed hold of her, torn her away, and afterwards she had vanished and hadn't come back until two days later. She never said a word, never explained what had driven her to hit him. For a long time the whole family had stayed silent. Kiko had retreated. Only later did Daniel understand that Be had been seized by evil demons. No one knew where they had come from. Maybe she had thought forbidden thoughts. Nobody knew. Not until she gave birth to Daniel's little sister did everything go back to normal. Be seemed to forget everything that had happened. Kiko slept close by her side at night, and she caressed Daniel's hair as she had always done.

Now the tears were flowing, but the woman didn't pull away her hand. She closed the door behind her and sat down on a chair, and Daniel buried his head between her breasts.

Afterwards he sat on the edge of the bed and looked down at the floor. She didn't say anything, just sat there waiting. Finally he dared to look at her. She was smiling.

‘There wasn't any lion,' he said.

‘I know,' she replied. ‘But what was there instead?'

‘An antelope. That Kiko carved into the rock. An antelope that was about to take a leap.'

‘What else was there?'

He realised all of a sudden that he couldn't sit on the bed any longer. Telling a story meant sitting on the ground. Not on the sand, since there wasn't any, but on the wooden floorboards, the dark red carpet. He sat down, and to his astonishment she got out of her chair and sat down facing him with her legs crossed.

‘There should be a fire here, I'm sure,' she said.

Daniel nodded. He was dumbfounded. How could she know that?

‘I'm sitting facing you. But actually someone else is sitting here.'

He nodded again. She was conjuring with him, saying precisely what he hadn't expected her to say but was hoping for. Still, he wasn't afraid.

‘Be,' he said. ‘Or Kiko, or Undu, or Rigva who was lame and only had one eye.'

‘But there wasn't any lion?'

‘No lion.'

Suddenly he was frightened. She knew too much she couldn't know. He had learned enough to mistrust friendly, well-meaning people with slender white fingers. They always wanted something from him that he couldn't give.

‘Can you skip?' he asked, to defend himself.

Since he didn't know whether he had been polite enough, he added, ‘My name is Daniel. I believe in God.'

‘I can skip,' she replied. ‘Maybe not with these skirts on, but I can.'