A Treacherous Paradise (30 page)

‘I still don’t understand what you mean when you say that Isabel is grieving. She misses her children, of course. But that’s not grief.’

‘She’s grieving for the children she never had. As she was forced to kill her husband.’

Ana had the impression that their conversation was going round in circles and getting nowhere. She sensed rather than understood the logic in Felicia’s words.

‘Who would want to kill her?’ she asked again.

‘I don’t know, but essentially I believe that every single one of all the thousands of white people living in this town would be prepared to hold the knife that stabs right into her heart.’

‘Who has anything to gain from her death? It wouldn’t bring Pedro back to life.’

‘I don’t know,’ said Felicia. ‘I can’t understand the way you think.’

Ana got no further. Felicia stroked her hand over her newly washed white dress, carefully smoothing away the wrinkles. She wanted to leave.

‘Who am I to you?’ Ana suddenly asked.

‘You are Ana Branca,’ said Felicia in surprise.

‘Nothing more?’

‘You own this tree, the ground it’s growing in and the building around us.’

‘Nothing more?’

‘Isn’t that enough?’

‘Yes,’ said Ana. ‘That’s more than enough. It’s so much that I can barely manage to cope with it.’

A gigantic man with a large beard and a weatherbeaten face appeared in the open door leading into the garden. It was Felicia’s client. Ana watched them walking towards Felicia’s room. She looked very small by his side.

Just like I must have done, Ana thought. When I walked beside Lundmark to the consul in Algiers, to get married.

She remained sitting under the tree. It had been raining earlier in the evening. Steam was rising from the soil, and there was a sweet smell coming from the tree’s roots. There was also another smell, but she couldn’t make out where it was coming from. The underworld was intruding. Ana thought of herself as Hanna again, and remembered all the smells that rose up from the marshes and heather-clad moors where she grew up.

For a short while the feeling of homesickness was overpowering. No memories could awaken this longing as strongly as smells and fragrances, reminding her of something that she had lost and would always miss.

There under the tree she decided to stay in Africa until the lawyer Pandre had been to visit Isabel and given her advice. If the bottom line was that there was no way in which she could help the imprisoned woman, there was no reason for her to stay here any longer. She wouldn’t give up, but neither would she surrender to illusions.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a voice she thought she recognized. Emerging from one of the rooms, together with Belinda Bonita, was a man who, she could see that from the way he walked, seemed to be not completely sober. His back was turned towards her. At first she couldn’t understand what he was saying. Then she realized it was a language she understood when the person talking it wasn’t slurring his speech.

She knew now who it was with his back turned towards her. Halvorsen. The man who had been Lundmark’s best friend. The one who had promised her his support if she needed it after Lundmark’s death and burial.

FOR THE SECOND
time, somebody from the original crew of the
Lovisa
had come to her brothel. But she had to ask herself if she might be mistaken after all. Halvorsen had been a serious man, deeply religious, and not a heavy drinker like most others of the crew. Svartman, Lundmark and Halvorsen had been among the sober ones, she thought. But he was having difficulty in keeping his balance, and his Norwegian was slurred. She had the feeling that he was irritated because Belinda Bonita hadn’t understood what he said. On board the ship Halvorsen had always spoken in a low voice, not much more than a whisper. Now he was shouting, as if giving orders.

When he finally turned round and flopped down on to one of the sofas – with a bundle of banknotes in his hands, which Belinda quickly took from him – Ana saw that she had not been mistaken. It was Halvorsen all right, his hair plastered down, wearing his best clothes: she had last seen him dressed like that when he stood on deck at Lundmark’s burial, watching the corpse, weighed down with an iron sinker, disappear down into the depths.

She could still remember the magic number of metres: 1,935.

When Belinda had left Halvorsen, who was now sitting mumbling to himself, Ana stood up. O’Neill was standing behind him, wondering whether to help him out, but Ana waved him aside and sat down carefully beside Halvorsen. He turned his head slowly to look at her with bloodshot eyes. He had hardly changed since she saw him last, a few hours before she had slipped across the gangplank and jumped ship. Perhaps his hair had become slightly thinner, his cheeks hollower. But his enormous hands were exactly the same.

She smiled at him, but could see immediately that he didn’t know who she was. There was nothing in his eyes to suggest that he recognized her. As far as he was concerned she was an unknown woman, a white woman in a black brothel where he had just availed himself of the services of the beautiful but cool Belinda Bonita, who had stuffed his banknotes inside her blouse and gone back to her room to get washed and perhaps also change the sheets.

Halvorsen screwed up his eyes and tried to look at her with just one eye. He still seemed not to know who she was.

‘It’s me,’ she said. ‘Hanna Lundmark. Do you remember me?’

Halvorsen gave a start. He shook his head, couldn’t believe his ears.

‘I’m not a ghost,’ she said, trying to speak as clearly as possible. ‘It really is me.’

Now he knew. He stared at her incredulously.

‘You disappeared,’ he said. ‘We never found you.’

‘I went ashore. There was no way I could continue the voyage. It was as if Lundmark was still on board.’

‘1,935 metres,’ said Halvorsen. ‘I still remember that.’

He sat up, straightened his back, tried to force himself to become sober.

‘I didn’t believe I would ever see our cook alive again,’ he said. ‘Least of all here. What happened?’

‘I went ashore. I got married again, and became a widow once more.’

Halvorsen pondered upon her words, then asked her to repeat them, but more slowly this time. She did as he asked.

‘We thought you were dead,’ he said. ‘Nobody could believe that you would leave the ship voluntarily in an African port.’

‘I’d like to hear about the voyage,’ she said. ‘Did you see any icebergs?’

‘We saw one iceberg, as tall as a church. It was just after we left this port. The nights were always a worrying time – nobody ever discovers an iceberg until it’s too late. But we got to Australia and came back again.’

‘I kept going down to the harbour, but I never saw you berthed there.’

‘We bunkered further north, in Dar es Salaam. Or was it further south, in Durban? I can’t remember.’

Ana realized that Halvorsen must have remained on board all the way back to Sundsvall. That meant that he must have met Svartman, who always gathered together and greeted his crew when they returned to their home port.

‘I assume you stayed with the ship all the way back home?’

‘I stayed on board all the way to Sundsvall. But then I travelled to Norway and signed on to a different ship.’

‘I’m not worried about that. I’d just like to know what Forsman said.’

Halvorsen frowned.

‘Forsman? Who’s he?’

‘The ship’s owner!’

The penny dropped.

‘He came rolling up to the quay in a sort of wheelchair.’

‘Had he injured himself?’

‘He’d had an accident and had to have a leg amputated. But he was determined to go up on deck. He hopped around like a lame bird.’

‘Was he alone?’

‘I think he was accompanied by a Finn, but I can’t remember his name.’

Ana continued questioning him, but he didn’t know anything about Berta or any children. Although it was obviously pointless, Ana couldn’t help asking him about her mother. Had anybody mentioned Elin? The woman who had a daughter who never came back to Sweden?

Halvorsen knew nothing about anybody called Elin.

‘I never spoke to Forsman,’ he said. ‘It was Svartman who did that. I know nothing about what they said about you and Lundmark, his death and your disappearance. I travelled to Spitzbergen and spent the winter there in the belief that I’d be able to hunt down so many furs, I’d be able to afford to buy a little farm somewhere in Trøndelag. All that happened was that I nearly froze to death, was driven mad by the darkness, and completely lost all faith in the God I used to turn to in times of trouble. He doesn’t exist for me any longer. But I think I’ve collected in advance enough forgiveness for all the sins I haven’t yet committed.’

Halvorsen couldn’t help laughing somewhat plaintively. Then he suddenly leaned towards her, so close that the stench of strong drink hit her full in the face.

‘As you are here, I take it you are also for sale. That negress certainly knew what she was doing. But it can never be the same as it is with a white woman. Do you cost as much as she does? Or maybe you charge even more?’

Halvorsen placed a hand on her breast and gave it a squeeze. She was reminded of Carlos’s hairy fingers, and pushed him away. Halvorsen thought it was the start of a game, and felt her again. This time she slapped him hard and shouted for O’Neill.

‘Throw this man out,’ she said. ‘And make sure he’s never allowed back in. Never ever.’

Halvorsen didn’t even have time to protest before O’Neill had pulled him up off the sofa and dragged him out into the street.

The door closed behind him.

Ana thought that the difference between Captain Svartman and Crewman Halvorsen had been ironed out the moment they entered the establishment where women were for sale. But she couldn’t get over the fact that Halvorsen had thought she was a whore. At that moment something ended irrevocably.

AFTER HALVORSEN’S UNEXPECTED
visit, Ana began noting things down in her diary more often. What had previously been an occasional activity now became more and more important for her. She wrote down in minute detail absolutely everything about Halvorsen’s visit, and his churlish behaviour.

The day after his visit she went with O’Neill down to the harbour. There were two English ships and one Portuguese berthed at the quay. She had no way of knowing which of the ships Halvorsen was a crew member of. Nor could she work out afterwards why she had made that visit to the quay. Perhaps it was nothing more than curiosity that she had no control over?

During the night a swarm of grasshoppers had descended on Lourenço Marques. Nobody knew where they had come from, nor why they had chosen Lourenço Marques to fall down and die in. There were dead or dying grasshoppers lying all over the place – in the streets, on steps and on roofs. When she walked from the brothel to the harbour, she had the impression that this was what a battlefield looked like: every grasshopper was a wounded or dead soldier.

The only one who seemed to appreciate all these grasshoppers was Carlos, who sat on the roof of Ana’s house feasting on the insects.

That afternoon, when she made her usual visit to Isabel in the fort, she was confronted by an officer she had never seen before. That day she had chosen to take O’Neill with her rather than Judas. Commanding Officer Lima had succumbed to some illness that was probably malaria, and had been taken to hospital. His military adviser had taken over Lima’s place. He introduced himself as Lemuel Gulliver Sullivan. Despite his English name, he spoke fluent Portuguese. He was a young man, and could barely have celebrated his thirtieth birthday. Ana hoped that his youth would contribute to more tolerance and consideration for Isabel than Lima had displayed.

But the moment he started speaking, she realized that what she had hoped for would not, in fact, take place.

‘As long as I am in charge here, stricter rules will be applied,’ he began. ‘Those who are imprisoned in this fort are criminals. Their punishment must be felt. At this very moment I am discussing with my fellow officers about the possibility of re-
introducing whipping. Giving miscreants a good walloping has always produced good results.’

Ana thought at first that she had misheard what he said. Was Isabel’s life in her wretched cell going to become even worse than it was already? She said as much, without attempting to conceal her concern.

‘Her crime must be treated extremely strictly,’ said the new commanding officer. ‘The only thing that matters in this case is that she killed a white man. If we don’t clamp down strictly on that, it could be interpreted as a sign that the respect we demand is not total and unconditional.’

Ana could see that it was pointless to try to argue with Sullivan.

‘Are there other regulations that will come into force from now on?’ she asked instead.

‘We shall not permit more than an extremely limited number of visitors.’

‘Who, to be precise?’

‘You, of course. And that priest who keeps turning up and trying to accumulate lost souls. Plus a doctor, should that become necessary. But nobody else.’

‘What about if she should acquire a legal adviser?’

Sullivan burst out laughing and advertised the fact that he was short of quite a large number of teeth, despite his age.

‘Who on earth would want to advise her? And about what?’

Ana asked no more questions. She went down the stairs into the darkness where Isabel was sitting motionless on her bunk bed, looking as if she hadn’t moved since Ana’s visit the previous day. But the basket was empty: Isabel was still alive. She was eating.

‘Somebody will come to visit you,’ said Ana. ‘I think and hope he’s a clever man who might be able to help me to have you set free. He’ll pretend to be a doctor when he enters the fort. As he speaks the same language as you, nobody will be able to understand what the pair of you are saying, not even me.’

Isabel didn’t respond, but Ana had the impression that she was listening.

‘The next time I come I’ll bring you some clean clothes,’ she said. ‘By then it will be three months since you were locked up here. I’ll ask once again for them to give you sufficient water for you to get washed.’