Daniel by Henning Mankell

had collected, prepared and arranged according to Linnaeus’s system. But the question remained unanswered. The thought of returning to Lund was not only repugnant to him, it was impossible. It was tempting to see Matilda again. But it also frightened him, because he was convinced that she had already forgotten him, forgotten their hours of lovemaking, which were never passionate, and the port wine afterwards. He didn’t even know if she was still alive. Maybe she had wound up under Professor Enander’s scalpel too. He didn’t know, and he realised that he didn’t want to know.
    The only thing he knew for sure would be waiting for him was the obligatory trip to Hovmantorp to confirm that his father had really died the same night he had the premonition. But then what?
    He sought the answer in the sea foaming in the wake of the Chansonette .
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    A seaman had silently stepped up next to him. He scratched out his pipe, spat, and stared at Bengler. The skin on his face was like leather, his nose was wide, his mouth dry with cracked lips and his eyes squinted.
    â€˜What do you want that damned boy for?’ asked the sailor.
    He spoke Norwegian. Bengler had once been friends with a young man from Røros who studied theology in Lund. He had been amused by the language and had learned to imitate it.
    He thought he ought to ignore the question, which largely came from the squinty eyes and not out of the cracked lips.
    â€˜Are you going to kill the boy?’
    Bengler considered complaining to the captain. As a paying passenger he shouldn’t have to associate with the crew except on his own terms.

    â€˜I can’t see that it’s any of your business.’
    The sailor’s eyes were steady. Bengler got the feeling that he was facing a reptile that might strike him at any time. Just as Daniel had sunk his teeth into his nose.
    â€˜I can’t bear it,’ said the sailor. ‘Africa is a continent from hell. There we make our whips whistle, we cut off the ears and hands of people who don’t work at the pace we determine. And now we’re starting to drag home their children even though slavery is forbidden.’
    Bengler grew angry.
    â€˜He has no parents. I’m looking after him. What’s so bad about helping a person survive?’
    â€˜Is that why you have him on a lead like a dog? Have you taught him to bark?’
    Bengler moved off down the railing. For a brief moment he felt dizzy. The sun was suddenly very strong. He wished he had his revolver. Then he would have shot the damned Norwegian. The sailor was still standing there, his eyes squinting. He had on a striped jumper, trousers cut off just below the knees, and shoes with gaping holes in them.
    â€˜The times are changing,’ said the sailor, moving closer.
    â€˜You have no right to bother me like this.’
    â€˜Let me guess: you bought him. Maybe to exhibit him at the variety show? Or in marketplaces? A Hottentot. Maybe you’re intending to make him puff himself up like an ape. Could be money in that.’
    Bengler was at a loss for words. He thought the sailor must be a revolutionary, a rock-thrower, an iconoclast. Maybe he belonged to that new movement they had discussed during the late nights in Lund. An anarchist? Someone who didn’t throw bombs but flung words at him with the same power?
    The sailor lit his pipe.
    â€˜One day people like you won’t exist,’ he said. ‘People have to be free. Not tied up like lap dogs.’
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    During the rest of the journey to Le Havre Bengler did not exchange another word with the sailor. He found out that his name was Christiansen and was regarded by most as a competent and friendly man. He also had the virtue of never imbibing strong drink. This
information was gathered by Raul, who Bengler had soon learned was a reliable reporter.
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    When he took the harness off Daniel he imagined that there would be a reaction of joy, of