The Hermit by Thomas Rydahl Page A

him out. Hands that either push him down into the darkness or hold him for the final time. Erhard doesn’t understand why it makes him angry, why it makes him so coal-black inside, why he can’t simply let it go. There are probably thousands of cardboard boxes across the globe with small children inside; one could no doubt fill an entire warehouse with them all. It’s the most brutal thing he’s ever seen, and he’s convinced someone took the boy there to die, but not the boy’s mother or father.
    He puts the cardboard box down and buys tinned tuna.
    On the way home he examines the finger taped to his hand, which rests on the wheel. It no longer resembles a finger, but a dry, spicy sausage. It looks terrible and it won’t fool anyone. Not even himself. Of course not. Of course it doesn’t work. He always recognizes the clients who’re wearing toupees. Only the most naive among them believe no one notices – everyone else knows it looks like a discoloured broom. But one can hope. One can pretend. He considers sending the finger to Bernal. Anonymously. With a friendly message. He considers burying it. He considers throwing it out the window while he’s driving.
    Instead he finds a plastic container, one of those kinds used for food storage, with an airtight lid. He stuffs the finger inside a small, transparent baggie and then the container. He removes some books from his shelves and shoves the container in, then returns the books. He makes a note of which ones: Binario by Almuz Ameida and Victim on Third by Frank Cojote. He retreats a few steps; the bookshelf is now a wall of books, impossible to see that anything’s concealed there. Then he gets the tuna fish and eats directly from the tin, sitting on the edge of his chair, listening to the goats.

22
    He has a new piano-tuning client on Monday morning.
    Sometimes he gets new clients through his existing clients, but most hear about him from one of his fellow taxi drivers. If their conversations during the journey lead in that direction, they sometimes recommend the Hermit, even if they find it strange that he tunes pianos, too. Some time before Christmas, Alvaro – an olive farmer who went bankrupt last year and began driving a taxi – had told him that he’d given a lift to someone who wanted him to call her. The woman lived out in Parque Holandes and owned a Steinway that hadn’t been tuned in years.
    – Why are you calling me only now? she said, when he rang on Christmas Eve, half in the bag and incapable of selling himself.
    It was the beginning of a horrible conversation. Three times she asked him to speak up and to think hard before he named his price. It’s a very expensive piano and there’s nothing wrong with it , she said, and negotiated more stubbornly than anyone he’d ever dealt with. They finally agreed on forty-six euros. Less than half his usual figure. Get here on the dot , was the last thing she said to him . Don’t waste my time .
    He’s out there now, parked in front of the woman’s house, and looking at his clock. It’s past the agreed-upon time. But the radio’s tuned in to Radio Fuerteventura, and the news has just begun. The biggest news is that there’s been progress in discussions concerning salaries at the new casino. More than fifty employees are now…
    As he’s listening, the door of the house opens. A woman stares at Erhard. A pretty woman. She’s wearing a white safari outfit, and she has white, maybe light-grey, hair. She waves as if to tell him that he may enter. He ignores her. The newscast has moved on to a segment on the EU, which is trying to help the Spanish economy by guaranteeing the nation’s banks, including Sun Bank, Fuerteventura’s largest. Many customers were nervous in January because…
    The woman approaches the car. She looks like a widow. Relaxed, yet wearing high heels and some kind of glistening, flesh-coloured lipstick. When she gets close to him, he sees that her skin is stretched unnaturally