‘But we both agreed on this. You mean to say you’re going back on your word?’
‘
‘I don’t understand you, Humlin. For the first time in your life you have the opportunity to write something that will sell in big numbers. What more is there to think about?’
Humlin looked at Tea-Bag who was busy setting the table.
‘I’m going to write a book about immigrants.’
‘Good God, I think he’s serious.’
Humlin came very close to telling Lundin the whole truth, that he was currently hiding three young foreign women and a stuttering Swedish youth in his mother’s apartment, that two of the girls were illegal aliens and that the third had just experienced the miracle of love. But he restrained himself this time. Lundin would never understand.
‘I don’t have anything more to say to you, Lundin.’
‘Of course you do. I don’t know why you insist on getting yourself worked up like this. Call me tomorrow.’
The conversation ended. Humlin carefully replaced the receiver, as if he was afraid of bringing the conversation back to life again.
It was a sumptuous dinner. It was also the first time in years that Humlin had actually felt hungry as he sat down to dine at his mother’s table. He noticed the respect with which the girls treated her. It was as if nothing from the past or the present could touch them while they sat there in the sanctuary of the apartment. Humlin should have invited Andrea. If she had been able to experience this for herself she would perhaps have been able to understand why these girls had become so important to him. That was also true for Viktor Leander, his doctor, Burén; everyone in his inner circle. But there was another important person missing from this gathering.
Humlin got up and called Törnblom from the phone in his mother’s study. Amanda answered.
‘I’m cleaning up the office. Otherwise it gets to be such a mess that no one can work in here.’
‘I don’t think I’ve ever told you what a great man you’re married to.’
‘There are millions of men in the world, but a real Man is rare. Pelle is a Man.’
Humlin tried to understand the difference while he waited for her to get Törnblom. When he came on, Humlin told him about the hasty get-away from Gothenburg and all that it had entailed. Törnblom chuckled.
‘The Chief of Police? Really?’
‘That’s what Tanya said. I don’t think she’s the kind to lie.’
‘She lies constantly, but not about these sorts of things. What are you going to do now?’
‘It’s not a question of what I’m going to do now. I’ve learned one thing about these girls and that’s that they take care of themselves. They’re far from helpless victims. They win every boxing match they’re forced into.’
‘I told you it would all turn out for the best, didn’t I?’
‘Nothing has turned out the way I expected it to. I thought I was teaching them to write. But the longest story I’ve received is just a few scribbled lines.’
‘Whoever said something had to be written down on paper to be a story? The most important thing is that they are telling their stories at all. Keep me posted. I have to go now — a couple of guys look like they’re getting into a fight.’
Törnblom hung up. Humlin stayed at the desk for a while, listening to the excited chatter from the dining room. He suddenly realised he would not be able to join them until he had made a decision. Was he going to give in to Lundin and write a bestselling crime novel after all, and improve his now disastrous financial situation? Was there an alternative? What did he want to do? In relation to Tea-Bag, Tanya and Leyla he suddenly felt like a pickpocket. Their stories were finding their way into his hands just like Tanya collected those phones.
He got up and walked over to the window. He was reminded of how he had seen Tea-Bag turn the corner with something that looked like a little monkey on her back. Tea-Bag, who had come to Sweden after meeting a Swedish man in a refugee camp in Spain, a man who had shown an interest in her life’s story. This is how it has to be, he thought. He saw it clearly now. Hiding out was wrong. Tea-Bag and Tanya didn’t have to keep hiding — that was part of the problem. Instead they would attract the media with the only weapon they had: that they were illegal aliens; that they had much to tell about a life that few Swedes knew anything about.
He didn’t need to think it through any longer. His mind was made up. He took out the phone book and started making calls. Soon he had spoken to reporters from all the major newspapers. They were in business.
He stayed at the desk so long his mother finally came out to see what had happened to him. She had drunk a lot of wine and was clearly enjoying herself.
‘Why are you sitting here?’
‘I need to think.’
‘Well, no one back there misses you very much.’
That made him furious.
