Humlin finished his coffee and walked over to the church and the ramshackle industrial building where a small sign on the door read ‘Pelle Törnblom’s Boxing Club’. Humlin hesitated before ringing the bell. Why was he looking him up after all these years? What would they have to say to each other? He decided to go back to the library, but at that moment the door opened. It was Törnblom. Humlin saw at once that he had gained weight. Earlier he had kept himself fit. Now he had a large belly and a red face. The shirt under his leather jacket strained across the middle. Törnblom nodded in recognition.
‘We’re coming to see you tonight,’ he said with a smile.
‘Who’s we?’
‘Amanda and I.’
‘Who is Amanda?’
‘My wife. My fourth and last wife.’
‘Then that brings us to twelve people. The librarian is expecting ten.’
Törnblom invited him in. They walked up a narrow staircase and entered a room that smelled of old sweat. There was a boxing ring in the middle of the room. Weights and other tools for strength training were lined up along the walls. Humlin instinctively looked around for something that resembled Lundin’s rowing machine.
‘Thursdays are my day off,’ Törnblom said. ‘Otherwise this place would be full of kids.’
Törnblom escorted him to a small office in the back where they sat down. Törnblom seemed to take the measure of him.
‘Why are you so tanned?’ he asked.
‘I’ve been travelling.’
‘It doesn’t look natural.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s too even. It looks like you keep it up in a solarium.’
Humlin was now convinced he had made a mistake in looking up his old friend.
‘I’ve been out travelling in tropical places. It makes you tan.’
Törnblom shrugged.
‘You look like you’ve gained weight,’ Humlin said as a counter-attack.
‘I’m married for the fourth and last time now. I can let myself go.’
‘What about your health?’
‘I’m only this heavy in the winter. I lose weight in the summer.’
‘Tell me more about this Amanda.’
‘She’s from Turkey, although to be precise it is more like Iran. But her father was born in Pakistan. He lives in Canada now.’
‘So she’s an immigrant?’
‘She was born in Sweden. Whatever that makes her.’
‘I saw a lot of immigrants around here as I was wandering around the square.’
‘It’s probably only me and the alcoholics that hang out in front of the liquor store who are what you would call ethnic Swedes. Everyone in my boxing club has another nationality. I’ve counted nineteen different ones so far.’
‘I can’t imagine I’ll see many of them at the reading tonight,’ Humlin said, and noticed to his surprise that the thought disappointed him.
‘You’ll meet them later,’ Törnblom said cheerfully, and reached for a coffee maker that had been sitting high up on a shelf.
‘After the reading?’
‘I couldn’t convince anyone to come to the library, but they’re all coming to the party afterward.’
‘What party is this?’
‘The party we’re throwing for you. It’ll be here.’
Humlin felt a new wave of anxiety wash over him.
‘No one said anything to me about a party.’
‘Of course not. It was going to be a surprise.’
‘Unfortunately I’m not going to be able to attend. I just have enough time after the reading to catch the last flight out for Stockholm.’
‘Then why don’t you leave tomorrow?’
Humlin saw Andrea’s face in his mind’s eye.
‘I can’t. Andrea will go crazy.’
‘Who is Andrea?’
‘She’s the woman I guess I share my life with.’
‘Are you married?’
‘No. We don’t even live together.’
‘Call her and tell her you need to stay overnight. She’ll understand.’
‘No, she won’t. You don’t know Andrea.’
‘Not even one night?’
‘I can’t do it,’ Humlin said.
‘Everyone will be very disappointed if we cancel the party. All the kids were looking forward to it. They’ve never met a famous bestselling author before.’
‘I’m not a bestselling author. And I’m not even particularly famous.’
Pelle Törnblom had managed to get the coffee maker to work. He offered Humlin a cup, but the poet turned him down.
‘I didn’t think someone like you would have it in you to disappoint a group of young immigrant kids. Some of their parents are coming too.’
Humlin gave up. He tried to imagine how he would explain staying overnight to Andrea, but realised there was no way in which it would not be turned against him.
‘Some gypsies are coming to play music,’ Törnblom said encouragingly.
Humlin didn’t answer. Instead his gaze fastened on an old poster advertising a match between Eddie Machen and Ingemar Johansson.
Thirteen people came to the reading, since one of the janitors working in the building came in at the end of his shift. They could have been as many as seventeen, since a group of drunk men who had been hanging around outside the liquor store wanted to come in and warm up. Humlin, who still had not worked up the nerve to call Andrea, stared glumly out over his audience. But when the drunks from outside tumbled into the room he collected himself and said he refused to read his poetry to people who were clearly intoxicated and only interested in getting warm.
