‘I’ll say you had a fainting spell.’
‘I’ve never had one before.’
‘Diarrhoea. That can happen any time.’
‘You don’t understand. Even if I actually had a heart attack she would accuse me of not keeping my promise.’
Törnblom seemed to see the seriousness of the situation. He thought for a moment.
‘What time does the plane leave?’
‘In exactly seventy-seven minutes.’
‘Then let’s wait one hour and call and say that the car broke down while I was taking you to the airport.’
‘She won’t believe me.’
‘She doesn’t need to believe you, just as long as she believes me.’
Törnblom’s voice was firm. Humlin realised there was no longer any point in trying to resist going to the party that had been organised for him. He handed Törnblom the phone.
‘Call Andrea whenever you feel is the best time. But remember that I’ll have to suffer an unimaginable nightmare if you aren’t convincing.’
‘Don’t worry.’
Humlin’s anxiety increased.
They walked across the barren square that was now empty of people. Humlin thought he should ask more about the event they were headed to but Törnblom beat him to it.
‘You’re lucky none of the kids heard your poetry.’
‘I already know you didn’t like it.’
Törnblom shrugged.
‘It’s like most poetry.’
‘And how is that?’
‘Generally uninteresting.’
They kept walking in silence. Humlin’s sense of discomfort and low self-worth increased with each step.
When they arrived at the boxing club they saw some candles flickering outside the front door, which was slightly ajar. Humlin stopped Törnblom right before they went in.
‘What exactly do they expect of me?’
‘You’re the guest of honour.’
‘So what’s expected of me?’
‘That you behave like a guest of honour.’
‘And how is that?’
‘You answer questions. Sign autographs. Show them you’re grateful for the attention.’
‘Who am I to them?’
Törnblom seemed surprised by the question and had to think for a while before answering.
‘Someone from a world foreign to them. You’re from Stockholm but you might as well be from outer space.’
Just as Humlin had feared Andrea blew up when Törnblom delivered the message about his car breaking down. Even in the din from the gypsy orchestra Humlin could hear her voice on the other end. It came out of the phone and whirled around Törnblom’s head like a torch blower’s flame. He flinched and held the phone away from his head.
‘What happened?’
‘She didn’t believe me.’
‘What did she say?’
‘You told me she wouldn’t believe either one of us, and you were right.’
Törnblom acknowledged defeat.
‘We should have stepped out before making the call.’
‘You mean you should have stepped out. You were the one making the call.’
‘I guess it didn’t sound much like I was calling from a broken-down car with the gypsy music in the background.’
‘What did she say?’
‘She started talking about some book that she’s going to start working on tonight.’
‘Don’t say anything else. I don’t want to know.’
Humlin had decided he was not going to drink at this party. But now he decided to throw caution to the wind. One has to have one’s last meal somewhere, he thought. It can even be at a party in a boxing club. He started to drink; having some drinks, at first slowly and methodically, then becoming more manic. He and Törnblom were the only ones drinking wine. All the rest were drinking sodas. Törnblom introduced him to many people, all immigrants, and many of them spoke such poor Swedish that he couldn’t understand what they were saying. But people were constantly coming over wanting to talk to him, most of them young. His patience was stretched trying to understand and then answer the questions they put to him.
Then someone pulled him up into the boxing ring to dance. Humlin hated dancing. He had never been good at it and had always envied those who could make their bodies move smoothly to the music. As he tried to climb out of the boxing ring he tripped and fell head over heels. Luckily, since he was extremely drunk by this time, he fell gently and did not hurt himself. Amanda helped him into the back office where he and Törnblom had spoken earlier. He wanted Amanda to stay with him but she only blushed very attractively when he groped after her and told her how beautiful she was. She hurried out of the room and closed the door behind her.
Suddenly Humlin was alone. The sound of music and excited voices filtered softly into the room. Without knowing why, he began to think of the young woman he had met in Mölndal, the one who said her name was Tea-Bag. He closed his eyes. No more poems, he thought. But I’m also never going to write that crime novel that Lundin wants me to. What I’m going to write next, and if I will be up to it, I have no idea.
The door opened and a girl with a Middle Eastern appearance looked in.
‘Am I disturbing you?’ she asked.
The whole world is disturbing to me right now, Humlin thought.
‘Not at all,’ he said.
The girl spoke broken Swedish but Humlin had no trouble understanding her.
‘I want to be a writer,’ she said.
