‘There are ads at the back of every newspaper with phone numbers for these kinds of services. You call up to talk dirty and hear someone moan on the other end and God only knows what else. One of your mother’s friends came up with the idea that there might be a market for older men who would want to masturbate to the sounds of women their own age.’
‘And?’
‘Well, she was right. They formed one of these services, an incorporated business, actually. It’s run by four women, the youngest of whom is eighty-three and the oldest ninety-one. As it happens, your mother is the CEO. Last year, after deductions they made a profit of four hundred and forty-five thousand kronor.’
‘What kind of deductions? What are you talking about?’
‘I’m just telling you that your mother spends a few hours every day making sexy sounds into the phone for money. I’ve heard her myself and she sounds very convincing.’
‘Convincing?’
‘That she’s horny. Don’t play stupid. You know what I mean. How is your book coming along?’
‘I’m going to Gothenburg next week to get things going.’
‘Good luck.’
Andrea got up and started to clear the table. Humlin stayed where he was. What Andrea had told him made him both angry and uneasy. He knew deep down that what she had said was true. He had a mother who was capable of just about anything.
When Humlin got on the train to Gothenburg a week later he had spent most of the time in between fielding questions from more reporters wanting to know all about the crime novel he wasn’t going to write but that was nonetheless scheduled to come out next autumn. He had also had a fight with Viktor Leander who called him on the phone to accuse him of being a spineless plagiarist who stooped to stealing his best friend’s ideas. In exchange for the promise of total secrecy Humlin had finally managed to convince Leander that the rumour was false and no crime novel written by his hand was ever going to be published.
The man he had most wanted to speak to, Lundin, had been unreachable all week. Humlin had even called him at home in the middle of the night without receiving any answer. He had also not confronted his mother about the scandalous information he had heard. But he had forced himself to accept what Andrea had told him as the truth. One day when he was alone he had drunk two glasses of cognac and then called the number that Andrea had pointed out to him in the newspaper. The first two times he had not recognised the women’s voices, but on his third attempt he was horrified to recognise his mother’s — albeit disguised — voice on the other end. He had thrown down the receiver as if he had been bitten by it, then poured himself some additional glasses of cognac to calm his nerves.
Humlin sank down in his seat and wished he was on an aeroplane that was going to take him far away, rather than on a train to Gothenburg. He leaned back and closed his eyes. The previous week had exhausted him. But just as he was falling asleep someone close by started talking loudly into their mobile phone. Humlin decided to set all thoughts aside for a moment and pulled an evening paper towards him. He still felt a shiver of unease when he looked at an evening paper. After all, there was still the possibility that some reporter would find the events in Mölndal interesting enough to write about. Especially now that Humlin’s name had been figuring more frequently in the media, due to the book he was not going to write.
He picked at his food unenthusiastically and spent the rest of the trip looking out over the darkening landscape. A secure foothold, he thought. Here I am in the middle of my life, of the world of the Swedish winter. And I lack a secure foothold.
Törnblom met him at the station in a rusty van. Once they pulled out from the station they immediately got stuck in traffic.
‘Everyone’s already there,’ Törnblom said with satisfaction. ‘They are very excited.’
‘What do you mean they’re already there? I’m not supposed to meet with Leyla and her brother for another four hours.’
‘They have been there since this morning. It’s a big event for them.’
Humlin gave him a suspicious look. Was he being serious or sarcastic?
‘I don’t know exactly where this is going to lead. It may end in nothing,’ Humlin said.
‘The most important thing is that you do something. In this country immigrants are still treated like victims. Because of their circumstances, their poor language skills, for almost any other reason you can think of. Sometimes they think of themselves as victims. But most of them simply want to be treated like normal people. If you can help them tell their stories, you will have done a lot.’
‘Why do you say “them”? I’m working with Leyla, that’s it.’
The traffic let up for a couple of metres, then stopped again. A wet snow began to fall.
‘We’ll be more than just her and her brother tonight.’
‘What do you mean? How many more?’
‘We had to put in a couple of extra chairs.’
Humlin put his hand on the door as if he was preparing to jump out.
