Humlin was at a loss for words, the same way he had felt when Burén told him what his shares were actually worth. His mother got up, picked up the pillow and went into the living room. Humlin stayed on his stool. I lost my footing, he thought. Again. Then, in a series of brief but sharply focused images he saw in his mind Leyla, Tanya and Tea-Bag. Tea-Bag and her smile, Tanya with her face turned away from his, Leyla with her ungainly body. Maybe helping these girls tell their stories is actually something worthwhile, he thought. A good deed, when all is said and done.
Humlin forced himself to swallow a few bites of the tangy Javanese dish that his mother had prepared. He also drank a few glasses of wine in preparation for what was to come. During the meal they did not mention the crime novel Märta Humlin was writing nor the crime novel Humlin was not writing. They avoided all topics that could lead to dramatic conflict, since they both needed to rest up for the one that would soon take place.
Humlin pushed his bowl away from him, even though it was still filled with food.
‘You have never understood fine cooking,’ his mother remarked.
‘You have never understood that I’m not hungry at midnight.’
‘If you don’t learn to appreciate fine food, let alone get your sex life in order, you will come to a bad end, mark my words.’
Humlin was taken aback by her frankness, but it also gave him the opening he needed.
‘I don’t think it’s my sex life that needs discussing. What about yours?’
‘I have no sex life.’
‘That’s your business, but what I do know is you spend your time on revolting and most probably highly illegal phone sex conversations.’
She looked at him with surprise mingled with amusement.
‘You sound like a policeman. I’ve always known that about you, that there wasn’t a poet’s soul in you but a policeman’s.’
‘What would people say if this came out?’
‘That you have the soul of a policeman?’
Humlin banged his fist on the table.
‘We are not talking about me, we are talking about you. I am not acting like a policeman, I am telling you that I want this disgusting phone business of yours to stop. I don’t understand how you can live with yourself. Don’t you have any principles? You are denigrating and humiliating yourself.’
‘There’s no need to get so worked up over it. The old men who call are very nice. Many are interesting people. A famous author is one of my most faithful customers.’
Humlin couldn’t help his curiosity.
‘Who is it?’
‘I would never dream of telling you, of course. Discretion is the foundation of this business.’
‘But you get paid for this, don’t you? Your business is nothing more than common prostitution.’
‘I have to pay my phone bill somehow.’
‘I take it you make a lot of money?’
‘Not a lot.’
‘How much?’
‘Between fifty and sixty thousand kronor a month. Of course there are no taxes to pay in this line of work.’
Humlin couldn’t believe his ears.
‘You make fifty thousand a month by moaning into the phone?’
‘Basically.’
‘What do you do with all the money?’
‘Make Javanese bamboo dishes. I buy oysters to offer my children.’
‘But you’re doing something illegal! And you aren’t paying any taxes.’
His mother looked worried for a moment.
‘We have discussed the question of taxes in our board meetings. We have come up with a solution we find satisfactory.’
‘And what is that?’
‘We have written a will for all profits made by our company. All remaining profits will go directly to the state. That should be more than enough to take care of all back taxes.’
Humlin decided to hit as hard as he could.
‘If you and your girlfriends don’t stop with this at once I will anonymously inform the police of your activities.’
The intensity of her anger surprised him.
‘Didn’t I know it! There it is again, the policeman in you. I want you to leave my apartment this instant and never return. I am cutting you out of my will and I never want to see you again. I even forbid you to attend my funeral!’
When she finished she tossed the contents of her wine glass in his face. That had never happened before, in all of their most heated discussions. He was temporarily thrown and simply watched as his mother refilled her glass.
‘If you do not leave this apartment at once without making any further comments I will throw another glass of wine in your face.’
‘Mother, we need to talk about this. Please calm down.’
This time most of the wine landed on his shirt. Humlin realised the battle was lost, at least for the moment. He wiped off his face and shirt with his napkin and stood up.
‘We’ll talk about it when I get back from Gothenburg.’
‘I am never speaking to you again in my life.’
‘I’ll call you when I get back.’
His mother lifted her wine glass again. Humlin ran out of the apartment.
