The power had been restored, just as the company had promised Jansson. All the lights came on at five past nine in the morning, and late in the afternoon I noticed that the wind had started to die down, although far out at sea the waves were pounding the reefs on the surface. Once again I walked around the island.
I couldn’t stop thinking about Louise and my granddaughter. Ahmed rang again in the evening and told me that all was well with Louise and the baby. Of course he didn’t mention what both he and I knew: that there were many hurdles to overcome for a child born so prematurely.
‘Have you chosen a name?’ I asked for the want of anything else to say.
‘Not yet.’
I heard him laugh. I still couldn’t understand what Louise saw in him, but his laugh gave me a clue.
That evening I sat down to plan my New Year’s Eve party. I noted down the food I had discussed with Veronika and made a list of the beer, wine and spirits I would buy. All the time I could picture that tiny baby in her incubator.
When the storm had passed, I went over to the mainland and talked through the whole thing with Veronika. She didn’t think I needed to buy crockery; she could lend me whatever was necessary from the cafe. She would also bring chairs because there was only one chair and a stool in the caravan.
‘Tablecloths?’
‘Yes, please.’
She jotted everything down on the back of a receipt book.
Then we talked about Oslovski. The story of the stolen car, Jansson and the magazine, and my peculiar conversation with the woman on the phone, whose brother was apparently selling the car, was the talk of the town. Veronika knew all about it.
‘They must be local,’ she said. ‘Someone who knew what she had in the garage.’
‘Do people suspect anyone in particular?’
‘No.’
I wasn’t sure if I believed her. The answer had come much too quickly. Perhaps she had someone in mind, but I let it drop. I was convinced that the DeSoto would never be recovered.
We spoke about the precarious financial situation of the cafe, and Veronika confided in me that she had started to think about moving.
‘To a different cafe?’
‘To a different country. I might open a cafe, I might not.’
‘You’d be missed.’
‘Maybe, maybe not.’
The bell over the door pinged and a dozen or so people came in.
‘The local council,’ Veronika whispered. ‘They’re going out into the archipelago to plan where to put the new toilets. Can you believe it takes that many civil servants to make a decision?’
Before I picked up the car, I went to the chandlery. Needless to say, my wellingtons hadn’t arrived.
I drove into town and did my shopping for the party. I loaded the five bags I filled into the car before going to the bank and the pharmacy to stock up on cash and medication. I stopped outside the shoe shop. It was closed, the window empty.
Every now and again I have a little flutter on the horses. I know nothing about harness racing and I’m too idle to study the form before I place a bet, but on one occasion, twenty years ago, I was almost horrified to find that I had won no less than ninety-six thousand kronor — 96,322 kronor, to be exact. I will never forget that moment.
When I received the money I went to South Africa, even though apartheid was still in force. I hired a car at Nelspruit airport and drove to the Kruger National Park. I spent a week there, driving from one overnight post to another. I experienced the ever-present arrogance of the whites towards the blacks. There was a strange silence everywhere. The whites spoke to the blacks or coloureds only when issuing an order. I never heard a relaxed conversation between the races. I was terribly upset and tried to show kindness towards the blacks who served me at mealtimes or topped up my car with petrol, but my friendliness made them wary, suspicious.
I travelled around the vast park and encountered all the wild animals I had hoped to see. I had the constant feeling that the animals saw me twice as often as I saw them. A boa constrictor had half-swallowed a wild-boar cub. A pride of lions was tearing at a zebra. I was a visitor, a polite guest cautiously knocking on the door of untamed nature.
I spent the rest of the money on some expensive suits and dining at exclusive restaurants. I even bid fifteen thousand kronor for a statue of the Buddha at an antiques auction. I lost it when my house burned down.
I went into the betting shop in the town centre and worked out an improvised system of a couple of hundred lines on harness races in Solänget. God knows where that was. Needless to say I didn’t recognise the names of any of the horses or the drivers, but I decided I preferred a horse called Bumblebee’s Brother to another in the same race with the name Wolfskin. The owner of the shop was a man whose bald head had an indentation to the left of his temple. According to Jansson, who knew all about everyone’s medical problems, the man had had an accident with his tractor when he was trying to get his old motorboat into the water one spring many years ago. Jansson thought it was remarkable that he had survived without suffering brain damage, but during my years as a doctor I often saw people whose heads were a very odd shape as a result of accidents without any loss of their mental capacities. In particular I remembered a young academic researcher who was regarded as a mathematical genius both before and after a car accident. His head looked like a cone.
I handed over my betting slip, put the receipt in my inside pocket, then went to the restaurant at the bowling alley for something to eat.
I had just left the restaurant when Louise called. The odd snowflake was drifting through the air. I went back inside and stood by the lane; there were no noisy games in progress at the moment.
She was fine, but naturally she was worried about her baby.
I asked as many questions as I could think of about the unit where the child was being cared for. Louise felt that all the staff were very experienced and knew what they were doing.
‘What can I do for you?’ I asked.
‘Pray.’
‘Pray? But I’m not a believer!’
‘You can pray anyway.’
‘OK. I can say a prayer and send it off in all directions, backwards and forwards in time, straight out into the universe and down into the depths of the sea.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Is there anything else you want me to do?’
‘Not right now.’
Louise assured me she was getting all the support she needed from Ahmed. Then she started talking about Muhammed in his wheelchair.
‘His eyes are like light,’ she said. ‘They move at the speed of light, looking into worlds I know nothing about. One day he will receive answers to all the messages he sends out.’
‘I don’t really understand what you mean,’ I said. I asked if they had chosen a name for the baby yet.
‘She’s going to have three names, and later on she can choose which one she prefers. Rachel, Anna and Harriet.’
I thought about Rachel who had cleaned my room at the hotel in Paris. I thought about Harriet. No one in our family was called Anna; perhaps the name was linked to Ahmed and Islam?
‘Pretty names,’ I said. ‘So what are you calling her at the moment?’
‘We vary it from day to day.’
‘I want to see her,’ I said.
‘That’s really why I called. I’m sending a picture to your phone.’
‘Are you coming home for Christmas?’
‘This is home. Besides, she’s still in an incubator.’
‘If you’re short of money, I can help.’
‘This isn’t about money. Build the new house.’
Because I couldn’t bear the thought of losing the closeness we had achieved, I quickly dropped the subject. She asked if it was raining or snowing. Talking about the weather is always the last resort, but it calmed us both down. No angry ripostes, no hostile silences.