Read Online The Shadow Girls by Henning Mankell - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Henning Mankell
Ads: Link
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.
Humlin flinched as if he had been jumped from behind. Although he was drunk he couldn’t help feeling the same worry and suspicion he always felt when a person stood in front of him and declared their intentions to become a writer. He always feared that the other person would prove to be the greater talent.
‘What on earth for?’
‘I want to tell my story,’ she said.
‘And what story is that?’
‘My story.’
Humlin looked at the girl who was maybe eighteen or nineteen. He was so drunk that the room was rocking but he managed to keep his eyes fixed on her. She was very fat. She was wearing a shawl that concealed much of her body but he could still tell that she was more than just a little chubby. Her face was covered in acne and was shiny with sweat.
‘Where do you come from?’
‘Iran.’
‘What’s your name?’
‘Leyla.’
‘Are you a boxer?’
‘I’m here because my brother asked me to come. He does boxing here.’
‘And you want to be a writer?’
‘I just need to know how it’s done.’
Humlin stared at her. He didn’t know where his next thought came from but it was fully formulated and clear, the way he very occasionally saw a whole poem appear before his eyes and never had to change a single word.
I just need to know how it’s done.
Humlin straightened his back. Viktor Leander can write his crime novel, he thought. What I’m going to do is help this girl writeher story. And in turn she’ll help me write about the people who live in Stensgården. Humlin pulled over the wine bottle that Amanda had left behind and finished off its contents. Leyla looked disapprovingly at him.
‘I can help you,’ he said when he put the bottle down. ‘If you give me your phone number, I’ll call you.’
Leyla jumped.
‘I can’t do that.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I can’t give out my phone number,’ she said.
‘Why not?’
‘My parents won’t like it if I start getting calls from a man.’
‘Just tell them who I am.’
She shook her head.
‘It won’t work. It’s not proper. Call Pelle Törnblom or Amanda.’
Then she smiled.
‘Are you sure you want to help me?’ she asked.
‘I am. If I can remains to be seen.’
Leyla left. Humlin stayed put and stared at the tattered posters on the wall. The outlines were still unclear but he finally had a sense of what he was going to write. Not the book Leander was working on, not the one Lundin wanted him to do. Something completely different.
*
Törnblom took him to the airport the following day. Humlin had a bad hangover and was not completely sure of what had happened towards the very end of the party. He had woken up to find himself lying on a training mat next to the ring. He had a pounding headache.
‘It was a great party, wasn’t it? I’m glad you decided to stay. Andrea will have cooled down by the time you get home.’
Humlin shuddered at the thought of what awaited him when he got home. He thought longingly of the beer he was hoping to get at the airport.
‘She won’t have cooled down one bit.’
‘Your visit meant a lot to the kids back there.’
Humlin didn’t reply. He thought of that fat girl, Leyla, and the idea that had come to him last night. In the grey light of the
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.
Humlin flinched as if he had been jumped from behind. Although he was drunk he couldn’t help feeling the same worry and suspicion he always felt when a person stood in front of him and declared their intentions to become a writer. He always feared that the other person would prove to be the greater talent.
‘What on earth for?’
‘I want to tell my story,’ she said.
‘And what story is that?’
‘My story.’
Humlin looked at the girl who was maybe eighteen or nineteen. He was so drunk that the room was rocking but he managed to keep his eyes fixed on her. She was very fat. She was wearing a shawl that concealed much of her body but he could still tell that she was more than just a little chubby. Her face was covered in acne and was shiny with sweat.
‘Where do you come from?’
‘Iran.’
‘What’s your name?’
‘Leyla.’
‘Are you a boxer?’
‘I’m here because my brother asked me to come. He does boxing here.’
‘And you want to be a writer?’
‘I just need to know how it’s done.’
Humlin stared at her. He didn’t know where his next thought came from but it was fully formulated and clear, the way he very occasionally saw a whole poem appear before his eyes and never had to change a single word.
I just need to know how it’s done.
Humlin straightened his back. Viktor Leander can write his crime novel, he thought. What I’m going to do is help this girl writeher story. And in turn she’ll help me write about the people who live in Stensgården. Humlin pulled over the wine bottle that Amanda had left behind and finished off its contents. Leyla looked disapprovingly at him.
‘I can help you,’ he said when he put the bottle down. ‘If you give me your phone number, I’ll call you.’
Leyla jumped.
‘I can’t do that.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I can’t give out my phone number,’ she said.
‘Why not?’
‘My parents won’t like it if I start getting calls from a man.’
‘Just tell them who I am.’
She shook her head.
‘It won’t work. It’s not proper. Call Pelle Törnblom or Amanda.’
Then she smiled.
‘Are you sure you want to help me?’ she asked.
‘I am. If I can remains to be seen.’
Leyla left. Humlin stayed put and stared at the tattered posters on the wall. The outlines were still unclear but he finally had a sense of what he was going to write. Not the book Leander was working on, not the one Lundin wanted him to do. Something completely different.
*
Törnblom took him to the airport the following day. Humlin had a bad hangover and was not completely sure of what had happened towards the very end of the party. He had woken up to find himself lying on a training mat next to the ring. He had a pounding headache.
‘It was a great party, wasn’t it? I’m glad you decided to stay. Andrea will have cooled down by the time you get home.’
Humlin shuddered at the thought of what awaited him when he got home. He thought longingly of the beer he was hoping to get at the airport.
‘She won’t have cooled down one bit.’
‘Your visit meant a lot to the kids back there.’
Humlin didn’t reply. He thought of that fat girl, Leyla, and the idea that had come to him last night. In the grey light of the
Similar Books
