A Treacherous Paradise

by Henning Mankell

  I’ll never get an answer, Ana thought. For all I know the man I’m talking to now could be the one who slashed her face.

  She left the commanding officer and went down to the cells. She sat down beside Isabel. The basket from the previous day wasn’t completely empty: she had eaten, but not very much.

  ‘This pouch is from Moses,’ Ana said. ‘He wants you to swallow the contents so that you can escape.’

  For the first time Isabel took hold of Ana’s hand. She squeezed the leather pouch hard, and for a brief moment leaned her head on Ana’s shoulder.

  ‘Go now,’ she said in a voice that was hoarse from lack of use. ‘I don’t have much time left.’

  Ana left the darkness and came out again into the bright sunshine. Some black men were busy polishing the statue of a knight that had arrived on a ship from Lisbon, and would soon be put on display in one of the town’s squares. The goats were standing motionless in a shady corner of the walled courtyard.

  Ana was driven back home. She had hoped that Moses would be waiting for her outside the fort, but he wasn’t there.

  The next day, when she was woken up at dawn by Carlos kicking the quilt off the bed, she discovered that Moses was standing in the street below, staring up at her window. She hurried down the stairs and out into the street. The night guards had woken up, put out their fires and were getting washed at a pump at the rear of the house.

  Moses was holding a spade in his hand.

  ‘It didn’t work,’ he said. ‘She’s still locked up inside the fort.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I know. She knows. There are too many white people around her, scaring away the spirits. And so I’m going to start digging today, so that I can get in under the wall. It will take longer than if she had been able to fly out, but we are patient.’

  ‘Where are you going to start digging? Do you really think it’s possible?’

  ‘It must be possible!’

  ‘Can you really do it, all by yourself? Even if you are a miner and used to digging.’

  Moses didn’t answer. He merely turned on his heel and began walking quickly down the hill towards the fort.

  Ana stayed where she was, even though she was wearing nothing but a dressing gown. It was only when the night guards came out of the courtyard and set off for home that she went back indoors. No matter what Moses and Isabel believed about butterflies’ wings, she was the only one who could help Isabel. She lay down on her bed again, and didn’t get up until she had made up her mind what to do. She got dressed, and gathered together most of the money she had in Senhor Vaz’s drawers and safes. She filled a large laundry basket with it, and was helped by Julietta to carry it down to the car when it was time for her to visit Isabel.

  ‘Is she going to eat that much food?’ asked Julietta inquisitively.

  ‘You ask far too many questions,’ said Ana sternly. ‘I haven’t the strength to answer them all. You must learn to keep quiet. Besides, this is a laundry basket, not something you carry food in.’

  The chauffeur helped her to carry the basket into the fort. Sullivan was waiting for her as usual, this time wearing his ordinary uniform.

  ‘I want to talk to you in private,’ said Ana. ‘And I need help to carry in this basket.’

  Sullivan looked at her in surprise. Then he shouted for two soldiers who carried the basket into his office. Ana followed them, and closed the door when they had left. The basket with the money was covered by an oriental quilt that Senhor Vaz had been given by a customer who didn’t have enough cash.

  Sullivan sat down at his dark brown desk and pointed at a visitor’s chair.

  ‘You want to speak to me?’

  ‘I’ll come straight to the point. Isabel won’t survive if she stays here. So I’m prepared to give you this basket of money if you can arrange for her to be given the opportunity to escape.’

  She stood up and removed the quilt, exposing the money in bundles of notes that filled the whole basket. Sullivan contemplated the contents of the basket.

  ‘It’s all I have,’ said Ana. ‘And of course, I promise never to mention this money to anybody. I want only one thing, and that is for Isabel to be set free.’

  Sullivan sat down behind his desk again. His face was totally expressionless.

  ‘Why does she mean so much to you?’

  ‘I saw what happened. I know why she did it. I would have done the same thing. But I have never been locked up inside an underground hellhole. Because I am white.’

  Sullivan nodded without saying anything. The goats could be heard bleating in the courtyard. Ana waited.

  There was a long pause before he spoke. In the end he turned to look at her. He smiled.

  ‘It sounds like an excellent idea,’ he said. ‘I’m not impossible to do business with. But the money isn’t enough.’

  ‘I don’t have any more.’

  ‘It’s not money I want.’

  Ana assumed Sullivan had the same desire as Pandre.

  ‘You are of course welcome to visit my establishment whenever you like,’ she said. ‘Without needing to pay.’

  ‘You still don’t know what I mean,’ said Sullivan. ‘You’re absolutely right to think that I’m intending to visit your place and all the beautiful women who are so tempting to your customers. But I shall expect it to be you who accompanies me to a room and stays there with me all night. Nobody else will do. I want the woman no other customer could have.’

  Ana had no doubt that he meant what he said. Nor would he allow himself to be persuaded to accept any of the other women. He had made up his mind.

  ‘The money can stay here until you have made your decision,’ he said. ‘I guarantee that nobody will steal anything. I’ll give you until tomorrow to decide.’

  He stood up, bowed and opened the door for her. As he passed her he stroked his gloved hand gently over her cheek. She shuddered.

  Ana’s visit to Isabel that day was very short. Late that evening, when Carlos was already asleep, she made her decision. For once in her life, she would sell herself.

  Once it was over she would be able to go away at last. To leave this hell on earth that her mother had never taught her anything about. She would vanish from this town where she had once gone ashore without knowing what she was letting herself in for when she walked down that confounded gangplank.

  67

  IN ORDER TO sleep she took a large dose of the chloral sleeping tablets Senhor Vaz used to use. She slept restlessly, but she did sleep.

  All of a sudden, she was awake. She opened her eyes and found herself looking straight into O’Neill’s unshaven and glistening face. His eyes were open wide, and bloodshot.

  It was daybreak. Light crept in between the half-open curtains. O’Neill had a knife in one hand, and it was covered in blood. She thought at first that she had been the victim, but she could feel no pain. Confusion and terrified thoughts whirled around in her brain. Where was Carlos? Why hadn’t he protected her? Then she saw that he was lying on the floor next to her bed, with blood on the part of his face that wasn’t covered in hair. She couldn’t make out if Carlos was dead or seriously injured. She now had a vague memory of hearing Carlos shout out while she was asleep – was that the sound that had lifted her into consciousness?

  Once she had established that she wasn’t injured, she realized that O’Neill was scared. Against whom had he used that knife? The sleeping night guards? Julietta? She tried to force herself to be calm, and slowly dragged herself up so that she was half sitting, leaning back on the pillows. O’Neill pulled open the curtains so that the last of the darkness disappeared. He seemed to be in a hurry. That increased her worries, as it could only mean that he had done something he needed to run away from, as fast as he possibly could.

  ‘What do you want?’ she asked, as calmly as she could manage.

  ‘I’ve come to take your money,’ he said.

  She could see that he was trembling.

  ‘What have you d
one?’

  Had he attacked one of the women in the brothel? Or perhaps several? Or even all of them? Was it the blood of Felicia and the others dripping from the blade of his knife?

  ‘I have to know,’ she said. ‘What has happened? Who have you stabbed?’

  O’Neill didn’t answer. No more than an impatient groan passed over his lips. He pulled back the quilt and hissed at her that she should give him all the money she had in the house. She got out of bed, put on her dressing gown and thought about how remarkable it was that since yesterday most of her money was locked up inside the commanding officer’s office, guarded by the town’s Portuguese garrison.

  ‘What has happened?’ she asked again.

  O’Neill was still holding the knife at the ready, as if he was afraid that she would jump at him. Carlos was lying unconscious, but Ana could see from the rising and falling of his chest that he was still alive. Whatever else O’Neill had done, she would never forgive him for attacking an innocent chimpanzee and almost killing him.

  O’Neill suddenly answered her question. It was as if he were flinging the words out of himself.

  ‘I went into her cell and finished off what I failed to do the last time. This time she really is dead.’

  Ana became stone cold. She groaned. O’Neill took a step towards her.

  ‘I couldn’t stand by and watch the women’s earnings being squandered by you on a black woman who murdered her husband. Now I’m getting out of here. And I intend to take all your money with me. You won’t even be able to afford a coffin for her funeral.’

  Ana sat down tentatively on the edge of the bed. It was as if O’Neill’s knife had severed something inside her. She had only one desire just now, and that was to mourn the death of Isabel: but O’Neill was standing in her way. He wouldn’t leave until he had received the money, and he wouldn’t believe what she said about most of her wealth being in the commanding officer’s office. Perhaps this was the end of the remarkable journey that had begun with a sleigh-ride in what seemed to be the far distant past. She would die here in this room, stabbed to death by a raving lunatic of a man she had made the mistake of employing. A man she personally had taken on for a trial period without knowing that in doing so, she had allowed a murderer into her house. She would die in this bedroom where she had spent her widowhood, and would die together with the remarkable chimpanzee who used to work as a servant in the brothel, dressed in a white suit.

  But could what O’Neill had said happened possibly be true? She looked at him, and it struck her that this could be a trap she had fallen straight into. She had failed to notice the gap that had suddenly opened up in front of her, and was about to fall into it.

  ‘Why did you kill her? And why should I believe you?’

  ‘Because nobody else was able to do the only right thing – killing her – I took it upon myself.’

  ‘How could you get into her cell? Twice?’

  ‘Somebody helped me, of course. Left doors open. But I’m not going to say who it was.’

  ‘Was it the commanding officer? Sullivan?’

  O’Neill made an energetic gesture with the knife, and in doing so happened to tread on Carlos, who whimpered.

  ‘No, it wasn’t Sullivan. But I shan’t answer any more of your questions.’

  He picked up a grey sack made of jute that was lying on the floor beside him.

  ‘Fill this with your money!’

  ‘I can’t.’

  Something in her voice made him hesitate rather than repeating his demand immediately in an even more threatening tone.

  ‘Why can’t you?’

  ‘Because nearly all my money is locked up in the commanding officer’s office, in the fort.’

  She could see that he was nervously swaying between doubt and fury. The sack was hanging down in his hand.

  ‘Why has he got your money? You didn’t know that I was going to come here tonight.’

  ‘I gave the money to him as a bribe,’ said Ana. ‘So that he would secretly allow me to fetch Isabel and arrange for her to leave Lourenço Marques. Later this morning I was due to go to him with the rest.’

  ‘So there is more money here in the house?’

  ‘Not more money, no. The rest of the bargain was to be paid in a different way.’

  ‘How? With what?’

  ‘With me.’

  O’Neill didn’t move. She could see that he was confused. He didn’t understand what she meant. His uncertainty gave her the upper hand despite his knife.

  ‘I promised to become his whore. Who would believe the immoral proprietess of a brothel if she tried to explain afterwards what had happened?’

  At last the penny dropped for O’Neill. What Ana said couldn’t be a lie, something she had simply made up. He picked her up from the bed, grabbed hold of her throat and shook the sack violently.

  ‘Everything you’ve got,’ he said. ‘Absolutely everything. And you must never breathe a word to anybody that I was the one who came here.’

  ‘People will understand that even so.’

  ‘Not if you don’t say anything.’

  He thrust her away so hard that she fell down on to the stone floor. She landed with her face right next to Carlos, who was still breathing awkwardly.

  Just as she was about to get up, Carlos cautiously opened one eye and looked at her.

  Ana stood up and began gathering together the money she still had in the house. She had filled two porcelain vases decorated with oriental nymphs with money she was going to use to compensate the women for their reduced earnings. She put it all into the sack while O’Neill urged her to hurry up. On the floor in the wardrobe she had two of Senhor Vaz’s leather suitcases filled with money intended for her journey to wherever she eventually decided to go. The money she received for selling her house and the brothel would go to the people who worked there. She didn’t intend to keep any of that herself.

  When she had emptied the last of the suitcases, she saw that the sack was still less than half full. If the money in the CO’s office had been available, O’Neill would have needed two, possibly three sacks.

  ‘That’s everything,’ she said. ‘If you want any more, you’ll have to talk to Sullivan.’

  O’Neill punched her, hard, a blow loaded with his disappointment: he had expected so much more. In the midst of all the pain that the punch caused her, Ana managed to think about how brutal O’Neill was. How could she have failed to see that earlier? That she had appointed as a security guard a man who was worse than the worst of her clients?

  ‘There must be more,’ he said, his face so threateningly close to hers that she could feel his stubble against her cheek.

  ‘If you like I can swear on the Bible, or on my honour. There is no more.’

  She couldn’t make up her mind if he believed her or not. But he pulled off the rings she had on her fingers and dropped them into the sack. Then he hit her so hard that everything went black.

  68

  WHEN SHE CAME round Carlos was sitting looking at her. He was swaying back and forth, as he always did when he was frightened or felt himself abandoned. O’Neill had left. Ana had the feeling that she hadn’t been unconscious very long. The open window overlooking the upper veranda indicated the way O’Neill had chosen to leave, and perhaps also the way he had got in. She went outside and saw that the two guards were sitting by the spent remains of their fire, yawning as if they had just woken up. If she had had a gun, she would have shot them – or at least, the temptation to do so would have been very great. But even if she had aimed at them she would no doubt have pointed the pistol at the sky before pulling the trigger: she would never be able to kill anybody. She was a mucky angel, not a murdering monster.

  She sat down on the bed and dabbed at Carlos’s wounds with a damp sponge. Nobody would believe me if I told them about this, she thought. Me sitting on my bed after being attacked, tending the wounds on a chimpanzee’s bleeding forehead. But I’m not going to tell a soul.

 
Quite early in the morning she left the house and was driven down to the fort. Julietta and Anaka had been horrified by the state of the bedroom – the torn sheets, the bloodstains and the broken mirror – but Ana had simply told them that Carlos had had nightmares. He had caused the wound on his own forehead. She didn’t bother to comment on her swollen cheek.

  As she arrived at the fort earlier than usual, Sullivan was not yet standing on the steps, pipe in hand. He hadn’t even arrived at the fort from his lodgings in the upper part of the town, where the garrison’s accommodation was situated. Ana took a deep breath and walked over to the entrance to the cells. The guard at the entrance was reluctant to let her in at first. He was worried because the lock on the grill had been forced during the night when another soldier had been on duty, but Ana yelled at him to get out of the way and pushed him aside.

  Isabel was lying dead on the stone floor next to the bunk. Ana had the feeling that she had used up the last of her strength in an attempt to sit up, since that was how she wanted to be when she died, but she hadn’t had the strength. One of her arms was resting on the bunk. O’Neill had turned her body into a bloody mess of skin, thoughts and memories, scars after the birth of her children, her love of Pedro – everything that had made her the person she was. O’Neill had not only stabbed and cut her with his sharp knife, he had disfigured her in such a way as to make her body almost unrecognizable. In her desperation Ana thought that O’Neill must harbour unlimited hatred for black people who refused to submit to the will of whites, even when they were locked up in prison.

  With considerable difficulty Ana carefully lifted Isabel on to the bunk. She covered her with the blanket she had never used, even when the nights had been at their coldest. Every time she touched the corpse she seemed to be reminded of the cold that had always surrounded her when she was a child. Isabel’s dead body transformed the underground cell into the countryside she had once lived in, always frozen, always longing for the heat of a fire, or from the sun that so seldom forced its way through the clouds drifting in from the mountains to the west. She looked at Isabel and was reminded of all these things that until a few minutes ago had seemed so far away but had now returned. Who is it I am saying goodbye to? she thought. Isabel or myself? Or both of us?