The Troubled Man

by Henning Mankell

  He arrived home without having made any real progress.

  But that night he lay awake for a long time thinking about Fanny Klarström before finally falling asleep.

  26

  Wallander was still asleep when the phone rang. It was his father’s old phone that he had rescued for sentimental reasons when the old man’s house in Löderup had been cleared out before being sold. He considered letting it ring and ring, but eventually he got up and answered. It was one of the new women in the police station reception; Ebba, who had been there since time immemorial, had now retired and moved with her husband to an apartment in central Malmö, where their children lived. Wallander couldn’t recall the new receptionist’s name – maybe it was Anna, but he wasn’t sure.

  ‘There’s a woman here asking for your address,’ she said. ‘I only let people have it with your permission. She’s from abroad.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Wallander. ‘All the women I know are from abroad.’

  He stayed at the phone, and on his third attempt managed to pin down a dentist who could treat him an hour later.

  It was almost noon when he got back home from the dentist’s. He had started thinking about lunch when there was a knock on the door. When he answered it, he knew immediately who it was, even though she had changed. Baiba Liepa from Riga, Latvia. There was no doubt she was the one standing on his doorstep, older and paler.

  ‘Good God!’ he said. ‘So you were the lady asking for my address?’

  ‘I didn’t want to disturb you.’

  ‘How could you ever disturb me?’

  He embraced her, and could feel that she had become very thin. It had been over fifteen years since their brief but torrid love affair. And it must have been ten years since they were last in touch. Wallander had been drunk and called her in the middle of the night. Needless to say, he regretted it later, and resolved never to contact her again. But now, with her standing there in front of him, he could feel his emotions bubbling over. Their affair had been the most passionate experience of his life. Being with her had put his protracted relationship with Mona into perspective. He had experienced sensual pleasure with Baiba greater than he had previously thought possible. He had been keen to start a new life and wanted to marry her, but she turned him down. She didn’t want to live with another police officer, and risk becoming a widow again, which she had already been through.

  Now they were facing each other in his living room. He still found it difficult to believe that it really was her who had reappeared from somewhere far away in time and space.

  ‘I never imagined this would happen,’ he said. ‘That we would meet again.’

  ‘You never got in touch.’

  ‘No. I didn’t. I wanted what was over and done with to be over and done with.’

  He ushered her to the sofa and sat down beside her. He suddenly had the feeling that everything was not as it should be. She was too pale, too thin, too tired and awkward in her movements.

  She read his mind, as she always had, and took his hand.

  ‘I wanted to see you again,’ she said. ‘You are convinced that people are gone forever, but then you wake up one day and realise that you can never break away entirely from people who have been especially important in your life.’

  ‘There’s some special reason why you’ve come here now,’ said Wallander.

  ‘I’d like a cup of tea,’ she said. ‘Are you sure I’m not disturbing you?’

  ‘There’s only me and a dog,’ said Wallander. ‘That’s all.’

  ‘How’s your daughter?’

  ‘Do you remember her name?’

  Baiba looked offended. Wallander recalled how easily she had taken offence.

  ‘Do you really think I’ve forgotten about Linda?’

  ‘I suppose I thought that you’d erased everything to do with me.’

  ‘That was something about you that I never liked – you always made such a drama out of everything. How could anybody possibly “erase” somebody they’d once been in love with?’

  Wallander was already on his way to the kitchen, to make tea.

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ she said, standing up.

  When Wallander saw what an effort it was for her, he realised that she was ill.

  She filled a saucepan with water and put it on the stove, giving the impression that she was immediately at home in his kitchen. He took out the cups he had inherited from his mother, the only items that remained to preserve her memory. They sat down at the kitchen table.

  ‘This is a lovely house you have here,’ she said. ‘I remember you used to talk about moving out to the country, but I didn’t believe you’d ever do it.’

  ‘I didn’t believe it either. Not to mention that I’d ever get myself a dog.’

  ‘What’s her name?’

  ‘It’s a he. Jussi.’

  Their conversation died out. He eyed her without making it obvious. The bright sunshine coming in through the kitchen window emphasised her emaciated features.

  ‘I never left Riga,’ she said apropos of nothing. ‘I’ve managed to trade up to a better apartment twice, but I could never even think about living out in the country. When I was a child I was sent to live with my grandparents for a few years, in extreme poverty that I always associate with the Latvian countryside. Maybe it’s an image that no longer applies today, but I can’t shake it off.’

  ‘You were working at the university when we were together. What are you doing now?’

  She didn’t respond, but took a sip of tea and then slid her cup to one side.

  ‘I’m actually a qualified engineer,’ she said. ‘Have you forgotten that? When we met I was translating scientific literature for the technical college. But I don’t do that any more. Not now that I’m ill.’

  ‘What’s the nature of your illness?’

  She answered quietly, as if what she was saying wasn’t all that important.

  ‘I’m dying. I have cancer. But I don’t want to talk about that right now. Do you mind if I lie down for a while? I’m taking painkillers that are so strong, I find it hard to stay awake.’

  She headed for the sofa, but Wallander ushered her into his bedroom. He had changed the sheets only a couple of days ago. He smoothed out the bed before she lay down. Her head almost disappeared into the pillow. She smiled wanly, as if she had recalled something.

  ‘Haven’t I been in this bed before?’

  ‘Of course you have. It’s an old bed.’

  ‘I’ll take a nap. Just an hour. They said at the police station that you were on holiday.’

  ‘You can sleep here for as long as you like.’

  He wasn’t sure if she had heard him, or if she had already fallen asleep. Why has she come here to visit me? he wondered. I can’t cope with any more death and misery, any more wives drinking themselves to death, any more mothers being murdered. He regretted that thought the moment he had it. He sat down very carefully at the end of the bed and looked at her. The memory of their affair returned and upset him so much that he started shaking. I don’t want her to die, he thought. I want her to live. Maybe now she’s prepared to give living with a policeman another go.

  Wallander went out and sat on one of the garden chairs. After a while he let Jussi out of his kennel. Baiba’s car was an old Citroën with Latvian plates. He switched on his mobile phone and saw that Linda had called. He called her back, and she sounded pleased when she heard his voice.

  ‘I just wanted to tell you that Hans has been awarded a bonus. Several hundred thousand kronor. That means we can rebuild the house.’

  ‘Did he really earn that kind of money?’ Wallander wondered, with a trace of cynicism in his voice.

  ‘Why shouldn’t he?’

  Wallander told her that Baiba had come to visit him. Linda listened to what he said about the woman now lying asleep in his bed.

  ‘I’ve seen pictures of her,’ said Linda when he’d finished. ‘You’ve spoken about her. But according to Mum she wa
s just a Latvian prostitute.’

  Wallander was furious.

  ‘Your mother can be a terrible person sometimes. Making a claim like that is shameful. In many ways Baiba has all the qualities that Mona lacks. When did she say that?’

  ‘How do you expect me to remember?’

  ‘I think I’ll call her and tell her never to be in touch with me again.’

  ‘What good would that do? She was probably jealous. People say things like that when they’re jealous.’

  Reluctantly, Wallander acknowledged that she was right, and calmed down. Then he told her that Baiba was seriously ill.

  ‘Has she come to say goodbye, then?’ she asked. ‘That sounds sad.’

  ‘That was my first reaction too. I was surprised and pleased to see her. But it only took a few minutes for me to feel depressed again. I seem to be surrounded by nothing but death and misery nowadays.’

  ‘You always have been,’ Linda said. ‘That was one of the first things they warned us about at the police academy – the kind of working life that lay ahead. But don’t forget that you have Klara.’

  ‘That’s not what I’m talking about. It’s the feeling of old age that’s creeping up and sticking its claws into the back of my neck. Wherever I look, my circle of friends is thinning out. When Dad died, I became next in line, if you get my meaning. Klara is at the end of that line, but I’m right at the front.’

  ‘If Baiba has come to see you, it’s because you mean a lot to her. That’s the only important thing.’

  ‘Come by,’ said Wallander. ‘I want you to meet the only woman who has really meant anything to me.’

  ‘Apart from Mona.’

  ‘That goes without saying.’

  Linda thought for a while before speaking.

  ‘I have a friend visiting at the moment,’ she said. ‘Rakel – do you remember her? She’s a police officer in Malmö. She and Klara get along well.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to bring Klara with you?’

  ‘I’ll come on my own, very shortly.’

  It was almost three o’clock by the time Linda swung into the drive and had to slam on the brakes in order to avoid running into Baiba’s car. Wallander always thought she drove far too fast, but on the other hand he was relieved whenever she didn’t use her motorcycle. He frequently told her so, but the only response he ever got was a loud snort.

  Baiba had woken up and had a sip of water and another cup of tea. She spent a long time in the bathroom. When she came out she seemed to be less tired than before. Without her knowing, Wallander had watched her injecting herself in the thigh. For a brief moment he glimpsed her nakedness and felt despondency welling up inside him at the thought of all that was now over, never to be repeated, never to be experienced again.

  It was an important moment for him when Baiba and Linda greeted each other. It seemed to Wallander that he could now see the Baiba he had met so many years ago in Latvia.

  Linda embraced her as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and said she was pleased to meet the love of her father’s life at long last. Wallander felt embarrassed but also pleased to see them together. If Mona had been there, despite his current anger with her, and if Linda had been carrying Klara in her arms, the four most important women in his life, in a way the only ones, would have been gathered in his house. A big day, he thought, in the middle of summer, at a time when old age is sneaking up closer and closer.

  When Linda heard that Baiba still hadn’t had anything to eat, she sent Wallander into the kitchen to make an omelette and went with Baiba out to the garden. He could hear Baiba laughing through the open window. That made his memories even stronger, and his eyes filled with tears. He worried that he seemed to be growing sentimental – a state he had virtually never experienced before, except when he was drunk.

  They ate outside, moving with the shade. Wallander spent most of the time listening as Linda asked questions about Latvia, a country she had never visited. Just for a short time, a family is being resurrected, he thought. It will soon be over. And the question, the most difficult question of all to answer, is what will be left?

  Linda stayed for just over an hour before announcing that she needed to go home. She had brought a photo of Klara with her, and she showed it to Baiba.

  ‘She might grow up to look just like her grandfather,’ Baiba said.

  ‘God forbid!’ said Wallander.

  ‘Don’t believe him,’ said Linda. ‘There’s nothing he’d wish for more. I hope to see you again,’ she said as she stood up to go home.

  Baiba didn’t reply. They hadn’t talked about death.

  Baiba and Wallander remained in the garden and started talking about their lives. Baiba had a lot of questions to ask, and he answered as best he could. Both of them still lived alone. Some ten years earlier Baiba had tried to enter into a relationship with a doctor, but she had given up after six months. She had never had any children. Wallander couldn’t tell if she regretted that or not.

  ‘Life has been good,’ she said forcefully. ‘When our borders finally opened up, I was able to travel. I lived frugally, wrote several newspaper articles, and I was a consultant for a firm that wanted to establish itself in Latvia. I earned the most money from a Swedish bank that is now the biggest in the country. I went abroad twice a year, and I know so much more about the world we live in than I did when we met. I’ve had a good life. Lonely, but good.’

  ‘My torture has always been waking up alone,’ said Wallander, then wondered if what he had just said was really true.

  Baiba laughed as she replied.

  ‘I’ve always lived alone, apart from that short time with the doctor. But that doesn’t mean I’ve always woken up alone. You don’t need to be celibate simply because you’re not in a steady relationship.’

  Wallander felt pangs of jealousy at the thought of strange men lying by Baiba’s side in her bed. But he didn’t say anything.

  Baiba suddenly started talking about her illness. As ever, she was objective.

  ‘It started with my feeling constantly tired,’ she said. ‘I soon suspected there was something more ominous behind the weariness. At first the doctors couldn’t find anything wrong with me. Burnout, old age; nobody had the right answer. I eventually visited a doctor in Bonn that I’d heard about, a man who specialises in cases that other doctors have failed to diagnose. After a few days giving me various tests and taking samples, he was able to tell me that I had a rare cancerous tumour in my liver. I travelled back to Riga with a death sentence stamped invisibly in my passport. I admit that I leaned on all the contacts I had and was operated on remarkably quickly. But it was too late; the cancer had spread. A few weeks ago I was told that I now have metastases in my brain. It’s taken less than a year. I won’t last until Christmas; I’ll die in the autumn. I’m trying to spend the time I have left doing what I want to do more than anything else. There are a few places in the world I want to visit again, a few people I want to see again. You are one of them – perhaps the one I’ve wanted to see most of all.’

  Wallander burst into tears, sobbing violently. She took his hand, which made matters even worse. He stood up and walked round to the back of the house. When he had pulled himself together, he returned.

  ‘I don’t want to bring you sorrow,’ she said. ‘I hope you understand why I was compelled to come here.’

  ‘I have never forgotten the time we spent together,’ he said. ‘I’ve often wanted to relive it. Now that you’re here, I have to ask you a question. Have you ever had any regrets?’

  ‘You mean that I said no when you asked me to marry you?’

  ‘It’s a question I think about all the time.’

  ‘Never. It was right then, and it must remain right now, after all these years.’

  Wallander said nothing. He understood. Why should she have considered marrying a foreign policeman when her husband, also a police officer, had just been murdered? Wallander remembered how he had tried to persuade her. But if t
he roles had been reversed, how would he have reacted? What would he have chosen to do?

  They sat for a long time in silence. In the end Baiba stood up, stroked Wallander’s hair and went back into the house. Since he could see that her pain had started again, he assumed she was giving herself another injection. When she didn’t come back, he went inside to investigate. She had fallen asleep on his bed. She didn’t wake up until late in the afternoon, and once she had overcome her initial confusion about where she was, her first question was if she could stay the night before catching a ferry to Poland the next morning and driving back to Riga.

  ‘That’s too far for you to drive,’ said Wallander firmly. ‘I’ll go with you, drive you home. Then I can fly back.’

  She shook her head and said she wanted to go home on her own, just as she had come. When Wallander tried to insist, she became annoyed and shouted at him. But she stopped immediately and apologised. He sat down on the edge of the bed and took her hand.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking,’ she said. ‘How long does she have? When is Baiba going to die? If I had the least suspicion that my time was up now I wouldn’t have stayed. I wouldn’t even have come in the first place. When I feel that the end is imminent and unavoidable, I won’t prolong the torture. I have access to both pills and injections. I intend to die with a bottle of champagne by my bed. I’ll drink a toast to the fact that, despite everything, I was able to experience the singular adventure of being born, living and one day disappearing into the darkness once again.’

  ‘Aren’t you afraid?’

  Wallander immediately wished he could bite his tongue. How could he put a question like that to someone who was dying? But she didn’t take offence. He realised with a mixture of despair and embarrassment that she had no doubt long ago grown used to his clumsiness.