The Shadow Girls by Henning Mankell Read Free Book Online Page A

man who had shifted restlessly during Humlin’s poetry reading stood up so violently that his chair was knocked to the floor.
    ‘What the fuck kind of question is that?’ he shrieked. ‘What I would like to ask you, Mr Poet, is what you think you’re doing when you force us to listen to this stuff. If you like I can tell you what I think.’
    ‘Please do.’
    ‘I don’t understand how all this shit fits between the covers of such a little book, one that costs three hundred kronor, by the way. I have only one question I would really like to get an answer to.’
    Humlin tried to control his voice as he replied.
    ‘What’s your question?’
    ‘What do you get paid by, the word?’
    A shocked mumble arose among those members of the public who had enjoyed the reading. Humlin turned to one of the librarians who was sitting behind and slightly to one side of him.
    ‘Who are these people?’ he hissed.
    ‘They’re clients from a halfway house outside Gothenburg.’
    ‘What the hell are they doing here?’
    The librarian gave him a stern look.
    ‘One of my most important duties is exposing people who have never previously had the opportunity, to the world of literature. You have no idea what I had to go through in order to get them here.’
    ‘I think actually I have some idea. But you see the kind of questions this man is asking.’
    ‘And I think he deserves an answer.’
    Humlin collected himself and looked at the man who had still not seated himself. He was tensed like an angry wrestler.
    ‘I don’t get paid by the word. As a general rule poets get paid very little for their work.’
    ‘I’m glad to hear it.’
    The woman who had asked about charity got up and thumped her cane into the floor.
    ‘I think it is indefensible and rude to ask Mr Humlin about these sorts of financial matters. We are here in order to discuss his poetry in a calm and civilised manner.’
    Another one of the men in the front row got up. Humlin had noticed him earlier since he had been nodding off most of the time. Once he got to his feet he swayed and had to take another step to balance himself. He was clearly intoxicated.
    ‘I don’t know what that old bitch is talking about.’
    ‘How do you mean?’ Humlin said helplessly.
    ‘Isn’t this a free country? Why can’t we ask what we want? It’s all the same to me anyway. I’m with my pal Åkesson here. I’ve never heard worse shit in my whole life.’
    A flash went off. Humlin hadn’t seen them, but at some pointduring the reading a local reporter and a photographer had sneaked into the auditorium. This is going to be a scandal, Humlin thought desperately, picturing the headlines in the national papers. As with other writers, there was a place inside himself where he doubted his own talents, a place where he was nothing more than a literary charlatan. Humlin was about to plead with the photographer not to take any more pictures when Åkesson unexpectedly came to his aid.
    ‘Who gave you permission to take my picture?’ he screamed. ‘Just because I’ve done time doesn’t mean I don’t have human rights.’
    The photographer tried to ward him off but now all the men from the front row gathered around him. The librarian tried to calm everyone down as most of the audience started filing out of the auditorium before a fight broke out. Humlin was dumbstruck. He had never in his life imagined that his poetry would lead to the kind of tumult he now saw playing out before his eyes.
    But the chaos dissolved as quickly as it had begun. Suddenly Humlin was alone in the big room. He could still hear agitated voices in the corridor outside. Then he realised someone else had stayed behind in the room as well. It was a young dark-skinned woman from the immigrant group. She was alone in the sea of chairs and she had raised one arm. The most striking thing about her was her smile. Humlin had never seen a smile like it before. It was as if she gave off light.
    ‘Did you want to ask me