"Only if you join us," Eva said, and swept out of the kitchen.

It was ten o'clock when Eva got home. Her legs were tired and her headache did not want to go away, but she felt satisfied and sent Tessie a mental note of grat.i.tude. She had let Eva go home early. It was as if no one was being so precise anymore, and she had also been understanding when Eva withdrew to call home. Eva got home. Her legs were tired and her headache did not want to go away, but she felt satisfied and sent Tessie a mental note of grat.i.tude. She had let Eva go home early. It was as if no one was being so precise anymore, and she had also been understanding when Eva withdrew to call home.

Patrik had answered every time, irritation in his voice, but he turned out to be sitting up waiting for her in the kitchen when she got home.

Hugo was in his room. She heard the sound effects from his computer game. She opened the door a little wider and said h.e.l.lo. His tense back and the concentration in his face testified to a crucial moment in one of these games he spent most of his time on.

She went to the bathroom and got herself some pain relievers.

"Hi, have you had anything to eat?"

Patrik nodded and Eva followed his gaze to the kitchen counter. They had even loaded their dishes in the dishwasher and wiped the counters.

She laughed and put her hand through his hair.

"Was it fun?"

"There were a lot of people," Eva said. "But they let me go early. When the dinner guests start to get finished it's mostly drinks and such, and I'm not so good at that yet. The bartender has promised to show me some things. I can't even tell all the different kinds of beer apart yet."

"What did they say about that guy who was murdered?"

"No one knows anything, there's just a lot of talk.""Was he a good guy?"

Eva shrugged.

"I met him twice and he said all of five words. What about you, what have you been up to?"

"Nothing," Patrik said.

"Do you want some tea?"

She started to get things out, while Patrik put water on to boil.

"I don't think Hugo will want any," he said.

When they sat down at the table, Patrik started to talk. Eva realized that he must have spent the evening thinking about it and even how to formulate his beginning.

"Zero is actually not stupid, you know? He is easy to deceive, that's his biggest problem. He wants to be king but doesn't know what to do."

Eva figured out that by "king" Patrik meant "liked."

"Has he been in touch with you?"

Patrik nodded and took a sip of his tea. Eva waited.

"What are you doing?" Hugo called out suddenly.

"None of your business," Patrik yelled.

"Patrik!"

"He's so annoying."

"What did Zero say?"

"He's hiding."

Eva wondered where a fifteen-year-old boy could hide.

"He doesn't dare go home. His brothers will beat him up."

"Has he been in touch with his mother?"

"He called but she cried the whole time."

"What did he say to you?"

Patrik looked up. After a couple of seconds' hesitation he told her that Zero had been selling drugs in Savja for the past couple of months. There was a man who had turned up and given him the drugs to sell to his friends.

"You wouldn't believe what he makes. It can be a couple thousand. He's planning to go to Turkey and rescue his father," Patrik said.

"What really happened that evening?"

"That man came by with more drugs but Zero didn't want to keep going. He was scared, but he didn't say that. He started to pull some racist c.r.a.p instead. The man made trouble and Zero punched him."

"What about you? What did you do?"

Eva forced herself to remain calm. The least slip of the tongue or sign of being upset could result in Patrik clamming up.

"Helped Zero out," he mumbled. "Then we took off."

"That was when you came home bleeding?"

Patrik nodded. Eva could see that he was close to tears and felt an enormous grat.i.tude in the fact that he was sitting there across from her, that he was talking, and that he could cry.

"And later, the next evening?"

"Another man came. We were up at the school, just hanging and talking. Then the other man came and started to talk. At first I thought it was a cop."

"He was the one who was stabbed?"

"He started it!"

Eva nodded.

"Whose knife was it?"

"Zero's."

"Do you have a knife?" she asked, wishing she hadn't the moment she saw Patrik's expression.

The sound from the computer had stopped and Eva was convinced Hugo was listening.

"Forget it," she said. "Go on."

"He started in on Zero, said something about how he owed him money and stuff about, you know, what happens to people who don't pay their debts. He was pretty scary."

"What did Zero do?"

"Nothing! He was scared s.h.i.tless, I could tell. Then the man wanted Zero to go with him to his car but he didn't want to, he started to run. The guy caught up with him and pulled him down on the ground. The whole thing went so fast. Zero shook him off and then took out the knife. And then he was just lying there, the guy."

"And this is what you told the police?"

Patrik nodded.

"Why didn't you tell them this from the beginning?"

"I wanted to talk to Zero first," Patrik said, and now his eyes were shiny with tears.

Eva stretched out her hand and put it on his arm.

"I'm glad you told me. I'm proud of you, you know that?"

After a couple of minutes of silence, Patrik stood up, took his teacup and put it on the counter. of silence, Patrik stood up, took his teacup and put it on the counter.

"Helen called," he said. "She wanted you to get back to her."

Eva glanced at the wall clock.

"I'll do it tomorrow," she said.

"She said you could call late. She sounded really worked up. She has some stuff she's doing, I didn't get what it was."

Eva took the handheld phone with her into the bedroom and dialed Helen's number.

Thirty-Two.

It is like California, but much smaller, Manuel thought. Even so he was pleased with his new location. The landscape constantly awakened memories of his brothers and their time in Anaheim, but he liked this place better than the last one and not only because of the connection with Armas. much smaller, Manuel thought. Even so he was pleased with his new location. The landscape constantly awakened memories of his brothers and their time in Anaheim, but he liked this place better than the last one and not only because of the connection with Armas.

Here his gaze did not get snared in brambles and stones. When he climbed up the steep ravine he could look out over wide swathes of good earth, and that had a calming effect.

He recognized the strawberry plants and they were still bearing fruit. The first morning he had been awakened by a tractor and the sound of voices. The evening before, he had wandered down the rows of plants and concluded that there were not many berries left and he was surprised that they still took the trouble to harvest them.

He had picked a few strawberries and put them in his mouth, but this reminded him too much of Angel and Patricio for him to really be able to enjoy the sweetness. How he longed for his brothers! This feeling tore at his heart like a furious animal. It had only gotten worse since he arrived in Sweden.

Slashing that gringo's throat had not helped, if he had even imagined it would. The first night after he killed Armas and dragged him down to the river, in the hope that he would sink or float away, he had suffered h.e.l.lish nightmares and woken innumerable times, alternatingly in a cold sweat and feverishly hot. He fell to his knees outside the tent and prayed to San Isidro for forgiveness, ben ladxido zhhn ben ladxido zhhn, to make his little heart bigger.

In the darkness of the night he thought he could see a beautiful woman with waist-length hair and copper-colored skin. She disappeared in the direction of the river with a taunting laugh. It was matelacihua matelacihua and he chanted his prayers more intensely. The bad air surrounded him, constricted his chest, and threatened to suffocate him. He was afraid of losing consciousness only to wake up many miles away. and he chanted his prayers more intensely. The bad air surrounded him, constricted his chest, and threatened to suffocate him. He was afraid of losing consciousness only to wake up many miles away.

He knew that his crime was enormous. He had taken on the role of G.o.d. This was unforgivable.

The next day he had gone back to the river and discovered that the body was gone. It was as if part of his guilt had washed away with the water. He relaxed, turned his face up to the heavens, and spoke to Angel.

Now, some days later and in a new spot next to the same river, his guilt p.r.i.c.ked him like tiny mosquitoes, but not more than he could wave away. He had done the right thing. It had been an act pleasing in the eyes of G.o.d to kill a bhni gui'a bhni gui'a. The world was the better for it, and Manuel was convinced that Armas's soul was now subjected to the torments of h.e.l.l.

What were the alternatives? he debated with himself. Should he have allowed himself to be killed like a dog? But the knife-why did he carry it in his pocket, if not to use it? Hadn't he unconsciously prepared himself to kill when he took it out of the bag and slipped it into his pocket? Had he sensed Armas's intentions as they drove to the river?

If he went to the police he would join Patricio in jail, he knew this. To be thrown in jail was nothing foreign to Manuel and his family. Zapotecs had been persecuted in all ages in any manner of ways, and many were holed up in Oaxaca prisons. Eleven campesinos campesinos from a neighboring village had been taken away four months ago and subsequently imprisoned or killed. No one had heard from them again. from a neighboring village had been taken away four months ago and subsequently imprisoned or killed. No one had heard from them again.

But these cases were grounded in defending their land and forests, in matters of autonomy and justice. Manuel had admittedly killed in self-defense, but he did not think anyone would believe him.

He lay in the river ravine in the shadow of fir trees that reminded him of cypresses. A couple of predatory birds hovered in the sky, just as in the valley at home. Would he ever see his village again?

He got to his feet quickly, in one movement, just like a startled animal, but it was only a lone man walking along the riverbank, a fishing pole in one hand and a bucket in the other. Manuel had seen him the day before. The man's tall, gaunt body was topped by a small head with a face so wrinkled that Manuel was reminded of the old woman in his village who gathered bunches of epazote epazote that she sold for fifty centavos apiece. that she sold for fifty centavos apiece.

Did he sell the fish, or was it done only for enjoyment? Manuel knew so little about Sweden, about the people who lived in this country. He had read a little in a guidebook in a store in Mexico City, that was all.

He knew that there were many different types of Swedes but didn't really care. His role here was not the eager curiosity of the tourist nor the systematic investigation of the ethnographer.

The fisherman disappeared behind a bend in the path and Manuel left his secluded spot. Ever since he had set fire to the short man's house he had felt a growing anxiety. There were so many. He had aimed for Armas and the fat one, but in encountering the short one his task had suddenly increased. Although the short one had not been actively involved in the recruitment of Angel and Patricio, he was a link in the chain, and apparently an important one. He may even have been the brains behind the whole operation, and perhaps Armas and the fat one had simply been his errand boys?

The anxiety also stemmed from something Patricio had said to him in prison: "We could have said no." That was true. Manuel had said no, and had warned his brothers against going to Oaxaca, where they were going to stay in a hotel and receive new clothing. They could have spoken up, continued to cultivate their corn, which others now harvested.

But they had chosen to say yes. How far did their responsibility extend?

Manuel drew a deep breath, locked the tent with the little padlock, and then strolled up to the parking lot. He looked around before wandering out into the open. Some twenty cars were parked in the lot. His rental car did not stand out, it blended in with the others, but he felt like an exotic creature as he carefully made his way to it.

The parking lot was located at the edge of an arts and crafts village that appeared to have a steady stream of visitors. The place was ideal. He knew that no one would pay any attention to the car, even if it stayed there overnight. It could belong to one of the workers from the strawberry fields.

That morning he had bathed in the river, scrubbing himself thoroughly, and relished it despite the cold temperature. He had swum back and forth, caressed by waterlilies and reeds, and thereafter dried in the sunshine back on sh.o.r.e. in the river, scrubbing himself thoroughly, and relished it despite the cold temperature. He had swum back and forth, caressed by waterlilies and reeds, and thereafter dried in the sunshine back on sh.o.r.e.

He was a short, wiry man and there were those who misjudged his slight build. But he knew his own strength. Like all Zapotecs, schooled in farm labor, he was capable of working long and hard. He could carry a hundred kilos on his shoulders, clear the land with his hoe or machete for hours without tiring, take a break, eat some beans and posol posol only to resume his work, walk for miles up and down through valleys and over mountain pa.s.ses. only to resume his work, walk for miles up and down through valleys and over mountain pa.s.ses.

He was the kind of man Mexico relied on, trusted. He would support himself, his family, and also take part and help add to other peoples' riches and excess. He had erected all churches and monuments, put in roads along steep mountain ridges, cultivated corn, beans, and coffee, so why could he not be allowed to rest for a few minutes at an unfamiliar river, stretch out and let the sun dry his limbs?

Nonetheless his anxiety was there and he sensed its source: he had lost his ability to rest, to feel happy for the moment, to take pleasure in the small things and nurse his hope for the future. It was the "man from the mountain" who had taken from him these attributes so necessary for a Zapotec.

He despised himself, aware that his ladxi ladxi-his heart and soul-were lost. He had become exactly like them.

When he reached his car, he tried to shake off the sombre mood of the morning, because it made his movements plodding and his thoughts dull. He needed all the sharpness he could muster. This foreign country was placing great demands on him, there were no resting places here, whether in time or s.p.a.ce. he tried to shake off the sombre mood of the morning, because it made his movements plodding and his thoughts dull. He needed all the sharpness he could muster. This foreign country was placing great demands on him, there were no resting places here, whether in time or s.p.a.ce.

After a glance at the map he started the car, turned onto the main road, crossed a bridge, and drove toward Uppsala. The landscape was varied, with fields of wheat, newly harvested with the golden brown stubble that reached toward the horizon, and gracious mounds, shaped like women's b.r.e.a.s.t.s, where the grazing cattle, fat and healthy, looked up unconcerned as he pa.s.sed. His mood immediately improved.