The Demon of Dakar aka The Demon from Dakar

Nine

Eva Willman took out two apples and put them on either side of the kitchen table. It created an appealing picture, full of promise, as if Patrik and Hugo’s future rested on the fact that each morning there were two gleaming red apples at their places.

Even though it was only six-thirty she wanted to wake them up, get in those extra few minutes and tell them about Dakar. When they were young, they always woke up early, and they had some time together before Eva had to leave for work and the children to their school or child care programs, but now breakfast usually consisted of some sleepy comments, a few whining complaints, and a couple of sandwiches consumed in haste.

She looked at the apples, red, thick-skinned, with stickers declaring their land of origin: New Zealand. Someone sends fruit from the other side of the globe, she thought, and pictured an orchard in a foreign land. There were people there, dressed in khaki shorts and T-shirts with logos on the front. They drove small vehicles with carts on the back. From time to time they stopped, reached for an apple, and applied a tiny sticker. Eva imagined that they had a Patrik and a Hugo in their thoughts as they carefully laid the apples in a basket.

She made coffee and waited for the children to wake up. Today things would start in earnest. She couldn’t help feeling it in her stomach. She was going to shadow Tessie, who was teaching her.

One thing that worried her was pronouncing the names of the dishes correctly. Anglerfish and duck breast were no problem, but the menu consisted of so much more. Then there were the wines with all those foreign names. Eva had brought home both the menu and the wine list and practiced the pronunciation, had even asked Patrik and Hugo for help.

And even if she had basically mastered the pronunciation then the question remained about what it meant. She had no idea what “confit” and concassé were, or if “Gevrey Chambertin” was a red or white wine.

She hoped that Tessie would have patience and that the guests would not get irritated or make fun of her.

Eva had decided she would try not to talk too much. If she adopted a calm attitude and did not chatter on, the guests could get the impression that she was skilled and reliable. She couldn’t screw up this job. Whatever it took, she was going to become a knowledgeable and quick-witted waitress, someone Slobodan Andersson could rely on.

This was not only a job, it was her entry to another life. That was how she felt. She was going to enter new areas, meet people other than the same old in Sävja and in the ICA store in Vilan, and become more interesting herself. She did not know anyone who worked at a restaurant, there were not many among her few acquaintances who were in the habit of going out to eat. Now she would be able to talk about something beyond the usual.

Suddenly she was frightened. What if it didn’t work out?

“Hugo!” she cried out. “It’s time!”

There was no sense in calling Patrik, he had to be shaken awake in the mornings.