The Return of the Dancing Master by Henning Mankell

Author:Henning Mankell
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: New Press, The
Published: 2011-08-22T16:00:00+00:00

It was like being on the receiving end of a punch, he reflected afterwards, on his way to Borås, driving far too fast through the darkness. He had been totally unprepared. It was as if somebody had crept up on him from behind. But there was no room for doubt. It was his father’s name there at the top of the page: “Lindman, Evert, deceased, subscriptions pledged for 25 years.” There was also the date of his father’s death seven years ago, and there was something else that removed any possible doubt. He recalled as clear as day sitting with one of his father’s friends, a lawyer, going through the estate. There had been a gift written into the will a year or so before his father died. It was not a large sum, but striking nevertheless. He had left 15,000 kronor to something calling itself the Strong Sweden Foundation. There was a bank transfer number, but no name, no address. Lindman had wondered about that donation, and what kind of a foundation it was. The lawyer assured him that there was no ambiguity, his father had been very firm on this point; Lindman had been devastated by the death of his father, and lacked the strength to think any more about it.

Now, in Wetterstedt’s stuffy apartment, that donation had caught up with him. He couldn’t close his eyes to facts. His father had been a Nazi. One of those who kept quiet about it, didn’t speak openly about their political opinions. It was incomprehensible, but true nevertheless. Lindman now realized why Wetterstedt had asked about his name, and where he came from. He knew something Lindman didn’t know: that his own father was among those Wetterstedt admired above all others. Lindman’s father had been like Molin and Berggren.

He closed the drawer, pushed back the desk lamp, and noticed that his hand was shaking. Then he checked everything meticulously before leaving the room. It was 1:45 A.M. He needed to get away fast, away from what was hidden in Wetterstedt’s desk. He paused in the hall, and listened. Then he opened the door and went out, shutting it behind him as tightly as he could.

At that very moment there came the sound of the front door opening or closing. He stood motionless in the darkness, holding his breath and keeping his ears pricked. No sound of footsteps on the stairs. Someone might be standing down there, hidden in the dark, he thought. He kept on listening, and also checked to make sure he’d remembered to take everything with him. The flashlight, the screwdriver, the jimmy. All present and correct. He went down one floor tentatively. The lunacy of the whole undertaking had now hit him like an ice-cold shower. Not only had he committed a pointless break-in, he’d also unearthed a secret he’d infinitely preferred never to have discovered.

He paused, listened, and then switched on the lights in the staircase. He walked down the last two flights to the front door.

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