A Treacherous Paradise by Henning Mankell Page A

waiting for finally emerged from the edge of the forest. Now it was time for her to board the ship full-time, it was Hanna’s turn to get one. She had joined the crew, and had signed a contract and an insurance agreement.
    By then she had been taught all the things she needed to know by the old cook Mörth, who couldn’t resist groping her but stopped immediately when she thrust his hand away. Then he would wait until the following day before trying again. Even if she disliked the fact that he wouldn’t leave her alone, he really did his best to teach her how to prepare good food for the crew. He urged her to keep track of essential stores, and which of the harbours they visited would be most suitable for restocking. He made a map and drew up a list for her, and she realized that without Mörth she would never have been able to prepare herself properly for the voyage.
    Forsman took her to one side after he had presented her with the hymn book. He seemed embarrassed, almost emotional, as if he had been drinking. Which she knew he hadn’t been.
    ‘I hope all goes well for you,’ he said. ‘May God watch over all you do. But I’m also on call if needs be, I promise you that.’
    Her farewells to the stone-built house and its occupants were short. But Berta and she had made a pact: it was holy, they assured each other, and must not be broken. They had vowed to write to each other until they met again. They had learnt to read and write together, and now it had become clear that there was a purpose behind it all. And if it turned out that Hanna never returned to Sundsvall, at least they would be able to meet in the letters they exchanged.
    Forsman accompanied her to the ship. A man in uniform she had never seen before was waiting for them at the top of the gangplank. He was young, barely more than four or five years older than she was. He was wearing a peaked cap and a dark blue tunic, was fair-haired, and stood at ease with a burnt-out pipe in his hand.
    Hanna stepped out on to the gangplank. When she arrived on board, the unknown man was waiting for her.
    She curtseyed, then regretted it. Why on earth should she curtsey to one of the sailors?
    She heard heavy steps behind her. It was Forsman, coming on board with the captain.
    ‘Third Mate Lundmark,’ said Captain Svartman. ‘This is our cook, Hanna Renström. If you look after her well, perhaps you will get some decent food on the voyage.’
    Lundmark nodded. His smile made Hanna feel insecure. Why did he look at her so intently?
    But now she knew who he was, at least.
    There was a light breeze blowing over Sundsvall’s harbour that April day. She closed her eyes and listened to the noise of the wind and the waves. The forest, she thought. The waves sound just like it did up there in the mountains when there was a wind blowing. Irrespective of whether the wind was cold or warm.
    She suddenly longed to be with Elin and her brother and sisters. But there was no going back, just now there was only this steamship with its cargo of aromatic, newly sawn planks, about to set off for Australia.
    ‘Lars Johan Jakob Antonius Lundmark,’ said a voice right next to her. It was the third mate who had stayed behind while the captain and Forsman headed for Svartman’s cabin. ‘Lars after my father,’ he continued. ‘Johan after my paternal grandfather, Jakob after my elder brother who died, Antonius after the doctor who once cured my father’s blood poisoning. Do you know who I am now?’
    ‘I’m called Hanna,’ she said. ‘I only have one name. That has always been enough for me.’
    She turned on her heel and went to her own cabin. Apart from Captain Svartman, she was the only member of the crew who had a cabin to herself. She sat down on the bunk bed with the hymn book in her hand. When she opened it up, she found two shiny one-krona coins inside.
    She went back on deck. The mate was no longer there. She stood by the railing until Forsman emerged from the captain’s