Free Daniel by Henning Mankell

down with the baggage, just as he had once bound Amos and the other ox-driver to the wagon wheels. The boy pulled and tore at the rope, and his screams cut through Bengler like knives, but he couldn’t change his mind now.
    Andersson had come out onto the steps and was watching the commotion.
    â€˜I see you’re leaving,’ he shouted. ‘A quiet departure. I just don’t understand why you have to torment the boy. What has he done to you?’
    Bengler rushed towards Andersson. Now he had no more fear.
    â€˜I intend to save him from you.’

    Then he threw himself on Andersson. They rolled about in the sand. Andersson had met the attack with a roar. Around them stood black people silently watching the white men fighting like madmen.
    Then it was over. Andersson knocked Bengler to the ground with a punch to the stomach. It took several minutes before he caught his breath.
    â€˜Leave now. But come back and tell me how the boy died.’
    Andersson turned and went into the house. In the wagon the boy continued screaming and tearing at the rope. Bengler wiped the blood off his face and called to the ox-drivers.
    The black men stood silent.
    For a moment Bengler thought he had made a mistake.
    But he quickly dispensed with the thought.
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    The boy didn’t stop crying until late in the afternoon. He fell completely silent suddenly, without warning, and closed his eyes with his mouth shut tight.
    Will I ever understand what he’s thinking? Walking beside the wagon, Bengler watched him for a long time. Then he loosened the rope. The boy didn’t move. He knows that I wish him only the best, thought Bengler. It will take time. But already he is beginning to understand.
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    When they reached Cape Town a few weeks later, Bengler heard that Wackman was dead. He had had a stroke at his brothel, which had now been taken over by a man from Belgium.
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    Daniel had stopped shrieking. He didn’t speak and never smiled, but he ate the food Bengler gave him. Yet Bengler was still uncertain whether he might try to escape again, so he always tied him up at night and kept the end of the rope wound around his own wrist.
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    In early July they boarded a French freighter, a barque, that was bound for Le Havre. The captain, whose name was Michaux, promised that there would be no difficulty in finding a ship there to take them to Sweden. The money that Bengler got for the wagon and the oxen paid for their passage.

    Late in the evening of 7 July 1877, they set sail from Cape Town. Bengler was afraid that Daniel would throw himself overboard, the way the slaves used to do, so he made sure he was tied up when they were standing by the railing.
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    Daniel kept his eyes closed.
    Bengler wondered what he was seeing behind those eyelids of his.

CHAPTER 7
    The ship was called the Chansonette and had come most recently from Goa on the Indian peninsula. Steamy aromas of mysterious spices that Bengler had never smelled before wafted up from the holds. When he took a promenade on deck he discovered some strange iron fittings screwed into the planks. At first he couldn’t identify them other than as vague images from his memory. Then he remembered that he had once seen them in a comprehensive English book of plates that illustrated in detail the instruments and tools with which slaves were held captive during the journey to the West Indies. So he found himself on a former slave ship. It aroused a violent discomfort in him. The scrubbed deck was suddenly filled with blood that smelled stronger than the spices loaded in sacks and barrels down in the holds. He looked at Daniel, whom he was leading on a rope. So that Daniel wouldn’t tear himself loose in one of the quick and always unexpected lunges he made at irregular intervals, Bengler had designed a harness for him. He had explained to the captain that Daniel was his adopted son and was going with him to Europe. Michaux hadn’t asked any