DURING THE EVENING CHRISTINA’S MOOD IMPROVED. ADMITTEDLY, Olof, the cook, was a bit difficult to handle and he pinched Betty’s bottom a little too often, but he cooked wonderful food and the guests seemed to be enjoying themselves. Christina, in her yellow outfit, floated between the tables, smiled and asked the guests if the food tasted good. As the hours passed, she became all the jollier and forgot she was having a white week with no alcohol. When Olof got out a bottle of champagne and poured drinks for the staff, she quickly took a glass and toasted. She loved the light bubbly drink from France and on an evening like this one couldn’t help but celebrate. After one glass she realized that she should give all the guests free champagne, and after two glasses she realized it was good form to go around and toast all the guests.
Champagne bottles were put in buckets of ice and it wasn’t long before Christina turned up with her glass, toasted the guests and entertained one and all with appropriate literary quotes. Indeed, she was in an excellent mood and she rounded off the quotes with various words of wisdom, one after the other.
“If you want something you’ve never had, you must do something you’ve never done,” or “Doing nothing also means doing something,” she recited and smiled sweetly before moving on to the next table. She worked her way systematically from the bow to the stern, and when she had got halfway she started mixing up all her literary quotes, confusing children’s classics with patriotic poetry. Then she started singing too; a song about walking in the forest was just right in these surroundings, she thought. She became all the jollier and more exhilarated for each toast.
When she had got halfway through the dining area she realized she had forgotten the sound in the loudspeakers. So she discreetly took Brains to one side, dragged him across to the sound system over behind the bar, and gave him the list of bird songs that she had compiled. They were sound files and were streamed and that was a bit new for him, but after a few attempts the beautiful song of a blue tit filled the dining room and the illusion of forest and nature made Christina shut her eyes in delight. It all went well until Brains accidentally used the sound file with mating calls for birds. When that started, a horde of noisy seagulls gathered up on deck and it took a while before he realized what had caused it. (Luckily, most birds were in South Africa or even further south at this time of year, otherwise the restaurant might have ended up as a paradise for lustful birds.)
“Oh Brains, you are wonderful,” said Christina when he had got the sound files properly sorted, and she raised her champagne glass yet again. “A toooast to you!”
Martha, too, went among the guests—but with a glass of nonalcoholic bubbly in her hand—and did what she could to keep the joyful atmosphere at a high level. A stylish lady with a white hat and a flowery dress had sat down in one of the stalls together with a younger woman. The lady in the dress was in her nineties and her hands shook. The younger woman helped to cut up the food on her plate.
“Welcome to our restaurant,” said Martha.
“Thank you,” said the lady. “It is so exciting here!”
She pointed at a fox which could be glimpsed just to her left. The animal—in Martha’s opinion rather moth-eaten—had been given a red rosette in honor of the day and looked really rather peculiar sticking its nose out behind a tree trunk. Martha took a deep breath. Oh goodness, if she had seen that in time, she would at least have removed the rosette.
“Yes, the head waiter, our Christina, is clever at decorating and has had total freedom. She wanted to do something different,” Martha explained. “And the animals teach us a lot about nature. But the plan is to change the interior now and then.”
“How bold,” said the lady. “But I don’t know if I can come here so often. The council home care service won’t let us go out any more.”
“What did you say?”
“The council and the firms they contract are cutting down on everything and if my daughter didn’t help me sometimes, I would never be able to leave my apartment. But Anne-Marie here is so kind. Besides, she works in nursing too and she understands what it is like for us elderly.”
The daughter nodded, smiled at Martha and cut up the lasagna into small portions for her mother. The old lady’s hands still shook and she probably had Parkinson’s. When she had finished eating, she wiped her mouth with the green napkin and went on:
“Yes, it really has gone too far. Those council officials, the ones who decide how much help we need, have made a list of standards detailing how long it should take to look after somebody. And, you know, the home care givers don’t have many minutes to do their job with each person who has been assigned to them.”
“A list of standards?”
“Yes. The home care personnel now have a list of what they should do and how long it should take.”
“But won’t it take different amounts of time depending on the circumstances?” Martha asked.
“Yes, of course, but now they have decided how many minutes it takes to go on an errand, to make a bed, to shower somebody, to dress them, to clean, to help at mealtimes and so on. And now . . .” The old lady held up her fist in front of her. “And now those idiots have reduced those times even more. Anything to save money. I only get five minutes a week to put my nightgown on.”
Martha felt a rotten feeling inside her. Five minutes? So they were trying to save money on old people who needed support and care? Could that really be legal? Was the council trying to apply business methods like many of those private entrepreneurs that they contracted nowadays?
“They must have lost their minds on the council!”
“Yes, isn’t it crazy! Now I can only shower for a quarter of an hour every week. Who are the dirty old men who decide this? And eating—well, that can’t take more than ten minutes. But you must have time to chew the food too!”
Martha had to hold on to the edge of the table to support herself. She knew, of course, that things were bad, but she got just as upset every time she heard someone describe what was going on. What sort of people were they who could think up such a system? The venture capitalists who cut corners and lowered standards and then transferred the profits to the West Indies, she had heard about them. But were councils now doing the same? The old lady had more to say:
“You know what? Those bureaucrats who decide, they don’t have a clue as to what it is like to be old. They have worked out that we only need five minutes to go to the bathroom. But by then we wouldn’t even have got our clothes off. Do they think we have flies that can be opened and closed with a remote control?” The old lady sighed and wiped her brow with a little white handkerchief. “You know what? I feel so sorry for all the employees who would so like to help us but are not allowed to. If they stay longer than the designated time, then they are reprimanded.”
“So they get reprimanded for being kind and friendly?” Martha went pale and was now finding it hard to breathe.
“Are you all right?” wondered the old lady.
“Just a drop in my blood pressure,” answered Martha and she sank down into a chair. She was close to tears. What was happening in society? Those in charge seemed to have completely lost contact with reality. A bank robbery now and then wouldn’t help much. No, it was a question of basic values—ways of thinking in modern society must be radically changed. Attitudes toward people had become so weird nowadays. Yes, the municipal councils that played at being business enterprises and managers who only cared about profit . . . had they forgotten that real live people were actually affected by their boardroom decisions? Martha opened her waist bag and felt for her asthma spray. Not until she had used the inhaler a few times did she have enough energy to get up again.
“You know, care assistants who work in home care have a monthly wage which is the equivalent to what managing directors have per hour,” she said. “Per hour!”
“Yes, I know,” sighed the old lady.
“It seems that many company directors and politicians have lost touch with reality. Nowadays it pays better to take care of things than of people. It can’t go on like that. I want to try to change that!”
“Ah, now you are going to change society again,” said Rake, who happened to pass by just then. “Good luck to you!”
Martha ignored Rake and turned again to the lady and her daughter.
“The restaurant is treating you to dinner this evening,” she said. “And when you leave, don’t forget the goody bag by the exit, a present that you can open when you get home.” She reached out for the champagne bottle and filled their glasses. “Cheers, and a warm welcome to our restaurant!”
She went on to the other tables, greeted the guests and made sure that they were having a good time. As all those she spoke to praised the food and seemed very satisfied, Martha regained her good mood and didn’t even become angry when she heard the strange birdsong. Christina had her ideas, but the food and the interior decoration seemed to have worked well, so they would have to put up with singing storks or whatever they were. When Martha finally steered her steps in the direction of the coatroom, she was tired, hot and rather sweaty. She needed a breath of fresh air to cope with the rest of the evening. But when she reached the coatroom she stopped abruptly. There stood a beefy, muscular man she had never seen before. He was wearing a leather jacket, his hair was cropped very short and his black eyes were frightening. She was just about to ask him to leave when she felt a hand on her shoulder. It was Johan Tanto, the Weasel.
“You must meet Kenta, my friend,” Tanto said. “He’s the one who looks after the coatroom. The coatroom fees, that is.”
Martha stared. The mafia and motorcycle gangs were known for confiscating restaurants’ incomes from coatrooms. But here? Among a gang of pensioners on a barge? In a fury she took a step forward.
“Now listen to me, you turnip, pack your bags and get the hell out of here!”
Then she unbuckled her waist bag, swung it around her head and, with a hard centrifugal swing, slammed it directly into Kenta’s crotch.