Silenced by Kristina Ohlsson Page B

Vilma, the Migration Agency’s system, to see if she could find a Farah Hajib in their database. Maybe the woman was in Sweden. And maybe she was missing a ring.

When he heard the key in the lock, he felt such a surge of relief that he almost burst into tears. The night had felt interminable and the flat was very cold. The lovely frost patterns on the outsides of the windows were the only aesthetically appealing things in this drab, temporary home.
    Ali was not feeling good. He had had stomach ache and diarrhoea for several days. The air in the flat was thick with cigarette smoke because none of the windows opened, and he sometimes found himself trying not to breathe in too often. He was also feeling the effects of prolonged insomnia. It had only taken a couple of sleepless nights for his senses to start feeling distorted by fatigue. Now, he forgot a thought before he had even finished thinking it, and sometimes felt he was asleep even though he was awake.
    This was not the life he had paid for. Even if he had paid a good deal less than many other people.
    He met them in the hall, wanting to show that he was glad to see them, even so.
    It was early in the day, not much after nine-thirty.
    It was the same woman who had met him at the bus station. She had a man with her. He was short and very blond. It was hard to assess his age, but he looked about sixty. Ali’s spirits fell. He had hoped for someone who spoke Arabic. To his surprise, the man opened his mouth and greeted him in his own language.
    ‘ Salaam aleikum , Ali,’ he said softly. ‘How have you been getting on in this flat?’
    Ali swallowed and cleared his throat several times. It was so long since he had had anyone to talk to.
    ‘It’s fine,’ he said, his voice scratchy.
    He swallowed again and hoped they could not tell that he was lying. It would be a disaster if they thought he was being insolent. The very worst thing would be if they sent him home. That would put him and his family back to square one.
    The man and woman went further into the flat and Ali trailed after them. They sat down in the living room. The woman put a few unopened packets of cigarettes on the coffee table and nodded to Ali. He smiled and tried to express his gratitude. He had had nothing to smoke all night, which had only increased the stress levels in his body.
    ‘Thank you,’ he whispered in Arabic. ‘Thank you.’
    The fair-haired man said something to the woman and she laughed.
    ‘We hope you didn’t think we had deserted you,’ said the man, leaning back on the sofa with a troubled look. ‘It’s just that we have to leave a few days between visits, as I’m sure you understand.’
    When Ali did not reply at once, the man added: ‘It was for your own sake, too, you know.’
    Ali took the first drag at a cigarette, feeling the nicotine start to soothe him.
    ‘It was no problem at all,’ he said quickly, putting the cigarette to his mouth again. ‘I’ve been fine.’
    The man nodded and looked reassured. The woman picked up the briefcase she had with her and put it on her knee. The lock flew open with a quiet click and she opened it.
    ‘We’ve come to discuss the final part of your payment for setting you up here in Sweden,’ the man said with authority. ‘So you can get your residence permit and bring your family over, start a new life. And so you can move to your new home, learn Swedish and look for a job.’
    Ali nodded eagerly. He had been waiting for this ever since he got off the plane.
    The woman passed him a plastic wallet with some papers in it.
    ‘This is the house in Enskede we thought you and your family could have,’ said the man, encouraging Ali to take out the papers. ‘We thought you might like to see it.’
    The pictures showed an anonymous little house joined to some others. The house was white and the lawn in front was very green. There were curtains at the windows. Ali could not help smiling. His family would love living there.
    ‘Do you