Table of Contents Title Title Page Copyright Page The Mango Plant Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Chapter 44 Chapter 45 Afterword Twenty Years of Denial Life in the Time of HIV Worldwide Organisations Working to Fight HIV/Aids Appendix This Memory Book I Die, but the Memory Lives on Henning Mankell I DIE, BUT THE MEMORY LIVES ON A Personal Reflection on Aids Translated from the Swedish by Laurie Thompson This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author's and publisher's rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly. ISBN 9781407017488 Version 1.0 www.randomhouse.co.uk First published with the title Jag dör, men minnet lever by Leopard Förlag, Stockholm 2003 2468 10 97531 The Mango Plant © Henning Mankell, 2003, 2004 Twenty Years of Denial © Anders Wijkman, 2003, 2004 English translation © Laurie Thompson, 2003 Life in the Time of HIV © Rachel Baggaley, 2004 Henning Mankell has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work This electronic book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser First published in Great Britain in 2004 by The Harvill Press Random House 20 Vauxhall Bridge Road London SW1V 2SA Random House Australia (Pty) Limited 20 Alfred Street, Milsons Point, Sydney, New South Wales 2061, Australia Random House New Zealand Limited 18 Poland Road, Glenfield, Auckland 10, New Zealand Random House South Africa (Pty) Limited Endulini, 5A Jubilee Road, Parktown 2193, South Africa The Random House Group Limited Reg. No. 954009 www.randomhouse.co.uk A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library ISBN: 9781407017488 Version 1.0 The Mango Plant 1 One night in June in 2003 I dreamed about dead people in a coniferous forest. Everything in the dream is very clear. The smell of moss, steam rising after rain. But it isn't summer. Fungi are growing around the roots of the trees. The dream landscape is autumnal. September, possibly October. Unseen birds take off from damp branches. My dream is about dead people in a coniferous forest. The faces of the dead people are let into the tree trunks. It is as if I were walking through a gallery of unfinished wood sculptures. Or I am in a studio hastily abandoned by the artist. The faces are contorted, but no screams come from their half-open mouths, only silence. They are black faces, African faces, yet the forest is in Sweden. The dream is unexpected. There again, are not all dreams unexpected? No dreams can be planned nor do they turn up to order. The messages of the night can never be prepared for, nor can they be averted when they do come. These messages often disappear without trace, without their meaning being interpreted. Dreams are like skilful jesters: whimsical, surprising, never quite possible to keep tabs on. The dream fills me with uncertainty. But one thing is unambiguous, on one point there is no uncertainty. The black people whose faces can be made out among the tree trunks have died of Aids. The skin is tightly stretched over the bones of their faces. The dead people are thin, fading away, in great pain. Nowhere is there a trace of calm or resignation. Their screams are silent.