Oblivion

50

Erlendur parked in front of the house, marvelling yet again at how it had been allowed to go to rack and ruin. Neither the building nor the surrounding plot showed the slightest evidence of care. Instead, the whole place bore witness to a paralysing apathy, to long years of neglect and decay, as if blighted by death itself. He lit a cigarette. Mensalder was no longer with him. He had dropped him back at the petrol station where his car was parked. Mensalder had been so depressed and subdued that Erlendur hardly heard his goodbye. They had spoken little on the return journey. Having told him everything that mattered, Mensalder had retreated into his own thoughts, doubts and regrets — old enemies that Erlendur suspected would weigh on him more heavily than ever before in the coming days.

Erlendur sat for a considerable time outside the house. A newsflash on the radio announced that the two men lost on the Eyvindarstadir Moors had been found dead. It appeared that one had fallen into a hole in the ice and been unable to climb out again. The other man had tried in vain to help. When the rescue team found him he was lying frozen to death a few feet from the hole, as if he would not for the world have abandoned his friend.

Erlendur cursed the cruelty of fate, the pitiless elements and the men’s cold demise. Then, lighting another cigarette, he turned his attention to what Mensalder had told him about his arrangement to meet Dagbjört and her failure to appear. He could see no movement in the house. No sign of light. The curtains were drawn across the windows. Dagbjört’s house also stood dark, silent and empty, with the ‘For Sale’ notice still in the kitchen window, waiting to be brought back to life. Two houses side by side and a girl on her way to school. Was that as far as Dagbjört had got? To the house next door?

Stubbing out his cigarette, Erlendur stepped out of the car and surveyed the building, then went up to the front door. He knocked, then after a pause knocked again, louder this time. When nobody answered, he turned away and walked into the garden. The illumination from the street light barely reached this far and it took a while for Erlendur’s eyes to adjust. He stood amid the long, withered grass, straining to discern any movement indoors and wondering if Rasmus had gone to bed.

Going over to the back door, he discovered that it was locked but that the lock was old and rotten, like everything else in the house. All it required was a hard jerk to open it. He called Rasmus’s name, and although he received no answer, decided to go in anyway.

His eyes now accustomed to the gloom, he entered what he took to be the dining room. From his previous visit, he remembered that this had faced the garden. Again he called Rasmus’s name, raising his voice this time. He stood still for minute or two, listening, but the only answer was the profound hush inside the house. He groped his way as far as the hall and staircase, with the idea of trying upstairs, then heard a door shutting quietly somewhere off to his left where the garage adjoined the house. All at once another door opened and Rasmus appeared. He seemed preoccupied and didn’t notice Erlendur. Switching on the light, he closed the door carefully behind him and headed for the stairs. Erlendur could hear him muttering under his breath but couldn’t make out the words.

‘Rasmus,’ he said, and although he spoke softly in an attempt not to startle the man too much, Rasmus was so shocked that he emitted a piercing shriek and crashed back into the wall.

‘You didn’t answer the door,’ said Erlendur.

‘Who... who’s there? What...? Thief! Are you a thief?’

‘It’s me — Erlendur.’

‘Oh... is it you... you...?’ Rasmus had been winded by the shock and was so badly shaken that he couldn’t get his bearings. ‘What... what do you mean by giving me such a fright? Why are you persecuting me like this?’

‘I’m sorry, the back door was open,’ said Erlendur. ‘I didn’t mean to frighten you.’

‘Frighten me?’ echoed Rasmus, recovering slightly. ‘The door open — what nonsense. It’s never open. Do you mean to say you broke in? Get out of my house this minute. I don’t want you here. How many times do I have to tell you? How could you do this to me? I’ve never... I’ve never been so shocked in all my life. You have no right to let yourself in here. I want you out. Get out!’

‘Where were you? In the garage? You can’t have heard when I knocked.’

‘I didn’t hear a thing,’ said Rasmus, trying to adopt a more confident manner, running a hand over his greasy mat of hair and standing taller, though his shoulders were still hunched and stooping. ‘Why don’t you do as I ask? Will you please leave?!’

His voice broke as he tried to give force to this order, ending in another high-pitched shriek. Erlendur studied him, this pathetic human being, isolated, imprisoned, afraid, and experienced an odd sense of sympathy.

‘I’d like a proper chat with you about Dagbjört,’ he said. ‘We now know where she was going the morning she vanished and—’

‘Well, I have no interest in discussing that any further with you,’ said Rasmus. ‘You can just get out of here right now.’

‘— and we know the route she took,’ Erlendur continued stubbornly. ‘It wasn’t far and there weren’t many obstacles on the way and there’s every likelihood that she passed your house.’

‘I’m not listening to this,’ said Rasmus. ‘Please leave; I’m going upstairs and I hope I never have to see you again.’

He went to the stairs and had mounted two steps when Erlendur seized his arm and yanked him down again.

‘Stop it,’ said Erlendur sharply. ‘Wake up. It’s over. Finished. Tell me where she is.’

‘No,’ screamed Rasmus. ‘You’re using violence! I have nothing whatever to say to you. Nothing!’

‘Did she want you to stop spying on her? Was that why she came round? Did she threaten to report you? She saw you outside your house, didn’t she? What did you do? Wave to her? Call her over? Invite her in? Lure her inside?’

Erlendur still had hold of his arm but Rasmus had his head averted as if he couldn’t bear the relentless questioning or didn’t dare meet his eye. His body writhed as he tried to tear himself loose, break Erlendur’s grip, evade the merciless interrogation. Erlendur hung on tight, then realised that Rasmus had begun to cry. His body shook with silent sobs and he covered his face with his free hand, overcome with humiliation. Eventually he seemed to grow calmer and even rallied a little. He looked down at Erlendur’s hand which was still gripping his arm.

‘No one’s touched me in all the years since Mama died,’ he whispered.

‘What did you say?’

‘No one,’ breathed Rasmus. ‘No one’s touched me.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Erlendur. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you.’

‘No, it’s fine,’ said Rasmus. ‘You didn’t.’

‘Are you all right?’

‘Yes, I’m all right,’ said Rasmus. ‘I’m all right now. Thank you for coming by. It’s a pity I wasn’t expecting guests. I don’t have anything to offer you.’

‘That doesn’t matter,’ said Erlendur, ‘really, don’t worry about it.’ As on the last occasion, Rasmus seemed to have reverted, with disorientating suddenness, to the role of embarrassed host. He kept making excuses about having no refreshment to offer.

‘I ought to put on some coffee. It’s the very least I could do.’

‘Please don’t—’

‘No, hold me,’ said Rasmus urgently, sensing that Erlendur was about to release his arm. ‘Don’t let go of me. I... I want you to hold me.’

‘Is there somewhere we could sit down?’ asked Erlendur. ‘Do you want a glass of water? Can I get you some water?’

‘No, thank you,’ said Rasmus. ‘I want you to know I’m not a monster. I know that’s what you think, but I’m not. You must never talk to me like that. I’m a person like anyone else. Do you understand? Do you understand what I’m saying? I haven’t always been like—’

‘Of course,’ said Erlendur. ‘I know you’ve had a tough time. You don’t have to tell me. All you need do is tell me about Dagbjört, then it’ll be over. I know you’ll feel better if you own up. I know that deep down that’s what you’ve been wanting all these years. For someone to come here and listen to you and understand what you did.’

‘Nobody understands me. Nobody. No one’ll ever be able to understand. Who I am. What kind of person I am. Nobody understands. Nobody.’

Rasmus ran two fingers over the back of Erlendur’s hand. They were almost fleshless, with long, yellow nails. They caressed his hand, then felt their way up his arm to his cheek. Erlendur didn’t dare move as Rasmus softly stroked his face with his bony fingers, his eyes brimming with tears.

‘I loved her,’ he whispered gently, then laid his own cheek on Erlendur’s chest. ‘I loved her so much. She was my girl. She’s always been my girl. You’re not taking her away from me. You can’t. No one can take her away from me.’

Erlendur stood dumbstruck, not daring to move, with Rasmus pressed to his chest, and listened to him rambling about the girl he loved. He was so thrown that he didn’t see as Rasmus’s fingers reached out to a large pair of scissors that lay on a shelf beside them, grasped them cautiously, then raised them and plunged them deep into Erlendur’s body.