Reykjavik Nights

22

Hannibal and his brother had kept busy throughout the war, working first for the British, then the American occupying forces. They made a decent living building army camps and laying the foundations for Reykjavík’s airport and new road system. Hannibal wasn’t good with money. He was lively and fun, generous; he lived for the moment. His elder brother couldn’t have been more different: clean-living, careful with money to the point of being tight-fisted, already setting cash aside for the future. He was forever lecturing Hannibal about taking better care of his earnings but his words fell on deaf ears.

Rebekka, considerably younger than her brothers, was still at primary school. Hannibal was her favourite. He took more of an interest in her, spoke to her like an equal, invited her along to the cinema, bought her presents and treats, helped with her homework. She had little to do with her older brother. Their relationship was very different; he never really concerned himself with her at all.

Her elder brother had left home and was taking a carpentry course with an eye to starting up a building firm with two of his friends. Not only that, he had acquired a flashy American car through his army contacts and was engaged to a girl from Hafnarfjördur. They had met after the war when he was working on a new processing plant for her father, who owned a fishery in the town. She had a younger sister called Helena, and they were very close. One evening the brothers took the sisters on a double date to the cinema. It was the first time Hannibal had set eyes on Helena. From then on they were inseparable.

Helena was attracted to everything about Hannibal that Rebekka knew and loved: his generosity, his helpfulness, the kindness he always showed his sister, the happy-go-lucky nature that at times bordered on recklessness, yet made him carefree and sunny. He was never bad-tempered or disagreeable; he would tackle problems with a smile instead of getting angry. Not that he was by any means a pushover. On the contrary, he was tough and knew his own mind; he had the kind of self-confidence that inspired respect and attracted friends.

Helena and Hannibal. Soon they were only ever mentioned in the same breath. She shared his vitality and the admirable quality of never getting worked up over small things, always looking on the bright side. At the time they met she was studying to be a nurse. They had been together only six months when they heard that their brother and sister were planning to hold their wedding that summer. Hannibal, who had been thinking along the same lines, needed no further encouragement. He went straight out and purchased a plain gold ring on credit from the jeweller’s in Hafnarfjördur, persuaded Helena to accompany him on a long walk out to the Álftanes peninsula, and proposed as the sun was sinking below the mountains in the west. A large double wedding was held, with speeches, good-luck songs and dancing until dawn.

Their honeymoon was brief. Helena had just finished her course and started work at St Jósef’s Hospital when the accident occurred.

From time to time Hannibal used to borrow his brother’s car. He had learned to drive a lorry during the war and later passed his test, though he had never bought his own vehicle. His brother was somewhat reluctant to lend him his car, but on this occasion he was out of town and his wife was happy to let Hannibal take it. It was a beautiful summer evening and Hannibal wanted to go for a drive with Helena. They stopped off at his parents’ house in Laugarnes to help his father with a small job first. When they got back in the car, Rebekka was standing in the drive, looking a little forlorn in her summer dress, so he asked if she’d like to go with them. Beaming, she jumped into the car. Hannibal was always so nice to her.

They drove down to Hafnarfjördur where they bought chocolate and vanilla ice creams and enjoyed them while chatting and giggling about some story Hannibal had heard at work. Helena was in the front seat, smiling, quick to laugh. Rebekka was in the back, savouring her treat as she listened to them talk about their dream of buying a place in Hafnarfjördur. At the time they were renting a small flat in the oldest part of town, but it was rumoured that work would soon begin on a new residential estate out here at Kinnar.

They cruised down to the harbour. Though he enjoyed being behind the wheel, Hannibal was not a very experienced driver. He was inclined to get carried away, and more than once Helena had to ask him to slow down. Now, his mind on other things, he drove out onto one of the jetties and realised belatedly that he was going too fast. He slammed on the brakes but the docks were slippery from the recent catch and the car skidded on fish slurry. Hannibal was unable to regain control and before they knew it they were plunging over the edge into the harbour.

The car sank straight to the bottom of the cold sea. They had been driving with the front windows rolled down and the icy water poured in. When they hit the surface, Rebekka had banged her head violently, first on the side window, then on the roof, and blacked out. Hannibal could see her floating, unconscious, in the back. Helena had cut her head open on the windscreen. Stunned by the blow, she had slid under the dashboard and was now jammed against the seat.

Hannibal knew he had to act fast, but it dawned on him he could only take one of them up to the surface at a time. The other would have to wait. He lost precious seconds coming to terms with this horrific dilemma, taking in his wife trapped under the dashboard, Rebekka motionless in the back seat. Helena tried to free herself and reached out for his hand.

The seconds ticked by.

Finally, Hannibal grabbed his sister and kicked his way out through the side window, pulling her after him. Her summer dress caught on the door and he tugged in a frenzy until the fabric tore and she was free.

More precious seconds had gone to waste.

He gasped as he broke the surface. There was no one around. No one had witnessed the accident. He trod water, holding Rebekka’s limp body in his arms, yelling for help, then in desperation he struggled over to one of the struts supporting the jetty. There was a thin rope hanging there which he worked under his sister’s arms; then he hastily lashed her to the piling with her head above water.

Having paused to check she was still breathing, he left her suspended there, took a gasp and dived down to the car again. He was uninjured, apart from a cut on his head and a sharp pain in his side. He swam with every ounce of his strength back down to the window, slid inside and saw that Helena was still caught between the dashboard and seat. The hand that had reached out to him in despair was now floating lifeless. He yanked it, but Helena did not stir. He grasped her shoulders, straining with all his might to lift her. At last he succeeded in freeing one of her legs and soon the other followed. He shoved her out of the window before him.

By then he had been under too long himself and started gulping seawater; yet he never lost his grip on Helena. Just as he thought he would never make it, he surfaced, coughing, spluttering, his chest heaving. Holding Helena’s head above water, he swam with her to where Rebekka was dangling unconscious from the post.

Out of his mind with terror, he screamed for help. Screamed at Helena in his arms. Screamed at Rebekka. Screamed in despair to God, but nobody heard his cries.

In the end, he swam with Helena to a narrow iron ladder, heaved her over his shoulder and began to climb. Every step was sheer torment. There was no time. His immersion in the numbing cold had taken its toll and he was shivering uncontrollably when he finally made it up onto the jetty, laid Helena on the ground and started pumping the seawater out of her. He pressed down on her chest again and again, calling out her name, talking to her, telling her everything would be all right, comforting her, shouting at her to wake up. In between he yelled repeatedly for help, but nobody heard.

Despite the water spurting from her mouth he knew he was too late, though he didn’t want to admit it to himself.

He knew she couldn’t be saved.

Eventually, unable to leave Rebekka in the sea any longer, he dived back into the harbour, swam over and released her from the rope. She was beginning to come round as he carried her up the ladder and laid her beside his wife.

He resumed his battle to revive Helena. Then, finally accepting defeat, he knelt exhausted at her side, hid his face in her lifeless breast and wept.