Strange Shores

31

Ezra did not register the question. His thoughts were far away, reliving that fateful graveyard meeting with Jakob and all the repercussions that followed. The encounter could probably never have been avoided, though coincidence had decided the time and place. Until that day it had loomed menacingly, as inevitable as death itself.

Ezra had broken off in mid-sentence. The cat prowled into the kitchen and stared suspiciously at Erlendur before deciding it was safe to climb into its basket.

Erlendur put his question for the third time and was finally rewarded with a reaction. Ezra looked up from his reverie. ‘What did you say?’

‘What happened next?’ asked Erlendur.

‘He invited me round to his house.’

‘Did you go?’

Ezra did not answer.

‘Did you go?’ asked Erlendur again.

‘There was an ugly note in his voice when he said it,’ Ezra continued at last. ‘But then Jakob was an ugly customer. A despicable man.’

Jakob took out a packet of cigarettes and offered it to Ezra who refused.

‘Still don’t smoke?’ Jakob asked.

‘Never got the hang of it,’ replied Ezra, trying to smile.

‘I buy them from the British. Pall Mall. Bloody good fags. Stjáni’s kicked the bucket — I expect you’ve heard.’

‘Yes, I’d heard. The funeral’s tomorrow, isn’t it?’

‘Yeah. I’ve got to be done here by then. We’re lucky with the weather.’

‘Mm,’ said Ezra, squinting up at the sun. ‘Well, I’d best make tracks.’ He turned with the intention of continuing on his way.

‘Luckier than my darling Matthildur was,’ remarked Jakob.

Ezra froze. ‘What did you say?’

‘It was good to see you,’ said Jakob, with a note of dismissal, but Ezra did not budge.

‘What was that you said about Matthildur?’

It was not his words that gave Ezra pause. They were commonplace, of no special significance. Jakob had every right to express such a sentiment. But it was his tone that made Ezra prick up his ears. It was not difficult to interpret, perhaps because he was alert to every nuance regarding Matthildur, especially where Jakob was concerned. There was no question: Jakob did not even attempt to disguise it. His tone was accusatory.

‘There’s so much I want to get off my chest about Matthildur,’ continued Jakob, with the same note in his voice. ‘I’d like to have talked to you before but I get the feeling you’ve been avoiding me.’

‘No, I haven’t,’ protested Ezra hastily — perhaps too hastily. He wondered if Jakob would pick up on his agitation, his accelerated heartbeat.

‘Well, that’s how it seems. All those times you were off sick. Then you suddenly quit the boat and go and get a job on shore. As if I’d offended you. As if we weren’t mates any more.’

‘You haven’t offended me,’ Ezra assured him. ‘Of course we’re still mates.’

Was Jakob deliberately turning the tables on him? It was Ezra who had done Jakob wrong: he and Matthildur had gone behind Jakob’s back, betrayed his friendship and his trust. Perhaps keeping his distance had been a mistake. It was true he had been steering clear of Jakob. He had never once got in touch with his friend and had offered him no support after Matthildur went missing. He had quite simply vanished from Jakob’s life, just as she had. On reflection, such behaviour was bound to have aroused suspicion.

‘Well, that’s a relief to hear,’ said Jakob.

‘What did you want to say about Matthildur?’ asked Ezra.

‘Come again?’

‘You said you had a lot to get off your chest.’

‘That’s right,’ said Jakob. ‘I was thinking of holding a memorial service or — well, you can’t really call it a funeral, she has to be officially pronounced dead first. And that can take ages. They have to make absolutely sure in circumstances like these, you see? But she’ll never be found. Not after this long.’

‘It’s not out of the question,’ objected Ezra. ‘When the thaw comes.’

‘And there’s another matter I haven’t told anyone about. I don’t know how much I should say. It’s. . a bit awkward. I don’t really know how to put it or who to talk to. There are so few people I can trust and. .’

‘What is it?’

‘It’s about Matthildur,’ said Jakob. ‘She’d been rather distant before she vanished.’

‘Distant?’

‘Yes, partly because of personal stuff. You know, the kind of problems that crop up in any marriage. Maybe you’ll understand one day, if you ever get a woman of your own, Ezra.’

Again, Ezra detected that tone. And the choice of words: ‘a woman of your own’.

‘And partly for other reasons,’ Jakob continued. His words were followed by a significant pause.

‘What do you mean, other reasons?’ asked Ezra at last, when it seemed Jakob did not intend to continue.

‘I don’t have any proof — nothing concrete, that is. But then I don’t suppose men in my position ever do until the evidence is shoved under their nose. Right under their nose — you get me?’

‘Men in your position?’

‘Cuckolds, Ezra. I’m talking about cuckolds. Do you know what that means? To be a cuckold?’

Ezra was speechless.

Jakob flicked away his cigarette. ‘It’s when someone sleeps with your wife behind your back. Other people might be aware, but you, no, you’re completely clueless. Then one day your wife decides to up and leave, just like that, like it’s none of her husband’s bloody business.’

Ezra was trying to hide his turmoil but had no idea if he was successful. He wanted to run away but was not sure his legs would carry him; his knees had turned to jelly. He was completely unprepared for this conversation and could not think how on earth to react.

‘Are you saying that Matthildur. .?’ Ezra could not finish the sentence.

‘I have my suspicions, that’s all. They prey on my mind, day in, day out, but I’ll probably never find out the truth. Not after what’s happened. Not now.’

Jakob ground the cigarette butt under his heel.

‘No, she certainly won’t be found now,’ he said, his eyes fixed on Ezra who again read blame in the other man’s gaze, his words, his entire manner.

‘Come round and see me,’ Jakob said. ‘There’s something you should probably know.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Drop by,’ said Jakob. ‘I have to finish up here. Then we’ll have a chat. I’m usually alone at home in the evenings.’

Ezra rocked in his chair, becoming distressed again. The memory was still so sharply etched. He could recall every word Jakob had said.

‘I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to go and see him but of course I couldn’t admit that, so I slunk off with my tail between my legs.’

Erlendur merely watched the old man. He noticed how choked with emotion he was, how gruelling it was for him to relive this. It may have been ancient history but it had shaped his life, perhaps more than he realised. It took a stranger, a detached onlooker, to recognise the paralysing impact of those long-ago events.

‘Didn’t you find the conversation a bit odd?’ asked Erlendur eventually.

‘I did at first,’ said Ezra. ‘I was confused. But it dawned on me later that he must know — must know about me and Matthildur. He dropped all those hints because he knew everything there was to know. Because she’d told him!’

‘Did you go and see him?’

‘Yes,’ said Ezra, speaking almost to himself. ‘In the end. I went to see him. And found out the whole truth.’