Strange Shores

34

The night he had pretended to be staying over in Reydarfjördur Jakob had waited up for Matthildur. He had come home late that evening and, noticing a light on in the kitchen, decided to lurk near the house. He had begun to suspect her of wanting to get even with him. Over the last few months her behaviour had changed: she had become colder and more distant, showed little interest in him, hardly bothered to answer when he spoke to her.

It had taken him a long time and a great deal of effort to persuade Matthildur that he had done nothing wrong; he maintained that he barely knew her sister and had been completely unaware that they were related; he had no part in the child she claimed was his. Matthildur had seemed to accept his explanation, albeit reluctantly, helped by the fact that she and Ingunn were not close. He took care never to refer slightingly to her sister, whom he remembered all too well from Djúpivogur. He had slept with her, but, not content with that, she had pursued him relentlessly until he told her to get lost; he was not interested in her.

Seeing the kitchen light go out, he wondered if the simple trap he had prepared for his wife had misfired. He was ready to abandon all hope of catching her out when he noticed the back door opening. Matthildur stole out into the garden and melted into the night. He followed at a discreet distance until she reached Ezra’s place, where she tapped on the door. Ezra opened it and she slipped inside. The house was in darkness. Jakob knew the layout of the rooms. After a lengthy interval, he crept over to the building and peered warily through the windows, one by one, until he reached the bedroom. In the dim light he could just glimpse the shapes of two bodies writhing on the bed.

The rage did not come immediately. Instead he coldly registered the proof of what he had suspected. He should not have been surprised that it was Ezra’s bed she sought out. He was a frequent visitor to their house, worked with Jakob, had no wife or children. So far as Jakob knew he had never been with a woman. Whenever he had pressed Ezra on the subject, his replies had been evasive. He had tried to tease him about it during the long days when the fishing was slow, but Ezra had refused to rise to it. Jakob regarded him as a good friend: the man he trusted with his life at sea.

No, the rage did not come straight away. Quite the opposite. He left Ezra’s house and walked home slowly, more deeply preoccupied than burning with resentment. It did not occur to him to burst in on them and drag Matthildur away or attack Ezra. In some strange way he felt such behaviour would be beneath his dignity. He had no intention of crawling to them, begging for any favours. He didn’t want to hear any grovelling excuses; didn’t want to listen to any bloody whining.

Instead, he waited up. He took a seat in the sitting room, and the later it became, the longer Matthildur spent in Ezra’s bed, the more his anger grew. In his mind he went over and over a hundred different scenes of what he would say, how he would act, and all the time his fury intensified. A wave of heat passed through him and he realised what it meant when they described a person as burning with rage. The blood seemed to boil in his veins. He leapt to his feet, paced the floor, then dropped into a chair again, trying to get a grip on himself, but more furious accusations erupted inside him against Matthildur for betraying him, for betraying their marriage, their life together. Springing to his feet again, he stormed around the room. Then there was Ezra. He didn’t know how he would achieve it but he would make sure that Ezra would remember this betrayal for the rest of his life.

He was in such a frenzy of hatred that when she finally crept home the following morning, quietly closing the door behind her, he did not hear. She spotted him immediately and nearly jumped out of her skin. As soon as their eyes met she realised he knew. Quick as a flash, she turned and tried to open the door to run away to Ezra and to safety, but he caught her and knocked her down.

‘Where do you think you’re running to?’ he whispered, hoarse with venom, slamming the door.

Matthildur tried to get up but he prevented her. Straddling her stomach, he put his strong workman’s hands round her slender neck and squeezed, shaking her with all his might, so her head banged on the floor.

‘To him?’ Jakob snarled. ‘Were you running to him? Do you really think he can help you now?’

Matthildur never managed to utter a single word in the face of his overpowering rage and a tirade of abuse. He tightened his grip until finally he sensed her body go limp. Her head dangled, strangely heavy and lifeless, and hit the floor with a dull thud. Loosening his hold, he stared down at her motionless body, oblivious to the passing of time. Little by little his blind frenzy abated and he came back to his senses. Rising to his feet, he looked at Matthildur, panting as if he had been running a race. At first he did not fully comprehend what he had done. He spoke to her and prodded her with his foot. Then gradually it dawned that she was dead. Her head lay at an odd angle. He was not sure whether he had strangled her or broken her neck. All he knew was that she was no longer alive.

In a state of shock he felt for a chair and sat down, trying to catch his breath. He didn’t know how much later it was when the roar of the wind roused him from his trance. Going to the window, he looked up at the moors and began to work out a plan.

‘Murderer!’ exclaimed Ezra, jumping up and stumbling away from Jakob in revulsion. ‘I didn’t want to believe it. I didn’t believe you could do a thing like that. That you had it in you.’

Jakob regarded him steadily. ‘It’s your fault, Ezra,’ he said coolly. ‘If you hadn’t stolen her from me, she’d still be alive.’

‘That’s a damned lie!’ Striding to the door, Ezra flung it open.

‘Don’t do anything stupid,’ shouted Jakob after him. ‘You’ll only make it worse for yourself. For yourself, I said, Ezra!’

Ezra slammed the door behind him. Jakob sat unmoved in his chair. He pictured Matthildur’s body on the floor and remembered how heavy she had felt when he lifted her. He waited, his eyes on the door. After a considerable time, it opened again and Ezra reappeared. Stepping into the house, he closed it carefully behind him.

‘Why did you tell me?’ he asked, walking towards Jakob. ‘Why confess to me? How can I make it worse for myself? And why the hell are you so calm?’

Jakob’s face wore an ugly smirk. ‘You pathetic bastard,’ he said.

‘What have you done?’

‘It would be the easiest thing in the world to pin it on you, Ezra.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘If you ever tell anyone it’ll be worse for you,’ said Jakob. ‘I’ll accuse you of murdering her. I’ll tell them about your antics and how Matthildur was planning to end your sordid little affair, how she’d been anxious because she knew you’d make trouble. She was going to do it when she got back from Reydarfjördur but now I’m not sure she even made it as far as the moor. Maybe she ran into you and gave you the news, and you turned on her and beat her to death.’

Ezra gaped at Jakob. ‘Nobody would believe you,’ he said in a low voice.

‘What about you, Ezra? Who’d believe you?’

Ezra eventually managed to force out the question: ‘Where is she?’

‘None of your business.’

‘How could you do that to her?’

‘No, Ezra, how could you do that to her?’ said Jakob. ‘It was your doing. You’d better remember that next time you try and steal another man’s wife.’

‘Where is she?’

‘Get out.’

‘Tell me what you did with her.’

‘Get out — I’ve told you all I’m going to.’

‘Tell me where she is, you piece of shit!’ shouted Ezra.

‘Out!’ yelled Jakob, standing. The unnatural self-possession had gone. ‘Get the hell out of here and never let me see your fucking face again!’

Suddenly Ezra had charged him and the two men crashed to the floor, Ezra raining down blows on Jakob, who tried in return to claw his face. They thrashed to and fro until Jakob finally managed to get the upper hand. He landed a vicious punch in Ezra’s face.

‘Remember that, you shit,’ he hissed breathlessly. ‘It’s all because of you. And don’t you ever forget it, you bastard!’

He stood up. Ezra clambered to his feet, wiping the blood from his mouth and feeling his jaw tenderly. His whole face ached.

‘You won’t get away with it,’ he said.

‘You’re a joke,’ said Jakob. ‘Get out of here. Go on. Fuck off.’

‘You won’t,’ whispered Ezra again, backing out of the door. ‘You’ll never get away with it.’