Strange Shores

8

As Erlendur listened to the old man, he remembered what Hrund had said about him living alone all his life. Erlendur could have guessed as much as soon as he entered the house. The signs of a recluse, which he knew only too well, revealed themselves in the few, spartan possessions, the worn furnishings and lack of ornaments, the absence of everything required to make a place homely. At that moment a cat wended its way into the kitchen and rubbed against Erlendur’s leg, before slipping under the table and jumping onto Ezra’s lap where it made itself comfortable, observing them curiously.

‘So people didn’t approve of Jakob?’ Erlendur said.

‘No, I don’t suppose they did,’ Ezra replied hesitantly, stroking the cat absent-mindedly. ‘There was gossip, as I said. It wasn’t taken seriously. . well, not too seriously, but mud sticks and the rumours dogged him until he died. And still do, I gather,’ he added, glancing up.

‘What did you think?’

‘Me? I don’t know what difference my opinion would make.’

‘Weren’t you friends?’

‘Yes, we were.’

‘Was she going to leave him?’

‘I wouldn’t know.’

‘Did you ask him?’

‘No,’ said Ezra. ‘And I don’t know if anyone else did either, because there was no reason to.’

‘I’ve heard it said that she used to haunt him,’ Erlendur continued. ‘Have you any idea what they meant by that?’

‘Well, that’s a load of rubbish, obviously. You’d have to believe in ghosts for a start. An educated man like yourself would hardly do that. Though it’s true he wasn’t the same afterwards. He changed — started avoiding people. Maybe he felt responsible somehow. Maybe he was haunted by her memory. But the idea that she appeared as a ghost in their house and then dragged him to his death in the shipwreck is utter nonsense. Nothing but old wives’ tales.’

‘You mean people implied she caused the shipwreck?’

‘That was one story, yes. You can judge for yourself how much truth there was in that.’

Erlendur nodded again. He knew that despite the popularity of such yarns, few genuinely believed them. They were part of the old Icelandic storytelling tradition that had peopled the landscape with ghosts, elves, trolls, magic stones and unseen beings, linking man to his environment with invisible bonds. In the past people had lived more closely with nature and their lives had depended on it. Respect for the land and the forces latent within it was the theme of many a folk tale, and implicit in them was the warning that no one should underestimate the power of nature. That was also the substance of many of the stories of calamities in the wilderness that he had read and reread until he knew them by heart.

‘But what did you think? About the stories people told about Jakob?’

‘They were nothing to do with me.’

‘Did you grow up together?’

‘No, I’m not from around here. Neither was he. We were about the same age — he was a couple of years older. He came from Reykjavík originally but didn’t talk about it much.’

A pause developed.

‘Do you think you’ll be needing any more fish?’ asked Ezra. He was still caressing the cat but abruptly it sprang to the floor and tore out of the kitchen. It was in such a hurry that Erlendur assumed it must have spotted a mouse.

‘No, thank you, this’ll do,’ he said, rising. ‘I’ve taken up enough of your time.’

‘That’s all right,’ said Ezra.

‘There was some rumour that she’d met a British soldier and fled the country with him.’

‘I know the stories but they’re damned lies. Matthildur wasn’t involved with any soldier — that’s a ridiculous idea.’

As Erlendur was on his way out of the kitchen he caught sight of a small object amid the clutter on top of the fridge by the door. He stared at it before moving closer for a better look. It had once been a toy car that would have fitted in a child’s hand but was now faded and weathered, missing its wheels and base so that only the hollow chassis remained.

‘Where did you get this?’ he asked, his eyes fixed on the toy.

‘I found it.’

‘Where?’

‘Let me see. By a foxhole, probably. Somewhere on Hardskafi, I think.’

‘Hardskafi?’

‘Yes, probably. Donkey’s years ago now. I’d forgotten all about it. It’s been sitting there ever since — I was reluctant to throw it away for some reason. It struck me as a bit funny at the time.’

‘Have you any idea when this was?’

‘Goodness, it would have been a long time ago,’ said Ezra. ‘I have a feeling it was around 1980, though I couldn’t swear to it. I expect I was out after foxes. They used to pay a decent price for the tails back then but there’s no market for them nowadays, so people don’t bother to hunt much and the foxes are growing very bold as a result.’

Erlendur couldn’t take his eyes off the car. ‘Can I touch it?’

‘Touch it?’ echoed Ezra in surprise. ‘Of course you can. This isn’t a museum.’

Picking up the toy, Erlendur turned it over in his fingers.

‘You’re welcome to keep it,’ said Ezra, noticing the powerful effect the small object had on his visitor. ‘I’ve no use for it. It doesn’t matter to me — I’m not long for this world anyway.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘My dear lad, keep it.’

‘Did you find anything else in the hole?’ asked Erlendur, pocketing the car.

‘Not that I recall.’

‘Have you any idea how it might have got there?’

‘A fox could have picked it up or maybe a bird nabbed it and dropped it there. Impossible to say.’

‘And you think this was on Hardskafi?’

‘Yes, I’m fairly sure.’

‘Thank you,’ said Erlendur, as if in a daze. He walked out of the house, climbed into his car and drove away, still in shock. In the rear-view mirror he saw Ezra step outside and watch him leave, as Bóas’s words rang in his ears: ‘You find the oddest things in foxholes.’