The Quiet Mother

36

Konrád and Eygló sat in the car in silence for some time after their visit. The man had no other information for them, and reiterated time and again that he knew nothing more about the interactions between Konrád’s father and Haukur. He said he knew nothing about that doctor he’d mentioned and in fact backpedalled on it, more or less, stating, when they pressed him, that he wasn’t sure those had been Haukur’s exact words. He said that his memory was unreliable these days and he hadn’t thought about those incidents for a long time, hardly at all until Konrád called out of the blue and asked if they could meet. Then various memories came back to him, but they were hazy, at best.

‘That Haukur may well have attacked your father,’ said Eygló. ‘If he didn’t get the money. Do you think he was crazy enough to do so?’

‘What could Dad have had on some doctor?’ Konrád whispered, as if to himself. ‘Who the hell was he dealing with?’

‘You haven’t heard this before?’

‘Never. I didn’t know anything about it,’ Konrád said, ‘but he was so unpredictable and I heard so many bad things about him over the years that I stopped paying attention to them.’

‘Do you think there’s anything to it?’

‘I simply have no idea,’ said Konrád. ‘There could be. It would be absurd to rule out anything when it comes to that man.’

They drove off towards Fossvogur, and Eygló told Konrád how she’d gone to see the accountant a second time to ask him what it was that made the widow trust their fathers so deeply.

‘Do you really think Engilbert could have conjured up the boy?’ Konrád asked distractedly.

‘I’ve heard worse,’ Eygló replied.

‘Yes, I just have a hard time believing in such things. They were at it in order to make money, not to bring her into contact with anyone. They lied to the woman to get money off her.’

‘Engilbert had abilities,’ said Eygló. ‘Real abilities.’

‘I’m sure he did,’ Konrád said, but his words lacked conviction. His mind was on his father and how he could still surprise him decades after his death.

‘I really can’t believe that he could have treated a defenceless woman like that,’ said Eygló. ‘A woman who’d suffered such loss.’

‘Yes, they were really something,’ Konrád said.

Eygló hesitated. So far, she’d met nothing but scepticism trying to convince Konrád that there might be other sides to existence, not just those that were visible and tangible and easily explained. So she didn’t know if she should tell him about her father bending over the piano at her place and that she’d left the lid closed but found it open that morning, or about the key that was stuck and had come loose. That when this happened, she hadn’t known what part Stella’s piano had played when their fathers had lied to her and swindled her. So she’d proceeded with caution and decided to leave it alone for the time being. But then she couldn’t resist.

‘You don’t have a high opinion of these abilities of mine and my father’s,’ she said.

‘I don’t believe in ghosts, if that’s what you’re asking,’ said Konrád. ‘You know that. We’ve gone over this before.’

‘I wondered how they thought they’d made contact with the son and—’

‘Thought they’d made contact? There was no contact, Eygló. They found out the boy was dead and then improvised.’

‘Strange that you should word it like that. That accountant told me that Stella’s son used the piano in the living room as a conduit. He was a promising student. It had stood there closed and silent ever since he died, but suddenly there was a sound from it. With its lid shut. She was adamant about it. The interaction was reminiscent of a Ouija board. One note for yes. Silence for no. In that way, the boy could communicate with his mother.’

‘Eygló...’

‘So what if Dad made contact? He wasn’t a bad man. What if it was really like that? I’ve had stranger experiences. I myself have an old piano and...’

Konrád looked at her.

‘They cheated money out of the widow in the most shameful way,’ he said. ‘The worst possible way imaginable, and we should leave it at that. Out of respect for her. Don’t try to tell me they made contact with her son. Out of respect for him.’

‘Dad told me about many such incidents. So was he lying to me?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe he said what his little girl wanted to hear.’

There was silence in the car until they reached Fossvogur and Konrád stopped in front of her terraced house. He sensed her dismay; how his words had hurt her.

‘So about your piano?’ he asked.

‘Forget it,’ said Eygló, and she got out of the car, slammed the door behind her and disappeared into the house.

Konrád cursed himself. He decided not to go in after her, but instead drove slowly up the street, accelerated and left Fossvogur for the Vogar neighbourhood, where Ísleifur lived. Maybe it was his strained interaction with Eygló that made him think he’d taken the wrong approach to the man when he encountered him the day before. So he decided to see if he could remedy that somehow, by speaking to him on a friendlier note. He’d just pulled up when Ísleifur suddenly came up the basement steps and headed towards the bus stop down the street. He stared at the ground and looked neither right nor left, but Konrád instinctively sank down in his seat. He decided to wait a bit and watch Ísleifur, even though he found such espionage lame and even akin to the type that Emanúel the peeping Tom engaged in.

Ísleifur was holding a plastic bag and walked slowly. He was wearing a tattered coat and a knitted cap on his head. He sat down at the bus stop and looked at his watch. Two young women were there waiting for the bus too, but he paid them no attention. He looked down the street, ran the back of his hand under his nose and waited. He scratched his head beneath his cap. Looked at his watch. Waited.

A few minutes later, the bus arrived and the two women and Ísleifur got on it. Ísleifur sat by the window. The bus set off and Konrád followed it from the Vogar neighbourhood towards the city centre. It was evening and traffic had died down after rush hour. The bus pulled over at every stop on its route, dropped off passengers and picked others up. Konrád followed. An old Icelandic song was playing on the radio, one that had been a favourite of Erna’s, and he softly sang along about the eternal spring north in the dreamy Vaglaskógur Woods.

Ísleifur got off the bus a short distance from where the nightclub once stood and walked, shoulders hunched and holding his plastic bag, west down Borgartún Street. Before the economic crisis, new buildings of steel and glass rose there so aggressively and avariciously that they overshadowed even the old beacon in the tower of the Navigational College, as if no one on that Viking voyage for plunder and profit cared whether Iceland’s ships and boats ran aground. Ísleifur walked slowly and stopped regularly. He didn’t seem to be a daily visitor to these glass palaces. It was as if he were taking his bearings in unfamiliar parts. Eventually he stopped at one of the big buildings and looked up at it as far as his stiff body would allow.

Konrád had parked his car at the old nightclub and followed Ísleifur at a distance. A dense fog hung over the city and a drizzly mist wet his face. The street lights appeared dimmed, like a ship’s lanterns in a fog. He stayed on the other side of the street and made sure that Ísleifur didn’t notice him.

Konrád watched Ísleifur disappear into the building and crossed the street to try to see where he was headed. When he ventured nearer, he saw three lifts in the lobby. There was also an information board that showed what companies and what sorts of businesses operated on each floor.

For a moment, it occurred to Konrád that Ísleifur worked there in the building, as a nightwatchman. Ordinary office hours had ended some time ago, but people were still busily going in and out of the lifts and through the lobby. There was no front desk monitoring the comings and goings, although Konrád did notice surveillance cameras that had been set up in conspicuous places.

He walked in slowly, checked the information board, and saw that the building housed the offices of wholesalers, engineers and accountants. There were also dentists and architects, psychologists and physiotherapists and a few other businesses. At least two floors were occupied by legal firms, and the three top floors housed the offices of a well-known pharmaceutical company.

What the hell does the man want here? Konrád thought, studying the board and trying to imagine on what floor Ísleifur had stepped out of the lift.

About a quarter of an hour later, the lift doors opened and Ísleifur appeared in the lobby and walked, shoulders hunched, to the door in his tattered coat, plastic bag in hand. He was by himself, and as before, looked neither right nor left and didn’t see Konrád until the retired policeman stopped him.

‘Ísleifur?’ Konrád said, as if they were meeting by chance.

Ísleifur was startled but remembered Konrád immediately, and his eyes wandered furtively to the lifts.

‘What... foll... are you following me?’ he stammered.

‘Following? My accountant’s office is upstairs,’ Konrád said, as if he’d never told a lie in his life. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Nothing,’ said Ísleifur, continuing on his way towards the drizzle outside. ‘Leave me alone.’

‘Does it have anything to do with what we talked about yesterday?’ Konrád asked, stopping him again.

Konrád didn’t believe that for a moment. Still, he wanted to see if he could shake this guy up.

Ísleifur glanced again towards the lifts, so quickly that Konrád barely noticed it. Then he turned and disappeared out the door.

‘Sorry, by the way, for how I acted yesterday,’ said Konrád, following him out. ‘I didn’t mean to be rude. I had no business speaking to you like that and I’d like to apologise.’

Ísleifur didn’t respond, but plodded out onto the street.

‘Do you think I can meet you sometime in the next few days?’ Konrád asked. ‘I need to ask you about something I’m looking into. I would appreciate it if we...’

Ísleifur stopped and turned to him.

‘Leave me alone,’ he said furiously. ‘Just leave me alone, for fuck’s sake! Do you hear me? Leave me alone!

Then he stormed off again and disappeared eastwards down Borgartún, the same way he’d come. Konrád watched him, then looked up along the building in all its glassy glory and wondered whether his visit to Ísleifur the day before did in fact have anything to do with the man’s visit to these parts.

Konrád was still thinking about this when he called Marta late that evening. She finally answered after a few rings, and he hoped he hadn’t disturbed her in the middle of something important, like a good night’s sleep.

‘Why now?’ he said bluntly, as was usual in their conversations. Between themselves, they often sounded as if a previous conversation hadn’t ended and the new one was just a continuation of it.

‘What?’

‘Why did Valborg start doing that? Cutting herself. Looking to me for help. Why now?’

‘Wasn’t she dying?’

‘Sure, but that can’t be the whole explanation. After all this time? What was it that prompted her to start searching for her child? Was it something she heard? Something she saw? Why now?’

Marta had no answers for him.

‘I need to get into her flat,’ Konrád said.

‘Out of the question,’ said Marta. ‘I’m in enough trouble because of you, having blathered everything to you like a moron.’

‘Ten minutes, Marta. I need to get into her flat. I don’t need much time. Ten minutes at most and I’ll never ask you again for anything!’

‘The chances of that happening,’ Marta snorted.

As had happened the night before, Eygló heard a knock on her front door, and got up and went to the hall to see who wanted to speak to her so late at night. She hoped it wasn’t the woman who’d bothered her yesterday.

She opened the door hesitantly but saw no one on her front steps. She stepped onto her doorstep and looked out into the autumn evening. Everything was quiet and the drizzle settled on her clothes. She called out, asking if anyone was there, having clearly and distinctly heard a knocking on her door, twice. The only answer was a wind that gusted down the street, and the thought ran through her mind that maybe she’d stopped distinguishing between the living and the dead.

Eygló waited a little longer, before finally going back inside and shutting the door carefully behind her. She knew that the woman had gone home and wouldn’t be visiting her again.