The Quiet Mother

5

Eygló had expected more people at the coffin-closing ceremony. She went into Fossvogur Chapel, where less than ten people had gathered; no one she remembered from the Society for Psychical Research.

The coffin was open and there lay Málfríður under a snow-white sheet, with a bit of a stern expression, as if she still had something she wanted to say. She’d been the oldest member of the Society for Psychical Research and a good friend of Eygló’s despite their considerable age difference, but they hadn’t been much in contact recently. Málfríður said that she herself wasn’t clairvoyant, but had been married to a well-known psychic healer and was in charge of organising his séances and house calls. Eygló knew few people who had a richer interest in the next life or spoke more passionately about the etheric world. When she had looked to the society for guidance back in the day, it was Málfríður who welcomed her and taught her not to fear the visions that troubled her, but rather to enjoy being cast in a different mould from all others.

The old woman died in the nursing home where she’d been living in recent years, and Eygló visited her there for the last time shortly before her death. Málfríður had sent for her. It was she who’d decided that Eygló should start holding séances, which she did hesitantly at first, unsure and insecure. Her father had worked as a medium but didn’t have a good reputation and was said to be in cahoots with a swindler who had no qualms about taking advantage of the misery of those who mourned. That was Konrád’s father.

Eygló wished to make as little as possible of the psychic abilities she possessed and that both her father and Málfríður said she needed to cultivate. She would have preferred to be free of them, and didn’t want that clairvoyance of hers to interfere with her life, but Málfríður encouraged her and said she shouldn’t resist it, but try to harness her abilities and use them for good.

Upon her arrival at the old woman’s nursing home, Eygló asked about her health and was told that she probably didn’t have much longer to live. She slept a lot and was sometimes out of touch and confused, talked to herself or even to imaginary visitors in her room, as if delirious. She had very few visitors apart from her son, who looked in regularly. Eygló was the only one who had come to see her that day.

When Eygló came to Málfríður’s door, she saw that the old woman had a visitor. Apparently, visits to her weren’t as rare as the staff had indicated. The visitor was an elderly woman, wearing a veil on her head and a rather tatty green coat, sitting on a chair by the bed with her hands in her lap. Eygló noticed how gentle her expression was.

Just then, Eygló’s phone rang in her pocket and she ambled over to a waiting room while answering the call. When she returned, the woman at Málfríður’s bedside was gone, and she sat down in the chair she’d occupied.

There were a few personal items on Málfríður’s bedside table. A photograph of her son and some audio books — Icelandic sagas and thrillers, it looked to Eygló. She didn’t want to wake her. The room was dusky. Málfríður was nearly blind and no longer perceived anything but shadows and movements in front of her.

Finally, Málfríður stirred, opened her eyes, and asked if someone was there with her.

‘Is that you, Hulda dear?’ she said. ‘Are you still there?’

‘No, it’s Eygló. How are you?’

‘Dearest Eygló,’ said the old woman. ‘How lovely of you to look in on me.’

‘I didn’t want to wake you.’

‘I thought I’d crossed over. I feel like that every time I fall asleep. I was back with my mother and it felt so wonderful.’

Málfríður groped for Eygló and gripped her hand.

‘I look forward to my dreams,’ she said. ‘In them, I can see perfectly again and everything is so alive and colourful around me.’

Málfríður smiled and began to tell Eygló about her dreams, that they were all bright and warm. She was so old that she didn’t fear dying, but was curious to find out what came next. She’d spoken along those lines before, when she said she’d had a good life and now another plane of existence awaited her, whether it was the cold grave devoid of heavenly bliss or the world of the souls who had gone before and in which she believed so steadfastly.

‘I’m not afraid at all,’ she said. ‘Do you remember the sick girl in the Þingholt neighbourhood?’

‘The sick girl? Why...?’

‘I don’t know why I’m thinking of her,’ said Málfríður.

‘That was many years ago,’ said Eygló. As far as she could tell, the woman wasn’t delirious or confused.

‘Probably because I’ve been thinking so much about my dear Kristleifur, whom you went with then. How he took it all so close to heart. I’ve been dreaming about him,’ said Málfríður. ‘He’s standing here in my room, clear as day. Do you remember Kristleifur?’

‘Yes, of course, I remember him well,’ said Eygló.

‘I think my time here is almost up,’ said Málfríður. ‘I think he has come to fetch me. I’ve dreamed him twice recently, standing here next to my bed, smiling at me.’

‘He was a good man.’

Málfríður fell silent and closed her eyes. Several moments passed.

‘Do you still see that policeman?’ she asked.

‘No, not much,’ said Eygló.

‘Well,’ said Málfríður, with a clear touch of disappointment in her voice. ‘You don’t like him?’

‘I simply don’t give it any thought.’

Eygló had told the old woman about her association with Konrád, the retired policeman. That their fathers had known each other at one time and worked together to swindle money out of people — a very sad story.

‘Who is this Hulda you mentioned?’

‘She’s a dear old friend who always believed more than anyone else in life after death and just took it as self-evident,’ said Málfríður. ‘We talked about it for years — how it would be to cross over to another plane of existence following this one here. That’s why I’m thinking so much about the world of the departed. And you and I have done no little talking about it either, and I’d like to ask you to do something for me if possible.’

Eygló nodded. As the years went by, Málfríður had become more and more interested in what happens after death.

‘What is it that you want me to do for you?’

Eygló had begun to suspect what Málfríður wanted from her.

‘We’ve talked about it before. I want to get messages through.’

Fixing her nearly blind eyes upon Eygló, Málfríður squeezed her hand.

‘I have nothing left but curiosity,’ she said, lowering her voice. ‘I’d like to ask you to keep your eyes open should it come to it.’

The priest entered the chapel, greeted the few people sitting there, and made the sign of the cross over the coffin. Then he opened the Bible and began reciting the verses on the resurrection and everlasting life. He briefly eulogised the deceased, mentioning that she’d always had a wholehearted belief in spiritualism. Then he prayed and asked those present to turn to the hymn about the flower. Someone behind Eygló cleared his throat, and soft-voiced, awkward singing began. When it was finished and those gathered had made the sign of the cross over the deceased, the funeral-home staff closed the coffin and fastened it with decorative gold screws. Friends and relatives were invited to tighten them into the coffin lid and Eygló took hold of one of them, turned it as she said a short prayer and bade farewell to her old friend, and thought about the promise she’d given her.

When the ceremony was over, she expressed her condolences to Málfríður’s son, but was stopped in the foyer on the way out when someone grabbed her arm.

‘Are you Eygló, by any chance?’ asked a man of her age whom she’d never met before.

Eygló said yes.

‘I’m sorry to disturb you. My name is Jósteinn and I knew Málfríður and her husband through the Society for Psychical Research. She talked sometimes about you and Engilbert. I didn’t know your dad, but knew who he was.’

‘Yes, right,’ said Eygló with a smile, intending to go on her way.

‘Have you sensed anything since she died?’ the man whispered. He was almost impolite in his eagerness.

‘Sensed anything?’

‘Have you made contact with Málfríður?’ The man was dressed in a long black coat that had seen better days, and his hair was messy. ‘Is she here? Is she here with us, maybe?’ he asked, pulling a wool cap over his head.

Eygló was surprised at the man’s forwardness. She didn’t care for his aggression. She found it particularly inappropriate to speak of the dead in this context, in this place.

‘I don’t think so...’ she began, but was unable to finish her sentence.

‘I know about your dad,’ the man said softly. ‘Málfríður told me what happened. That you and that friend of yours were looking for information. Isn’t he a policeman? Málfríður said he was a cop.’

‘I don’t know what—’

‘Málfríður said that you might hold a séance. That you would try to make contact with her. That you’d promised to receive messages from her.’

‘You said you know about my father?’

‘Are you going to do that? Are you going to hold a séance?’

‘I haven’t given it any thought,’ said Eygló, trying to calm herself. ‘What do you know about my father?’

‘Yes, Engilbert,’ said the man. ‘I was at a séance a while back, maybe three years ago, and heard then that he’d tried to finagle money from a widow in Hafnarfjörður, some Hansína, by means of séances, not long before he died. Wasn’t that in the sixties?’

Eygló stared at the man.

‘What do you mean? Finagle money?’

‘Well, that’s what someone said. And that you were a considerably more effective medium than he ever was.’

‘Listen—’ Eygló had had enough of this man.

‘I don’t know if that’s true or not,’ he hastened to add apologetically. ‘Someone knew her son, this Hansína’s,’ Jósteinn said, before mentioning a name that Eygló memorised. ‘I don’t know any more. Would you advertise the séance at the Society for Psychical Research, do you think? That is, if you’re going to hold one, now that Málfríður is dead?’

‘There will be no séance,’ said Eygló, before telling the man goodbye.

Shortly afterwards, she walked across the church’s car park and was opening the door of her car when she saw a ragged-looking woman come out of the cemetery and head towards her. Eygló was taken aback when the woman asked if she’d been at the coffin closing.

‘Did you know Málfríður?’ asked Eygló.

‘We knew each other. She came here often.’

‘To the cemetery?’

‘Do you think she’s crossed over?’ asked the woman.

‘Over? I suppose so,’ said Eygló, hurriedly getting into her car, having had enough of strangers who presumed they had business with her.

She saw the woman standing there watching as she backed out of her parking space, but when she looked in the rear-view mirror as she drove away, the woman was gone.