The Quiet Mother

66

A strange silence fell over the cluster of Butchers’ Association buildings on Skúlagata Street, and Konrád’s father stomped his feet to try to stay warm. The smell from the smokehouse hung over everything, but he didn’t mind it. He tried to keep a low profile, but it was unnecessary. There was no one else in the neighbourhood. The petrol station down at Klöpp was closed. West of it loomed gloomy oil tanks marked BP. He looked out to sea. It was a short distance to the boulders on the other side of the street and he could hear the waves rising and falling under a cold veil of fog.

He’d waited for some time in the biting cold and had finally decided to leave when he heard someone approaching from out of the darkness.