The Quiet Mother

8

The man led the psychic healer up the narrow staircase and into the dark attic flat. Eygló followed behind with a weight on her chest that she’d been carrying all morning, a feeling of anxiety whose source she didn’t know, but that became more noticeable with every step she took. The woman rented the flat from the man who’d met them at the door. She had two children and the older one was terribly ill, and the woman had called for the healer in an attempt to help the child. It was the flu, which was going around town. The girl had caught it and stayed in bed for a few days, but then had got up and about too soon and been struck back down by it. Now she was twice as bad as before, with headaches and muscle aches and a high fever. Earlier that day, she’d thrown up twice. She was seven years old.

It was a cold February day in the Þingholt neighbourhood in 1978, and a little light snow cover swirled up now and then on the streets. The healer’s name was Kristleifur; he was a short-statured, chubby man, and wore a thick coat and a hat on his head. Kindness and care radiated from his round face. Eygló liked him because he was friendly and unpretentious. He was the husband of Málfríður from the Society for Psychical Research and it was her idea that Eygló accompany Kristleifur on house calls in order to learn from him. Eygló hadn’t taken the idea badly and accompanied him on a few visits, but kept a low profile, for the most part. The healer was in contact with physicians from the other world, seven of them, who wanted to use him for good works. Wherever he went, he pointed out that he was no physician himself, but only the tool of the physicians from the beyond for helping the sick and weak.

The girl was lying in a small room in the attic, in a bed that she shared with her mother and younger brother. The woman lived under straitened circumstances, with her two children to support. The girl went to school in the mornings and the boy went to a babysitter, allowing the woman to work in a fish-processing plant out on Grandi, in the western part of town. She was tidy and took good care of her children.

Taking off his hat and coat and placing both on a chair, the healer spoke softly to the woman, asking about her daughter’s medical history. The mother’s worried expression could not be concealed as she told the doctor how the illness started, and she said she should have taken better care of the girl and not let her get up so soon. She hadn’t realised that the poor child hadn’t completely recovered. She’d seemed healthy enough and had felt well enough to go to school, but when the woman came home in the evening, she found her daughter lying gravely ill in bed. The girl had a key and had got herself home to the attic after school and lain there alone and helpless half the day. Her mother had rung a doctor on call, who gave the girl something to bring her fever down and told the mother to keep a close watch on her.

‘She started having bad stomach pains this morning, my poor darling,’ the mother said. ‘I’ve called the doctor, but he can’t come right away. I gave her aspirin.’

Eygló sensed the mother’s intense fear, and without immediately realising it, started to smell something peculiar, but had no idea where it was coming from.

The healer asked if he could wash his hands, and, that being done, he went in to the girl’s room and sat down on the edge of her bed. She was in a drowsy haze and barely noticed it when he put his hand on her forehead, bowed his head and began praying. His lips moved and his fingers held the girl’s small forehead, making her face practically disappear under his palm. He closed his eyes and his expression was stern and focused, like a priest exorcising the devil.

‘Was she cooking here recently, do you know?’ Eygló whispered to the landlord as they stood in the living room. The mother watched the healer from the bedroom doorway. Her son was sleeping on an old sofa in the living room, apparently unbothered by it all.

‘Cooking? No,’ the man whispered back. ‘I don’t think she’s prepared any food since the girl fell ill.’

‘What about you?’

‘What about me?’

‘Have you been cooking?’

‘I’ve boiled haddock for the last three days now,’ the man whispered.

‘And brought some up to them?’

‘Yes,’ he whispered. ‘I’ve made enough for all of us, but she hasn’t had much of an appetite. Understandably. They’re very close. She and the girl.’

‘Do you live alone downstairs?’

‘Yes.’

Eygló fell silent. The smell grew stronger in her nostrils and she eased her way into the kitchen. A pot of curdled milk stood on an electric hob. The odour she smelled wasn’t coming from the house. It evoked memories of the cheap food her mother would buy in the autumn and fry. The offal. Liver, heart and kidneys. It was food that Eygló found particularly unappetising, besides the fact that she didn’t like the thought of eating animals’ organs.

In the bedroom, the healer held the girl’s forehead and his lips moved in supplication. The girl opened her eyes halfway and the healer smiled at her and asked her not to fear, her mother was with her. Wearing a serious expression, the girl clutched her stomach and groaned in pain.

‘Does it hurt, dear?’ asked the healer.

The girl nodded.

‘In your stomach?’

Again the girl nodded, and it was clear that she was suffering.

The healer moved his hand to her stomach and continued praying, and the girl groaned again in pain and looked tearfully at her mother, who was standing in the doorway, trying to smile encouragingly at her.

Meanwhile, Eygló stood motionless in the kitchen and thought of her mother and the entrails, and of the girl in the room, the healer and the prayers.

‘We need to get her to the hospital,’ Eygló said to the mother as she came out of the kitchen. ‘You should call an ambulance.’

‘What...?’

‘Call an ambulance now!’

The healer looked up.

‘What commotion is this?’ he asked.

‘She needs to see a doctor,’ said Eygló. ‘This isn’t just the flu. This is much more serious than the flu.’

‘Why do you say that?’ the healer asked in surprise.

Eygló turned to the mother and ordered her again to call an ambulance. The mother looked from her to the healer and back again before rushing to the phone and calling.

‘Are you sure?’ the healer asked Eygló.

‘The girl needs to get to the hospital,’ she said. ‘That’s all I know.’

The girl moaned in agony, and the healer tried to calm her down and looked at Eygló. She wanted most of all to take the child in her arms, but instead gave way to the mother, who reappeared in the doorway with a blanket and laid it over her daughter. The healer stood up from the bed and the mother was about to lift the girl and carry her out of the room, but Eygló stopped her.

‘Leave it to the paramedics,’ she said.

‘What?’

‘It’s better that they take care of this,’ said Eygló in a soothing tone.

She bent over the girl and stroked her forehead. The girl, who was both fearful and on the verge of passing out, gave Eygló a questioning look. Sweat sprang from her forehead and she grimaced in pain.

‘Try not to worry,’ said Eygló, smiling reassuringly.

The girl looked up at her and tried to smile back, but groaned again and clutched her stomach.

A few moments later, an ambulance parked in the street in front of the house, sliding a bit on the thin covering of snow. Two paramedics started to carry a stretcher up the stairs, but realising it was too awkward, they left the stretcher behind, went into the flat and lifted the girl gently from her bed and then carried her down the stairs and out to the ambulance. The girl’s mother went with them, sitting with her daughter in the back of the ambulance, which soon headed down the street, lights flashing.

The healer took his hat and coat.

‘I understand you’ll look after the boy?’ he said to the landlord, glancing at the girl’s brother, who was still sleeping on the sofa and hadn’t stirred the whole time.

‘Yes,’ said the landlord. ‘I’ll be here at home. I’ll take care of him.’

‘Good,’ said the healer. ‘Hopefully the girl will be fine. Would you mind letting us know?’

The man promised, and the little group went back down the stairs. The healer and Eygló said goodbye to the landlord with handshakes, and at that, their house call was over.

It wasn’t until they were driving home that Eygló discovered that the healer resented her for her intervention, even though he tried to handle it well. He said he’d let her come along on Málfríður’s recommendation, but it had been his understanding that she wouldn’t interfere with his work or disrupt it in any way, but just observe and learn. Eygló apologised. She hadn’t been aware of those conditions regarding their collaboration, and had only been concerned about the girl’s welfare. Their goodbyes were rather curt when he dropped her off at her home.

She didn’t expect to hear from him again. Late that evening, the phone rang. It was Málfríður.

‘Kristleifur called the hospital and spoke to the sick girl’s mother,’ said Málfríður. ‘She was still there.’

‘How is the child?’

‘They think she’ll recover,’ said Málfríður. Eygló breathed a sigh of relief.

‘Was it her kidneys?’ she asked cautiously.

‘Yes, it was... how did you know? Is that why you had the mother call an ambulance?’

‘I don’t know... I smelled something. I experienced a very strong sensation. I don’t know why. I have no idea why.’

‘The doctors diagnosed her with a serious infection in both kidneys,’ said Málfríður. ‘She’s been given IV antibiotics, and they’ve probably managed to save her life. It was very close.’

They said goodbye shortly afterwards, and as night drew over, Eygló went to bed but had a hard time falling asleep. The weight she’d felt on her chest all day was still there.