The Woman at 1,000 Degrees

57 Rat 2002

Finally she returned, Rainmaker, with all her glacial charm, and put my computer back down on the quilt.

‘Thanks for lending it to me. Really saved me. That’s obviously a very… very good computer you have.’

I couldn’t read anything into her words, whether she’d found anything reprehensible in my files.

‘It’s not bad, the old gadget.’

‘Yes…’ Here there was a slight hesitation in her chirpy tone, a hint of insecurity in her eyes.

‘And are you that… computer savvy?’

‘Yes, I learned typing at the Commercial College, back in the days when the letter z was still part of the Icelandic alphabet, and then I worked as a secretary for various people, on and off. Back when men barely knew how to pick up a phone.’

‘Right, and you… you keep up with the times… and technology?’

‘I’ve always been savvy. Particularly when it comes to tools of communication.’

I’d said that last line to wind her up, and it hit the spot. She glanced at her watch and said, ‘Right, then, listen, better get to this meeting.’

‘Lovers’ meeting?’

Her eyes widened.

‘Lovers?!’

I wasn’t about to let her get away smiling.

‘Yes. Haven’t you read what I’ve read?’

‘Read what you read?’

‘I mean, seen what I’ve seen? I gave Magnús his name.’

‘Magnús? Whose name?’

‘He should have done it by now.’

‘Huh? Done what?’

‘And hidden the body somewhere. He was going to do it for his mamma’s sake, poor thing.’

Now there was a silence. And then the crust started to crack. Slowly but surely. There was no visible change in her smile. It was as screamingly amiable as before. With well-stretched lips and smiling wrinkles. But gradually the material started to crack. A web of fissures spread across her face, finally reaching the eyes, and then that delicately thin facade of loveliness started to crumble.

‘Who… who gave you permission to poke your nose in my private business?’

‘Adultery is no private business.’

‘Oh yes. It’s… it’s private and none of your business. Magnús and I… we… our life as a couple is none of your business!’

‘I’m only looking out for him, the lad.’

‘Looking out for him?’

‘Yes, it’s what mothers do. Look out for their children.’

‘How old is he? How fucking old is Magnús? Thirty-three! He’s thirty-fucking-three and you’re watching over him as if… as if he…’

‘The soul is always the same. Always a one-year-old. He was crippled when he heard it, poor fellow.’

‘Heard it?… Did… you tell him about this?!’

‘I’m his mother.’

‘Erm… yes, but… but that doesn’t mean that you have… the right to—’

‘Don’t talk to me about rights, Rainmaker.’

‘rainmaker?!’

Oops, silly lapsus. Just let that slip out. The blond took it to heart, because her eyes started to fill with drizzle.

‘What do you think you know about what it’s like to be a woman today?! Always having to rush from one place to another with those hundreds of chores and yet, at the same time, never getting what you need, and then when someone finally offers it to you, you can’t take it and enjoy it because it comes with such a shitload of guilt!’

‘My Magnús is fine in bed.’

She was speechless. Gaping.

‘Wha…’

‘He might be a bit lazy, but there’s no impotence in my family. And never has been. His father was a super lover. Mr Twice. And I’ve never been a shrinking violet either. I think you should look into your own bosom, the little you have left.’

She was stunned again. Then she came out with, ‘Are… are you… a RAT?’

‘Yeah, sure, I can get ratty sometimes, but never a frigid haddock.’

‘You… you…!’

Now I’d finally outraged her. It was such great fun to finally utter this word I’d never spoken out loud. I let her spin out of control in her fury like an off-roader on wet mud, without holding out a helping hand, until she finally managed to grope forward.

‘You’re just a fucking rat that lies here in this… yeah, a fucking garage rat that thinks she has the right to spy on the members of her own family, just because they… because they…’

‘…don’t bother to come and see her?’

‘Just because she thinks she has a right to, because she’s so twisted, because no one comes to see her, because she’s so DISGUSTINGLY REPULSIVE and has never so much as expressed any affection for—’

‘Where’s the money?’

‘The money? It’s gone! You’ll never see that fucking money again! because you don’t deserve it! farewell, mrs herbjörg!’

Once she’d gone, I picked up a few tiny scales of skin that lay on the edge of the duvet. Remnants of the crumbled wall of niceties.