Towards White

by Zena Shapter

  I pop my ears and crack my jaw. Still the imaginary flooding persists, roaring and swishing like the churning of high seas. I look around, blinking. My vision blurs until I see an image of my brother floating in darkness.

  Mark?

  A coolness cascades down my spine.

  “Becky!” a voice calls.

  My head heats like a migraine settling in for the day.

  “Let’s go, Becky. To the glacier!”

  Mark’s voice is so clear it sounds real. They’re the same words from my dream earlier on the Austurleid. My mouth gapes open, ready to reply.

  “The man who threatened you,” Ari calls out, “you saw his car?”

  “Huh?” Mark’s image shatters into broken shards of ice, which melt quickly away. As the flooding in my head fades, I clear my throat. “Um, it was a grey four-wheel drive.”

  “Did you see the make or model?”

  I cradle my head. “Sorry.”

  Ari speaks on his phone for another minute before snapping it shut and striding towards me. “My father says not to worry. Violent people do not warn their victims before acting.”

  “What a relief.”

  “He doesn’t know any groups passionate enough about the Heimspeki to threaten you. Last year, there was a group who opposed it, the Skyggõur. But they all work for the government now, reviewing policy.”

  “Were they ever violent?”

  “Only crazy. Science is science.” He shrugs. “What is there to believe or not? My father is about to meet the family of an offender who once knew a Skyggõur.” He leads me again towards the town centre. “While you are with the coroner, I will ask them if they know of any new groups.”

  “Thank you.” I rub my chest as I walk. Everything feels tight. I’m not breathing properly. I push my shoulders back and inhale from my stomach. As I fill my lungs, I realise I haven’t taken a decent breath since my imagination went into watery overload at the Viking sculpture. Most probably it’s simple tiredness affecting me, making me crave my sanctuary to the point of delirium.

  It bothers me though. I’ve grown used to steadying myself in the shower, when the faintness that comes from skipping dinner the night before catches up to me. I’ve also become accustomed to holding on tight when climbing stairs in case my legs give way underneath me. Swooning and dizziness come hand-in-hand with my dietary lifestyle. I’m not worried about any of that though, because I’ll stop calorie-counting as soon as I reach my ideal weight. Still, I’ve never had an actual hallucination before.

  Ari leans forward and inspects my face. “Stop the worry,” he whispers. “Höfkállur is safe. Look, we do not even lock things anymore.”

  He points to a bicycle resting unchained against a lamppost, then across the road to where a driver is getting out of an old car. She walks away without locking it. Up ahead a businessman leaves his briefcase on a bench to take his empty coffee cup to a recycling station further up the street. He pauses to greet a friend, and doesn’t once check the bench behind him for his belongings. It reminds me that Mark often praised the coffee here, said some little shop by the harbour made the best coffee in the world. Well, apart from Australia of course.

  “You see?” Ari says. “It is very safe. No one will hurt you, not here.”

  “What if you’re wrong?” I ask, thinking about the phone call, about Director Úlfar and the driver. “What if someone discovered Mark had an ex-lawyer for a sister and threatened him? Or worse, what if someone was so passionate about the Heimspeki that they hurt him?” Though I can’t imagine why, Mark was so wholeheartedly in support of the Heimspeki.

  Still the suggestion silences Ari and we walk for a while without talking. Shops appear along the road. Hoardings advertise meal deals at McDonalds, Subway and KFC. The footpath fills out with people. Locals greet Ari as we pass and even teenagers make room for us with unassuming smiles. The town certainly has a relaxed vibe, much friendlier than London or Sydney. Yet I can’t escape two simple facts.

  Fact: someone from this town threatened me.

  Fact: I’m on my way to see what’s supposed to be my brother’s dead body.

  I check over my shoulder again. There’s no harm in indulging the urge. If Höfkállur is as safe as Ari wants me to believe, all I should see as I look around is a population of content people going about their daily business. I’m so busy checking, however, that I don’t notice Ari stop.

  “We cross here.” He steps toward the kerb opposite a T-junction. A coach is approaching but Ari goes to cross anyway. As soon as the coach driver sees Ari, he applies his brakes and brings the vehicle to a slow halt. Surprised, it takes me a moment to realise Ari’s already on the road. I hurry to catch up, and don’t see the four-wheel drive hurtling down the other side of the street until it’s almost upon us.

  I grab Ari’s arm and dash for the opposite kerb. I hear brakes but keep going.

  “It is okay, Becky,” Ari says once we’re on the footpath. “They saw us.”

  “But…” I go to show Ari the grey four-wheel drive. Only it isn’t grey anymore. It’s white and driven by a mum-of-two. “Oh. Sorry.” What’s wrong with me?

  “No problem,” Ari chuckles, shaking his head as if he’s seen it a million times before. “The Litrúm-Hús is up here.”

  He mouths ‘takk fyrir’ to both drivers then guides me up a slight gradient towards a large white-rendered building set in square of mowed grass. Roads flank the building on every side.

  “You see that road on the left? Your guesthouse, The Himinn, is down there. And this,” he points at the building, “was our courthouse. Now it is our Litrúm-Hús. I work there.” He points to the upper floor.

  After eyeing its windows, my gaze quickly drops to lock on the building’s main entrance. Thick concrete steps lead to a set of wooden doors framed by white columns. The sight makes me switch gears up a notch. That doorway is my portal between a world where Mark might still be alive, and a world where he isn’t. The fate of my hopeful kernel lies over there. “And the coroner’s office?” I ask Ari as we near.

  “I will show you. Do you want me to come to the meeting with you?”

  “Does he speak English?”

  “He was an intern at Oxford.”

  “Then I’ll be fine. Go find your father. I’ve got a lot of questions to ask.”

  Ari heaves my suitcase up the steps. “About your brother’s accident?”

  “About everything. If it is my brother’s body, I’ll want to know exactly where he was found, how he was found and by whom, every fact and figure your coroner can tell me.”

  “About how your brother was found and by whom?” Ari sounds surprised.

  “That’ll be in his records, right?”

  “Já,” Ari mumbles. “But you don’t need to ask him that.”

  “Of course I do. If my brother died at one of your glaciers,” which I hope, I truly hope he hasn’t, “I’ll need to look into every rock, every pebble, and every block of ice until I understand exactly how that was possible. So I’ll need to know who found him, and I’ll need to talk to them. Unless there’s some kind of privacy issue?”

  “Nei,” Ari holds a door open for me. “It’s impossible to be private around here. Everyone knows everything in Höfkállur.”

  “Good. So I’ll be asking the coroner who found my brother.”

  “Then you may as well ask me.”

  “Why?” I step through the doorway. “Who found my brother?”

  He clears his throat, then mumbles. “I did.”

  Chapter 4

  I swing around to face Ari. “You found my brother?” My words echo into the cavernous foyer beyond the open door of the Litrúm-Hús with as much resonance as the idea echoes through my mind. Ari is real. He’s standing here before me, breathing and talking. That makes his words real too. Found. He did not meet or r
escue my brother. He found him, as one finds a coin on the ground, a pen between sofa cushions. Inanimate objects are found, lifeless ones you stumble across while doing other things. Found. Lifeless.

  Ari nods once, coolly and simply, while motioning for me to step inside the building.

  “Why the hell didn’t you mention this before?”

  “When?” He moves across the entrance.

  “Er, as soon as I got off the Austurleid?”

  “Instead of ‘hello’ perhaps?”

  “No, but you’re saying you were at this glacier, at the exact same time as my brother’s allegedly fatal accident, yet you didn’t think to mention that before now?” I follow him, intent on getting to the bottom of this, only to stop once I see what lies ahead.

  Intricate stone white arches stretch above me, touching oak beams set in the foyer’s ceiling. Beech-polished parquetry covers the floor. Then, spanning the width of the foyer, five shiny black cocoon-pods block our access to the rest of the Litrúm-Hús, their fronts embossed with large metallic Heimspeki symbols. I lower my voice. “What are those?”

  “Security booths,” Ari says, watching my expression.

  “But,” I pause, not understanding, “if you don’t need police, if nothing in Höfkállur is even locked, why do you need security like this?”

  “Director Úlfar believes that someone from overseas will try to steal the Sannlitró-Völva’s technology. The booths record you, alert our MUR officer if they detect certain Litrúm Map results. Please, it will only take a few seconds.”

  I survey the security attendant as I step inside a pod. “Guns too?”

  “Until our international patents are granted.”

  A thin plastic door slides behind me, sealing me inside the pod. A computer demands that I state my name and instructs me on how to use the fingerprint and retina scanners. A gentle hum indicates I’m being scanned, while a soft breeze and sucking sound tells me I’m being sniffed. Ten seconds later an exit door opens, giving me access to the rest of the building.

  “You see, it is quick,” Ari smiles as I emerge. “This way.”

  We enter a white-walled corridor opposite the pods and pass bright chambers equipped with state-of-the-art computers and simple pinewood furniture. I wait a few moments before bringing the subject of Mark back up, because I need to centre my thoughts. Why did Ari not mention finding Mark? Was he hoping I wouldn’t ask too many questions? Like Director Úlfar, is there something he doesn’t want me to know?

  “Ari,” I say, once my focus returns, “what were you doing at the glacier where you found my brother? Why were you even there?”

  “I was hiking. I go to the Jötunnsjökull Glacier every weekend, if I can.”

  “Hiking?” I assess Ari’s physique. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up over tanned forearms thick with the strength of a rock climber. “And, um, what was he like when you found him? Injured, or…?”

  “I’m sorry, he was already—”

  “And, um…” I interrupt so I don’t have to hear the ‘d’ word, “where did you find him, exactly? Beside the river, or in it?”

  “In it, by a boulder.”

  “Actually in the river? He drowned?”

  “Probably he fell in closer to the glacier and the river carried him down.”

  That would explain my nightmares. Director Úlfar must have mentioned drowning in the river after all. “Would you remember the exact boulder if you went there again?”

  “Já.” Ari frowns as if to say ‘of course’. “I go there every weekend.”

  “After I’ve seen the coroner, I may need to see this river. Can you take me?”

  “It is very dangerous.”

  “You seem to have survived.”

  “I have been going to the glacier since I was child.”

  “Then I’ll be in good hands.” He doesn’t answer. “Look, I hope, I really hope I’m about to see some dead kid who looks like my brother but isn’t. If, however,” I swallow, “if I go in there and Mark is…dead,” I close my eyes as if the action can counteract my having said it aloud, “I’ll need to get to that glacier asap. I’ll need to see what was so important about it my brother went there without telling me.” And why I’ve now had a vision of him telling me to go there.

  “Why should he tell you?”

  I explain our weekly routine, though not the reason for it. “And he’d never have gone there alone.”

  “Maybe he went with someone?”

  “Has anyone else been found?”

  “Nei. But maybe they were injured also?” Ari shrugs. “Or maybe they will come forward in a few days with a good reason for not saying something already?”

  “Like you had good reason for not telling me about finding my brother?”

  “I was waiting for the right moment.” His tone is indignant.

  “Or maybe you were hoping I wouldn’t ask?”

  Ari stops in his tracks. “Becky, stop now, please.” He looks insulted. “Maybe you don’t trust many people, but you can trust me.”

  “I hope so, Ari. Though, to be fair, I don’t really know you—no offence.” I add. “Actually, it’s funny,” I chuckle without meaning it, “I’m yet to meet anyone in Iceland I can trust, which is surprising given, you know, everything your media is claiming right now.”

  “Becky.” He waits until I look at him. There’s exasperation in his eyes. “My family has hiked at the Skepnasá River for all I can remember. You said you wanted facts? There is one fact for you. Fact two: the river divides the Jötunnsjökull valley in two parts and there is no bridge between those parts, making the other side inaccessible. Still, some people like to see that other side, so they look for a safe place to cross the water. Of course they do not know the area like I do, and they are wrong, and they die.

  “Fact three,” he continues, “a few years ago a family complained after they lost some loved ones in the water, so our government made a rule. No one is to go within two metres of the Skepnasá River. Another fact. Your brother, I saw him because I was on the other side of the river. I only cross because I know what I’m doing and the hiking there is exceptional. I was reluctant to tell you about finding your brother,” he clears his throat as if trying to compose himself, “until I had spoken to you for a while, because I was hiking somewhere I shouldn’t have been. Four facts. Okay now?” He crosses his arms.

  I look at Ari’s tense expression, and the fists he’s making under his arms, and realise he’s nervous about getting into trouble. “Okay. I won’t tell anyone.” Unless I have to.

  “Thank you.” His shoulders relax.

  “I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable. I didn’t mean to.”

  “I know you didn’t.” He tugs flat the glossy maize sash around his waist. “You are just very…” He pauses to find the right word, then doesn’t finish the sentence. “Still, you are also a nice person. I can tell.” He smiles.

  “I’m glad you think so.” Not that it’s relevant.

  “Of course. You wouldn’t be here asking all these questions about your brother if you weren’t.”

  We continue down the corridor. After a few paces, I have another question for him. “If the river is so dangerous, why don’t they seal it off, put up barriers or something?”

  “Fact five,” he says, “the river is protected. It’s a national park. All they can do is warn people.”

  “Oh, I imagine they can do a lot more than that if people are dying there.” Just wait until I’ve finished with them.

  “Then you must have a good imagination.”

  “Not r—” I stop myself and rephrase. “What imagination I have I can control.”

  “And control is important to you, já? I can tell that also.” He holds a door open for an administrator as she emerges from an office, balancing a pile of documents on her laptop.


  “Not so much control.” Instinctively, my hand falls to my hips, as if to hide my secrets. “Though, as you saw when we were crossing the road outside, my imagination could benefit from some controlling. I prefer things I can rely on, don’t you? Facts and figures, evidence, proof, details…”

  “And what happens,” he says, closing the administrator’s door, “when two facts say different things?” We walk on.

  “You mean when they contradict each other?” He nods. “There will always be one to tip the balance.”

  “You never trust your, er, this?” He points to his gut.

  “No. Your gut relies on feelings, and feelings can change.”

  “Facts can change too.”

  “How?” I can’t suppress the sarcasm in my voice.

  “New facts can make you think differently about old ones. We feel things in our gut for a reason.”

  “You sound like my brother.”

  “I do?”

  “He says our gut feelings, hunches and instincts result from our subconscious reasoning for us.” I mimic Mark’s voice, sensing an opportunity to loosen up our conversation. “Our subconscious generates perfectly logical analysis but reduces it, for speed, into inexplicable impulses.”

  “Then he was a very clever brother and you should trust your gut more.” He nudges my arm with his, smiles again.

  I wish it were that easy. Though Mark’s always saying it is. “Look, are you going to take me to this glacier or not?” Despite myself, my instincts tell me to add a smile.

  Ari looks at me, assesses my expression, then chuckles and mumbles something in Icelandic.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” He throws me a conciliatory grin. “You make me laugh. Though I am trying not to laugh of course. Okay, so…you are in a hurry to know everything. But only because you loved your brother. So I understand.”

  “That’s refreshing to hear.” Perhaps some people are capable of seeing what my parents can’t after all. “I’m glad you understand my urgency.”