The man gestured Ódinn towards the rickety chair and he sat down, hoping it would support his weight. It creaked but didn’t collapse. Ódinn introduced himself and received the man’s nickname in return. ‘I was told you were willing to talk to me. I hope that wasn’t a misunderstanding. I won’t bother you for long, I promise.’
The man laughed and Ódinn saw that he hadn’t been as lucky as Kegga in the dental department. Every other tooth appeared to be missing and those that remained were brown or discoloured. His nose had obviously been broken more than once without the benefit of medical attention and even his ears seemed to have received their share of abuse. ‘Bother me? My dear boy! I’ve nothing better to do today; or any other day, for that matter.’
Ódinn noticed that the room contained no form of diversion: no television, computer or radio, not even a book. ‘You never know.’
‘I’ve got to go to a meeting at suppertime but apart from that I’m free. Free as a bird.’ The man roared with laughter, which quickly deteriorated into a hacking cough.
‘A meeting?’ At first Ódinn thought the man was joking, then realised he must be referring to an AA meeting. ‘All right if I begin?’ He was in a hurry to get the interview over with, uncomfortable at finding himself in such close quarters with a human tragedy that it was too late to reverse. All this man could look forward to now was palliative care.
‘I’m all ears.’ Pytti seemed tickled by his own sarcasm.
‘Right.’ Ódinn drew his notes from his jacket pocket. ‘I’m conducting a preliminary inquiry into the treatment of the children at Krókur. Checking that it wasn’t anything like what went on at some of the other residential care homes for children and teenagers.’
‘Funny you should say children. I didn’t feel like a child when I was there. But now, looking back, I realise I was of course.’
Ódinn glanced at his notes, calculated Pytti’s age and was disconcerted to discover that he was only fifty-two years old. ‘You were fourteen. Is that right? There for just under a year?’
‘Something like that, yes.’
‘Do you remember that time?’ Ódinn studied the battered face in the hope of being able to determine the truth of his answers.
‘Yes. Not the day to day, but I reckon I remember it all right. The early years of my life are quite clear in my mind, but after that whole decades are more or less a blur. Maybe the old memories have lasted so well because they weren’t replaced by any new ones. Blackouts don’t leave much behind.’
‘How would you describe your time there? I mean, the way you were looked after. And anything else you happen to remember. Were you ever mistreated by the staff or would you say you had nothing to complain about? Apart from your loss of freedom, obviously.’
‘That’s a big question.’ The man returned his stare intently. Perhaps he was trying to gauge Ódinn’s sincerity. ‘It was no better or worse than the years before or afterwards. But you have to take into account that I had a miserable life both before I arrived and after I left. So it didn’t make much difference.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ Ódinn would have to tread carefully. He wasn’t here to write a report on the man’s life, only the eleven months he had spent at Krókur. Most of the boys who wound up there had lived in wretched conditions. Not in every case, but from the reports he’d read Ódinn was struck by how many of them had come from alcoholic families. Or, if they weren’t alcoholics, their parents had been struggling with poverty or other problems. In the end it was their sons who suffered, who vented their frustration at the injustice of the world through vandalism or petty theft, for which they paid with their freedom. Pytti belonged to the former group: his parents had been serious alcoholics who had subjected him to appalling neglect. It wasn’t a good sign if conditions at Krókur had been no better than those at his childhood home. ‘What was the reason for your unhappiness at Krókur? Was it anything specific or were you just unhappy in general?’
The man leant back on the bed and raised his gnarled hand thoughtfully to his chin. His tremors were so bad it looked as if his fingers were playing an invisible piano. ‘It was miserable and just … pointless somehow. I was there for a ridiculous reason – I broke a window at school in a fit of rage. Who’d spend a year locked up for that nowadays?’
‘No one.’ Ódinn said no more. He wasn’t here to stand trial for or defend the past conduct of the child protection authorities. If that were the case, what on earth would he say to vindicate the other care homes where innocent children had been incarcerated?
The man seemed satisfied with Ódinn’s reply. ‘We should have been at school during the day and chasing skirt in the evenings. Not stuck in the arse end of nowhere, counting down the days till our release.’
‘Weren’t you given any lessons?’
‘Lord, no.’ Pytti thought for a moment. ‘Well, they did try to knock something into our heads but we spent most of our time doing chores around the farm.’ He coughed again. ‘I wasn’t bad with the books as a kid. But I got no support at home so in the end I gave up and started messing around.’ He fixed his gaze on the wall behind Ódinn’s head. Perhaps he was reflecting on what his life might have been like if he’d received a normal upbringing. Ódinn couldn’t help wondering about it himself, at any rate. But when Pytti began talking again it was on a different subject. ‘Between trying to teach us and making us slave away on the farm, they forced us to listen to a load of Christian bollocks. Not that the couple preaching were exactly models of charity. But we were supposed to see the light. Mend our sinful ways, as they used to say.’ This was followed by more phlegmy laughter. ‘Got a fag, by any chance?’
‘Sorry, no.’ At that moment Ódinn regretted that he didn’t smoke; he’d have liked to have been able to treat this man to some tobacco. ‘There were between five and ten of you in residence at any given time. Presumably there were misdemeanours that had to be dealt with. How were they punished?’
‘The usual. You were taken aside and preached at. Sometimes you were locked in a room and made to read the Bible. Or went without supper. Had to muck out the cowshed. There were various punishments.’
‘Did they include corporal punishment?’
‘The odd slap. Got one of my teeth knocked loose, if I remember right.’
Ódinn noted this down. ‘Who hit you?’
‘Veigar. The manager. The old sod. Mind you, he was probably younger than I am now.’
‘He was under forty at the time.’ Ódinn put down his pen. ‘Was he free with his fists?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. He used to lose his rag. But nothing serious, really. It didn’t bother boys like me, who were used to getting a smack with our orders, but others didn’t take it so well. The old lady was far worse, though she never belted us. I’d have taken an old-fashioned beating any day over a dirty look from her.’
‘A look?’
‘Yes. She was off her rocker. Used to glare at you like she could drill a hole through your head. Gave me the willies. Said all kinds of ugly stuff too that had you shaking in your shoes.’
‘Oh? Like what?’
‘God, don’t know if I want to remember.’ He licked his lips; the tongue that darted out of his mouth appearing startlingly red against his grey skin. ‘Bible quotations and nasty stuff about what pathetic little shits we were. How we’d end up on the scrap heap. That was about the worst thing that could happen to you; that you’d never amount to anything. I reckon that hit me the hardest. It wasn’t like you didn’t already know, but sometimes you managed to forget for a bit and it wasn’t much fun being reminded.’
Ódinn drew a breath and wished he were somewhere else. At his computer, where he could check on Rún. It was hard to see what a report about the injustices experienced by boys so many years ago would achieve. No amount of compensation could undo the damage they had suffered. And what exactly had caused the damage? Would this man’s life have been different if he had never been sent to Krókur? Of course it was impos
sible for Ódinn to judge, and anyway it made no odds. An injustice was an injustice, regardless of what came before or after. ‘It emerged during the inquiry into other care homes that sometimes it was the kids themselves who made the other kids’ life a misery. The staff left them to it and bullying and beatings by the older kids were rife. Was that the case at Krókur?’
‘Not that I recall. Sure, there were fights, but don’t forget we were a tough bunch. It would’ve been a miracle if we hadn’t got into scraps. There was a lot of teasing, too, but not enough to hurt. Or not for long, anyway.’
Evidently Pytti hadn’t been bullied himself or he wouldn’t have made so light of the teasing. But others might have a very different story to tell. Ódinn felt overwhelmed with gloom at the thought of having to interview other old boys. ‘Is there anything else you’d like to mention, anything I haven’t asked about?’ Ódinn had the feeling he’d overlooked some important aspect, but the longing to get out of here, to get back to Rún, was becoming unbearable.
‘Only that it was a horrible place. The place itself, I mean. The farm and its surroundings. It wasn’t like proper countryside. I don’t know what the hell it was. Just the arse end of nowhere. It was crazy trying to farm there. There was something wrong with the whole thing. Nothing to do with the people.’
‘I don’t quite follow. What do you mean?’
‘I can’t explain it, but I wasn’t the only one who was creeped out by the place. We all were. It was a bad place. Some of the others claimed the old man had buried their child on the farm and that was why there was this spooky atmosphere.’
‘Their child?’ Ódinn hadn’t seen a word about the couple having a child.
‘Child, or foetus, or whatever. I don’t know what it was. But the woman had a baby that was stillborn or died at birth. Anyhow, there was no chance to baptise it, and because they were so Christian they didn’t like to give it a decent burial in a churchyard or put it in a coffin with someone else. So they just shoved it in a hole in the ground.’ Pytti’s gaze grew shifty as he read the disbelief on Ódinn’s face. ‘You don’t believe me but that’s what happened. And two of the boys paid the price.’
‘Hang on a minute. How do you mean?’
‘They died. Two of them. Did you really think it was an accident?’
Chapter 14
January 1974
Aldís’s face was puffy and hollow-eyed after her sleepless night. A splash of icy water helped, but only for a moment. No sooner had the colour faded from her cheeks than she looked as tired and wretched as before. She felt like hanging a towel over the mirror while she brushed her teeth. A shower would have been a godsend but there was only a bathtub which took too long to fill. Besides, there was a risk she’d drop off if she lay in the hot water, and drowning in this place was not a tempting prospect.
She spat out the toothpaste and rinsed her mouth. She wished she could do the same to her brain, rinse out the churning thoughts that had kept her awake. They had revolved around what upset her most – her relationship with her mother, and also all the mystery surrounding Einar. As she tossed and turned in the darkness her problems had appeared ever more insurmountable. The pain in her stomach intensified and nothing worked to distract her mind. She had an oppressive sense that everything was going wrong, and, what was more, nothing could be done to prevent it. She’d tried her best to come up with different ways of sorting out her life, but to no avail. Each time, her fatalistic side told her she had no control over her future. Even her dreams, when they finally came, were bad. When her alarm clock went off she was snatched out of a world that she preferred not to recall. All that remained was a dim memory of a hole she couldn’t climb out of, which was slowly but inexorably filling with mud that oozed down the sides. She didn’t want to remember, especially not the vague feeling that there was something unpleasant down there with her. Still, on the bright side, at least it meant she must have drifted off for a while, though she had no idea for how long. Probably longer than she thought. It was always the way.
She turned on the hot tap to wash her hands and, while it was warming up, plucked up the courage to look in the mirror. Through the mist that crept up the glass it looked as if she had a red mark on one cheek, where her mother had slapped her. She didn’t wipe away the condensation as she didn’t want to see it any more clearly, but her cheek felt hot and tender to the touch.
There was a peremptory knock on the bathroom door. ‘You’re not the only one who needs the toilet.’ Hastily, she tidied away her wash things and opened the door. Malli was leaning against the wall with a goading look that made her want to answer back, but she stopped herself. It wasn’t his fault she was feeling like this. And she had no wish to get into a stupid quarrel first thing in the morning. Back in her room, once she’d tied her shoelaces and drawn her hair back into a neat ponytail, she felt slightly better and slapped her knees as if to remind her legs that it was time to go. She’d be in a right state later. But she’d have to stick it out, and the best way was to keep reminding herself how many hours she’d put behind her and how many were left. As she knew from experience, she’d feel better when the day’s work was half done and the end was in sight. Mind you, she’d have to conserve her energy since it was her day off tomorrow and she was damn well going to treat herself to a trip to town, even if she had to walk there. She was running out of various things, and, who knows, buying something pretty might help to soothe her inner turmoil.
Cheered by the prospect of a shopping trip, she hurried out, only to come face to face with Tobbi whose nose was almost pressed to the door when she opened it. Though he wasn’t exactly an alarming figure, Aldís was startled. ‘What are you doing here, silly? Can’t you knock?’ She spoke more sharply than she usually did to the younger boys but she couldn’t help herself. Her heart was hammering and her body needed an outlet for the adrenaline that was pumping through her veins. Besides, she was still pissed off with him for not telling the truth about what had happened in the dining room.
‘Sorry. I was going to knock but you opened the door.’ The boy lowered his head, shamefaced, and stared at his feet. His hair had grown out and the black fringe flopped limply over his forehead and eyes. Lilja was supposed to cut the boys’ hair but recently she’d neglected her duty and some of them were looking distinctly shaggy.
‘Come to apologise, have you? You needn’t think you’ll get off that lightly. I couldn’t give a shit about your excuses. If you want to make it up to me you can bloody well go and tell Lilja and Veigar what really happened.’ She suppressed an impulse to grab him and force him to look her in the eye.
‘That’s not why I’m here.’ He was mumbling as if he had a mouthful of chewing gum, which might well be the case. His grandmother regularly sent him little parcels of sweets and since it was Tobbi’s job to fetch the post, he was able to squirrel them away. Not a bad reward for his efforts, though he had to walk all the way down the slip-road to collect the mail from the old milk-churn platform that stood by the turn-off. Otherwise Veigar and Lilja confiscated all treats, saying they had no place at the home. Aldís had seen Lilja feeding the pigs with sweets that had arrived in the post and, as far as she knew, the boys weren’t even told they’d received a package. Aldís didn’t know which was worse: withholding their parcels or keeping quiet about the fact they’d been sent a gift from home and letting them believe they’d been abandoned. She had often considered exposing the couple’s behaviour to the boys but always stopped herself. She was afraid of the consequences, not just for herself but in case she provoked a mutiny. Any such behaviour would be harshly suppressed and the boys would be worse off than before. Once, she’d plucked up the courage to mention it to Lilja, who had replied that it was best this way since some of the boys never received any post, and the others’ good fortune would only lead to unhappiness or envy. In other words, everyone ought to feel equally bad. Aldís hadn’t had the nerve to respond.
‘I’ve brought you something.’ Tobbi rea
ched into his back pocket and held out an envelope, folded but not crumpled.
The wind went out of Aldís’s sails. She stared, speechless, at the folded envelope. Never had it occurred to her that she might be in the same boat as the boys. Before taking it, she asked in a low voice: ‘Have Veigar and Lilja confiscated other letters to me?’ The boy nodded and Aldís thought she detected a hint of shame in his expression. She glanced briefly at the address and instantly recognised the handwriting. ‘These letters to me, did they all have the same writing on them?’
‘I think so. I’m not sure.’ Tobbi shuffled his feet. He still hadn’t met her eye.
Aldís snatched the envelope from him. It was heavier than she’d expected but not enough to suggest it contained anything other than paper. With a lump in her throat, she took a step backwards and shut the door in Tobbi’s face. She neither thanked him nor harangued him to tell the truth about the incident in the dining room. She was too tired, angry and upset.
She knew the elegantly formed letters of her name as well as her own writing. The envelope burned her fingers and she wanted to hurl it into the corner. It couldn’t have come at a worse time, catching her when she was so down after a night of fretting. About how her mother had failed her, among other things. It felt like fate; the same fate that had whispered mockingly to her last night that she had no control over what was to come.
Aldís stuffed the envelope into her pocket and left her room, roughly drying her eyes. She would read the letter later.
* * *
Anger can be useful at times. Aldís was filled with a resolve that she’d forgotten she possessed. Those around her seemed to sense that something was up and for once Lilja avoided speaking to her or ordering her about. She even bit her tongue when she caught Aldís stuffing two pieces of bread in her pocket for the bird, though up to now Aldís had stolen crusts for it when no one was looking. Now she couldn’t give a damn about Lilja’s reaction. In fact, she was sure she’d explode if Lilja so much as breathed heavily in her direction. Getting it out of her system like that might feel wonderful, but living with the consequences wouldn’t be much fun, especially since Lilja had started harbouring grudges. Aldís was also scared that she’d blurt out exactly what she thought about their stealing her post, and on no account did she want to do that. Not until she had mentally rehearsed her speech, tweaking it until it was perfect.
The Undesired Page 13