Cautiously opening the door, they crept inside: Simon leading the way but Tomas close behind, holding his hand. When they went into the kitchen they saw Grimur standing at the worktop. He had his back turned to them. Sniffed and spat into the sink. He had turned on the light over the table and they could see only his outline beyond it.
"Where's your mother?" he said, his back still turned.
Simon thought that he had noticed them on the way up the hill after all and heard them enter the house.
"She's working," Simon said.
"Working? Where's she working?" Grimur said.
"At Gufunes dairy," Simon said.
"Didn't she know I was coming today?" Grimur turned round to face them and stepped into the light. The brothers stared at him as he emerged from the darkness and their eyes turned like saucers when they saw his face in the dull glow. Something had happened to Grimur. Along one of his cheeks, a burn mark stretched all the way up to his eye, which was half closed because his eyelid had fused with the skin.
Grimur smiled.
"Doesn't Dad look pretty?"
The brothers stared at his disfigured face.
"First they make you coffee, then they throw it in your face."
He moved closer to them.
"Not because they want you to confess. They know it all already because someone's told them. That's not why they throw boiling coffee over you. That's not why they destroy your face."
The boys did not understand what was going on.
"Fetch your mother," Grimur ordered, looking at Tomas, who was cowering behind his brother. "Go to that fucking cow shop and bring the cow back."
Out of the corner of his eye Simon saw a movement in the bedroom, but he did not dare for the life of him to look inside. Mikkelina was up and about. She was able to stand on one leg and could move about if she supported herself, but she did not risk going into the kitchen.
"Out!" Grimur shouted. "Now!"
Tomas jumped. Simon was uncertain that his brother would find the way. Tomas had been to the farm with his mother once or twice in the summer, but it was darker and colder outside now and Tomas was still very much a child.
"I'll go," Simon said.
"You're not bloody going anywhere," Grimur snarled. "Piss off!" he shouted at Tomas, who staggered away from behind Simon, opened the door into the cold air and closed it carefully behind him.
"Come on, Simon my boy, come and sit down with me," Grimur said, his rage seeming suddenly to have vanished.
Simon fumbled his way into the kitchen and sat on a chair. He saw a movement in the bedroom again. He hoped Mikkelina would not come out. There was a pantry in the passageway and he thought that she could sneak in there without Grimur noticing her.
"Didn't you miss your old dad?" Grimur said, sitting down facing him. Simon couldn't take his eyes off the burn on his face. He nodded.
"What have you all been up to this summer?" Grimur asked, and Simon stared at him without saying a word. He did not know where to start telling lies. He could not tell him about Dave, about the visits and mysterious meetings with his mother, the trips, the picnics. He could not say that they all slept in the big bed together, always. He could not say how his mother had become a completely different person since Grimur left, which was all thanks to Dave. Dave had brought back her zest for life. He could not tell him how she made herself look pretty in the mornings. Her changed appearance. How her expression grew more beautiful each day that she spent with Dave.
"What, nothing?" Grimur said. "Hasn't anything happened the whole summer?"
"The. . the. . weather was great," Simon whimpered, his eyes glued to the burn.
"Great weather. The weather was great," Grimur said. "And you've been playing here and by the barracks. Do you know anyone from the barracks?"
"No," Simon blurted out. "No one."
Grimur smiled.
"You've learned to tell lies this summer. Amazing how quickly people learn to tell lies. Did you learn to tell lies this summer, Simon?"
Simon's lower lip was beginning to tremble. It was a reflex beyond his control.
"Just one," he said. "But I don't know him well."
"You know one. Well, well. You should never tell lies, Simon. People like you who tell lies just end up in trouble and can get others into trouble too."
"Yes," Simon said, hoping this would soon come to an end. He hoped that Mikkelina would come out and disturb them. Wondered whether to tell Grimur that Mikkelina was in the passage and had slept in his bed.
"Who do you know from the barracks?" Grimur said, and Simon could feel himself sinking deeper and deeper into the swamp.
"Just one," he said.
"Just one," Grimur repeated, stroking his cheek and lightly scratching the burn with his index finger. "Who's this one? I'm glad there's not more than one."
"I don't know. He sometimes goes fishing in the lake. Sometimes he gives us trout that he catches."
"And he's good to you kids?"
"I don't know," Simon said, well aware that Dave was the best man he had ever met. Compared with Grimur, Dave was an angel sent from heaven to save their mother. Where was Dave? Simon thought. If only Dave were here. He thought about Tomas out in the cold on his way to Gufunes, and about their mother who did not even know that Grimur was back on the hill. And he thought about Mikkelina in the passage.
"Does he come here often?"
"No, just every now and again."
"Did he come here before I was put in the nick? When you're put in the nick, Simon, it means you're put in the nick. It doesn't have to mean you're guilty of anything bad if you go prison, just that someone put you there. In the nick. And it didn't take them long. They talked a lot about making an example. The Icelanders mustn't steal from the army. Awful business. So they had to sentence me, hard and fast. So no one else would copy me and go stealing too. You get it? Everyone was supposed to learn from my mistakes. But they all steal. They all do it, and they're all making money. Did he come here before I was put in the nick?"
"Who?"
"That soldier. Did he come here before I was put in the nick? That one."
"He used to fish in the lake sometimes before you went away."
"And he gave your mother the trout he caught?"
"Yes."
"Did he catch a lot of trout?"
"Sometimes. But he wasn't a good fisherman. He just sat down by the lake, smoking. You catch a lot more than he did. With your nets too. You always catch so much with your nets."
"And when you gave your mother the trout, did he stop by? Did he come in for coffee? Did he sit down at this table?"
"No," Simon said, unable to decide whether the lie he was telling was too obvious. He was scared and confused, he kept his finger pressed against his lip to stop it trembling, and tried to answer the way he thought Grimur wanted him to, but without incriminating his mother if he said something Grimur was not supposed to know. Simon was discovering a new side to Grimur. His father had never talked to him so much before and it caught him off his guard. Simon was floundering. He was not sure exactly what Grimur was not supposed to know, but he tried his utmost to safeguard his mother.
"Didn't he ever come in here?" Grimur said, and his voice transposed from soft and cunning to strict and firm.
"Just twice, something like that."
"And what did he do then?"
"Just came in."
"Oh, it's like that. Have you started telling lies again? Are you lying to me again? I come back here after months of being treated like shit and all I get to hear are lies. Are you going to tell me lies again?"
His questions lashed Simon's face like a whip.
"What did you do in prison?" Simon asked hesitantly in the weak hope of being able to talk about something other than Dave and his mother. Why didn't Dave come? Didn't they know that Grimur was out of prison? Hadn't they discussed this at their secret meetings when Dave stroked her hand and tidied up her hair?
"In prison?" Gr
imur said, changing his voice to soft and cunning again. "I listened to stories in prison. All sorts of stories. You hear so much and want to hear so much because no one comes to visit you and the only news you get from home is what you hear there, because they're always sending people to prison and you get to know the wardens who tell you a thing or two as well. And you have loads and loads of time to think about all those stories."
A floorboard creaked inside the passageway and Grimur paused, then went on as if nothing had happened.
"Of course, you're so young. . wait, how old are you anyway, Simon?"
"I'm 14, I'll be 15 soon."
"You're almost an adult, so maybe you understand what I'm talking about. Everyone hears about how all the Icelandic girls just throw their legs over the soldiers. It's like they lose control of themselves when they see a man in uniform, and you hear about what gentlemen the soldiers are and how they open doors for them and they're polite and want to dance and never get drunk and have cigarettes and coffee and all sorts of things and come from places that all the girls want to go to. And us, Simon, we're crummy. Just yokels, Simon, that the girls won't even look at. That's why I want to know a bit more about this soldier who goes fishing in the lake, Simon, because you've disappointed me."
Simon looked at Grimur and all the strength seemed to sap from his body.
"I've heard so much about that soldier on the hill here and you've never heard of him. Unless of course you're lying to me, and I don't think that's very nice, lying to your dad when a soldier comes here every day and goes out for walks with your dad's wife all summer. You don't know anything about it?"
Simon said nothing.
"You don't know anything about it?" Grimur repeated.
"They sometimes went for walks," Simon said, tears welling in his eyes.
"See," Grimur said. "I knew we were still friends. Did you go with them maybe?"
It seemed that this would never end. Grimur looked at him with his burnt face and one eye half closed. Simon felt he could not hold back much longer.
"We sometimes went to the lake and he took a picnic. Like you sometimes brought in those cans you open with a key."
"And did he kiss your mother? Down by the lake?"
"No," Simon said, relieved at not having to answer with a lie. He had never seen Dave and his mother kissing.
"What were they doing then? Holding hands? And what were you doing? Why did you let that man take your mother for walks down by the lake? Didn't it ever occur to you that I might object? Didn't that ever occur to you?"
"No," Simon said.
"No one was thinking about me on those walks. Were they?"
"No," Simon said.
Grimur leaned forward under the light and his burning red scar stood out even more.
"And what's the name of this man who steals other people's families and thinks that's okay and no one does a thing about it?"
Simon did not answer him.
"The one who threw the coffee, Simon, the one who made my face like this, do you know his name?"
"No," Simon said in a barely audible voice.
"He attacked me and burned me, but they never put him in the nick for that. What do you reckon to that? Like they're holy, all those soldiers. Do you think they're holy?"
"No," Simon said.
"Has your mother got fatter this summer?" Grimur asked as if a new idea had suddenly entered his head. "Not because she's a cow from the dairy, Simon, but because she's been going for walks with soldiers from the barracks. Do you think she's got fatter this summer?"
"No," he said.
"I think it's likely though. We'll find out later. This man who threw the coffee over me. Do you know his name?"
"No," Simon said.
"He had some strange idea, I don't know where he got it from, that I wasn't treating your mother properly. That I did nasty things to her. You know I've had to teach her to behave sometimes. He knew about it, but he didn't understand why. Couldn't understand that tarts like your mother need to know who's in charge, who they're married to and how they ought to behave. He couldn't understand you have to push them around a bit sometimes. He was really angry when he was talking to me. I know a bit of English because I've had some good friends at the barracks and I understood most of what he was saying, and he was very angry with me about your mother."
Simon's eyes were transfixed on the scald.
"This man, Simon, his name's Dave. I don't want you to lie to me: the soldier who was so kind to your mother, has been ever since the spring and all summer and well into the autumn, could his name be Dave?"
Simon racked his brains, still staring at the burn.
"They're going to sort him out," Grimur said.
"Sort him out?" Simon didn't know what Grimur meant, but it couldn't be nice.
"Is the rat in the passage?" Grimur said, nodding towards the door.
"What?" Simon did not catch on to what he was talking about.
"The moron? Do you think it's listening to us?"
"I don't know about Mikkelina," Simon said. That was some kind of truth.
"Is his name Dave, Simon?"
"It might be," Simon said tentatively.
"It might be? You're not sure. What does he call you, Simon? When he talks to you, or maybe he cuddles you and strokes you, what does he call you then?"
"He never strokes. ."
"What's his name?"
"Dave!" Simon said.
"Dave! Thank you, Simon."
Grimur leaned back and moved out of the light. He lowered his voice.
"You see, I heard he was fucking your mum."
At that moment the door opened and the children's mother came in with Tomas following behind her, and the cold gust of wind that accompanied them sent a chill running down Simon's sweating back.
22
Erlendur was at the hill 15 minutes after talking to Skarphedinn.
He did not have his mobile with him. Otherwise he would have called Skarphedinn and told him to keep the woman waiting until he arrived. He felt sure it had to be the lady that Robert had seen by the redcurrant bushes, the crooked lady in green.
The traffic on Miklabraut was light and he drove up the slope on Artunsbrekka as fast as his car could manage, then along the road out of Reykjavik where he took a right turn for Grafarholt. Skarphedinn was about to drive away from the excavation site, but stopped. Erlendur got out of his car and the archaeologist wound down his window.
"What, so you're here? Why did you slam the phone down on me? Is something wrong? What are you looking at me like that for?"
"Is the woman still here?" Erlendur asked.
"What woman?"
Erlendur looked in the direction of the bushes and thought he saw a movement.
"Is that her?" he asked, squinting. He could not see well from that distance. "The lady in green. Is she still there?"
"Yes, she's over there," Skarphedinn said. "What's going on?"
"I'll tell you later," Erlendur said, walking off.
The redcurrant bushes came into focus as he approached them and the green figure took shape. As if expecting the woman to disappear at any moment, he quickened his pace. She was standing by the leafless bushes, holding one branch and looking over towards Mount Esja, apparently deep in thought.
"Good evening," Erlendur said when he was within earshot of her.
The woman turned round.
"Good evening," she said.
"Nice weather tonight," Erlendur said for the sake of saying something.
"Spring was always the best time up here on the hill," the lady said.
She had to make an effort to speak. Her head dangled, and Erlendur could tell that she had to concentrate hard on every word. They did not come of their own accord. One of her arms was hidden inside her sleeve. He could see that she had a club foot protruding from her long, green coat, and her shoulder-length hair was thick and grey. Her face was friendly but sorrowful. Erlendur noticed that her head moved gently on reflex,
with regular spasms. It never seemed to stay completely still.
"Are you from these parts?" Erlendur asked.
"And now the city's spread all the way out here," she said without answering him. "You never would have expected that."
"Yes, this city crawls everywhere," Erlendur said.
"Are you investigating those bones?" she suddenly said.
"I am," Erlendur said.
"I saw you on the news. I come up here sometimes, especially in spring. Like now, in the evenings when everything's quiet and we still have this lovely spring light."
"It's beautiful up here," Erlendur said. "Are you from here, or somewhere nearby maybe?"
"Actually, I was on my way to see you," the lady said, still not answering him. "I was going to contact you tomorrow. But it's good that you found me. It's about time."
"About time?"
"That the story came out."
"What story?"
"We used to live here, by these bushes. The chalet's long gone now. I don't know what happened to it. It just gradually fell apart. My mother planted the redcurrant bushes and made jam in the autumn, but she didn't want them only for jam. She wanted a hedge for shelter where she could grow vegetables and nice flowers facing south at the sun, wanted to use the chalet to block off the north wind. He wouldn't let her. It was the same as with everything else."
She looked at Erlendur, her head jerking as she spoke.
"They used to carry me out here when the sun shone," she smiled. "My brothers. There was nothing I loved more than to sit outside in the sunshine, and I used to squeal with joy when I came out into the garden. And we played games. They were always inventing new games to play with me, because I couldn't move much. Due to my disability, which was much worse in those days. They tried to include me in everything they did. That they got from their mother. Both the brothers, at first."
"What did they get from her?"
"Kindness."
"An old man told us about a lady in green who sometimes comes here to tend the bushes. His description fits you. We thought it might be someone from the chalet that was here once."
"You know about the chalet."
"Yes, and some of the tenants, but not all. We think a family of five lived here during the war, possibly the victims of violence from the father. You mentioned your mother and both brothers, two of them, and if you're the third child in the family, that fits the information we have."
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