The Mist

by Ragnar Jónasson

  Erla studied her husband. He looked tired. There were shadows under his eyes and deep furrows in his forehead, though he was only in his early fifties. He had worked hard all his life, but there was no end in sight for his labours. They had gradually got out of the habit of seeing old friends and acquaintances from their district and, besides, they were more or less cut off by the state of the roads for several months every year. Einar always used to be fiercely political but now he made do with just buying the party newspaper and casting his vote in every election. He no longer got worked up over current affairs and had given up arguing about politics. Then again, since he and Erla mostly agreed with each other, there was no one for him to argue with, except perhaps the radio.

  Despite endless promises, they still couldn’t receive television broadcasts. Every year it was a source of friction with those responsible, but, so far, no transmitter covered their area. Then again, maybe it was a good thing not to fall under its spell quite yet. It allowed them to live in the past a little while longer, or so she tried to convince herself. Secretly, though, Erla would have liked a chance to sit down in the evenings in front of the news and those drama series she was always reading about in the papers. There was even a second TV channel these days, but the idea that they would ever be able to receive its broadcasts in this remote valley was nothing but a pipe dream.

  ‘Temperature’s dropping, he says,’ Einar mumbled after the forecast. Their mealtime conversations far too often revolved around the weather. Of course, it was important, but Erla sometimes missed not being able to move their talk on to a slightly higher plane.

  ‘Mm,’ she said, not really listening.

  ‘And yet another damned storm on the way. We’re not getting any let-up this winter, just snow, snow and more bloody snow. If it goes on like this, I don’t know how our hay stocks are going to last until spring.’

  ‘That’s just the way it is, Einar. It’s only to be expected. I mean, it’s like this every year. We’re always trapped here.’

  ‘Well, “trapped” is putting it a bit strongly. Of course it’s difficult at the height of winter,’ he said, returning his attention to the stew and avoiding Erla’s eye.

  An unexpected noise made her jump.

  It had sounded like someone knocking at the door.

  She glanced at her husband. He was sitting frozen into stillness, his spoon halfway to his mouth, his expression astonished. So he had heard it too.

  ‘Anna?’ Erla asked. ‘Is it Anna?’

  Einar didn’t answer.

  ‘That was someone knocking at the door, wasn’t it, Einar?’

  He nodded and got to his feet. Erla copied him and followed as he walked slowly through the sitting room to the hall. Perhaps he thought they’d misheard and it had just been a trick of the wind.

  But Erla knew it wasn’t.

  There was somebody at the door.

  IV

  Hulda sat in the work canteen, forcing down mouthfuls of skate. She couldn’t bear the smell, with its tang of the urinal, and although it didn’t taste nearly as bad as you’d expect, it was still far from being her favourite dish. Once a year, on St Thorlákur’s Mass, they served up the traditional kæst skata, or fermented skate, at the police station, and those who couldn’t stand it had to either make do with eating toast amidst the pungent stench, or flee the building and grab something at the local corner shop instead.

  That morning she and Jón had asked Dimma if she’d like to go for a burger after they finished work. The suggestion would have been greeted with joy in the old days but this time Dimma had been unenthusiastic. She’d complained of feeling ill and had certainly looked a bit off colour, but when Hulda laid a hand on her forehead there had been no sign of a fever. She hadn’t entirely given up hope that the girl would perk up later so they could go out for a special treat after all.

  She was also determined to drag Dimma along on a family expedition to Laugavegur later in the evening, to buy a couple more presents and experience the Christmassy atmosphere in the city centre, before returning home to warm up with a hot chocolate. Yes, why not get another little something to put under the tree for Dimma? She could do with cheering up. Maybe Hulda could find a new record for the smart stereo her daughter had been given as a Confirmation gift earlier that year. They could let her open that parcel this evening, after they’d decorated the tree.

  One thing was sure, they wouldn’t let her get away with sulking like this right through Christmas. Hulda and Jón would have to make a concerted effort to lift their daughter out of her … well, her depression. No sooner had Hulda mentally formed the word than she rejected it. A thirteen-year-old could hardly be suffering from depression. On second thoughts, she was ashamed of overreacting like this. It would only make things worse.

  Dimma was just a typical moody teenager going through a rebellious phase. It’ll pass, Hulda reassured herself.

  V

  There was another bout of knocking, louder than before. Again, Erla flinched.

  Einar stood uncertainly by the door for a moment before opening it. Erla hung back at a safe distance behind him.

  They were met by a blast of snow as the loose crystals swept in on a gust of wind, then, blinking, made out the shape of a man, well bundled up against the cold, with a thick woollen hat on his head. ‘Excuse me, could I come in?’ he asked in a low voice.

  ‘Er … yes, yes, of course,’ Einar said with uncharacteristic hesitation, and Erla could tell from his voice that he was afraid. Einar was hardly ever afraid. But the man didn’t appear to be anyone they knew and that in itself was almost unheard of. They never had visitors in winter. In the summers, yes, that was different: they often took in young people who worked in return for meals and accommodation.

  ‘Thank you,’ the man said, stepping over the threshold: ‘Thank you so much.’ He took off his backpack, dislodging a shower of snow, and lowered it to the floor, then sat down on a chair in the hall to remove his boots.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ Einar replied, sounding a little more confident, Erla thought. ‘We don’t get many visitors in winter. Well, I say not many, but none at all would be more like it. We’re not exactly easy to get to.’

  The visitor nodded. ‘Right.’ He had removed one boot and was now fumbling at the laces of the other with numb fingers. The melting snow was dripping off him on to the floor. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I should probably have taken my things off outside.’

  ‘Nonsense, come into the warmth, my friend,’ Einar said. ‘As if we’re bothered by a bit of snow in the house. That would be a fine thing!’

  ‘Thanks, I’ll mop it up.’

  The man took off his other boot, then his coat. His cheeks were flushed with the cold and his eyes looked hollow and red-rimmed with exhaustion.

  He’ll never be able to get home in time for Christmas, Erla found herself thinking. It wasn’t such a bad prospect – from a purely selfish point of view – since they hardly ever had any company during the festive season. According to the forecast on the radio just now, the weather was set to deteriorate, and it would be almost impossible for the man to head back to the village today. Especially as he looked so worn out, though he didn’t seem to have any injuries. Her first, automatic reaction had been to check his nose, cheeks and fingers for the telltale signs of frostbite, but they looked fine.

  But she grew uneasy. She studied him surreptitiously; there was something about him that made her nervous. Something hard to define. She shrank back instinctively into the sitting room. Einar was still blocking the hall doorway. Although he had invited the man inside, he seemed on edge. After all, there was no getting away from the fact that a complete stranger had entered their home and had, as yet, given no explanation of what he was doing here. No doubt he would account for his presence in a minute.

  ‘We were just finishing lunch,’ Einar said. ‘Won’t you come into the kitchen and have a bite to eat? You must be hungry.’

  ‘Actually, I’d be very g
rateful,’ the man replied. ‘To tell the truth, I’m starving.’

  ‘There’s bread, and I think there’s a bit of stew left over too,’ Einar told him.

  Erla stayed in the background.

  Einar showed the man through the sitting room to the kitchen, with Erla following a few steps behind. The visitor took a good long look around him, as if it was the first time he had ever set foot in an Icelandic farmhouse. And maybe it was.

  They sat down at the table. Classical music was playing on the radio, distorted by the usual interference. Their guest fell on his food and for a while no one spoke. Einar and Erla exchanged glances. Should she take the initiative and ask what he was doing there?

  ‘It’s nice to have a visitor,’ she ventured. ‘Makes a pleasant change. I’m Erla, by the way.’

  She held out her hand and he shook it.

  ‘And I’m Einar,’ added her husband.

  ‘Please excuse my lack of manners,’ the man said. ‘I was just so tired and hungry. My name’s Leó.’

  ‘So, Leó, what brings you out here at this time of year?’

  ‘It’s a long story,’ he said, and Erla thought she picked up an underlying tension in his voice. ‘I was on a trip with two friends from Reykjavík. We were supposed to be home by today but I, well, I managed to lose them.’ He gave a rueful sigh.

  ‘You lost them?’

  ‘Well, I think I was the one who got lost. They’re both much more experienced than me. I can’t imagine how they’re feeling right now – they must be worried sick.’

  ‘What were you doing in the area?’

  ‘Shooting ptarmigan. Look, I couldn’t possibly borrow your phone, could I? You do have a phone?’

  He pushed back his chair and stood up.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Einar replied. ‘The line can be a bit crackly in weather like this, but it was all right the last time –’

  ‘Yesterday,’ Erla interrupted. ‘We made a call yesterday.’

  ‘It’s in the sitting room,’ Einar went on. ‘It can take a few goes to get a connection, as it’s a shared line, so you might have to be patient.’

  Leó disappeared into the other room.

  ‘I’m not getting a dialling tone,’ he called after a while.

  Einar stood up and went into the sitting room. ‘You don’t need to press anything, you should just hear a dialling tone when you pick up the receiver. Though, like I said, it can take a few tries if other people are using the line.’

  Erla stayed where she was in the kitchen, listening as the men tried repeatedly to get a connection.

  ‘Damn it,’ Einar said when they came back in. ‘The phone’s dead. The line must be down.’

  ‘The line? But what … what about …?’ Erla trailed off. ‘Are you sure? It’s ages since that last happened.’

  ‘Must be the sheer weight of snow,’ Einar said. ‘It’s a bloody nuisance.’

  ‘Will someone come and sort it out?’ Leó asked.

  ‘It depends. Sometimes we have to wait a while for the engineers to fix it. We’re not top of their list, as you can imagine.’ Einar gave a wry smile. ‘I’m afraid this puts you in a difficult position, but I’m damned if I know what to do. The road’s impassable for the jeep in these conditions. We don’t normally stir from here in the middle of winter.’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ said Leó. ‘The thing is, I don’t know if I feel up to heading back straight away.’

  ‘Goodness, no, of course not. You’re welcome to stay here as long as you need to. I was just thinking it must be pretty urgent to get a message to your friends that you’re alive.’

  ‘Well, yes, it is. I just hope they don’t send out a search party to look for me, but I suppose that’s possible.’

  ‘If they do, they’re bound to find our place,’ Einar said.

  ‘Speaking of which, how did you find us?’ Erla chipped in. ‘How did you know there were houses up here?’

  ‘What? Is there more than one?’

  ‘There are two, actually,’ Einar replied.

  ‘No, I didn’t know anyone lived out here at all,’ Leó said.

  Erla had an uneasy feeling about this visit. She studied the man, who had sat back down at the kitchen table, and tried to work out if he was telling the truth. He was hard to read. His gaze was intent and unwavering but his expression gave little away. She noted that he was strongly built and looked fit. He must be somewhere between forty and fifty. Despite his fatigue, he didn’t seem to be in too bad shape for someone who had just been through such an ordeal, but of course appearances could be deceptive.

  ‘I stumbled on this place by pure chance,’ he continued. ‘An unbelievable stroke of luck. There were markers sticking out of the snow here and there, so I guessed it was a road and tried to follow it. Do you really mean there are only two houses in the entire area?’

  ‘Yes, in a very large area, in fact,’ Einar said.

  ‘There are us two on this farm,’ Erla elaborated, ‘and then our daughter Anna’s place, which is a bit of a walk from here.’

  ‘You were extremely lucky,’ Einar told him.

  ‘I realize that.’ Leó took another mouthful of stew. Erla was sure it must be cold by now, but their guest didn’t seem to mind.

  ‘There was nothing about it on the midday news,’ she remarked, then immediately wished she hadn’t mentioned it.

  There was a tense silence. She caught Einar frowning at her, clearly annoyed by her comment.

  ‘About what?’ Leó asked after a pause, though it was plain that he knew perfectly well what she meant.

  ‘About you, about the fact you’re missing.’

  ‘Oh, well, now you come to mention it, it didn’t occur to me that I could end up on the news. My friends are tough guys. I doubt they’d go straight to the police. In fact, I bet they’re still trying to track me down themselves. It’s not that long since we lost sight of each other and they’ve got a map of the area, or at least one of them has. Your farm’s definitely marked on the map, isn’t it? I expect they’re on their way here as we speak.’ He smiled awkwardly.

  ‘On some maps, yes. Still, I imagine they’ll turn up soon if you got separated on the moors near here. It would make sense.’

  The conversation petered out and no one said anything for a while. Erla didn’t like to stare at their visitor while he was eating, so she swung her gaze back and forth between her husband and the window. It wasn’t snowing, but a fierce wind was blowing outside and the whole house chimed in as usual, while icy draughts sought out every chink in the walls or window frames. When the temperature plummeted, like it had yesterday evening, the heating was powerless against the cold. Today was a little milder, though presumably still below freezing. But then it was highly unusual for the mercury to rise above zero in midwinter.

  ‘Thanks very much,’ Leó said at last, his bowl empty. He had polished off most of the bread too.

  ‘You’ll stay with us – we have a spare room for guests down the passage,’ Einar said.

  ‘That’s very kind, thank you.’

  ‘I would offer to guide you back to the village tomorrow, but it’s Christmas Eve, you see, so it’s a bit difficult for me to be away from home. And it’s quite a long trek – I’m sure you understand. But you’re welcome to stay with us over Christmas. I can accompany you back afterwards, or just put you on the right track, if you’d prefer.’

  ‘The last thing I want to do is upset your Christmas plans,’ Leó hastened to assure them. ‘I’ll try and head off tomorrow morning, assuming I’ve recovered by then. I expect I’ll crash out good and early this evening after today’s little adventure.’ He broke off to yawn. ‘And then I’ll get going first thing and leave you to enjoy your Christmas in peace.’

  Erla was still feeling inexplicably twitchy in their visitor’s presence; there was something about his manner that bothered her, that didn’t ring true. Something vaguely threatening. That unnervingly intent stare. ‘Your family must be wondering where you
are,’ she said. It was a statement rather than a question.

  Leó’s reaction was odd. His face twisted in a grimace and he didn’t immediately reply, then after a pause he answered, as if he couldn’t bear the silence any longer: ‘No, there’s nobody waiting for me.’

  ‘It’s an unusual time of year for a shooting trip,’ Erla persisted. She was having a hard time believing a word he said and was only surprised that Einar was being so forbearing. Perhaps it was just his innate good manners. As a true countryman, her husband had been brought up never to refuse anyone hospitality. ‘So close to Christmas, I mean.’

  Again, there was a delay before Leó answered: ‘Me and my friends aren’t that big on Christmas, to be honest – though we were planning to drive back to town tomorrow morning. Not that we’ll be able to now, which is a bit of a bugger.’ He smiled. ‘Excuse my language. I can’t tell you how happy I was to see your lights. I was totally lost and scared to death that … well, that I’d be caught out by nightfall.’

  ‘Oh, the nights here are something else,’ Erla said quietly, but with such feeling that Leó looked a little taken aback. ‘I hope you’re not afraid of the dark.’

  ‘God, no, I’m sure I’ll be fine. Anyway, what do, er, how do you pass the time in the long winter evenings? I don’t suppose you can get TV up here?’

  ‘No, thank God!’ Einar said with feeling. Erla shot him a glance, aware that he was eager to change the subject and prevent her from continuing what amounted almost to an interrogation of the man.

  ‘Then perhaps we can sit down this evening and have a proper talk,’ said Leó, with an odd inflection to his voice.