‘If you don’t shut up right now, you’re going to end up out there yourself one day. Like the Wolf . . .’ That was the Outsider’s boy who spoke now. Tyr had staggered back to his chair, silenced. ‘Shackled. Until the end of time.’
‘You worthless nonentity. What would you fight with then? You who lay down your weapons to get a woman.’
‘Nothing is free. Or is it?’
‘No . . .’
For a moment there was silence. One person was thirsty and took a drink. Another went out to relieve himself. No one said a word; the only sound was from the swinging doors moving back and forth, until they too fell silent.
‘I hadn’t moved from the spot for an hour. No one had asked for anything, everything seemed to have come to a standstill, in the middle of it all. And I didn’t want to miss a thing. I didn’t want take part in it, but I didn’t want to miss a word . . . For a moment I thought: good, it’s over, he’s done, the wind has gone out of his sails. He had realised long ago that it was all over, that he had burned his bridges. He would never be able to make amends. And now he just seemed tired, as if all the fury had run out of him. He said, “No, precisely. Nothing is free . . .” And it sounded exactly like: “That’s it. Thank you very much.” But there was an idiot who had been included at the last minute. He’d been downing glass after glass all evening, and by now he was drunk. Pappa had warned him, but he was part of Frej’s staff and could do what he liked.’
This insignificant individual, who rarely had a voice in anything, now stepped forward to avail himself of the opportunity: ‘If I were my boss . . . with his re . . . re . . . sources . . . I’d pulverise such a bloody . . . bloody liar!’
Loki, who had looked tired, almost resigned, ready to put down his weapons because there wasn’t much more to do, now peered at the person standing before him, a tottering little underling.
‘And who the hell are you supposed to be?’
‘My name . . . my name is Byggvir.’
It looked as if Loki were considering this. Then, to everyone’s regret, he found renewed strength. ‘Are you asking for a beating?’
‘I . . . I’m known to be hot-tempered. Everyone says so.’
‘Am I supposed to take that as a threat?’
‘He’s mine,’ said Frej. ‘Pay him no mind.’
‘So that’s the one you creep and grovel for?’ Loki said to Byggvir.
‘It’s a matter of honour,’ said the drunk. ‘A matter of honour that these fine . . . people . . . should enjoy . . . enjoy this quite ex . . . excellent beer . . .’
‘Now he’s going to kill him too,’ someone said.
‘Stop it now! Loki, you’re drunk!’ That was Heimdall the fair-haired speaking. ‘Calm down now.’
Those who were paying attention could see how Loki’s right hand kept clenching into a fist, then he would relax it and straighten his fingers, clenching and unclenching. But whoever was paying attention and also had experience of Loki knew that he wouldn’t strike. He had begun to think, to deliberate. By then it was too late. ‘It’s just a bunch of drunken blather . . . Pay it no mind.’
‘A matter of honour,’ said Loki. ‘A matter of honour . . . You poor slob.’ You might think it was the pitiful, drunken underling he meant, but he had turned to face Heimdall the fair-haired. ‘You poor slob, doing your shitty job, for all these years. As guard for all of them . . .’ He let his gaze survey the entire assembly again. ‘Keeping watch over this lot . . . who can’t even look out for themselves. Who run around behind each other’s backs. Is that anything to be keeping an eye on? To give your life for?’
Heimdall had no immediate reply. He was probably prepared for something else. He was still standing there, ready to intervene and prevent yet another assault. But that wasn’t necessary. So he didn’t say a word. Perhaps he silently had to admit to himself that Loki was partially correct, that there was actually something to what he had said, that he, Heimdall, had put his life at risk to protect a group of individuals who were unworthy.
His silence might be taken as assent. He should have said something, objected, at least out of duty; claimed that Loki was mistaken, as he was about everything else, taken up the issue of ‘duty’, ‘honour’ and ‘reputation’. But he didn’t do that. He chose not to speak. He sat down, took a drink. ‘What the hell . . .’
There were only a few people left who had managed to keep out of the fray. Loki stood at the head of the long table. The tipsy waiter had made himself scarce, seized his chance as soon as everyone’s attention was directed elsewhere. Skadi had still not said a word. She had remained calm all evening, drinking a good deal, and listening to how her husband, the Outsider, was harangued, demeaned, almost annihilated, without showing any great interest. It was just a rehash of the same old stuff for her. She had been fooled before and survived it.
It’s impossible to tell whether a silence is as weighty as it was just a moment before, when it is invoked by masters of the art, those who force the victim to interpret it, to fill the void with meaning. Someone skilled at keeping silent can make his victim interpret an enormous, telling genius in the silence that can seem particularly deadly since it takes all its power from the victim himself. This was the quality of Skadi’s silence.
Now she stood up, slowly walked along the table, rounded the corner and came out onto the floor, to a free space in the middle of the room.
Skadi was magnificent. She came from out there. She too had paid a high price for being allowed to enjoy the privileges of the Clan. She had been thoroughly duped but had endured it with style and grace. No one saw any bitterness in her.
She was tall. She wore a tight, slinky gown with bare shoulders, long gloves, her make-up skilfully applied, her lips red. She pulled off her gloves, one finger at a time, placed the gloves on a table, neatly folded. She had long, red fingernails.
Loki knew what those nails could do. He had felt them on his back. He had seen those blazing red nails stroke his cock, sharp and hard like little knives, which only increased his desire, as if the thought of what they could accomplish, the damage they could do, merely increased the pleasure.
‘I wouldn’t . . .’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t be so . . . arrogant if I were you.’ She had a deep voice, a low voice. People craned their necks to hear better. They didn’t want to miss anything, and even those who were so drunk that they couldn’t comprehend a word, no matter how much they craned to hear, realised that something was going on even before Loki drew himself up. For once even he wanted to hear what she had to say.
‘I would be careful, if I were you. I would take it damned easy, if I were you.’
Loki fired off a smile, still in that superior mode.
She went on. ‘You may not be allowed to roam freely much longer. Swinging your . . .’ She ran her long, red nails over his crotch. ‘. . . tail.’
Those who were paying close attention could see that the superior smile changed. The basic outline remained, but something was added now, something less certain.
‘Shit happens,’ he said.
‘Shit happens,’ she said. ‘I’ve seen things . . . Felt things. In here . . .’ She touched, or rather caressed her body, from her groin, up along her belly, all the way up to her breasts. ‘Gut feelings . . .’
‘Something you ate?’ he ventured. The superior smile was starting to look more strained.
‘Deep inside . . .’ said Skadi. ‘Way deep inside. In the intestines.’
‘You should talk to the restaurant owner.’
‘It’s easier to split someone open, rip out his intestines . . .’
With her clawlike fingers Skadi pulled out her intestines with a motion that was not to be misunderstood. She turned her back on Loki, took a few steps away.
‘It’s possible to split open anyone, a child . . .’
If everyone had been paying close attention before, they were now utterly gripped.
‘You’re a strange woman.’ His voice sounded different, less strain
ed and rancorous. As if he had sobered up. ‘They’re listening.’
She had noticed it herself, the fact that they were listening.
She was no spokesperson, and no one had levelled any sort of threat at Loki before now, other than by insinuation, but she was respected. She had been tested by enduring great suffering.
‘You’re a strange woman . . . I was there when we killed your father.’
‘I know that.’
‘But I made you laugh.’
‘Undeniably.’
‘But honestly,’ he said. ‘Shall we be quite honest?’
‘Isn’t that the theme of the evening?’
‘Okay, if we’re going to be honest . . .’ Loki was disconcerted; he tried to hide his confusion, but it was still noticeable. He wasn’t getting a handle on this. ‘If we’re going to be honest . . .’
She fixed her eyes on him, frowned as if perplexed, but said in an ice-cold voice, ‘Not again, sweetheart.’
‘That’s it,’ said Loki, ‘that’s it right there!’ He pointed at her. ‘That attitude . . .’
‘Attitude?’ she said. ‘Attitude?!’
‘Yes,’ said Loki. ‘Attitude.’
‘What about it?’
‘I don’t like it.’
Skadi frowned again, glanced away for a moment, as if to consider whether she had understood the situation correctly.
‘You mean that you have a problem with my attitude?’ she said.
There was a sudden shift. People realised the absurdity of the moment and started to laugh. As the mood lightened, those who were most drunk woke up and saw that it was all right to laugh, so they availed themselves of the opportunity, laughing a bit too much, too loudly and too long.
Then Loki screamed, as furious as before: ‘You sounded fucking different before, when you said you were so horny that you could hardly stand up!’
The jeer fell on empty air. No one wanted to share his outrage.
Skadi looked at him with something almost resembling sympathy. As if she already knew. As if she had already seen what was going to happen. He, the irrational man, was invoking some sort of consistency from a rational woman.
People laughed until they cried. Even the Old Man was forced to laugh, although it would be the last time he did so with this group of people. He had seen that woman fight, humiliate herself, be demeaned, grovel in the dust, and then get up, start over, slowly but steadily reclaim her reputation, day by day. Now she could stand there in the middle of the room and with her head held high meet the eyes of anyone present. A person like that had to be respected. But to look for consistency was simply ridiculous.
Once upon a time he had been involved in a feud with another clan, equal in strength. Long, bitter battles were fought. It took a toll on their forces, on both sides. Many valuable soldiers were squandered. Everyone grew weary; peace was declared, and prisoners were exchanged, one commander and one advisor from each side.
The Old Man had an advisor who had acquired a reputation as one of the wisest ever. He possessed a fount of wisdom, a well, an unfathomable abyss. The person who was able to observe the world from this abyss could see and comprehend more than anyone else. A skill that no powerful man can do without. He had made a sacrifice, gouged out his own eye and lowered it into the dark abyss of the well. It was something he never regretted.
The wise advisor was sent along with a commander to the former foes. It was a bad move. The commander seemed hesitant in manner, almost timid. The former foes grew suspicious, conferred with each other, and came to the conclusion that the consultant was not nearly as wise as was claimed. They chopped off his head and sent it back. The Old Man received the head, smeared it with herbs, and got it to speak to him. With the same wisdom as before.
He, in turn, had received Njord from the enemy. The Outsider was pleasant and soon learned their customs and became well-liked, taking part in battles against foes with whom they could never establish any sort of lasting peace – demons, witches, giants and trolls.
One of the most relentless was the giant who had taken Idun. After she was returned, her kidnapper was killed, slaughtered in an ambush.
He’d had a daughter, Skadi, who was inconsolable with grief, which aroused a certain amount of surprise. It was thought that she didn’t know what was best for her. But to live in the shadow of a great, brutal and domineering father might nurture a number of peculiar notions about light. You can accept your fate and avail yourself of the benefits of the dark. Or rebel and dream of a place in the sun.
When the shadow is gone, at any rate, things aren’t at all the way you imagined. Strangely enough, you may feel less free than before. You’re forced the whole time to ‘take advantage’, ‘make use of the opportunity’ and ‘seize the day’ – possibilities that didn’t exist before and that force lengthy and time-consuming choices, a freedom from which you were previously spared.
Skadi felt anything but free. She was unhappy and wanted revenge. She organised a vendetta.
A daughter raging with grief is a mighty enemy. The Old Man asked Mimer’s head for advice. Skadi was offered a compromise. She would be allowed to choose a husband from among those who were free. Anyone at all, but with one condition – she would be permitted to see only their feet.
Skadi accepted the condition and added another – that they would have to make her laugh. If they didn’t, it would be open warfare again.
The men were lined up with only their bare feet visible. There were many single men who might be suitable, though Balder was the most enticing. Skadi pointed to a pair of feet that were unusually beautiful and well-tended. There was nothing unlovely about them.
But the feet belonged to Njord.
Skadi accepted her lot and kept her side of the bargain. All that remained was to make her laugh. Her husband-to-be tried, in his fumbling outsider manner, but without success, and when the marriage was about to take place, the matter was still unresolved.
Then Loki brought out a goat and placed it in front of the bridal couple’s high seat. He tied the goat to a long piece of rope. Then he took off his clothes and tied the other end of the rope to his own testicles. A tug of war was about to ensue. And that was exactly what happened. The goat pulled in one direction. Loki pulled with his testicles in the other.
Both shrieked equally loudly, and the battle ended without a winner.
When Loki finally fell at the bride’s feet, she couldn’t help but laugh.
The marriage, however, did not succeed. Njord wanted to live near the sea. Skadi in the forest.
Both had their way.
One by one they had been singled out, accused and dragged into a chain of events that could not be controlled. One had offered counter-arguments, another had attempted to defend himself, a third had appealed to common sense, exhorting restraint. But all of it was futile.
There was now only one who had gone free: Sif, who had listened and observed without interceding, who had watched and managed to escape, until now.
If her husband had been there, the evening would have turned out differently. Thor was a man of action. When it was apparent which way things were headed, he would have long ago done the only right thing – smote Loki down and silenced him before it was too late.
But he wasn’t there; he was on his way, but he had been delayed. For reasons known only to the Old Man, Thor had been sent to negotiate with a people in the east, ponderous, powerful forces. The fact that the Enforcer had been sent there might be considered ominous. Former enemies could become foes again if Thor were sent after them. Anyone who was paying attention and following events might interpret this as a major diplomatic error, see it as a sign that the Old Man was completely losing his grip, that he was lacking in judgement or had bad advisors. Someone might see it as a clear warning.
But this was a private party in a private room. There wasn’t a single window, no means to look out. It was a bunker, adorned with gold. With supreme contempt for the rest of the world, here they cou
ld devote themselves exclusively to one another.
In any case, Sif felt safe. She picked up a full glass, stepped forward and said, ‘All right then . . . skål. Perhaps I’ll be the one to emerge unscathed.’
Loki took the glass, drank a toast with her. ‘You might have at that. If you had acted properly. But you haven’t.’
She was certain that she had behaved as properly as she could. She hadn’t laughed or screamed at him.
But he was referring to something more.
‘Your Enforcer is just as big a cuckold as all the others here.’
That seemed way off the mark. She had never expected this. ‘And you know that?’
‘Yes, I do.’
She had been confident that he would never go that far. Anyone could see that only a madman would do so, a person who wanted to die and was trying to ensure that someone would kill him.
Sighs and groans were heard as the extent of this truth became apparent to all. It was reminiscent of a board meeting when serious deficits have occurred in one company after another, facts that are alarming enough in and of themselves, and yet not fatal as long as the core, the bank itself, remains solid. But in this situation the bank was threatened. If it plunged into bankruptcy everyone would be dragged down with it.
The abyss opened up. With a gust of wind from the wrong direction everything would topple over the edge, in free fall.
‘Why else would she go around wearing that ridiculous wig?’ he said. ‘It’s expensive. Pure gold.’ He went over to her, ran his fingers through her gleaming hair. ‘Was it worth it? How the hell would I know? Maybe. Maybe not. Who knows?’
Sif stared at him, totally uncomprehending. She didn’t seem particularly angry or upset; instead she looked puzzled, or remorseful at how badly she had miscalculated. This was an act of public suicide, yet he seemed utterly indifferent.
‘What . . . ? What is it you want?’
‘Want? I don’t know what you mean by want,’ Loki said. ‘I don’t want anything else.’
‘That’s not true.’
‘True? Want?’ He took a few steps away from her. Perhaps that was necessary. ‘You’ve always wanted a great deal, haven’t you? Once you wanted everything . . . and nothing at all. Am I right?’ He got no reaction, no reply. ‘The Enforcer was off somewhere, as usual. You said, “I can’t do this . . . can’t do this to him. I’ll end up denying it to my dying day.” Do you remember that?’ Again Loki got no reply, but everyone could see that she did remember. ‘At that point what did it matter what I wanted? We had already started . . . And no will in the world can stop that sort of thing. Not even the will to live.’
The Hurricane Party Page 18