‘I suppose you want to know more,’ Hrund said, after an awkward pause.
‘You call the shots,’ said Erlendur. ‘At least you have so far.’
To the best of Hrund’s knowledge, Ezra and Matthildur had been acquainted – though no more than that – before Matthildur received her sister’s letter. Ezra used to work on a fishing boat with Jakob. They got on well enough, having first met several years earlier in Djúpivogur, though Hrund didn’t know the circumstances and had no idea what had brought them both to Eskifjördur after the war. Ezra had never married, nor, as far as Hrund was aware, had he ever been involved with a woman before. Jakob was clearly much more experienced.
Ezra was a loner. He had been that way as a young man and had never changed. People knew next to nothing about him except that he was not local but came originally from the other side of the country. Before meeting Jakob in Djúpivogur he had been living out west, in Stykkishólmur and Borgarnes, where he may well have been born and brought up, though it had never occurred to anyone to ask. It was the fishing that had drawn him to the East Fjords, where he had settled down to work on the sea.
Although he was a solitary man, little given to talking about himself, showing his feelings or getting involved much in local affairs, he was by no means unpopular. He was hard-working and always ready to oblige if asked for help. Clean-living and abstemious too. Despite his powerful frame, though, he had never been considered much of a looker, with his low brow, small eyes, prematurely wrinkled face and the odd blemish on his lower lip that might have been from a fight – not that anyone had ever asked him. Some joker had once quipped that his face looked like a rug that had been kicked into a corner. Maybe that accounted for his shyness and diffidence where women were concerned. Until, that is, he met Matthildur.
Their acquaintance had begun when she and Jakob first started seeing each other. In his shy way Ezra had noticed her before, but only got to know her properly when he and Jakob started crewing a three-tonne motor vessel whose owner ran a fish-processing factory in the village. The boat was christened
Sigurlína
after the man’s wife. They used to head out at the crack of dawn and return to the harbour in the afternoon or early evening, sometimes manning the boat on their own when the captain had other business. Ezra would wake up in the early hours and drop by to fetch Jakob, by which time Matthildur would be up and about, and they would exchange a few words while Jakob was getting ready. Then the two men would set off down to the harbour while she stood watching from the doorway. Jakob never looked back but Ezra would sometimes snatch an unobtrusive glance over his shoulder, capturing the image of Matthildur to take with him out to sea.
Once when they came ashore, Jakob announced that he had to go over to Djúpivogur for a few days. He did not explain his business, merely told Ezra that he would have to man the boat with the owner in the meantime. The following morning, as he walked past the house, Ezra noticed that Matthildur was up and about. Jakob had made an early start and she had woken to say goodbye to him but couldn’t get back to sleep. The door was open, so Ezra greeted her and they had a brief chat as usual.
The next day Ezra passed the house again and saw that Matthildur had the door open, as if waiting for him. She came out and said hello, and he lingered longer than the day before, enjoying a more leisurely conversation. Matthildur was just as much in the dark about what had taken Jakob to Djúpivogur. He had discussed buying a share in a fishing boat and she thought he might be looking into opportunities. Ezra nodded. Jakob had once suggested they club together to buy a stake in a vessel, but Ezra had poured cold water on the idea because he was broke. ‘We’ll take a loan, mate,’ Jakob had said. ‘Who do you think would lend money to the likes of us?’ Ezra had retorted.
He and Matthildur stood by the door in the early-morning quiet and he asked if she needed anything. She did not.
‘Thanks, anyway,’ she said.
The third morning he dawdled even longer and the owner was fuming by the time he finally turned up to work. Matthildur had not been up when he passed the house, so he had hung around until he heard a noise inside and plucked up the courage to tap on the door. She had smiled as she opened it, still in her nightie.
‘I prepared some lunch for you last night,’ she said, handing him a small parcel. ‘It’s so kind of you to drop by in the mornings.’
He accepted the food in surprise.
‘There was really no need,’ he said, without wishing to sound ungrateful.
‘Oh, no, it’s nothing special,’ she said, amused at his astonishment.
‘Thank you very much.’ He put the packet in his bag. ‘Jakob’s back tomorrow, isn’t he?’
‘I’m expecting him this evening,’ Matthildur replied. ‘He’ll go out with you in the morning.’
On the fourth day he walked up to Matthildur’s house. He had not heard from Jakob but assumed he would have returned home the night before, so he knocked on the door as usual. He turned towards the harbour: fog lay over the fjord but he hoped it would disperse during the morning. The door opened and Matthildur appeared. It was immediately clear that she had been crying.
‘What’s the matter?’ he asked. ‘What’s happened?’
She shook her head.
‘Has something happened to Jakob? Is he here?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘He’s not here. I don’t know where he is.’
‘Wasn’t he meant to come back yesterday evening?’
‘Yes, but he didn’t show up, and I don’t know when he’s going to.’
She seemed extremely agitated and disappeared into the kitchen, returning with a letter that she brandished in his face.
‘Did you know about this?’ she demanded.
‘About what?’
‘What sort of man he is,’ she retorted and slammed the door in his face. Ezra stood there at a loss. He hesitated, wondering if he should knock again. The boat was waiting: he could not stay. In the neighbouring houses people were waking up. He vacillated for a while longer before eventually setting off down the hill, but kept pausing in case the door opened again. Nothing happened. He had never seen her so distressed and couldn’t bear to think of her alone in that state.
When Ezra came ashore later that day his eyes went straight to the house but it was dark and appeared empty. He walked home, preoccupied, and opened his door which, like everyone else in the village, he always left unlocked. As he put down his bag he was startled to see Matthildur sitting at his kitchen table in the gloom. He reached for the light switch.
‘Do you mind not turning it on?’ she asked.
‘All right.’
‘I’m sorry about the way I behaved this morning,’ she said. ‘I’ve been worrying about it all day.’
‘Don’t worry,’ he said, looking around to see if Jakob was with her. ‘I hope you’re feeling a bit better.’
‘I am.’
‘Are you alone?’
‘Yes, I’m alone. I wanted to talk to you. Is that all right?’
‘Of course,’ said Ezra. ‘Of course. Are you hungry? Would you like some coffee?’
‘No, thank you,’ she said. ‘Don’t go to any trouble. That’s not why I’m here.’
‘Why are you here?’
Matthildur did not answer immediately. He joined her at the table. He was glad she was there, glad she had been waiting for him when he came home, though he had no idea what was going on.
‘Is Jakob back?’ he asked.
‘Yes, he came home late this morning.’
‘But he’s not with you now?’
‘You needn’t worry – no one saw me come in,’ said Matthildur. ‘Not that I’d care if they did. I couldn’t care less.’
‘What . . . what’s the matter, Matthildur?’ he asked. ‘What happened this morning?’
‘I had a letter yesterday evening from my sister Ingunn.’ She took an envelope out of her pocket. ‘She moved to Reykjavík a while back and we haven’t written much. I knew she was against me marrying Jakob but until now I didn’t know why. You can read it if you like.’
She handed it to him and he read it twice before putting it down on the table.
‘What does Jakob have to say?’
‘Nothing,’ said Matthildur. ‘He remembers Ingunn from Djúpivogur; he admits that much. But he reckons there’s no way the baby’s his. Says he’s told Ingunn before but she’s got this crazy idea. He claims she’s off her rocker.’
‘And you knew nothing about this?’
‘Ingunn never told me till now. I knew she had a child in Reykjavík but I never for one minute connected it to Jakob.’
‘Was he aware that you and Ingunn were sisters when you met?’
‘Yes, and I knew they were acquainted,’ said Matthildur, ‘but that’s all, nothing about the baby or what sort of relationship they’d had. He never mentioned it, never mentioned the affair. He still won’t talk about it. Refuses even to discuss it. He just told me to shut up. He hit me, then stormed out of the house. Where he is now I don’t know.’
‘He hit you?’
‘Yes, on the head.’
‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes, it just gave me a bit of a shock.’
‘Do you believe your sister?’
‘Yes.’
‘What are you going to do, then?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Matthildur. ‘I don’t know what to do. I wanted to see you because I had to know if you were aware of this. Did you know he’d had a child with my sister?’
‘I had no idea,’ Ezra assured her.
‘So he never mentioned any of it to you?’
‘Not a word.’
‘He could have children all over the place for all I know. He’s probably been chasing skirt in Djúpivogur all this time!’
She reached out for the letter and before he knew what he was doing he had laid his hand shyly over hers. The gesture was almost instinctive. Instead of snatching back her hand, she met his gaze.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, releasing her hand. ‘It’s not . . . I’m sorry. You’re upset.’
‘It’s all right.’
‘I’ve never experienced this before,’ he whispered.
‘Don’t be ashamed,’ she said. ‘I feel happy when I’m with you.’
He glanced up again and their eyes locked.
‘You’re a good man, Ezra.’
‘You can’t imagine how I’ve been feeling. The way I feel.’
‘Perhaps I can,’ she said.
‘You don’t mind?’
In the darkness he saw her shake her head.
‘What about Jakob?’ he whispered.
‘He can go to hell,’ said Matthildur.
A DOCTOR ENTERED
Hrund’s room, examined the drip and enquired how she was feeling. After a curious glance at Erlendur, who did not say a word, he briskly took his leave. Hrund asked Erlendur to arrange her pillows more comfortably and refill her glass. He poured her some water from the jug and Hrund took a sip, then set the glass down again.
‘My mother got the story out of Ezra years later,’ she said. ‘After Jakob died. Ezra never meant to tell her and of course he never would have done if she hadn’t pestered him. But I can well believe she only learned a fraction of the truth. Ezra’s a very dark horse, though I’ve always had a soft spot for him.’
‘I’ve only met him the once,’ said Erlendur. ‘Naturally, he didn’t say a word about any of this.’
‘No, I don’t suppose he’d tell you,’ said Hrund.
Concerned that she might be tiring, Erlendur asked if he should come back later when she had had a rest.
‘A rest?’ exclaimed Hrund. ‘I don’t know how I’m supposed to rest any more than I’m doing right now, lying flat on my back in hospital.’
‘I don’t want to be a nuisance.’
‘You’re not. It isn’t often I get the chance to reminisce like this, and, anyway, there’s always the possibility you’ll turn up something new. You’ve certainly made the old pulse beat a bit faster.’
Erlendur couldn’t deny that Hrund was looking better and seemed livelier and more talkative than before. He wondered how much this was down to the antibiotics. Apart from an episode of arrhythmia a few years back, he had never been ill himself; never spent a day in bed in his life.
‘Well, I’m all ears,’ he said. ‘What happened next?’
‘Nothing for a few months, though Ezra and Matthildur grew closer all the time. He carried on fishing with Jakob, but increasingly took days off sick. It’s remarkable they managed to keep their affair secret in such a small community. They knew they’d have to tell Jakob at some point – better it came from them than from somebody else. But Matthildur was reluctant. She was worried he’d make life difficult for them.
‘Do you think Matthildur could have started an affair with Ezra to get even with Jakob?’
‘I’ve asked myself that. She gets the letter, reacts furiously and turns to another man for comfort.’
‘What did your mother think?’
‘She couldn’t really say,’ said Hrund. ‘But she knew Matthildur went into things wholeheartedly. However it may have started, she was genuinely in love with Ezra. He was in the best position to know, after all, and he told my mother.’
The hardest part was meeting in secret. There were limits to how many days Ezra could take off work. On the other hand, he didn’t want to put too much pressure on Matthildur to leave Jakob. She had already postponed the evil moment twice. Although she felt she had good grounds to divorce him, Jakob denied that her sister’s child was his, and she was frightened of how he would react to her leaving. Finally, finding it increasingly difficult to associate with Jakob and hating the furtiveness and deceit, Ezra invented an excuse to stop working on the boat with him. News of his meetings with Matthildur must not get out, but he knew it was inevitable sooner or later.
One night, as he lay awake thinking about their predicament, he heard a light tap on the door. When he opened it, Matthildur darted inside and he closed it hastily behind her.
‘I’ve missed you so much,’ she whispered, flinging her arms around him.
He crushed her to him, kissing her, then carried her into the kitchen where they kissed until she tore herself away.
‘Let’s leave,’ said Ezra. ‘Together. Tonight. Right now.’
‘We can’t just leave, Ezra,’ she protested. ‘I have to talk to him first.
We
have to talk to him. You’re his friend, after all. And I want him to admit he was a sod to my sister.’
Ezra stared at her as she stroked his forehead. Jakob had gone to Reydarfjördur and was planning to stay there overnight.