The minutes ticked away as they sat in silence, broken by nothing but bursts of grateful cheeping as flocks of sparrows discovered the seed Ezra had scattered on the snowy ground behind the house. Erlendur asked if he should put on some coffee, to no reply.
The pause became prolonged.
‘I don’t know if I should go on,’ Ezra said at last, his voice tinged with melancholy. ‘I’ve no idea why I’m raking this up now.’
Erlendur was about to remark that it might do him good to unburden himself of these long-suppressed memories but bit his tongue. He was in no position to judge.
‘Because of Matthildur?’ he suggested.
Ezra had been gazing out of the window at the moors but now he turned to Erlendur.
‘Do you think so?’
‘All these years you’ve never stopped thinking about her.’
‘No, that’s right. But there’s a reason for that.’
‘She disappeared.’
‘Yes, she disappeared. But I’ve never got over the circumstances, and I never will.’
‘People go missing all the time,’ said Erlendur.
‘People go missing,’ Ezra repeated. ‘If only it were that simple.’
He suddenly seemed to return to the present and notice that Erlendur had removed the gun and spread a blanket over his shoulders.
‘Jakob may well have lied,’ he said. ‘I don’t know. It’s too late to tell now. Matthildur was never found. There’s that. I’ve thought about it since. Maybe he was just torturing me. Maybe he enjoyed seeing me suffer. Got his revenge that way. He threatened to do the worst if I didn’t keep my trap shut, and I believed him. I did as he said. I kept my mouth shut.’
Jakob banged the bottle down, keeping his eyes fixed on Ezra, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
‘Do you want to know what happened?’
‘Yes.’
‘Of course, you have a right to.’
‘What happened? What are you on about?’
‘I’m talking about Matthildur, Ezra. My darling wife Matthildur. Isn’t that why you’re here? You’ve hardly come to give me your condolences. Well, I’ll tell you. Just be patient and I’ll tell you the whole story. Because I want you to know. You’ve just as much right as I have. Maybe more. I was only her husband: you got to sleep with her! You got to fu—’
‘I won’t listen to any more of this filth!’ exclaimed Ezra. ‘Don’t you dare talk about her like that.’
‘Filth?’ queried Jakob.
He started to relate, in meandering fashion, how their marriage had gradually come unstuck after Matthildur received her sister’s letter. He had never succeeded in convincing her that he was not the child’s father or that he had been ignorant that she and Ingunn were sisters. Now she pounced on his earlier behaviour as evidence that he had wanted to avoid all contact with her family from the outset. Jakob had not wanted any fuss over their wedding – no church service or reception. They had got married quietly at the vicar’s house in Eskifjördur. She accused him of being unfaithful to her as well and swore she would not be outdone.
‘Next thing I know she’s cheating on me with you,’ said Jakob.
‘Did you know Matthildur and Ingunn were sisters when you started seeing her?’ asked Ezra.
Jakob sniggered. ‘I tried to tell her.’
‘What?’
‘Her sister would have given the whore of Babylon a run for her money. There’s no way the kid was mine! And I’ll never acknowledge it.’
THE NIGHT HE
had pretended to be staying over in Reydarfjördur Jakob had waited up for Matthildur. He had come home late that evening and, noticing a light on in the kitchen, decided to lurk near the house. He had begun to suspect her of wanting to get even with him. Over the last few months her behaviour had changed: she had become colder and more distant, showed little interest in him, hardly bothered to answer when he spoke to her.
It had taken him a long time and a great deal of effort to persuade Matthildur that he had done nothing wrong; he maintained that he barely knew her sister and had been completely unaware that they were related; he had no part in the child she claimed was his. Matthildur had seemed to accept his explanation, albeit reluctantly, helped by the fact that she and Ingunn were not close. He took care never to refer slightingly to her sister, whom he remembered all too well from Djúpivogur. He had slept with her, but, not content with that, she had pursued him relentlessly until he told her to get lost; he was not interested in her.
Seeing the kitchen light go out, he wondered if the simple trap he had prepared for his wife had misfired. He was ready to abandon all hope of catching her out when he noticed the back door opening. Matthildur stole out into the garden and melted into the night. He followed at a discreet distance until she reached Ezra’s place, where she tapped on the door. Ezra opened it and she slipped inside. The house was in darkness. Jakob knew the layout of the rooms. After a lengthy interval, he crept over to the building and peered warily through the windows, one by one, until he reached the bedroom. In the dim light he could just glimpse the shapes of two bodies writhing on the bed.
The rage did not come immediately. Instead he coldly registered the proof of what he had suspected. He should not have been surprised that it was Ezra’s bed she sought out. He was a frequent visitor to their house, worked with Jakob, had no wife or children. So far as Jakob knew he had never been with a woman. Whenever he had pressed Ezra on the subject, his replies had been evasive. He had tried to tease him about it during the long days when the fishing was slow, but Ezra had refused to rise to it. Jakob regarded him as a good friend: the man he trusted with his life at sea.
No, the rage did not come straight away. Quite the opposite. He left Ezra’s house and walked home slowly, more deeply preoccupied than burning with resentment. It did not occur to him to burst in on them and drag Matthildur away or attack Ezra. In some strange way he felt such behaviour would be beneath his dignity. He had no intention of crawling to them, begging for any favours. He didn’t want to hear any grovelling excuses; didn’t want to listen to any bloody whining.
Instead, he waited up. He took a seat in the sitting room, and the later it became, the longer Matthildur spent in Ezra’s bed, the more his anger grew. In his mind he went over and over a hundred different scenes of what he would say, how he would act, and all the time his fury intensified. A wave of heat passed through him and he realised what it meant when they described a person as burning with rage. The blood seemed to boil in his veins. He leapt to his feet, paced the floor, then dropped into a chair again, trying to get a grip on himself, but more furious accusations erupted inside him against Matthildur for betraying him, for betraying their marriage, their life together. Springing to his feet again, he stormed around the room. Then there was Ezra. He didn’t know how he would achieve it but he would make sure that Ezra would remember this betrayal for the rest of his life.
He was in such a frenzy of hatred that when she finally crept home the following morning, quietly closing the door behind her, he did not hear. She spotted him immediately and nearly jumped out of her skin. As soon as their eyes met she realised he knew. Quick as a flash, she turned and tried to open the door to run away to Ezra and to safety, but he caught her and knocked her down.
‘Where do you think you’re running to?’ he whispered, hoarse with venom, slamming the door.
Matthildur tried to get up but he prevented her. Straddling her stomach, he put his strong workman’s hands round her slender neck and squeezed, shaking her with all his might, so her head banged on the floor.
‘To him?’ Jakob snarled. ‘Were you running to him? Do you really think he can help you now?’
Matthildur never managed to utter a single word in the face of his overpowering rage and a tirade of abuse. He tightened his grip until finally he sensed her body go limp. Her head dangled, strangely heavy and lifeless, and hit the floor with a dull thud. Loosening his hold, he stared down at her motionless body, oblivious to the passing of time. Little by little his blind frenzy abated and he came back to his senses. Rising to his feet, he looked at Matthildur, panting as if he had been running a race. At first he did not fully comprehend what he had done. He spoke to her and prodded her with his foot. Then gradually it dawned that she was dead. Her head lay at an odd angle. He was not sure whether he had strangled her or broken her neck. All he knew was that she was no longer alive.
In a state of shock he felt for a chair and sat down, trying to catch his breath. He didn’t know how much later it was when the roar of the wind roused him from his trance. Going to the window, he looked up at the moors and began to work out a plan.
‘Murderer!’ exclaimed Ezra, jumping up and stumbling away from Jakob in revulsion. ‘I didn’t want to believe it. I didn’t believe you could do a thing like that. That you had it in you.’
Jakob regarded him steadily. ‘It’s your fault, Ezra,’ he said coolly. ‘If you hadn’t stolen her from me, she’d still be alive.’
‘That’s a damned lie!’ Striding to the door, Ezra flung it open.
‘Don’t do anything stupid,’ shouted Jakob after him. ‘You’ll only make it worse for yourself. For yourself, I said, Ezra!’
Ezra slammed the door behind him. Jakob sat unmoved in his chair. He pictured Matthildur’s body on the floor and remembered how heavy she had felt when he lifted her. He waited, his eyes on the door. After a considerable time, it opened again and Ezra reappeared. Stepping into the house, he closed it carefully behind him.
‘Why did you tell me?’ he asked, walking towards Jakob. ‘Why confess to me? How can I make it worse for myself? And why the hell are you so calm?’
Jakob’s face wore an ugly smirk. ‘You pathetic bastard,’ he said.
‘What have you done?’
‘It would be the easiest thing in the world to pin it on you, Ezra.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘If you ever tell anyone it’ll be worse for you,’ said Jakob. ‘I’ll accuse you of murdering her. I’ll tell them about your antics and how Matthildur was planning to end your sordid little affair, how she’d been anxious because she knew you’d make trouble. She was going to do it when she got back from Reydarfjördur but now I’m not sure she even made it as far as the moor. Maybe she ran into you and gave you the news, and you turned on her and beat her to death.’
Ezra gaped at Jakob. ‘Nobody would believe you,’ he said in a low voice.
‘What about you, Ezra? Who’d believe you?’
Ezra eventually managed to force out the question: ‘Where is she?’
‘None of your business.’
‘How could you do that to her?’
‘No, Ezra, how could
you
do that to her?’ said Jakob. ‘It was your doing. You’d better remember that next time you try and steal another man’s wife.’
‘Where is she?’
‘Get out.’
‘Tell me what you did with her.’
‘Get out – I’ve told you all I’m going to.’
‘Tell me where she is, you piece of shit!’ shouted Ezra.
‘Out!’ yelled Jakob, standing. The unnatural self-possession had gone. ‘Get the hell out of here and never let me see your fucking face again!’
Suddenly Ezra had charged him and the two men crashed to the floor, Ezra raining down blows on Jakob, who tried in return to claw his face. They thrashed to and fro until Jakob finally managed to get the upper hand. He landed a vicious punch in Ezra’s face.
‘Remember that, you shit,’ he hissed breathlessly. ‘It’s all because of you. And don’t you ever forget it, you bastard!’
He stood up. Ezra clambered to his feet, wiping the blood from his mouth and feeling his jaw tenderly. His whole face ached.
‘You won’t get away with it,’ he said.
‘You’re a joke,’ said Jakob. ‘Get out of here. Go on. Fuck off.’
‘You won’t,’ whispered Ezra again, backing out of the door. ‘You’ll never get away with it.’
A HOLLOW SILENCE
fell: the birds had departed from the garden. Dusk deepened around the two men in the kitchen while the cat slept on in its basket. Ezra’s strength seemed to have dwindled with the daylight, his body to have shrunk in the chair.
‘So you kept your mouth shut,’ Erlendur said.
‘Yes,’ said Ezra. ‘I never told anyone. That’s the sort of lily-livered coward I was.’
‘You shouldn’t have kept quiet about a crime like that, however involved you were. A cover-up does no one any good.’
‘I don’t need you to tell me that.’
‘And so the years passed?’
‘Yes, they passed.’
Erlendur realised how traumatic this must have been for the old man after a lifetime of guarding his secret. For sixty years he had concealed Jakob’s crime, even after the man died, for fear of being incriminated. He had chosen the easy course and saved his own skin, and yet Erlendur felt some sympathy for his plight. Had Jakob followed his threat through, things might have gone badly for Ezra. He was, after all, in a vulnerable position, having betrayed his friend and stolen his wife. A vengeful man like Jakob could have pointed the finger at any time and forced Ezra to defend himself against serious charges.
‘I lost my nerve,’ Ezra said. ‘I was frightened. Terrified, I should say. I couldn’t bear the thought of our affair being exposed and judged as dirty and squalid. I was so scared Jakob would spread stories about me, accuse me, brand me a murderer. He bullied me into silence. He told me the truth, but only after making sure I’d feel so guilty I’d hush it up. Well, he got what he wanted.’ Ezra broke off briefly. ‘He won. He defeated us both.’
‘What did he do with her body?’
‘He wouldn’t tell me. Claimed he’d planted something on Matthildur to frame me and said he could notify the authorities any time he liked. I didn’t know what it was and still can’t work out if he was lying. But that’s what he said and I was in such a state that I believed him.’
‘So you still don’t know where she is?’
‘I’ve never known.’
‘So first you lose Matthildur, then this is flung in your face?’
‘Jakob . . . was an evil bastard.’
‘And you had to go on living so near him.’
‘Yes, it was hard. Of course I had nothing to do with him, or as little as I could help, and he moved away for a while. Perhaps he was just as scared that I’d go to the police as I was that he’d spread lies about me. It was like a Cold War between us. He said . . .’ Ezra hesitated.