The Commandments : A Novel (2021)

by Gudmundsson, Oskar

  He muttered under his breath as he counted through them.

  ‘Which month in 1995, was it?’

  ‘It was March.’

  ‘Here it is,’ he said, with a smile.

  Salka took the folder, sat down on the sofa and opened it. She found the day the funeral had taken place and the rather detailed information that had been recorded. This included the name of the deceased, a death certificate, the weight of the coffin, and the name of the organist. Gunnleifur had officiated and Fríða named as the deacon present, and the pallbearers were all named.

  ‘Why are the pallbearers named?’ Salka asked. ‘Weren’t they relatives?’

  The man perched next to her and looked at the entry.

  ‘No. Probably they were volunteers who were brought in to carry the casket.’

  ‘Why volunteers?’

  ‘I don’t know the circumstances, I mean concerning this particular funeral, but if there are only a few or even no relatives, then we have people we can call on to serve as pallbearers. You can see here,’ he said, his finger travelling down to the bottom of the page. ‘There were only four relatives who attended. There wasn’t even a choir.’

  ‘I see,’ Salka said. ‘Can I take this with me?’

  ‘Ah, I don’t think that’s a good idea. But you’re welcome to take pictures of the documents. Why the interest in this?’

  Salka took pictures with her phone and stood up.

  ‘Thank you very much for that. You’ve been extremely helpful,’ she said, and left the church.

  40

  Four days later

  Salka sat at the desk and switched on the recording in the interview room. She hoped it wasn’t obvious how distressed she was at the sight of the man facing her.

  ‘The date is the 31stt of August. I am Salka Steinsdóttir and I am questioning Gísli Guðmundsson.’

  It was cloudy and cool that Sunday morning. The sun, still low in the sky, managed occasionally to break through the clouds to warm for a moment those who stood around the grave.

  The scoop of a mini-digger sliced through the grass over a poorly-maintained grave.

  ‘I hope you’re right on this one,’ Kolla muttered to Salka, who stood there with Gísli, Óttar and the churchyard’s gardener.

  After twenty minutes, the digger stopped and the gardener measured the depth. He had said that the lid of the coffin ought to be around a metre below the surface. Two municipal workers clambered into the hole and shovelled earth until they reached the coffin lid. They cleared earth from around it, then fastened straps around the coffin that were hooked to the digger’s scoop so that it could be gently lifted and placed on the ground.

  The men swept clean the lid of the coffin, which was unmarked. They used crowbars in an attempt to free it, but the rotten timber gave way without the lid moving. They worked together on one corner, and finally managed to work it free.

  They carefully lifted the lid and placed it beside the coffin.

  They were faced with a diminutive woman whose earth-brown skin seemed to have been glued to her bones. Her hands were at her sides. Her clothes, which Salka assumed had been white when she had been laid to rest, had turned turmeric yellow. The lower part of her body was hidden as another body lay over her at the end of the coffin. A decayed, yellow cowl hid the person’s earthly remains and a tattered pair of yellow wings lay on top as if on a dead swan. Next to the head lay a gilded candlestick.

  Óttar took the candlestick and placed it in a bag.

  ‘Hello, Gísli. I would like you to recount in your own words the series of events that took place in the Glerá church on Saturday 25th March 1995.’

  Salka didn’t realise how many minutes ticked past before Gísli raised his head and looked back at her. Neither did she count how many minutes passed before he began his narrative.

  ‘I was thirteen years old and I often helped out in various ways at the Glerá church,’ he said and it was as if someone broken the silence with a bang. ‘Fríða had called my mother and said that I would have to be there early as there was a lot going on at the church that day. There was a confirmation class in the morning, and I was out the back to wash up after morning coffee, while Gunnleifur took the class. I recall I was excited as he had chosen two of them.’

  ‘What do you mean, chosen them?’ Salka asked.

  ‘Two boys. He had spoken to me that morning and said that if he could get two boys to come to him, then I’d be paid.’

  ‘Explain more clearly, please.’

  ‘I was the boy hunter. Gunnleifur let me know which kids he and his pals…’

  ‘Which pals?’

  ‘Hróbjartur and Helgi.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Well, he’d let me know which kids he wanted me to win over and come to him.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘To the Christian meeting that was held in the evening,’ Gísli said, making quote marks in the air with his fingers. ‘But there was nothing Christian about those meetings. They were grooming sessions, tailored to their needs. I was supposed to bring the kids and they’d praise them to the skies a few times. Then there would be sweets. Then money. And finally booze and dope. I knew perfectly well what was going to happen to them, because I had been through it as well.’

  ‘Through this … grooming process?’

  ‘Yes. But I have no idea how it’s possible to convince anyone that at the time I thought I was doing the right thing when I brought in these kids. I genuinely thought I was doing good. I got a reward in the form of money every week, and they told me I was coming closer to Christ. No, that’s not it. They told me I was further from Hell, and that I was something special. That was what they said. I was special and they were able to enjoy me. And I’m not sure, but at the time, I think I felt that was fine. I know today that I was totally brainwashed.’

  ‘What happened when you were out the back and heard Gunnleifur come in?’ Salka asked, surprised at how dispassionate he sounded.

  ‘I was washing up and expected the whole group would come back into the church. Then I heard Gunnleifur come in and he was talking to someone. Just then Fríða came in and said she had to run an errand. I got on with the washing up, and then I heard raised voices. I went into the church and when I saw that scruffy-looking angel, I froze. I had no idea what was going on. I thought the devil himself had appeared in some disguise. Gunnleifur tried to calm the angel, but he got more and more agitated, and made threats. He talked about mistreatment and abuse, and I didn’t know what he meant. All I could see was that Gunnleifur was in danger. I know it sounds ridiculous,’ he said, and Salka watched a tear make its way down his cheek.

  ‘Go on, Gísli. What happened after that?’

  ‘I remember that I went quietly into the church to where they were by the altar and the angel … Anton, had his back to me. And I went closer,’ he said and sighed. He wiped away a tear.

  Salka kept her eyes on him. She needed to be strong, and hadn’t bothered to mop any of her own tears as they flowed down her face. With the tip of her tongue, she could taste the salt on her lips.

  ‘Gísli, continue, please.’

  He took a deep breath.

  ‘I remember how frightened I was as I came closer.’

  ‘Why?’ Salka asked after Gísli had paused for thought.

  ‘He was four years older than me and much bigger. I remember looking around for something I could use as a weapon, and the candlestick caught my eye. The only thing I could think of was to protect Gunnleifur, my abuser. Then Anton grabbed him by the throat with both hands and squeezed, and I ran, grabbed the candlestick and smashed it against his head. I still haven’t been able to forget… the terrible sound of it,’ Gísli said and put a hand to his forehead. ‘I stared at his head as he stood still. There was blood coming from the back of his head and I was ready to strike again. But then he fell. He lay before me, completely motionless. He was dead. I had killed him.’

  ‘What happened afte
r that?’

  ‘Gunnleifur was beside himself. He grabbed me and shook me… and I wet myself. He paced around the church and babbled nonsense. Then it was as if he had been given an inspiration. That morning a coffin had been brought to the church for a funeral later in the day. We opened the coffin and I remember how small the woman in it was. We put Anton and the candlestick in the coffin. They were buried later the same day.’

  ‘Were you at the funeral?’

  ‘No. Gunnleifur took me to his house and had me stay there during the day. He didn’t dare let me stay at the church, nor send me home. Later that day all three of them came and talked to me. They talked about the way the Lord works and that I was their guardian angel. After that they always called me the guardian angel,’ he said, and Salka saw that he was trembling.

  ‘Do you want to take a break now?’

  ‘Yes. That would be good. But first there are two things I’d like to mention.’

  ‘Which are?’

  ‘When Gunnleifur said that he doesn’t remember some things, then that’s true. He didn’t remember. He doesn’t remember everything.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He has Alzheimer’s, although it’s at an early stage. Memories of the past and everyday things are starting to escape him. I spoke to the director of the health spa he was at in Hveragerði, and he told me this. That’s why he didn’t recognise me when we questioned him. He was sure he’d seen me before, but didn’t know who I was.’

  ‘And the other thing?’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Salka. I hope that one day you’ll be able to forgive me.’

  Salka had no idea how long she sat motionless in the chair after Gísli had been led from the room.

  She sat and stared into space, and thought about forgiveness.

  41

  Fourteen days later

  ‘…earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; in sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to eternal life.’

  Many people had made their way to stand in silence on Höfðagata outside Akureyri’s churchyard where police officers ensured that only those with a reason to be there went inside.

  Salka stood by Anton’s open grave as the coffin was gently lowered into it. In one hand she held two white roses, while her other hand clasped Marta’s. Rafn sat to one side in a wheelchair. Opposite stood two plainclothes police officers with Magnús between them.

  The priest spoke a few words about Anton and his turbulent life.

  ‘… Anton was the victim of much human evil. Not evil that arises from social conditions, not due to poverty. This wasn’t even of God’s doing. This was an evil stemming solely from human forces. We who stand here together will never forget the words he wrote. Face in the mirror, you don’t listen. Farewell with a kiss. An angel dies today. We should have listened. But today we say farewell to him with a fond kiss. He was lost to us all, but we found him. And now he has finally come home.’

  Salka saw that the two officers opposite had to use all their strength to keep Magnús upright. She would have welcomed their support herself, but all her energy was going into keeping Marta on her feet.

  She glanced over at Rafn, hunched forward in a wheelchair as if he were asleep. She knew he wasn’t, and that he was weeping tears from the depths of his pain.

  Salka remained alone by the graveside as the others left the churchyard.

  She took a deep breath and let one of the white roses drop into the grave. She smiled as she looked down at the white casket below, a pair of wings on its lid.

  She took the path in the opposite direction that led to the older graves. The tears began to flow as she approached one of them. She stopped in front of one and looked out towards Grenivík, out over Eyjafjörður, and to where Vaðlaheiði was bathed in sunshine.

  ‘It’s not right that you need to work until midnight every day of the week and every single weekend, Eysteinn. Is this the future we saw ahead of us when we moved abroad?’

  ‘You knew we’d have to make some sacrifices. And what are you complaining about? We have everything we could want,’ Eysteinn said, arms outstretched to indicate the huge house that had come as part of the package when he signed the contract to join the company.

  ‘We have everything?’ Salka said, and looked at the time. María would be home soon and she didn’t want her to find them arguing. So far she had managed to hide that from her. She had kept her unhappiness under wraps.

  ‘What do you need to be happy, Salka?’ he asked.

  ‘You know what, Eysteinn? I think you’re at a point in your life at which you think money validates your opinions, regardless of how ludicrous they might be. Look around,’ she said. ‘All this junk here in the living room. All this was here when we arrived. It’s all prefabricated crap that has no connection with us. None of it’s ours, not a single one of these things. You got this house and you got the car and you got a fat pay cheque. But we don’t even go on holiday together. You’re travelling without me all the time. We grow further and further apart with every day that passes. When did we last do anything together? When did you last do anything with María? You mention this to me because she complained about it to you. Is this happiness?’ Salka fell silent. She wiped away tears. ‘Don’t you see that this is going to finish us as a family?’

  ‘You talk as if you don’t go to work. You’re not always here for her.’

  ‘Don’t be unfair, Eysteinn. I do everything around the house. I’m the one who goes to the parents’ evenings. I go to the school performances, and I drive her to training. I’m sorting out her confirmation on my own. Don’t be unfair.’

  ‘So why don’t you quit that fucking job? You’re paid peanuts and you’re always complaining that you can’t resolve this or that case. You complain about endless pressure. Why don’t you quit and try … just try to enjoy life, Salka? There’s nothing to stop you. Think of yourself.’

  ‘I know you’ve been seeing someone,’ she said, immediately regretting it. She hadn’t meant to bring it up at this point.

  ‘Salka,’ he said, looking hard at her.

  ‘I saw the emails.’

  ‘Salka, this isn’t…’

  ‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘Don’t say anything. The less I know, the less it hurts,’ she said and felt the rage swell inside her. Instead of going for him, as she longed to do, she marched towards the door.

  She sat in the car parked in front of the garage, jammed it into reverse, and put her foot down.

  In the mirror, she caught a glimpse of María on her bicycle.

  She heard the smash, the crunch.

  She was there, and then she wasn’t.

  She saw María disappear from the mirror.

  Salka dropped to her knees before the gravestone. She placed the white rose in front of it. The tears flooded down her cheeks, she buried her face in her hands and rocked back and forth.

  She reached out and passed a hand over the lettering.

  María Eysteinsdóttir

  28th March 1998 – 14th December 2012

  The memory of you lights our lives

  Salka took out her phone, scrolled through to María’s number. She called and listened.

  Hi, this is María. I’m soooo busy right now. Don’t call back, I’ll call you… If I remember.

  A peal of laughter followed.

  Salka went to the directory and deleted the number from her phone. She stood up, and made a sign of the cross over the grave.

  ‘Goodbye, my love,’ she said, and walked away.

  The Commandments is first published in English the United Kingdom in 2021 by Corylus Books Ltd, and was originally published in Icelandic as Boðorðin in 2019 by Bjartur.

  Copyright © Óskar Guðmundsson, 2019

  Translation copyright © Quentin Bates, 2021

  Óskar Guðmundsson has asserted his moral right to be identified as the author of this work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  All rights reserved. No par
t of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the written permission of the publisher.

  All characters and events portrayed in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or not, is purely coincidental.

  Layout and cover by Barry McKay

  Cover image: Yuliia Chyzhevska/Dreamstime

  This book has been translated with a financial support from:

  Corylus Books Ltd

  corylusbooks.com

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