I Remember You

by Yrsa Sigurdardottir

  Garðar sipped from the can he was holding. ‘Come on. There must be some explanation for this, even though we might not be able to see it at the moment. It’s pointless getting all worked up about it; the shells were probably there to begin with without us noticing them, and the water could have just leaked onto the floor. As you may have noticed, this house is somewhat lacking on the maintenance front.’

  ‘Oh, wake up. It needs to rain in order for water to leak in. No, there’s a crazy person around here and he’s hiding in one of these houses. I get goose bumps at the thought of what this message is supposed to mean.’ Líf rubbed her upper arm. ‘“Goodbye”? What’s that supposed to mean? Does he want us to go, or is he planning to kill us and wants to say goodbye before he does?’ She turned back to the window and stared out. ‘Would we have noticed if a boat had sailed here in the night, or even in the morning?’ She stared at the shore, which was about a hundred metres below the house, and out at the sea. ‘I don’t see any boats, but maybe the man left it further up the fjord.’

  ‘Of course we would have heard a boat. Do you remember how noisy that tub was that brought us here?’ Garðar took another sip of his drink. ‘There’s no one here but us.’

  Katrín wasn’t quite as convinced as Garðar, although she didn’t agree with Líf. They’d been so exhausted the night before that helicopters could have landed outside the house without them noticing. She felt that Líf’s theory might well hold up, but it hadn’t crossed her mind that a boat could have landed somewhere other than at the pier. Of course that was possible; the skipper had said that even here people often had to be ferried to land in rubber rafts. Meaning it was probably possible to sail past Hesteyri, drop anchor out of sight further up the fjord, then row to land in a rubber raft that would be easy to drag under cover. Using that method, someone could arrive here without anyone else noticing. ‘Let me have a sip.’ She took the can and drank from it. Despite the cold in the house, the drink was lukewarm. They hadn’t yet lit the stove downstairs, which was connected only to a radiator in the room they had slept in until now. That did little for the room in which they now sat, in their thick sweaters and woolly socks. ‘Shouldn’t we worry about this tomorrow? Everything seems much more manageable in the daytime than in the evening and at night. I’m not sure I’m in the mood to talk about this any more.’

  ‘I can’t sleep with some nutter on the loose out there.’ Líf looked back at them, leaving a frosty haze on the windowpane. ‘What if he comes tonight? The lock downstairs wouldn’t keep out a child. It was probably him that I heard when I woke up.’

  Garðar heaved himself up to standing. Putti looked up but stuck his muzzle immediately back under his tail and went back to sleep. ‘There’s no one here but us, believe me. There’s nothing to fear – I’ll even prove it to you by going down and fetching the beer. Maybe a little alcohol in your blood will help cheer you up again.’ Katrín gulped down the drink. She couldn’t imagine that he would really abandon them and go out into the night. When they’d come home from their hike earlier, she’d gone straight to the living room to have a look at the shells that Garðar had mentioned. As they walked slowly home she’d held so tightly to the shell that she’d brought with her from the grave that deep, coarse stripes had formed in the palm of her hand. She didn’t release her grip until she was standing looking at the white shells, exactly the same as hers, on the floor of the living room, irregularly forming the letters of the word Goodbye. So it was a farewell. None of the three of them would confess to having done this. Katrín had the feeling that Garðar suspected Líf, although he seemed to believe her when she denied it – her stunned expression when she’d looked at the unevenly formed word had no doubt helped her credibility on this front. Katrín was convinced that someone besides the three of them was responsible for these shells, and she still hadn’t managed to get rid of the unease that had gripped her in the living room. She would never let Garðar go out alone into the night, at least not while it was still unclear whether someone else might be waiting for him outside. Líf’s nutter, for example. ‘You’re not going out alone.’ Katrín wiped drops of the fizzy drink off her chin and chest. ‘You either forget about getting the beer or I’m coming with you.’ She didn’t want any beer, and wanted even less to go out into the darkness. The dog looked up again and stared sorrowfully at her, as if he agreed with her completely.

  ‘You’re not leaving me here alone.’ The tone of Líf’s voice made it clear how serious she was. ‘I’m going with you.’ The white walls seemed to pale and the yellowish moonlight faded as soon as Líf spoke. The one cloud in the sky had drifted in front of the moon. It seemed to be up to a coin-toss: either Garðar went nowhere or they would go with him. If Líf had suggested that they forget about the beer because she was afraid of remaining behind alone, doubtless Garðar would have given in and they wouldn’t have gone anywhere. But Katrín had never been a lucky person and could pretty much blame herself for having offered two options. If you wanted a specific outcome, you should only suggest one.

  The moonlight appeared duller after they’d come out into the twilight, despite the disappearance of the cloud that had temporarily covered the moon. Fortunately it was a short walk to the stream where Garðar had put the beer. Putti trotted along lightly behind them, stopping to urinate against the wall of the house before scampering to catch up with them. At some point a narrow but fairly level path from the porch to the riverbank had formed, and they followed this. It was set to drop below freezing that night and their breath was frosty. There was a melancholy feel to the atmosphere, as if something bad – yet anticipated – had finally taken place; something of which nature alone was aware.

  Garðar tried to brighten the mood, though without much success. ‘Let’s make a deal. If you stop talking about the shells, tomorrow I’ll focus on connecting the septic tank so that we can get the toilet running.’ In a little cubby-hole next to the front entrance one of the previous owners had installed a toilet and sink that they couldn’t use, since it wasn’t actually connected, as if the man had given up before completing the project. Similarly, a lot of work had clearly gone into installing a green plastic septic tank in an open pit outside, but that too was unconnected.

  ‘Any ideas on how to get it in working order would be very welcome.’ Katrín had seen Garðar scratching his head over the septic tank as he tried to work out where this and that pipe ought to connect to the tank and where they were supposed to lead. ‘I think we’re going to have to settle for continuing to pee outside.’ As soon as she said this she regretted not simply having taken him up on his offer. Maybe that would have encouraged him to throw himself into the project and fix the toilet. It wasn’t a thrilling prospect to have to go outside alone, in the middle of the night if necessary.

  Garðar didn’t seem too pleased, which just went to show what kind of state they were all in. Usually it took a lot more than that to irritate him. ‘What do you know about what I can or can’t do about these things?’

  ‘Stop bickering, get the beer and let’s go back inside.’ Líf hopped from foot to foot on the bank above the stream as Garðar inched his way down, very carefully. Katrín moved closer to Líf, while Putti pushed between them so as not to miss anything, apparently having trouble deciding whether he should follow Garðar or remain with the women. Visibility was poor and the ground around the stream might already be frozen. Judging by how carefully he was proceeding, Garðar was obviously keen not to slip on an icy patch and end up in the freezing water. And it can’t have helped that they had discovered they hadn’t brought along any bandages. Smirking, Líf nudged Katrín and called out to Garðar: ‘Wouldn’t it be funny if you fell in?’

  ‘Ha ha.’ He’d reached the stream and now wiped his dirty hand on a dry tuft of grass dangling over the stream-bed. He turned to the dark water in search of the beer. ‘You’ve got to be joking!’

  ‘What?’ Katrín tried to see what had caused the renewed frustration in his voice, bu
t she couldn’t see anything except his back and the running water.

  ‘The beer isn’t here.’ Garðar looked up at them. ‘Did you take it?’

  Both swore that they hadn’t. ‘It probably is there. Didn’t you just put it further up or down the stream?’ Katrín looked up and down the channel but caught no glimpse at all of a white plastic bag beneath the vibrant surface of the water.

  ‘Someone’s taken it.’ Líf whispered this, but in Garðar’s earshot. ‘Do you believe me now?’ She grasped Katrín’s arm tightly.

  Putti seemed to sense Líf’s agitation and growled softly. He turned in a circle and barked once into the darkness between the stream and the house. Katrín felt agitated. ‘Come on, Garðar.’ She wanted to know whether someone was standing behind them, but couldn’t bring herself to turn around. ‘We’ll find it tomorrow.’ Líf’s grip was hurting her arm. ‘That’s enough.’

  Garðar walked purposefully downstream. ‘The bag’s there.’ He gave them what appeared to be a victorious look. Katrín couldn’t see anything from where she was standing. ‘It’s floated off. I should have put a heavier rock on top of it.’ He stopped, bent down to the stream and lifted the sodden bag. ‘Fuck.’ Garðar held the bag as far from him as he could to keep the water from dripping on him. When the bag had finished emptying itself Garðar turned back and handed it to the two women. ‘I’m going to walk along the bank and see if I can find the cans.’

  Katrín could barely stifle a screech. But instead she took the bag and let it drop between her and Líf. Only then did Líf release her grip on her, and Katrín set off to follow Garðar. ‘I’m coming with you. You’re not going alone. What if you fall in?’ As soon as she tried to gain a secure foothold she understood why Garðar had stepped so slowly down the slope; it was saturated with water.

  ‘Are you two nuts?’ Líf had stopped whispering now and didn’t wait for a reply, but instead hurried after Katrín. She was in such a rush that they both nearly lost their balance when she reached her. But Líf appeared not to notice and said breathlessly:

  ‘Let’s go back inside. This may be a trap. Whoever it might be out here has taken the beer because he knew that we’d go looking for it, like idiots.’ Realizing the group was on the move, Putti stopped growling and followed the women. He didn’t let the unstable ground bother him, but shot past them on steady paws. He sniffed at the bank and started growling again. ‘See.’ Líf waved in Putti’s direction with her free hand. ‘He senses there’s someone here. Did you see? He was sniffing at the place where the beer was.’

  ‘He’s always barking at nothing, Líf. Even in town. It doesn’t take anything special.’ Garðar moved just enough to make room for the two women on the narrow bank. ‘We’ll walk from here the little way down to the shore and along it for a bit. Nothing’s going to happen and it’ll do you both good to see that there’s nothing bad hidden behind the next rock. Maybe then I’ll get a break from all your nonsense.’ Putti stared at Garðar and barked when he said nothing more. It was hard to say whether he agreed with him or not.

  They set off silently, and it wasn’t until Katrín spotted a can stranded at the mouth of the stream that the silence was broken. They all sped up and even Putti seemed to recover his good mood, lifting his tail, which had hung down since they left the house. Triumphantly, Garðar fished the can out of the water and they continued their walk along the beach, much more cheerful than before. The smell of the sea was refreshing, too, and Putti ran happily ahead only to turn around, run back and then repeat the game immediately. But Garðar was the most noticeably chipper of all of them, holding his head high with satisfaction at having been right about the fate of the beer. His happiness seemed to have spread all the way down to his feet, since he’d nearly stopped limping. He was the first to spot the next can, lying in a clump of weed a short distance from the mouth of the stream, and grabbed it saying that they should have brought the bag with them; carrying ten cans home would be harder in practice than in theory. The next two were also lying a little way away, but they had to walk a short distance more before coming upon the fifth. Líf found it and in her delight she momentarily forgot her fear and ran ahead to fetch the gold-coloured can that gleamed in the moonlight. When she turned around triumphantly, holding the can in the air, Katrín couldn’t help but smile; all her concerns had blown out to sea on the cold breeze. It was then that Putti stopped abruptly and started growling again. Although Katrín couldn’t work out how it was different from the previous growl, it was, seemingly loaded with gravity and fear, as if the dog sensed something threatening it. Or them.

  Katrín stopped and grabbed Garðar. She shushed Putti, who whined as he snuggled up close to her legs. Then he stopped. At first nothing could be heard but the crunching of the pebbly beach beneath Líf’s feet, but then Katrín heard a low weeping with no obvious place of origin. She held onto Garðar even tighter and whispered: ‘Did you hear that?’

  Líf was still a short distance from them but near enough to realize that not everything was right, and she stopped. ‘What? What’s wrong?’

  ‘Come here, Líf. Don’t stop.’ Garðar tried to appear calm but Katrín could tell that he was alarmed. Although he hadn’t answered her, it was clear he’d heard the sound as well. ‘Get over here.’ Líf didn’t move. The beer can in her hand looked slightly bizarre, as if she were at a festival in high summer. ‘Don’t stand there like a lemon, hurry up!’ He had to shout to make himself heard over Putti, who was now barking as loudly as his little body could manage. The weeping was no longer audible through the noise.

  When Líf finally came to her senses and started running towards them, Katrín saw what had elicited this reaction in Garðar; not the low sound of someone crying, but a person standing at the top of the beach just behind where the can had been lying. Katrín gasped. Despite the uncomfortable near-certainty that there was someone else in the area, the tiny bit of scepticism that she’d still harboured had kept most of her fear in check. But now there was no longer any room for the slightest doubt. The twilight prevented Katrín from seeing clearly, yet she grasped that the person stood with his cap-covered head hanging down to his chest and his arms dangling; she’d never seen anyone stand like that before. It was as if the person had surrendered to the injustice of the world. Without pondering this any further, she realized that the weeping had come from this pitiful figure. However, it was impossible to understand why it stood there alone, crying. The vague outline of a raincoat made it hard to tell whether it was a man or a woman, but suddenly the person moved, causing Katrín to realize that they were standing even closer than she’d first thought. ‘Jesus.’ She squeezed Garðar’s arm with all her might. ‘It’s a child.’

  Garðar freed himself from her grasp, walked over to Líf, grabbed her shoulder and positioned her forcefully next to Katrín. She was still holding the beer can. ‘Stay here.’ He didn’t wait for an answer, but ran towards the child as fast as the loose pebbles allowed, paying no heed to his sore foot. Katrín was too late to stop him and could only watch him tear off in the direction of the top of the beach where the child was standing. But as he drew nearer it turned on its heel and disappeared into the darkness – with Garðar behind it. The sound of footsteps above the beach faded as the pursuit grew distant. Instead the only sound was Líf’s whimpering. Putti was unusually silent as he lay meekly on his stomach between them.

  She had to do something, so Katrín raised her hands to her mouth and desperately shouted Garðar’s name. But the wind carried her cry out to sea. ‘Come on!’ Katrín let her hands drop. It was useless yelling her lungs out; they had no other choice but to wait on the cold beach for Garðar to return. Despite the fact that she got along well with children, and was generally a kind-hearted person, she sincerely hoped that he would be alone.

  There was something more than a little wrong with this child. And whatever it was, they couldn’t possibly be capable of solving it.

  Chapter 10

  Contrary
to all forecasts, the weather deteriorated. This didn’t surprise Freyr; in fact it was remarkable how mild it had been recently. He had thought a lot about the weather before finally deciding to move west. He had never been much of a one for winter sports, but he knew that Ísafjörður was a true skiers’ paradise; after the króna crashed his friends in the south had suggested going for a holiday there instead of Austria or the Italian Alps. But because of the unusual warm spell, these friends still hadn’t shown their faces, even though they’d made plans for their visit before Freyr had headed west in the autumn. He hadn’t decided whether he was disappointed or relieved at their postponing the trip. Immediately after moving he’d looked forward to their visit, but over time he’d started to fear being reminded of his former life and stirring up memories that he wanted to leave behind, some for good. Regular phone conversations with these friends in the south always featured uncomfortable questions about his future and his life over the next few years. On bad days they conjured up mental images of himself still in Ísafjörður in the hospital’s forlorn single-family residence, watching television far into the night. Alone.