Ashes to Dust

by Yrsa Sigurdardottir

  ‘Have you always lived here in the Islands?’ asked Thóra, in an attempt to lighten the mood. She had experienced her own marital troubles and hindsight told her that incidents like this were the reason others had started to decline her and Hannes’s dinner invitations before they finally divorced. There had been no need to serve half-raw wild birds’ eggs to drive away their guests.

  ‘God, no,’ snapped Maria.

  ‘Maria isn’t from here, as you might’ve guessed,’ said Leifur, smiling sarcastically at his wife. ‘We met when I was studying in Reykjavik and lived together there for two years until my graduation. With the exception of my school years I’ve always lived in the Islands.’ Leifur set aside the empty shell of one egg and reached for another. ‘I always wanted to study to be a sea-captain, but ended up in business.’ His experienced hands broke the shell off the top of the beautifully coloured egg. ‘It was clear that my father’s fishing company was growing and I felt a business degree would be of more use to the family and the company.’

  ‘And you turned out to be right, isn’t that so?’ asked Thóra. She knew from Markus that the fishing company was doing very well. She stuck her spoon into her egg, scooped out some of the hard congealed stuff and tried to swallow it quickly.

  ‘Yes, I suppose I did,’ said Leifur. ‘I actually doubt that my education makes much difference. We’ve been lucky with the catches, and have very experienced captains. Actually I have been able to strengthen the company’s foundations, but that’s only part of the picture. Things are getting a bit tight now, what with the quotas being curtailed, not to mention the instability of the krona.’

  Thóra nodded and decided not to get into a deeper conversation about the exchange rate or finances. There was little more boring to her than money talk, and there was a risk that she would Display her own ignorance if the conversation continued on its current path. ‘And Markus hasn’t been involved with the fishing company at all?’ she asked.

  ‘No, he’s gone his own way,’ replied Leifur. ‘Luckily, maybe,’ he added. ‘It’s never a good idea to run a company with two directors. Since father retired I’ve been running the show alone, and doing well. Markus doesn’t complain, and it wouldn’t matter if he did. He’s happy with his share of the profits.’

  Maria snorted. ‘You would’ve done even better if you’d sold. You’re not the only one with a degree in business administration in this family, and I know very well how much you can get for the quota and the ships. Magnus says that we could live perfectly well off the interest alone, Markus included.’ She took another gulp of wine. ‘But God help us if the quota and the company were to be sold.’

  Thóra didn’t know which Magnus she was referring to, but was fairly certain that she didn’t mean Leifur and Markus’s father. Whoever she meant, Thóra thought she knew where the root of the disagreement between the couple lay. Maria wanted to sell the company and move to Reykjavik. Yes, that’s where Laugavegur High Street was, with shops where one could spend all one’s money. She would fit perfectly inside a terribly expensive penthouse in 101 Reykjavik, the downtown district, where she would look out over the blue bay past a single lily in a vase as she sipped cafe au lait. Leifur, in contrast, would clearly feel about as welcome in such minimalist surroundings as a patchwork quilt. He clearly wanted to hang on to the company and live in the Islands, where he could continue to work in the fishing industry. Perhaps moral obligation played a part too; if the quota and the fishing company were sold, how could he continue to live in the Westmann Islands? His must be a difficult position, bearing the responsibility for the jobs of so many workers in such a small community. Although Thóra was no specialist on the Islands’ community after two short visits, she felt that it reflected certain characteristics of the whole of the country in the not so distant past. Iceland before the age of capitalists. Iceland when most people were on almost equal financial terms and the wealthiest men were the pharmacists. Leifur and Maria’s house was no different from any other house in the neighbourhood: large and well kept but far from luxurious. It must feel strange to have that much money but never spend it, especially for Maria, who obviously appreciated the finer things in life. Thóra thought it best to change the subject. ‘Do your parents still live here?’ she asked Leifur, taking another mouthful of egg. It seemed never-ending, and she couldn’t imagine anything but an ostrich laying one this size.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Leifur. ‘They live in this street, a few doors down, but we’re not sure for how much longer. Dad has become extremely difficult and Mum is so old and tired that she can hardly cope. Maria has been helping her but they’re getting to the point where they’ll need specialist help, which is hard to find here in the Islands.’

  Maria received unexpected Brownie points from Thóra for this. She looked at the woman and decided that despite her cold manner she must have a warm heart. It wasn’t so difficult to put yourself in her shoes, an empty nester with not enough to do, while her husband was rushed off his feet. If the woman was from Reykjavik, her support network must be there; old girlfriends could hardly stop by for coffee here. ‘You have children, don’t you?’ she asked, addressing Maria. ‘Do they live here?’

  ‘No,’ the woman replied sadly. She added quickly: ‘I mean, no, they don’t live here, but yes, we have children. Two, Magnus and Margret.’ She sat up straighter. ‘Margret is abroad, doing a medical degree, but Magnus is a business administrator like his father. He works for one of the big banks and recently became director of property management.’ She glanced at her husband. ‘So it’s foolish to think that one of them could take over the business. Magnus already makes twice what his father does.’

  ‘Now, it’s not that simple,’ said Leifur to his wife. ‘You know that.’ He turned to Thóra. ‘Even though our children have followed other paths in life, one never knows whether things might change. And Hjalti, Markus’s son, is very keen on the sea and the company. He’s with us more or less every summer and a lot of weekends during the winter. He would be very disappointed if the company changed hands.’ Once again it appeared as though the conversation were heading in the direction of the couple’s unresolved conflict.

  Thóra heard Bella sigh softly. She must be tired of the conversation, although it could just as easily have been the egg that still lay half eaten on the plate in front of her. ‘Do you remember anything about the eruption?’ she asked Leifur in a desperate attempt to relieve the tension.

  ‘Of course, my dear,’ replied Leifur, pushing his plate away. ‘It’s hard to forget.’

  ‘Did you go to Reykjavik on the same boat as Markus?’ asked Thóra. ‘I’m trying to find someone who could verify that Markus and Alda spoke to each other during that journey.’

  ‘I was on board,’ replied Leifur, thoughtfully. ‘I must admit I don’t particularly remember Alda being on the same boat, but that doesn’t mean much. Alda was the same age as Markus, two years younger than me. At that age I didn’t pay much attention to kids.’ He took a sip of wine. ‘However, I can assure you that if Alda was there, Markus wasn’t far behind.’ He put down his glass. ‘I don’t think he ever actually got over his crush on her, not even as a grown man.’

  ‘That’s certainly my understanding,’ said Thóra, as she tried to push the egg down into its shell so that it would look as though she had finished it. She put down her spoon and wiped her mouth with a napkin to complete the illusion. ‘Is there anyone else who might possibly remember these interactions? What about your mother?’

  Leifur shook his head. ‘Not Mum. She was very seasick and had enough to worry about. I doubt she even noticed Markus.’ He twirled his glass on the table. ‘Let me think about this a bit. Maybe I can remember some other people who were there. It would mostly have been Markus’s childhood friends who would have noticed anything; the whole class had a crush on Alda so maybe they can remember something.’

  Thóra reached into her handbag, which was hanging on the back of her chair, and took out a photocopy of the
report that Bella had found in the archive. ‘Here’s a list of the people who came to the mainland on that boat. Maybe you’ll recognize the names on it.’ She handed it to Leifur.

  Leifur looked over the list, which was handwritten and totalled four pages. Suddenly his face brightened. ‘Jóhanna, Alda’s younger sister. She still lives in the Islands and works at the bank where I do business. Maybe she can help, although she might not remember the evacuation. I’ll talk to her tomorrow if you think it might help.’

  Thóra thanked him. She saw Bella give up on her egg and place her napkin over it with an uncharacteristically dainty hand movement. ‘Thank you,’ she said quietly, pushing the plate away slightly. ‘Very unique flavour,’ she added, without looking up from the tablecloth in front of her. Maria smiled at them, but only with her mouth. She stood up and started clearing the table. Then she went, arms full, to the kitchen, where they could hear her preparing the main course. Thóra crossed her fingers in the hope that no more special dishes would be served, but genuinely feared that the woman was about to appear with a platter of grilled starfish. ‘Haven’t the police come round to take statements from you?’ she asked Leifur, setting aside her concerns about the menu. ‘Or your parents?’

  ‘I received a phone call the other day from Reykjavik and I told them I knew nothing about it,’ he replied. ‘I doubt they’ll let it go that easily because the man I spoke to asked a lot of questions about my future travel plans, as well as about Mum and Dad. He also told me they’d be back in touch, and that we’d be subpoenaed. I pointed out to him that it wasn’t possible to question my father, and described his illness. This was on Friday, as I recall, but I haven’t heard any more from them.’ Leifur shrugged, almost dismissively, although Thóra couldn’t tell if his lack of interest was genuine. ‘They’ll come when they come. We’ve got nothing to hide.’

  ‘You have nothing to worry about,’ Thóra reassured him. ‘But what explanation do you have for the bodies in the basement? You must have given it some thought.’

  Leifur gestured non-committally. ‘Of course I have,’ he replied. ‘I wish I could say I was able to come up with an explanation. I have no idea who these people were or how they ended up there, of all places. It does seem pretty obvious to me that they were foreigners, though. Four Icelanders could never have disappeared in the eruption without anyone noticing it.’

  ‘And were there any foreigners here at that time?’ asked Thóra. ‘And by “that time” I mean during the eruption, as well as before it started.’

  ‘Hmm,’ he mused. ‘Before the eruption there were always foreigners around, though not as many as now. They were mostly sailors and people working in the fishing industry, not tourists like they are these days.’ He smiled apologetically at Thóra. ‘I have to admit I don’t know whether any foreigners were here during the eruption itself. I suppose there were some who helped out during the rescue operation. Soldiers from the base, maybe.’

  Thóra, who hadn’t thought of this, made a mental note to ask about disappearances from the Keflavik Naval Air Station at the time. She hoped that all the information hadn’t been spirited away on the departure of the Defence Force.

  ‘Would there be any way for me to speak to your father?’ she asked cautiously. ‘Maybe he still remembers this, even though the old days might be slipping from his memory?’

  Leifur looked forlorn. ‘I’m afraid there wouldn’t be much point. Even though Dad has good days it’s been a long time since it was possible to have a decent conversation with him. He talks, but the words he strings together are usually meaningless and unrelated. Mum, on the other hand, is sharp as a tack.’ He regarded Thóra closely. ‘What are you getting at? Do you think my father had something to do with this?’

  To Thóra’s relief Leifur did not appear to be angry, just curious. ‘No, not necessarily. I was hoping he could give me some information about people’s visits to your house, or hazard a guess at who the bodies belonged to,’ she said. ‘It’s reasonable to suppose he would have paid closer attention to his own house. The other rescue workers no doubt had less interest in it.’

  ‘That’s a good point,’ said Leifur. ‘But he won’t be able to help you. It’s a shame. Mum won’t be much help either, since she wasn’t here doing salvage work. However, she may remember something about any foreigners in the area just before the eruption.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t know what else she might know. It may be that she doesn’t remember a single thing about any of it. It’s been decades. I can only remember bits and pieces myself.’

  A faint smell of smoke drifted in, and Bella wriggled in her seat. ‘Can I smoke here?’ she asked hopefully.

  ‘Maria smokes in the kitchen,’ he replied, and waved Bella to the kitchen door. ‘Please. She’ll be delighted to have company.’ Bella did not need to be told twice.

  ‘Did you not know Alda at all?’ Thóra asked after Bella had left. ‘She appears to be a key player in all of this if your brother’s story about where he got the severed head holds up. My instinct tells me that the corpses and the head are two branches of the same story. Anything else would be too much of a coincidence.’

  ‘I agree with you there,’ replied Leifur. ‘Unfortunately I didn’t know Alda at all well. Of course I knew who she was, and there was quite a lot of contact between our parents in those days; but as I told you, she was younger than me, so 1 didn’t pay much attention to her. After we went to the mainland the friendship between our parents pretty much fizzled out. They moved to the Westfjords, if I remember correctly, while my father kept on fishing in the South.’

  ‘But doesn’t her mother live here in the Islands?’ asked Thóra. ‘That was my understanding from Kjartan at the harbour-master’s office, and he also said her father died recently.’ She added in explanation: ‘I met Kjartan yesterday at Markus’ suggestion.’

  Leifur nodded. ‘As I said, I know that Jóhanna, Alda’s sister, still lives here, but I’m not certain about their mother. To tell the truth, there was no love lost between me and my father’s old friends. Especially not after I took over the business.’

  ‘Oh?’ responded Thóra. ‘What happened?’

  Leifur rolled his eyes, exasperated. ‘I thought Dad was much too sentimental about them. It was as if he felt he owed them something, particularly Geiri, Alda’s father, even though all of the negotiations were perfectly above board.’

  ‘Now I don’t understand,’ she said. ‘What negotiations are you talking about?’

  ‘The purchase of the first ship,’ replied Leifur. ‘They bought it in partnership, Dad and Geiri, Alda’s father. That’s how the company worked at first, it was co-owned by the two of them.’ He pointed out a painting of a ship hanging on the wall behind her. ‘That’s the boat, Strokkur VE, a hundred- ton motor trawler. The painting was in Dad’s office. I removed it when I took over, since to me it was so closely connected to him, and I wanted to make it clear to everyone that a new skipper was at the helm. I still wanted to be able to see it, just not at work.’ Leifur smiled. ‘It wouldn’t be considered an enormous ship today, but in its time people thought it was quite something.’ His expression was oddly proud and affectionate, although the painting couldn’t exactly be called a masterpiece. ‘They hadn’t owned the ship for more than a year before the eruption, and Dad disagreed completely with Geiri over further operations. He wanted to keep the fishing company going after the eruption, but Geiri simply gave up and let Dad buy him out.’

  ‘I saw an old news report from the period about a trawler that had been sunk to collect insurance money,’ said Thóra. ‘That suggests the industry hadn’t exactly been easy for everyone.’

  ‘Very true,’ said Leifur. ‘It was terribly hard for a while. Luckily we never had to resort to the desperate measures you describe, but we were no doubt not far from it when things were at their worst.’

  ‘Was your father a wealthy man before he started the fishing operation?’ asked Thóra, turning from the painting to Leifur. ‘
I know less than nothing about ships, but I expect they cost quite a bit.’

  Leifur smiled. ‘No, he really wasn’t wealthy at all. He put everything he had into financing his half, and even that came nowhere near the total cost of the boat. He and Geiri took out a large loan to make the purchase, and mortgaged everything they owned. The ship also had a huge mortgage, of course. Because of that, Dad only needed to pay Geiri back what he’d contributed originally, but there was no profit foreseeable in the operation during those first few years and it was unclear whether it could keep going after the eruption. Part of the collateral disappeared with our house and that complicated the family’s finances a great deal.’ Leifur took a sip of wine. ‘But Dad didn’t give up even when things were going really badly; if anything, he became more enthusiastic. He managed to keep the ship, and trumped that by buying the only processing plant here at the harbour for peanuts, while the eruption was still happening. It had been written off by its former owners when he took the chance on it, but he got it going again, even before the eruption stopped. No one would have believed it when the deal was made, because at the time people thought all the property in the Westmann Islands would be worthless.’

  ‘How did your father actually pay his debts?’ asked Thóra. ‘Was it possible to fish, despite the disaster?’

  ‘The Westmann Islands fleet had a record catch that winter. Dad caught more fish than he ever had before, but he didn’t land his catches in the Islands until after he’d purchased the plant. Dad was hard-working, but he was also lucky. Good catches and inflation that ate up the loan over time helped him start raking it in. When the processing operation got off the ground, slowly but surely he was able to build up his own fleet of ships, and over time he added a trawler, then another and so forth. He also laid the foundations of the company as it exists today during the eruption. His boldness when everything appeared hopeless worked to make him wealthy, while his friend, who lost his courage during the hard times, was left behind with nothing to show for it.’