Outrage

by Arnaldur Indridason

  ‘Yes,’ replied Elínborg without hesitation. As he slipped the overalls over his shoulders and pushed his arms through the sleeves, Valdimar reminded her of her husband Teddi.

  ‘I live up above,’ explained Valdimar, pointing at the ceiling. ‘I didn’t have much work on, so I took a nap. What time is it?’

  Elínborg told him the time. She did not feel at any risk. Valdimar was calm and polite.

  ‘So you don’t have far to go to work,’ she said, smiling.

  ‘It’s convenient,’ replied Valdimar.

  ‘I’ve been down at the churchyard,’ Elínborg told him. ‘I saw your sister’s grave. I gather she committed suicide two years ago?’

  ‘Have you ever lived in a little place like this?’ asked Valdimar. He moved closer to Elínborg, cornering her against one of the tool lockers.

  ‘No, I never have.’

  ‘They can be weird.’

  ‘I imagine they can.’

  ‘Outsiders like you can never really understand what it’s like.’

  ‘No, I don’t suppose we can.’

  ‘I hardly understand some of it myself – and I live here. Even if I explained it to you, it would only be a fraction of the truth. And that fraction of the truth would be seen as a lie by Haddi down at the filling station, for instance. Even if you spoke to every single person – and spent twenty years doing it – you’d never get more than a tiny glimpse of what it’s like to live in one of these villages. How people think. The relationships within the community. The ancient bonds that link people. And keep them apart. I’ve lived here all my life, and there’s still so much I don’t understand. But this is my home. Even though your friends may suddenly turn into your worst enemies. And people keep their secrets, to the grave and beyond.’

  ‘I’m not sure …’

  ‘You’ve no idea what I’m talking about, have you?’

  ‘I believe I know some of what happened.’

  ‘They know you’re with me,’ said Valdimar. ‘They know why you came back. They know you came here to talk to me. They all know what I did, but they don’t say anything. No one says a word. Not bad, is it?’

  Elínborg said nothing.

  ‘Addý was my half-sister, four years older than me. We were close. I’ve never met my father – I don’t know who he is, and I don’t care to know. My sister’s father was some Norwegian seaman who stopped here just long enough to knock our mum up. They didn’t think much of my mum, here in the village. It took a long time before I realised that she was a pariah. You find out, bit by bit, because you get teased. Otherwise you’d never be any the wiser. She was a good mother to us, and we never had anything to complain about – even if we had the odd visit by a social worker, some strange caller carrying a briefcase, not like anyone else, who looked my sister and me over and asked stupid questions. They never found anything wrong – because, although she had her problems, my mother was a fine woman. She worked her fingers to the bone at the fish factory, and although we were poor we never went without. My mum, with her two little bastards – that was what we were called – was known by a certain name in the village. I shan’t tell you what. I got into three bad fights about that – got my arm broken once. Then she died, and was at peace. She’s lying in the churchyard, next to her daughter.’

  ‘Your sister didn’t go so peacefully,’ said Elínborg.

  ‘Who have you been talking to?’

  ‘That’s not important.’

  ‘There are good people here, too. Don’t get me wrong.’

  ‘I know that,’ said Elínborg.

  ‘Addý didn’t tell me anything. Not until it was too late,’ said Valdimar, his features hardening. He grasped a large spanner that lay on the front tyre of the tractor and swung it in his hand. ‘It’s one of those things that happen. She closed up. She was alone when he attacked her. We were short of money, so I got work on a freezer-trawler, and I was out at sea for weeks at a time. I’d just gone when it happened.’

  Valdimar fell silent. Hunched forward, he tapped the spanner gently against his other hand. ‘She never told me anything. Never told anyone. But when I got back she was like a different person. She’d changed in some unfathomable way. She wouldn’t let me near her. I didn’t know what was happening – I was just a sixteen-year-old kid, after all. She hardly left the house, locked herself away, wouldn’t meet her two best friends. I wanted her to go to the doctor, but she wouldn’t. She asked me to leave her alone – said she’d get over it. She wouldn’t say over what. And she did make a partial recovery. It took a year or two. But she was never the same again: she was always frightened. Sometimes she would fly into a rage for no apparent reason. Other times she just sat and cried. She was depressed and anxious. I’ve read about it since – she was a textbook case.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘She was raped by a man from the village, in a quite horrible way. She couldn’t bring herself to tell me, or anyone else, exactly what he did to her.’

  ‘Was it Runólfur?’

  ‘Yes. There was a dance in the village. He tricked Addý into going with him down to the river near the community centre. She had no reason to suspect anything – she knew him well. They’d been classmates right through school. I’m sure he thought of her as easy meat. When he was done, he went back to the dance, carried on having a good time as if nothing had happened. But he dropped a hint of what he’d done to one of his friends, and that was how it spread gradually around the community. Except for me. I never heard a word.’

  ‘So that’s where it began,’ Elínborg murmured, as if to herself.

  ‘Have you found out about any other women he raped?’ Valdimar asked.

  ‘The woman we’ve got in custody. No one else has come forward.’

  ‘Maybe there are more like Addý,’ said Valdimar. ‘He threatened to kill her if she spoke out.’ Valdimar stopped knocking the spanner against his hand, looked up and met Elínborg’s stare. ‘All those years, she was a broken woman. However much time passed, it made no difference.’

  ‘I believe that,’ said Elínborg.

  ‘And when she was finally able to confide in me it was too late for her.’

  After Addý had finished speaking, brother and sister sat together for a long time in his flat over the garage. Valdimar held his sister’s hand and stroked her hair. He had sat next to her as she told him her story, which grew more difficult and heartbreaking as it went along.

  ‘It’s been so horribly hard,’ she whispered. ‘I’ve often been on the point of simply giving up.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ asked Valdimar, dumbstruck with horror. ‘Why have you never said anything before? I could have helped you.’

  ‘What could you have done, Valdi? You were so young. I was hardly more than a child myself. What was I supposed to do? Who could have helped us against that animal? Would it have made any difference if he’d served a few months in jail? Rape isn’t a serious offence, Valdi. Not to the men in charge. You know I’m right.’

  ‘But how have you kept it bottled up all this time?’

  ‘I’ve just done my best to live with it. Some days are better than others. You’ve been such a comfort to me, Valdi. I don’t think there can be a better brother in the world.’

  ‘Runólfur,’ murmured Valdimar.

  His sister turned towards him. ‘Don’t go doing anything foolish, Valdi. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you. I’d never have told you otherwise.’

  ‘She didn’t tell me until the day before she gave up the fight,’ said Valdimar, with a look at Elínborg. ‘I let go of her for a minute – and that was enough. I didn’t realise she was in such a bad way, how deeply he’d wounded her. They found her that evening on the seashore below the churchyard. Runólfur moved to Reykjavík soon after he raped my sister, and after that he only made brief visits here.’

  ‘You need advice. You must talk to a lawyer,’ said Elínborg. ‘Please don’t say any more.’

  ‘I don’
t need a lawyer,’ replied Valdimar. ‘What I needed was justice. I went to see him, and I found he was still at it.’

  33

  The pill worked faster than Runólfur expected and Nína leaned heavily against him on the way up to Thingholt, towards his home. She seemed very susceptible to the drug. She clung on to him and he had to half-carry her the last few steps. They did not go in from the front of the house but through the back garden, so he did not expect anyone to notice them. He did not switch on any lights when they entered, and he laid her gently on the sofa in the living room.

  He shut the door, went into the kitchen, lit candles, arranged them in the bedroom, and then lit two more in the living room. He took his jacket off. The candlelight cast an eerie glow over the flat. He was thirsty. He drank a large glass of water and put on some music from one of his favourite films. He bent over Nína, took the shawl, bundled it up and flung it into the bedroom before pulling off her San Francisco T-shirt. She was not wearing a bra.

  Runólfur carried her into the bedroom, then removed the rest of her clothes and undressed himself. She was unconscious. He squeezed himself into her T-shirt and looked down at her naked motionless body. He smiled, and bit off the corner of a condom wrapper.

  His whole mind was focused on the young woman.

  He lay down on top of her unmoving body, stroked her breasts, and thrust his tongue into her unresponsive mouth.

  About half an hour later he left the room and changed the music. Serenely, he picked out another film theme, and turned the volume up a little higher.

  As Runólfur was returning to the bedroom there was a knock at the door. He looked towards it, not believing what he was hearing. On two occasions since he moved to Thingholt revellers had come to his door late at night, in search of a party on their way from the city centre after a night’s drinking. They had either forgotten the address or were lost, and he had only been able to get rid of them by answering the door. He stood in the living room, glanced into the bedroom, then back at the door. The knocking was repeated, louder this time. His caller was persistent. One such night-time visitor had been calling out for someone named Sigga who he thought lived there.

  Runólfur hurriedly put on his jeans, half-closed the bedroom door, then cautiously opened the front door and peered out. There was no porch light and he could only vaguely discern a figure standing on the doorstep.

  ‘What—?’ he began, but got no further. A man shoved hard against the door, burst into the flat, and swiftly shut the door behind him.

  Runólfur was so astonished that he did not even try to resist the invasion.

  ‘Are you alone?’ asked Valdimar.

  Runólfur recognised him at once. ‘You?’ he asked. ‘How …? What do you want?’

  ‘Have you got someone with you?’ asked Valdimar.

  ‘Get the fuck out of here!’ hissed Runólfur.

  He saw the handle of a cut-throat razor in Valdimar’s hand, and a split second later the flash of the blade. In a moment, Valdimar had clenched his hand around Runólfur’s throat and thrust him hard against the wall, holding the razor to his skin. Valdimar was a much taller, stronger man. Runólfur was paralysed with terror. Valdimar scanned his surroundings and, through the half-open bedroom door, saw Nína’s feet in the bed. ‘Who’s in there?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s my girlfriend,’ stammered Runólfur. Valdimar’s steely grasp on his throat made it hard for him get the words out. He felt as if his neck were in a vice. He could hardly breathe.

  ‘Girlfriend? Tell her to get out!’

  ‘She’s asleep.’

  ‘Wake her up, then!’

  ‘I … I can’t,’ said Runólfur.

  ‘Hey, you!’ Valdimar shouted into the bedroom. ‘Can you hear me?’

  Nína did not move.

  ‘Why doesn’t she answer?’

  ‘She’s fast asleep,’ said Runólfur.

  ‘Asleep?’

  Valdimar swivelled suddenly to stand behind him with the razor still at his throat, and grasped his hair in the other hand. Propelling Runólfur ahead of him, he kicked the door open fully.

  ‘I can slit your throat whenever I want,’ he whispered into Runólfur’s ear. He nudged Nína with his foot, but she did not move. ‘What’s wrong with her? Why doesn’t she wake up?’

  ‘She’s just asleep,’ protested Runólfur.

  Valdimar made a small cut in the skin of his throat, which stung painfully.

  ‘Please don’t hurt me,’ begged Runólfur.

  ‘No one sleeps that heavily. Is she drugged? Did you give her something?’

  ‘Don’t cut me,’ whimpered Runólfur.

  ‘Did you give her something?’

  Runólfur made no answer.

  ‘Did you drug her?’

  ‘She …’

  ‘Where is it?’

  ‘Don’t cut me again. It’s in my jacket pocket, in the other room.’

  ‘Hand it over.’ Valdimar marched Runólfur ahead of him back into the living room.

  ‘You’re still at it,’ he said.

  ‘She likes it this way.’

  ‘Like my sister did!’ howled Valdimar. ‘She asked for it, did she? Asked you to rape her, you filthy bastard?’

  ‘I don’t know what she told you …’ gasped Runólfur. ‘I didn’t mean … I’m sorry, I …’

  Runólfur took the pills from his jacket pocket and held them out to Valdimar.

  ‘What are these?’ asked Valdimar.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Runólfur, his voice faltering in terror.

  ‘What are they?’

  Valdimar sliced again at Runólfur’s throat.

  ‘Ro … Rohypnol,’ groaned Runólfur. ‘It’s a sleeping pill.’

  ‘You mean a date-rape drug?’

  Runólfur said nothing.

  ‘Swallow them,’ Valdimar told him.

  ‘Don’t …’

  ‘Swallow them!’ bellowed Valdimar, making another cut. Blood flowed down Runólfur’s neck. He placed a pill between his lips.

  ‘And another one!’ ordered Valdimar.

  Runólfur was in tears. ‘What … what are you going to do?’ he asked, putting another pill in his mouth.

  ‘And another.’

  Runólfur had given up resisting and swallowed the next pill. ‘Don’t do anything to me,’ he begged.

  ‘Shut up!’

  ‘I could die if I take too many.’

  ‘Take your jeans off.’

  ‘Valdi, please …’

  ‘Get them off!’ said Valdimar, making another small incision in Runólfur’s neck. He whined in pain. He unbuttoned his jeans and dropped them to his ankles. ‘How does it feel?’ Valdimar asked.

  ‘Feel?’

  ‘How does it feel?’

  ‘What …?’

  ‘How does it feel to be raped?’

  ‘Don’t …’

  ‘Like it, do you?’

  ‘Please don’t,’ sobbed Runólfur.

  ‘How do you think my sister felt?’

  ‘Don’t …’

  ‘Tell me! What do you suppose it’s been like for her, all these years?’

  ‘Don’t …’

  ‘Tell me! Do you think she felt the way you do now?’

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know … I didn’t mean …’

  ‘You disgusting shit!’ whispered Valdimar in Runólfur’s ear, then slit his throat cleanly from left to right. He released his hold on Runólfur, who collapsed to the floor. Blood gushed from the wound. Valdimar stood by the dead man, then opened the front door and strode out into the night.

  Elínborg listened to Valdimar’s account in silence, watching his face and listening to the intonation of his voice. He showed no remorse for what he had done. It was more as if he had carried out a task that had to be completed if he were to regain his peace of mind. It had taken him two years but now it was over. If anything, Elínborg felt, he seemed relieved.

  ‘You don’t regret what you did?’

/>   ‘Runólfur got what he deserved,’ answered Valdimar.

  ‘You appointed yourself judge, jury and executioner.’

  ‘He was my sister’s judge, jury and executioner,’ retorted Valdimar. ‘I see no difference between what I did to him and what he did to Addý. My only concern was that I might lose my nerve. I thought it would be more difficult. I didn’t think I’d be able to do anything to him. I was expecting more resistance, but Runólfur was a pathetic, cowardly little shit. I should think most men like him are.’

  ‘But there are other ways to achieve justice.’

  ‘Like what? Addý was right. Men like Runólfur get put away for a year, or maybe two. If they are even prosecuted, that is. Addý … Addý said to me that Runólfur might as well have killed her. It made no difference. I don’t see what I did as a serious crime. In the end, you do what you have to. Something must be done, to put things right. Should I just have stood aside and allowed him to carry on? I wrestled with that question until I couldn’t take it any more. When the system takes the side of the filth like that, what are you supposed to do?’

  Elínborg thought of Nína and Konrád and their family, and how their world had been ravaged. She remembered the sad little gathering at Runólfur’s home – Unnur and her family, who had nothing but their silent pain.

  For Valdimar, that was not enough.

  ‘Had you been planning this for long?’ asked Elínborg.

  ‘Ever since Addý told me. She didn’t want me to do anything. Didn’t want me to get into any trouble. She always worried about her little brother. I don’t know whether you really understand. What she went through – both when he violated her and for the years afterwards. All those long years. Really, Addý no longer existed. She wasn’t my sister any more, not the real Addý. She was just a shadow, a travesty of herself, who was withering away and dying.’

  ‘An innocent man and his daughter are in custody because of you’ said Elínborg.

  ‘I know, and I feel terrible about that,’ replied Valdimar. ‘I’ve been keeping up with the case and I intended to give myself up. I really don’t want innocent people to suffer because of me. I would have given myself up. I was going to. There were some things I needed to sort out first, and I’ve been doing that for the past few days. I don’t suppose I’ll be coming back here.’