My Soul to Take: A Novel of Iceland

by Yrsa Sigurdardottir

  "That's right," replied the girl. She jerked her thumb at the elderly lady beside her. "I don't get it back until Wednesday, so my grandma's picking me up."

  "Okay," said Thora. "My question is, who gave you a lift back from Reykjavik? We're trying to work out everyone's movements for that

  day."

  Judging from her expression, Soldis thought it was an odd question. "I came back with Throstur," she said.

  "The canoeist?" said Thora, taken aback.

  "Yes, I heard him saying he was popping over to Reykjavik, and I was a bit stuck, so I asked if he'd give me a lift back. He said that was fine."

  She blew a large bubble and popped it. Then she sucked the strands of gum back into her mouth with great panache. "Steini let me down, so I was lucky Throstur could help me out."

  "Steini?" Thora asked. "Who's Steini?" Surely she didn't mean the young man in the wheelchair.

  "My friend," the girl answered. "Sort of. He was going to fetch me, but he blew me off at the last minute. He's a bit weird. He never used to be, but then he had that accident and . . ." She twirled her index finger at her temple.

  "You mean the lad in the wheelchair, with all the burns?" Thora asked in astonishment. "He can drive?"

  "Oh, yes," said Soldis. "It's only his right side that's burned, and the other hand is fine. Both his legs are messed up, but he has a device in his car to help him use the pedals and he drives an automatic."

  "That must make a big difference for him," Thora said, trying to conceal her surprise. It had never occurred to her that he would be able to drive. She'd assumed he was completely dependent on others because he was confined to a wheelchair. "How do you know him?" she asked.

  "We were in the same class since we were six," said Soldis. "There was only one class for each year group, you know, and we were born in the same year. He moved into a house near here after the accident and I started visiting him—at first because I felt sorry for him and then just to chat."

  "So he's a good friend of yours?" Thora asked, still struggling to understand. By way of explanation she added, "He seemed very . . . reserved on the two occasions I've met him."

  "Yeah, he's cool. He's not good with strangers, though," said Soldis, snapping her gum. "I think he gets uncomfortable when people stare at him. There are really only two of us who hang out with him, me and his cousin Berta."

  "I've met her," Thora said. "Are you friends too?"

  "Sure, I guess," Soldis replied. "I didn't know her before, because she's from Reykjavik. I've only met her at Steini's, you know. She's really nice to him; she seems pretty cool."

  "That was a terrible business," Soldis's grandmother Lara suddenly interjected. "Not many people live around here, so you remember an accident in which two people are killed and one is badly hurt."

  "I understand it was a middle-aged couple from a farm close by here," said Thora.

  "Yes, it was awful," the old woman replied. "Probably the worst thing about it was that Gudmundur was drunk. It wouldn't have happened if he hadn't been driving drunk. It's been a great strain on their daughter, Rosa. She's become rather isolated since then. She wasn't that sociable to start with, but she withdrew into her shell completely after it happened, which is ridiculous, because no one's blaming her for it."

  Thora nodded. "So you're a local?" she asked Lara.

  "Yes, born and bred." She smiled back. Thora noticed how much Soldis looked like her. Although there were sixty years between them, they had the same facial features. "I moved to Reykjavik for a few years when I was young, but soon realized it suited me better here. There's nothing to be gained by living anywhere else. I believe that more and more."

  Thora smiled. "I've come across all manner of intriguing things since I've been here. I don't suppose you knew the people who lived on the two farms belonging to this estate?"

  "Kreppa and Kirkjustett? I most certainly did," Lara said proudly. "We were the best of friends, me and Gudny, the girl from Kirkjustett. That's why I so enjoy coming over here, even if it is difficult to see where the past stops and the present begins."

  "So you remember those times well?" Thora said as she tried to think what she most wanted to ask.

  "I do. Of course, my memory's starting to go, like everything else, but the funny thing is that the oldest memories seem to last longest. Please don't hesitate to ask anything you want. Grimur and his brother, Bjarni, weren't quite like normal people, so you'd probably find your own questions stranger than I would! Life on the farm here was pretty peculiar, so you won't shock me."

  Thora could have kissed her. "Oh, I'm so relieved to hear that. I've had trouble getting people to discuss it; either they know nothing or don't want to talk about it." She took a breath and then fired away. "Do you recall whether the farm had any connection with Nazism? I found a flag and other articles that seem completely out of context and I must say I'm surprised that they should be in the basement of a farm in rural Iceland. Do you know anything about that?"

  Lara sighed heavily. "Yes, I'm afraid I do. Bjarni became obsessed with it. You should realize that after his wife, Adalheidur, died, in about 1930, he was never the same. She meant everything to him, and you could say that when she died his mind went with her." The old woman grinned impishly. "Actually, it was a stroke of luck in some ways, because he literally made money from being weird. He invested in all manner of wild projects that you'd expect to have bankrupted him, but they ended up making him a fortune because of the times we were living in. The war broke out just as he started investing, and luck was on his side. It was pure coincidence that the economy was transformed practically overnight, what with the military occupation and population growth. But poor Grimur, the voice of reason, wasn't so lucky."

  "Did he go bankrupt?" asked Thora.

  "No, it wasn't quite that bad, but I think he came close. He was a doctor, but since there was already a doctor here, he didn't have enough to do, so he increasingly devoted himself to farming. In the end he gave up his medical practice and put everything into building up his farm, but he couldn't get anyone to work for him. Everyone had gone to Reykjavik, where the Allied forces were paying better wages. Ultimately Bjarni rescued his brother from bankruptcy. He bought all Grimur's property but still let him treat it as his own—even though the two of them were barely speaking, so it must have been difficult for Grimur to accept his help.

  "To cap it all, Grimur's wife, Kristrun, died around then, leaving him alone to raise their little girl. Kristrun was mentally ill. I hardly knew her, and she didn't socialize much," the old woman said. She paused, then continued, "As for this business with the Nazis, Bjarni was visited by people from Reykjavik who wanted to make him into a kind of nationalist leader for western Iceland. He was supposed to enroll young men to create a political presence in this part of the country. There was one in the south and I think in the north too, although they never made much headway."

  "And did he?" asked Thora. "Did he join the party and enlist people?"

  "He started to, and he even made some progress." Lara smiled again. "But it wasn't the manifesto, the party, or the swastika that appealed to the young men who came here. It was Bjarni's daughter, Gudny."

  "And you say she was a friend of yours?" said Thora.

  "Yes, she was. Friendship was very different back then, of course. We didn't meet up as often as girls do these days. Even so, it was a genuine friendship; we couldn't have been closer." The old woman stared into the air, dreamy-eyed. "She was so beautiful—a beautiful little girl who turned into a beautiful young woman, just like her mother. As soon as she hit puberty, the local lads worshipped her, so they jumped at the chance to go around to her house, even if they had to pretend to be nationalists for the evening. I doubt they had a clue what Nazism was about. They just wanted to be near Gudny."

  "Was she at these meetings?"

  "Oh, no, dear, but she did make the coffee and serve the refreshments. I used to help her sometimes. We'd make eyes at the boys and fall abou
t laughing." Lara's eyes clouded and she shook her head sadly. "I don't know how it would all have turned out, but fate intervened and what happened happened."

  "Do you mean tuberculosis?" asked Thora.

  "Among other things, yes," she said. "Bjarni fell ill and locked himself away—and that meant Gudny did too." She sighed. "I moved to Reykjavik with my aunt around that time, so I lost contact with her, apart from the occasional letter. The Nazi business fizzled out."

  "What do you think about the rumors that Bjarni abused Gudny?"

  Lara looked directly at her. She exhaled briefly, then closed her eyes. "Goodness, that was a long time ago. Actually, I've been thinking about Gudny a lot recently." She pointed at Soldis, who was still beside her, rolling her gum around her mouth. "When Soldis started working here, it brought it all back to me." She hesitated for a moment, then looked firmly at Thora. "I don't believe Bjarni ever laid a finger on his daughter, either in anger or any other sin. For all his strange ways he was a good man, and I could tell from her letters that she loved him very much, so I simply can't believe it." She looked down. "Something did happen, though. Gudny's letters became less frequent, but in her last one she confided to me that she'd had a baby. The letter was written just after her father had died, and the child was four years old. She said she hadn't had the courage to tell me before. In those days that sort of thing was a great scandal. She would only have been sixteen when the baby was born. She never said a word about the father, but said she'd tell me the whole story later. She never got the chance, though, because the next thing I heard was that she'd died."

  "Who could have been the father," Thora asked, "if not her own father?"

  "There weren't many other candidates, that's for sure," Lara replied. "People were worried about TB, because it was so infectious and there was no cure at the time. The two of them were completely isolated after her father decided to stay at home instead of going to Reykjavik. She didn't want to leave him, so that was that. The only person I know who called on them was Bjarni's brother, Grimur. I've always suspected him of abusing Gudny, although I shouldn't say such a thing when I have no real grounds except for the fact that he wasn't a good man."

  "What happened to the child?" said Thora. "Was it a boy or a girl?"

  "A girl. I don't know what happened to her, because no one seemed to know anything about her when I came back out here. The vicar who must have baptised her had just died, and the people I asked hadn't noticed a little girl. A few of them had heard that Gudny ordered certain items that could only be explained by there being a baby at the farm. Rumor said the baby had died of exposure, or of TB like its mother. The incest story started circulating after Gudny and Bjarni were both dead. My efforts to locate the child might even have started the rumors."

  "Did you discuss this with Grimur?" asked Thora.

  "I tried, but he wouldn't talk about it. He moved to Reykjavik not long after I came back here. No one wanted to help me get to the bottom of the matter because incest was such a taboo—there was so much shame attached to it."

  "Do you know the child's name?"

  "Kristin. She talked about little Kristin in her letter. I've searched everywhere for a gravestone with that name on it, but never found one, so I have no idea what became of her."

  "Kristin," mused Thora. "So she did exist."

  "Did?" said Lara. "I still cherish the hope that she's alive. I've always believed that Gudny found a good home for her but kept it secret. She wouldn't have wanted anyone to worry about catching TB from the child. That may have been what she had in mind from the time the child was born, and she could have asked Grimur not to send the birth certificate to the authorities, or to forge it somehow. I presume that Grimur delivered the baby, because it was born after everyone stopped calling on Gudny and her father." Lara set her jaw. "My friend Gudny was a God-fearing girl. She wouldn't have entertained the idea of the child not being buried in hallowed ground, if she had died. She would have been buried in the churchyard here, so I choose to believe that she lived."

  Thora nodded. No mother in her right mind would bury a dead infant in the countryside when there was a cemetery nearby. Kristin must have survived her mother. Thora did not want to tell Lara about the message that had been carved into the pillar, claiming that Kristin had been murdered. It was better for her to believe that she was still alive.

  Thora changed the subject. "Do you know what building stood out here at the back? It must have burned down a long time ago."

  "A building?" exclaimed Lara. "There was only one building there and it's still standing, although it's been incorporated into the hotel." She wrinkled her brow in thought. "Unless you mean the barn," she said suddenly. "Now that you mention it, I suppose it has gone." She turned her head, looking for a window on to the land behind the hotel, but there wasn't one. "On the other side of the farmhouse was a building that acted as a barn and a cattle shed. It might have burned down, but that would have happened before I came back, because I don't remember a fire. I can't say for sure if the building was still standing when I returned to the area."

  "I know this must sound odd, but do you remember anything special about the coal bunker at Kreppa?" Thora asked. "It's underground but can be reached both from inside the basement and through a hatch in the meadow."

  Lara screwed up her face as she considered it. "Not that I recall. Is it important?"

  "What are that lot playing at?" said Soldis suddenly, before Thora could reply. "Don't they know camping's banned here? There's a big sign at the highway exit. This is a protected nature reserve."

  "Oh, no." Thora sighed as she watched her SUV and trailer bunny-hopping into the hotel car park.

  Chapter 29

  THE TRAILER STUCK out well beyond the parking space. Thora watched as Gylfi got out of the SUV and opened the doors for his little sister and Sigga, who were both sitting in the back. He had obviously not wanted the airbag to injure his unborn child if they had an accident. Gylfi certainly had his priorities right, if you ignored the fact that he had no driver's license. Sigga arched her back as she got out, her swollen belly seeming more disproportionate than ever in contrast with her fragile frame. Thora hoped for her sake that the child would not take after its father's side of the family when it came to birth weight, because both Gylfi and Soley had had heads the size of pumpkins when they were born. As she wondered how she could get rid of them, she remembered that it was ten in the evening—too late to arrange for a driver to collect them.

  "Why didn't you go with your dad?" she called out to Gylfi, striding across the car park to greet them. "He was supposed to collect you in

  Selfoss."

  "We just didn't," Gylfi said, conscientiously locking the SUV door. "None of us wanted to go back with him, or to Sigga's parents, so we decided to keep on camping. I told Dad so he wouldn't have a wasted journey, if that's what you're worried about."

  That was the last thing on Thora's mind. Hannes could chase wild geese halfway around the world for all she cared, but she was concerned about how to handle Jonas, Matthew, and her two children, not to mention her pregnant prospective daughter-in-law, without messing something up—or everything.

  "How are you feeling, Sigga?" she asked the girl, hugging Soley, who had wrapped herself around her mother ecstatically. "Well," said Sigga, "my back hurts."

  Thora gasped. "Do you think the baby's on its way? If so, there's no way you can stay here."

  "No, Mum," said Gylfi, shocked. "It hasn't been nine months yet." He had clearly never heard of premature birth.

  "Come inside," she said, ushering her visitors toward the hotel lobby. "We need to talk about this little jaunt of yours, Gylfi, but it'll have to wait," she whispered in her son's ear. "I'm very disappointed in you." Then she added in a louder voice, for everyone to hear, "I'll see if I can get a room for you. You've had enough camping. That can wait until the baby's born." Envisaging Gylfi trying to erect the trailer awning with a newborn baby in his arms, she quickly added
, "And has started school."

  Matthew was standing at the door, wreathed in smiles. Thora pulled a face at him over their heads. "Kids, you remember Matthew. He's helping me with a case concerning the hotel. You have to be on your best behavior because I need to work. Don't go anywhere and don't break anything." She almost added, "And don't give birth to anything," but decided against it. The first two commandments would be difficult enough to keep.

  “Don’t worry,” Matthew said when they had sat down again at the computer in Jonas's office. "This is fine. I like your kids. Although this isn't exactly the holiday I had in mind, I think it could be interesting." He tipped her a conspiratorial wink. "Maybe you could arrange a babysitter and we can find a restaurant that serves only organically cultivated chickweed."

  Thora didn't look up from the screen. "Why isn't Jon Arnason's folktale collection on the Internet?" she muttered.

  "Can I take that as a yes?" asked Matthew.

  "What?" Thora asked vacantly, scrolling down the page she was reading. "Oh, yes," she added, with no idea what she was agreeing to.

  "No matter where I search I can't find the folktale itself, only the verse. I have to get to a library."

  Matthew looked at his watch. "You're unlikely to find one open now," he said. "Do you really think the inscription is that important?"

  Thora looked up at him. "No," she admitted. "I just have nothing else to do. I'm clutching at straws for tomorrow—I don't have much to go on."

  "If either Bergur or his wife is the murderer, as you seem inclined to believe, I don't think that rock can have anything to do with it," said Matthew. "It makes more sense for you to concentrate on something more recent." He crossed to the window and watched as a car pulled up at the hotel. It parked in a space directly below the window. "I recognize that number plate," he said, releasing the curtain. "Where's the

  list?"

  Thora gaped at him. "Are you saying you can remember a single number from the thousands you went through?" she asked, passing him the list.