Burial Rites

by Hannah Kent

  ‘I don’t know,’ she whispered.

  I thought back to the night I heard him moving inside her. The night after the death waves. The hurried breathing. A quick, light moan. There had not been a struggle.

  ‘It’s against God,’ Fridrik said.

  I couldn’t help but laugh. ‘I don’t think any of this has much to do with God.’

  Sigga looked panicked. ‘Agnes? Are you very disappointed in me?’

  ‘Why would I be disappointed?’ My voice was as smooth as the ocean.

  Fridrik glared, looking down at the nightdress. ‘He’s a bastard. I’ll kill him.’

  ‘I don’t want Natan to die.’ The simper in Sigga’s voice made me want to slap her.

  I laughed. ‘Fridrik’s not going to kill anyone.’

  ‘Yes I am.’ He stood up again, his hands in meaty fists.

  ‘No, you’re not,’ I said. ‘Anyway, what does it matter? You’re still going to marry her.’

  Fridrik sneered. ‘I wouldn’t expect a woman like you to understand.’

  I felt my mouth grow dry.

  ‘Sigga said Natan’s been having his way with you as well. Only we seem to think that you enjoy it a sight more than Sigga!’

  I stepped towards Sigga and saw her flinch. ‘I’m not going to hit you,’ I said. But I could have. I wanted to.

  Daníel came in and Fridrik fell quiet. I was shaking with anger. I hated Fridrik. I hated his pimpled skin, flushed red by the cold. Hated his blue eyes and their sticky rim of blond lashes. I hated his high voice, his smell of horseshit, his constant visits.

  ‘Go home, Fridrik.’ It was Daníel who spoke first.

  ‘There’s a snowstorm coming.’

  ‘Then go get caught in it.’ I was suddenly grateful for Daníel’s presence.

  ‘I’m not going anywhere,’ Fridrik said, and he sat down again next to Sigga, putting an arm around her protectively.

  ‘It’s true, isn’t it?’ Daníel asked, whispering. ‘It’s true about Natan sharing a bed with the both of you.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s unholy.’

  ‘Fridrik has killed some sheep.’

  ‘What? Here?’

  ‘I think he took at least two to Katadalur last night, or early this morning, and killed them there.’

  ‘Natan will murder Fridrik!’

  ‘Not if Fridrik kills Natan first,’ I said. ‘He’s in a temper.’

  Daníel ran his hands through his hair, and looked over at the couple on the bed. ‘He’s a fool and a thug,’ he sighed. ‘I’ll talk to him once his blood cools.’

  *

  Natan returned to Illugastadir three days later. Fridrik was not there when he came home. I cannot imagine what would have happened if he had been. As it was, Natan wasn’t overjoyed to hear the news of Sigga and Fridrik’s engagement. I told him. Sigga slipped out to the storeroom at the sound of his arrival in the yard.

  ‘I can’t leave you alone without some disaster befalling the lot of us.’

  ‘It’s hardly a disaster, Natan. You accepted Fridrik’s money for her; you should have known this was coming.’

  ‘I suppose you’re happy about this,’ he grunted.

  ‘Me? What has any of this got to do with me?’

  ‘You’ve been playing matchmaker all autumn long.’

  I held out my hands for the bridle as he unsaddled his horse. ‘I have been doing no such thing.’

  ‘I suppose you have all been celebrating.’

  ‘No. Even Sigga seems confused about what has happened.’

  He turned around to face me properly, raising an eyebrow. ‘Is that so?’

  I nodded. ‘Fridrik’s leaping out of his pants for joy, but Sigga doesn’t seem so thrilled.’

  Natan smiled then, and shook his head. ‘A couple of young idiots, the both of them.’ He gently took the bridle and saddlecloth out of my hand and placed them on the snow. His face was sober. ‘Agnes. My Agnes, I owe you an apology. I shouldn’t have hit you.’

  I didn’t say anything, but I didn’t resist when he took up my hand.

  ‘I have been talking with Worm, and he thinks I am distracted. Travelling too much in the damp. The dreams, they . . .’ His voice trailed off. ‘We’ve all behaved badly towards one another. I have not been myself.’

  He released my hand and picked up the bridle and cloth. ‘Here,’ he said, giving them to me. ‘Put these away and I’ll see you inside.’ I turned to leave, but he held onto me. ‘Agnes,’ he said, gently. ‘I’m glad to see you.’

  That night we shook with the same desires that possessed us as before. And when we woke in the wintered darkness, my body flushed with happiness at the knowledge that he slept beside me. If Sigga or Daníel woke and saw us lying there together they said nothing. I stripped his bed of blankets and placed them at the foot of my own.

  MARGRÉT RETURNED FROM THE DAIRY with another pan of milk. Outside the wind blew so hard that a hollow moaning could be heard.

  Agnes leaned over and prodded the coals of the fire. ‘Shall I use peat or dung?’ she asked.

  Margrét pointed to the dung. ‘Go on. We may as well keep the fire burning for as long as we sit here.’

  ‘Where was I?’

  ‘You were saying that Fridrik proposed to Sigga.’ Margrét gently poured more milk into the pot. It hissed as it touched the hot metal.

  ‘Sigga was terrified to see Natan after she’d agreed to marry Fridrik. Natan found her hiding in the storeroom. She told me later that he said he’d been unreasonable, and let his own grievances with Fridrik blind him. He’d given her his blessing, and said that if she wanted to marry a boy with neither a coin nor a name to be proud of, then that was her choice. He told me he was not going to stop two puppies from playing with one another.

  ‘I thought perhaps he’d realised that if Sigga married Fridrik, he wouldn’t have to see the boy’s face again. Wouldn’t have to worry about his money, hidden about the place.

  ‘The days of Yuletide flew past, and we did little to mark them. Natan sent Daníel back to Geitaskard, and I thought it would be like the old days when it was just Sigga and me. I wanted to clean the croft and prepare skate for St Thorlak’s Mass, but she’d lost interest in talking to me since her engagement to Fridrik. She’d become moody, lax with her work and forever gazing out the window. She’d jump when spoken to. Avoid eye contact. Natan had told her she might invite Fridrik to Illugastadir for a drink to mark Yuletide, but he hadn’t come. Perhaps Sigga didn’t trust Natan’s sudden goodwill towards Fridrik. I believe she was anxious to keep the two men apart.’

  LATE ONE NIGHT I DECIDED to tell him.

  ‘Natan, I know that you have had Sigga.’

  He had been dozing, but his eyes opened at this.

  ‘I know, Natan. I forgive you.’

  He looked at me, and then suddenly laughed. ‘You forgive me?’

  I reached for his hand in the darkness. ‘I’m not talking about this to argue. But I want you to know that I know.’

  His fingers lay in mine like a dead weight. He was thinking.

  ‘I knew you saw us,’ he said.

  His words hit me like a blow to the stomach. My mouth opened and shut with no sound escaping. I got out of bed and brought back a lamp. I could not talk to him without seeing his face. I could not trust his words in the dark.

  The lamplight flared over his bare skin. He regarded me coolly, turning away only to glance in Sigga’s direction, to see if she was awake.

  ‘Natan.’

  My voice sounded old. I looked down and saw myself, naked, and for the first time I guessed how he saw me.

  ‘You’ve been playing with me.’

  Natan shielded his eyes with a hand. ‘Put the lamp out, Agnes.’

  I grabbed hold of the bedpost to steady myself. ‘You’re cruel.’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about this.’

  ‘You were never going to give me the housekeeping position, were you?’

  ‘Put the lamp out, and let’s g
o to sleep. Your eyes look like two piss-holes in the snow.’

  ‘Go to sleep?!’ I stared at him, waiting until I knew I could speak without crying. ‘How did you know I knew?’

  He smiled at this. Said nothing.

  ‘Do you love me?’

  ‘You’re being ridiculous.’

  ‘Answer me.’

  He reached for the lamp. ‘Put it out!’

  ‘Natan.’ I was beseeching him. The whine in my voice horrified me.

  ‘Would I have asked you here if I didn’t want you here?’

  ‘Yes, as your workmaid.’

  ‘You’re more than a servant, Agnes.’

  ‘Am I?’

  ‘Put the lamp out.’

  ‘No!’ I snatched it out of his grasp. ‘You can’t treat me like this!’

  His eyes flashed. ‘You’re a nag, Agnes.’

  I exploded.

  ‘A nag? Go to hell! I’ve always let you do what you want. Do I stop you leaving all the time? Do I stop you climbing on top of Sigga in the next bed when you think I’m asleep? She’s fifteen! You’re a fucking dog.’

  He leaned back on his elbows. ‘What makes you think I wait until you’re asleep?’

  The look on Natan’s face was not of derision, but of scornful amusement. An immediate weight of despair and loss pressed on me until I was suddenly, unalterably, concave with grief.

  ‘I hate you.’ The words seemed stupid, childish.

  ‘And do you think I love you?’ Natan shook his head. ‘You, Agnes?’ He narrowed his eyes and stood up, his breath hot in my face. ‘You’re a cheap sort of woman. I was wrong about you.’

  ‘If I am cheap it is because you have made me so!’

  ‘Yes, go on. You’re pure and holy, and everyone else is to blame.’

  ‘No, you are to blame!’

  ‘Forgive me, I thought you wanted this.’ He grabbed me and pulled me roughly to him. ‘I thought you wanted to get out of the valley. But you just want what you can’t have.’

  ‘I wanted you! I wanted to leave the valley because I wanted to be with you.’ I felt sick with anger. ‘I can’t stand it here.’

  ‘Then go!’ He took a step back and grabbed me by my wrist. ‘Get out! You’ve done nothing but cause trouble!’ He started to pull me out of the badstofa. I was aware of Sigga sitting up in bed, watching us. Thóranna had begun to cry.

  ‘Let go of me!’

  ‘I’m just giving you what you want. You hate me? You want to leave? Good! Here is the door.’

  As small as he was, Natan was strong. He dragged me down the corridor and pushed me over the doorstep. I tripped on the ledge and went sprawling into the snow, naked. By the time I got to my knees, he had slammed the door in my face.

  It was dark and snowing heavily outside, but I was so light-headed with anger and grief that I felt nothing. I wanted to hammer down the door, to go to the window and scream for Sigga to let me back inside, but I also wanted to punish him. I wrapped my bare arms about my body and wondered where I should go. The cold needled through my skin. I thought about killing myself, about walking down to the shore and pushing my limbs into the frigid water. The cold would kill me; I wouldn’t have to drown. I imagined Natan finding me dead, washed up amongst the seaweed.

  I went to the cowshed.

  It was too cold to sleep. I crouched down next to the cow and pressed my bare skin against her warm bulk, and pulled down a saddlecloth to cover myself with. I pushed my freezing toes into a cowpat so they would not suffer.

  At some time in the night someone entered the cowshed.

  ‘Natan?’ My voice was thin and pathetic.

  It was Sigga. She had brought me my clothes and shoes. Her eyes were puffy from crying.

  ‘He won’t let you back inside,’ she said.

  I dressed slowly, my fingers stiff with cold. ‘And what if I die out here?’

  She turned to leave, but I grabbed her shoulder.

  ‘Talk some sense into him, Sigga. He’s actually gone mad this time.’

  She looked at me, her eyes filling with tears. ‘I’m so sick of living here,’ she whispered.

  The next morning I woke, and for a few moments I didn’t know where I was. Then my memory of the night came back to me, and anger tightened my stomach, invigorating me. I leaned against the cow, warming my cold nose and fingers, thinking of what I should do. I wanted to leave before Natan came out to feed the stock.

  TÓTI WOKE IN THE SHADOWED badstofa of Breidabólstadur and saw his father at the end of his bed, slumped against the wall. His grizzled head lolled on his chest. He was asleep.

  ‘Pabbi?’ His voice was no more than a whisper. The effort seared his throat.

  He tried to move his foot to nudge his father awake, but his limbs were heavier than he had ever known them to be. ‘Pabbi?’ he tried again.

  Reverend Jón stirred, and suddenly opened his eyes. ‘Son!’ He wiped his beard and leaned forward. ‘You’re awake. Thank God.’

  Tóti tried to lift his arm and realised that it was bound to his side. He was swaddled in blankets.

  ‘You’ve been suffering yet another fever,’ his father explained. ‘I’ve had to sweat it out.’ He pressed a calloused hand against Tóti’s forehead.

  ‘I need to go to Kornsá,’ Tóti murmured. His tongue was dry. ‘Agnes.’

  His father shook his head. ‘It’s the care of her that’s done this to you.’

  Tóti looked distressed. ‘I have forgotten the month.’

  ‘December.’

  He tried to sit up, but Reverend Jón gently pushed his head back down on the pillow. ‘You’ll pay her no heed until God restores you.’

  ‘She has no one,’ Tóti argued, trying again to lift himself. His muscles barely responded.

  ‘And for good reason,’ his father said, his voice suddenly loud in the small room. He held his son down on the bed, his face grey in the unlit badstofa. ‘She’s not worth the time you give her.’

  MARGRÉT WAS SILENT A MOMENT. The milk had cooled in her cup. ‘He threw you into the snow?’

  Agnes nodded, watching the older woman carefully.

  Margrét shook her head. ‘You could have frozen to death.’

  ‘He wasn’t in his right mind.’ Agnes drew her shawl more tightly about her shoulders. ‘Natan had wanted Sigga for himself. He finally understood that she preferred Fridrik.’

  Margrét sniffed and nudged a burning ember back against the hearth wall with a poker. ‘As you say, then.’ She stole a glance at Agnes, who was staring into the fire. ‘Go on,’ she said quietly.

  Agnes sighed and unfolded her arms. ‘I went to Fridrik’s family’s home at Katadalur. I had not been there before, but I knew where it lay beyond the mountain, and the day grew clear enough for me to walk there without falling victim to the weather. It took me hours though, and by the time I entered the mouth of the valley where Katadalur stood, I was delirious with fatigue. Fridrik’s mother found me on my knees on her doorstop.

  ‘Katadalur is a horrible place. All slumped and squat, with the roof threatening to fall in, and the inside of the farm as miserable as its outside. Smoke from dung fires on the walls of the kitchen and the badstofa as cheerless as they come. When I entered there was a group of children, all of them Fridrik’s siblings, huddled together on one bed, just trying to stay warm. Fridrik was sitting next to his father and uncle on another bed, sharpening knives.

  ‘The first thing Fridrik said to me was, “What has he done now?” He asked me if Natan had decided to marry Sigga.

  ‘I shook my head and explained that he’d thrown me out. I told him I’d spent the night in the cowshed. Fridrik was not sympathetic. He asked me what I’d done to cause it, and I told him I’d fought with Natan, saying I couldn’t abide him treating Sigga the way he was.

  ‘That’s when Fridrik’s mother interrupted. She’d been listening quietly to us, and all of a sudden she gripped Fridrik’s arm and said: “He means to deprive you of your wife.”

&
nbsp; ‘I thought I saw Fridrik glance down to the knife on the bed covers and I became fearful.

  ‘I suggested that Fridrik speak to the priest at Tjörn, that maybe they could go to a District Officer. But Thórbjörg, Fridrik’s mother, interrupted me again. She stood up and gripped Fridrik about the shoulders, and looked him in the eye. She said: “You will not have Sigga while Natan is alive.” Then they all sat down, and while I slept, they must have decided to kill him.’

  Margrét was still. The fire had died. Only a thin glowing crust of live ember flickered amid the ashes. The wind had not stopped wailing. Margrét slowly exhaled. She felt weary. ‘Perhaps we ought to return to bed.’

  Agnes turned to her. ‘Don’t you want to hear the rest?’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  OVER AT LAUGAR, IN SÆLINGSDALE, Gudrún rose early as soon as the sun was up. She went to the room where her brothers were sleeping, and shook Ospak. Ospak and his brothers woke up at once; and when he saw it was his sister he asked her what she wanted, to be up so early in the morning. Gudrún said she wanted to know what they were planning to do that day. Ospak said they would be having a quiet day – ‘for there isn’t much work to be done just now.’

  Gudrún said, ‘You would have had just the right temper if you had been peasants’ daughters – you do nothing about anything, whether good or bad. Despite all the disgrace and dishonour that Kjartan has done you, you lose no sleep over it even when he rides past your door with only a single companion. It’s obviously futile to hope that you will ever dare to attack Kjartan at home if you haven’t the nerve to face him now when he is travelling with only one or two companions. You just sit at home pretending to be men, and there are always too many of you about.’

  Ospak said she was making too much of this, but admitted that it was difficult to argue against her. He jumped out of bed at once and dressed, as did all the brothers one after another; then they made ready to lay an ambush for Kjartan.

  Laxdæla Saga

  NATAN WAS NOT HOME WHEN Fridrik and I arrived at Illugastadir. I’m not sure what would have happened if he had been. It took several minutes of knocking before Sigga opened the door to let us in. She carried Natan’s daughter on her hip.