The Fox Read online

  ‘No. And now I need more tablets.’

  ‘Thormóður will deal with that. But you have to understand. She has to go. Otherwise the whole business is in danger.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Thormóður can find something for her.’

  ‘I want her to stay longer,’ Selma pleaded.

  ‘This was temporary. You always knew that.’

  ‘But I still need help. My hip isn’t getting any better.’

  ‘She has to go,’ Ísak snapped.

  ‘I want her here with me. Always,’ Selma sighed.

  Sajee could feel her empty stomach complain. She wrapped her arms around herself as if to tell her own body to be quiet, edging closer so she could hear better.

  ‘I’m not sure that’s going to work,’ Ísak said. ‘You’ve ruined it for yourself.’

  ‘But Thormóður said she was stupid,’ Selma argued.

  ‘I’m not so sure,’ Ísak said firmly, a note of anger in his voice. ‘She’s smarter than we suspected.’

  ‘But Thormóður said…’

  ‘That’s enough,’ Ísak interrupted impatiently. ‘He could always be wrong. Do you want us to lose everything?’

  ‘No, but I want her to stay. She’s so like your poor sister who didn’t live,’ Selma whined.

  ‘Stop it! You’re mixing up imagination and reality when you…’

  Ísak didn’t get to finish his sentence before Selma broke in.

  ‘She reminds me of your father. I dreamed of Christopher the other night. He was driving his Ford, so handsome, and so proud that you had done such a wonderful job. He wants the girl to be here to help us. I’m sure of that.’

  ‘We’ll see what we can do, mother,’ Ísak said, sounding tired. His patience was clearly reaching its limits.

  ‘We can have the girl here, my boy. We just need to make sure she doesn’t talk … It’s good to have someone here … I get so lonely and I’m getting old.’

  ‘Stop it!’ Ísak raised his voice. ‘My nerves are bad enough as it is without your mad ideas on top!’

  ‘Please, Ísak,’ Selma wailed. ‘Let me keep her.’

  ‘Then behave yourself. Understand?’

  There was a crash, as if a chair had been hurled aside. Sajee wanted to flee up the stairs and almost fell. She felt her head spin and barely managed to drag herself up the steps to her room.

  18

  The bed arched, twisting and stretching like thin rubber. Her body was pulled as tight as a bowstring, until the bed became a deep valley. She lost her grip and tumbled deep into the darkness that enveloped her. Sajee was held inside something beyond her understanding, a dream she couldn’t escape. Unable to wake herself, she reached into the blackness, trying to claw a gap that would let the light into this chamber, but the darkness was slippery. She scratched at it, but it retreated from her and she was unable to get a grip. Suddenly the bed was upended and she slid down a slimy track that seemed to have no end, down and further down, until she crashed hard against cold rock. The slime was in her eyes, but she managed to prise them open a crack. Now she could make out a trace of brightness in the distance, a crack of light beneath a door.

  ‘Sajee. Sajee.’

  The whispering voice was soft. She tried to lift herself up, to go towards the voice that filled the room.

  ‘Sajee. Sajee … Sajee.’

  The whispering voice echoed from the rocks. Now she knew who this was. She was in her place, inside her room. The hidden lady wanted to examine her shrine in the corner, to scold her for neglecting her figurines, forgetting the offerings, for always thinking of something else.

  ‘Sajee…’

  The room lurched. Wearing a shining blue dress, the grey-haired woman approached her. Something in her hand glittered.

  ‘It won’t take long,’ she whispered.

  The bed gave way and Sajee felt herself falling again. Rough hands took hold of her. She felt the pain in the roots of her hair and her head was pulled back as the hidden lady held tight to her hair. She wouldn’t fall as long as the hidden lady held on to her. An icy chill settled on her lips. She wanted to open her mouth, but her muscles refused to obey her. Had she tumbled out into the snow? No… she felt a finger rub her lips. As she felt herself falling again, she saw a wave of scarlet spreading over the white bed linen.

  19

  ‘I want to see a doctor,’ Sajee mumbled, huddled in discomfort on the kitchen bench.

  ‘You certainly shouldn’t be going outside in the cold while you’re so swollen,’ Selma said firmly. ‘Such bad luck to have an accident like that, but it’ll heal soon.’

  ‘Will you ask Ísak to drive me to a doctor when he comes back?’

  She was in pain and tears rolled down her cheeks. The lower half of her face was bruised and swollen.

  ‘What on earth are you talking about? I can’t understand a word!’ Selma sniffed. There was an undertone of accusation in her voice, as if it was Sajee’s fault she couldn’t get her words out.

  ‘I want to go…’ Sajee mumbled, making another attempt. ‘I want to see a doctor today,’ she finally managed to say in a muddle of words, but Selma patted her on the head as if she were a spoiled child demanding a treat.

  ‘There, there, my dear. There’s no need whatever to be troubling the doctor. I’ve put plasters on there to keep it all closed and poor Ísak has enough to do without running trivial errands. He needs to rest and then he’s going to finish Christopher’s car, so we we’re not likely to be going anywhere without good reason. You’re just a little swollen after that clumsiness and there’s a bruise that’s coming up. That’s what comes of tripping over your own feet, but it’s nowhere near as serious as it might look. It’ll start to heal up in a day or two and who knows? Maybe that lip of yours will look better than before,’ Selma said. ‘That would be something of a silver lining, wouldn’t it?’ she added cheerfully. She opened the fridge and took out a jug with a lid. ‘Here, I prepared something to help with the ache. I made a drink so you can sleep off the discomfort. Cold tea that soothes any pain.’

  Sajee felt faint, slumped forward onto the table, but hauled herself back upright, the pain surging as the blood went to her head. She sat with her eyes closed until Selma brought her a drink.

  ‘Isn’t that what you need?’ Selma said, placing a straw with blue stripes in the cup. Sajee tried to drink, but it was difficult.

  ‘Here, hold that to where it hurts,’ Selma said, handing her a damp flannel. ‘Put that on there first, and then drink. Sajee obeyed, then held the straw to her mouth with trembling fingers. Slowly and carefully she sucked up a little of the liquid.

  ‘Good girl,’ Selma said, patting her shoulder.

  ‘I can drive myself to the doctor,’ Sajee mumbled. Her eyesight was fuzzy and she felt drowsy.

  ‘Are you out of your mind? Of course you couldn’t drive in the state you’re in. In this weather, alone and with all those painkillers inside you. And it’s that late in the day that the clinic will certainly be closed by now, even if you and Ísak could get all the way there. They shut at four and it’s forbidden to call them out unless it’s a real emergency. You’ll just have to be strong and get a good night’s sleep. Sleep does more good than any doctor.’

  ‘Can I make a call?’

  ‘To whom, may I ask?’

  ‘A woman I know in Reykjavík.’

  ‘You can forget that until that cut has healed up. Do you think anyone’s going to understand you over the phone? It’s hard enough as it is,’ Selma snapped in disgust as she shook her head. The loose skin at her throat trembled and her grey hair swung from side to side.

  ‘Maybe I’ll lie down again,’ Sajee mumbled, making an attempt to get to her feet, but struggled to keep her balance. The walls seemed to billow and the floor rocked like the deck of a ship.

  ‘You do just that, my girl. I’ll go with you so you don’t tumble down the stairs like you did before, you clumsy thing.’

  Sajee stumbled an
d she felt Selma take her arm with a firm hand, supporting her along the corridor, up the stairs and into the room under the eaves.

  ‘And stop trying to talk. You’ll pull the plasters off and then I’ll have to put in more stitches.’

  ‘No, don’t do that,’ Sajee said meekly, and let herself drop onto the bed. There was nothing she desired as much as to go to sleep.

  ‘Try to sleep, my girl,’ Selma said, her voice gentler than before. ‘And don’t let the hidden lady come after you, or whatever nonsense it was that you dreamed,’ she said with a laugh and placed a hand on the duvet. ‘Look at the bedclothes and tell me where the blood is, eh? This duvet’s perfectly white.’

  And where was the blood? Sajee wondered. Had she imagined everything? Selma’s painkiller tea was clouding her thoughts again.

  ‘But I can tell you it took me a while to clean the steps,’ Selma added. ‘I had to take a pill to get myself going and another to bring myself down again. Hadn’t I warned you about those steps again and again? They’re so worn that they’re slippery. Do you think that an old woman with bad hips like me should be cleaning up after you? You know as well as I do that I don’t have the strength for this kind of work and you mustn’t do this to me again. You’ll have to take care, my girl. Keep yourself safe so you can help the old lady.’

  ‘I had a nightmare,’ Sajee sighed. ‘The grey woman…’

  ‘Ach. That’s what comes of listening to Karl from Gröf. We can blame him for this. You had a nightmare after those tales he was telling you about the hidden lady in blue on that first day you were here. Did he tell you more stories that day you went to clean for them? I should never have allowed it. That was a mistake, just like my Ísak said, and I shouldn’t have done it. Other people have no business here with us, and we shouldn’t interfere in their affairs.’

  ‘No…’ Sajee agreed. She was practically asleep, and had no interest in anything else.

  ‘Well, I’m convinced it’s Karl’s fairy tales that frightened you. He deserves some harsh words, but you’re also on the clumsy side sometimes, my dear. I heard that thump this morning and found you flat on the floor. You must have come down hard against the step and burst open your lip. At any rate, you won’t be telling any tales…’

  Selma’s voice faded as Sajee drifted off to sleep.

  20

  Guðgeir reflected that it was remarkable that he hadn’t taken a look at the Lagoon before, as he gazed upwards at the mountainside where the track of the old Almannaskarð road could still be seen. A conversation with an elderly man at the swimming pool was still fresh in his mind. The old man had been brought up near the Lagoon and his account of life there seemed to Guðgeir to be closer to the nineteenth century than the twenty-first. Electricity hadn’t arrived until the seventies, and it was some time later that the state broadcaster’s TV signals reached the area. In wintertime the place had often been isolated for months at a time when the Lónsheiði road to the east was blocked and the Almannaskarð road to the south of the Lagoon had been impassable. Vehicles had generally been poorly equipped for the conditions and the ice that formed on the pass had been terrifying.

  Guðgeir pondered how life had been back then as he drove along the broad, well-lit tunnel that passed through the mountain. The tunnel beneath Almannaskarð had been a huge improvement when it opened in 2005, and as it took only a minute or two to get from one end to the other.

  Amazing what a difference it makes being able to go through one mountain, Guðgeir mused as he emerged at the far end. Shafts of sunlight were reflected from the snow-white mountainside onto the grey-black sand and smooth boulders. The green moss clinging to the white-flecked basalt was the same as around Höfn, although the colours appeared to be stronger. There was also less snow here than had fallen in the town.

  He drove along the road that passed through the sands and across the bridge over the glacial river, seeing a few patches of green at some of the farms. The further he drove, the scarcer the farms became. A few reindeer cropped at the grass by the road and hardly seemed to notice the car as he passed by. Higher up a hillside he could see a cluster of reindeer trekking along a track, and he drove slowly so he could watch them, before putting his foot down again and keeping it there until he was at the eastern edge of the Lagoon. For a while he sat in the car, gazing at the steep, boulder-studded screes. Wisps of fog swirled around the peaks and where the topmost band of rocks could be seen, they glittered with a green-brown-grey sheen. He switched off the engine and got out of the car. The silence was absolute, as was the attraction of the place’s raw beauty. This was what he should be doing; seeing new places and thinking of something new instead of harbouring hurtful, depressing thoughts.

  Bröttuskriður was a magnificent place, bleak and stark. Curtains were drawn in every one of the grey farmhouse’s windows and there was no sign of life to be seen, neither outdoors nor inside. The place had the look of being inhabited by nobody but ghosts, but all the same, this had to be the right place. This was the last farm, right at the corner of the mountain, just below where the slopes began to rise. He walked briskly up the farm track, from there out over the pasture and from one stepping stone to the next as he crossed the brook. Next to the farmhouse stood a barn, with clear tyre tracks in front of it that looked fresh. He followed them until he stood in front of a handsome 4x4 parked behind the barn. A cry of anguish cut into him and he started, looking around, but nowhere able to see the source of it. Now he could hear it again, lower this time, like an echo, or a drawn-out sob. The echo made him glance instinctively up at the looming outcrop of rocks close by, pitted with fissures that a small animal could easily be caught in. A fall of small stones tumbled from one corner of the outcrop, and he jogged up the slope and squeezed between the rocks. His footsteps disturbed the grey moss and the jagged points of stone nipped at his coat. In between, the ground had been disturbed, but there was nobody there to be seen.

  ‘Hello! Anyone there?’ he called, glancing in every direction. ‘Hello!’ His voice echoed from the rock walls and there was no other sound. An unnerving feeling came over him as he squeezed back the way he had come. Fulmars glided silently around the mountain peaks, but there was no other life to be seen anywhere and he walked back towards the barn. A long, stifled moan cut through the silence and now it seemed to come from the barn. The door was locked, so he walked around the building until he found a narrow window under the eaves. A neatly hung towel covered most of the glass.

  He lifted himself onto the toes of his heavy walking boots to peer through the slim gap the towel hadn’t been broad enough to cover, and in spite of his height, he couldn’t see more than a narrow strip of concrete floor. The sound wailed again, a pained, muffled cry that put him in mind of the cries of exposed infants that the old tales recounted. A newborn lamb calling for its mother? Surely not this early in the spring?

  Or was someone there?

  ‘Hello!’ he called out and listened intently before circling the building again as he searched for a stone large enough to stand on. There were enough rocks and just a few inches more would be enough to let him see inside. So far all he had been able to make out was that there was a claret-coloured car inside, some old model.

  ‘Can I help you?’

  Guðgeir almost missed his footing at the sound of the gruff voice and almost fell. A black-browed scowling man with a mop of tousled hair had made a sudden appearance behind him. The man held an iron chain in the firm grip of one hand.

  ‘Just taking a look around,’ Guðgeir said quickly, hopping down from the stone. ‘I couldn’t see anyone about and thought I heard a strange noise coming from inside your barn. A cry or something like that.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘That’s right,’ Guðgeir said. Now he could see that on the end of a lead the man had a fox that was muzzled like a dog that bites or barks too much. The man’s working clothes were filthy, he clearly hadn’t shaved for many days and his fair hair was wild. He fastened the c
hain to an iron ring that had been drilled and bolted to a rock beside the barn, and the animal instantly leapt to its feet in a hopeless break for freedom, until the chain brought it up short. Guðgeir thought it was a sorry sight.

  ‘Are you the farmer here at Bröttuskriður?’ he asked, assuming that this was the son, the anti-social type Linda had mentioned to him the other day in the café. The man’s name was Ísak, he recalled.

  ‘Call me what you like,’ the man said drily, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

  ‘In that case, good morning,’ Guðgeir said, making an attempt to come across as friendly. ‘It’s a beautiful place.’

  The man nodded but said nothing.

  ‘My name’s Guðgeir and I’m from Reykjavík. But I’m working over in Höfn for a while. I heard that this was something special about this place, so I decided to go for a drive and take a look for myself,’ he said, looking around to give his words some emphasis. ‘I can’t say I’m disappointed. It’s a magnificent place, especially down at the Lagoon. Are there always that many swans there?’

  The man watched him suspiciously, still without making a reply.

  ‘Are you fixing up a car in there?’ Guðgeir asked.

  ‘Do you make a habit of looking through strangers’ windows?’ Ísak asked coldly.

  ‘No, far from it,’ Guðgeir said. ‘Not at all, but I thought I heard something. Like a cry or a howl. That’s why I was looking through the window.’

  He extended a hand and Ísak took it gingerly.

  ‘You must have heard the fox. This one makes a noise,’ he said, kicking the stone away from beneath the window.

  ‘Why’s the fox muzzled?’ Guðgeir asked. ‘He doesn’t seem happy.’

  ‘He’s used to it,’ Ísak said. ‘There were five cubs in a lair I dug up last spring. I didn’t have the heart to kill them all, so this one’s become something of a pet here at Bröttuskriður. Mother spoils him and gives him scraps.’

  Guðgeir looked at the bony animal that was probably a metre long from snout to the tip of its tail. The beast looked wretched.