The Fox Read online

‘It’s a beautiful car,’ Sajee said, taking a step towards the door.

  ‘It was pretty much smashed up,’ Ísak said, trailing his fingertips over the smooth lacquer. ‘And of course the brakes were out of order, but now mother wants everything that had been wrong with it fixed. We finally have enough cash to bring this gem inside and restore it. Now we can give the Ford the respect it deserves.’

  ‘It’s very beautiful,’ she repeated, edging away still further.

  ‘It’s unique,’ Ísak said, his voice heavy. ‘Because this was my father’s car and he died in it. This was a magnificent car that was perfect for a magnificent couple. Mother was pregnant with us back then and she couldn’t take the gossip that spread like an infection. Yank whore. Tart.’ Ísak’s fingers lifted and fell in time with his words, as if he were playing an imaginary keyboard. ‘Whisper, whisper, whisper,’ he said, leaning over her. ‘Whisper, whisper, whisper. There was whispering everywhere … whispers all over. Mother heard it wherever she went, and even here at Bröttuskriður. But she was stuck. Grandad wasn’t happy. No, he was furious. Mother had brought shame on the family, after all he had done to be able to own this land. She couldn’t leave because of me.’

  Ísak moved closer to Sajee. She felt his breath by her ear.

  ‘Whisper, whisper, whisper, you Yank’s whore,’ he hissed. ‘Whisper, whisper, whisper, soldier’s tart. Poor mother was losing her mind. She fought and argued with Dad when he came to see her, that cold, dark winter before we were born. She had meant to have a very different life. She never meant to be stuck here, so you see I can’t leave her and she can’t leave me.’

  Ísak opened the barn door and the cold flooded in.

  ‘She wanted to get rid of him because he’d put her in this position. It was pure desperation, you understand?’

  He took a step back and the look on his face changed.

  ‘What the hell am I saying? Of course you don’t understand, and there’s nothing wrong with that.’

  He laid a hand on her shoulder and pointed her towards the door.

  ‘That’ll do. Go indoors to Mother.’

  15

  ‘Get up!’

  Selma prodded her hard.

  ‘Now?’ Sajee mumbled in confusion as she tried to open her eyes.

  ‘Yes, now. Right now.’ There was agitation in Selma’s voice and the loose skin of her throat trembled. ‘They’ve finished. You have to clean the cellar. Everything except the locked room.’

  ‘Can’t I sleep a little longer?’ Sajee asked, huddling deeper into the duvet. The room was cold and dark.

  ‘No,’ Selma snapped back, hauling the duvet off her. ‘Get up. You can sleep later.’

  A car engine started outside and a beam of light flashed over the window. Sajee sat on the bed, elbows on her knees, and covered her face with her hands. For the last few nights she had slept heavily, followed by headaches that lasted well into the day, but now she felt better.

  Thormóður had arrived early the previous morning, which made a change to the usual monotony of the household. He had brought with him a large rucksack that he took down to the basement that was always locked. Then he had gone back out to the car and fetched a large microwave oven that went the same way. Finally he had brought in a large TV set, placed it on the living room floor and told Selma that she could have it, handing over this gift with the same carelessness as when he dropped bags of shopping onto the kitchen table. The contents had cheered Sajee up, as he brought more vegetables than she had seen before at Bröttuskriður. On top of that, he had brought washing up gloves and avocado oil for her, but the battery charger had been forgotten. When she tried to ask if she could go with him to Höfn to buy one for herself, he pretended not to understand a word of what she said.

  Ísak and Thormóður spent the whole day down in the basement. Sajee had no idea what they were doing, but it had to be something important, as they didn’t even allow themselves a break to come to the kitchen for a meal. Instead, Selma had her make sandwiches for them that she left outside the basement door along with a flask of coffee. She did this twice, and both times the tray disappeared into the room beyond the door.

  There were noises that came from the cellar as if something was being moved around, and upstairs nothing was as usual. Instead of spending the evening in front of the television and preparing a snack to go with the ten o’clock news, Selma had wandered to and fro, agitated, short-tempered and endlessly peering out of the windows. Sajee had gone to bed early and unusually, she had lain awake, listening out for noises from the cellar. Now she had been dragged from sleep in the middle of the night to clean up.

  ‘Can I do it in the morning? It’s the middle of the night,’ she said sleepily.

  ‘No. You have to clean the passage and the steps down to the cellar,’ Selma said sharply. She took hold of Sajee’s arm and hauled her to her feet.

  ‘Yes, but…’

  ‘None of that ‘yes, but’ stuff. It won’t take you long, girl! The boys are exhausted and you have to clean.’

  ‘Can’t I do it in the morning?’ Sajee mumbled, pulling on her clothes. ‘I’m not supposed to work at night.’

  ‘You are!’ Selma hissed angrily. ‘You work when we tell you to work. It’s in the contract. Now get on with it. I can’t do it.’

  ‘That can’t be right,’ Sajee muttered as she dressed.

  ‘Oh, yes. You signed the contract of your own free will. Nobody made you do it. If you want to make something of it, then it can go to court, girl, and you’ll end up in prison. Don’t imagine that anyone’s going to believe that tale you spun about a salon. No, you came here to work at Bröttuskriður.’

  16

  Selma forked up mouthfuls in between yawns. After lunch she said she was tired and went to lie down. Over the last few days she had been tense, had nagged constantly, but now she just seemed to be tired. As usual, Ísak spent the day in the barn and Sajee glanced out of the window occasionally to see if he was on the way back to the house.

  The memory of the night’s cleaning was clear in her mind, and the little that she had seen made her think that Ísak and Thormóður had to be doing some kind of experiment down there. She wanted to know more and was more at ease now that she felt better than during the previous few days. There had been a heaviness to her, a weight that made her sleep deeply and heavily, accompanied by nightmare in which she was sure there was someone standing over the, staring down at her.

  ‘You’re dreaming about the Hidden Lady who lives in the rocks over there,’ Selma had said when Sajee mentioned her nightmares.

  ‘But you said that the Hidden Lady was just Karl making things up,’ Sajee said in surprise.

  ‘The man doesn’t always talk complete nonsense,’ Selma said with a joyless laugh. ‘Unless it’s my old mother, who’s buried in the family plot, has taken to visiting you at night. She might not like you being here.’

  Sajee shuddered. The thought of a restless spirit was deeply disquieting. In her society it was a matter of conscience to make the dead’s transition to the afterlife as painless as possible. Family and friends would hold a vigil over the body, lasting at least a day and a night, and monks would bring blessings, but here in Iceland the bodies of the dead were quickly taken away and buried deep in the earth only a few days after death. That couldn’t be good, and as far as she knew there were no ceremonies after the funeral, so it had to be hard for the dead person. It was important to ease the transition, or the consequences could be terrible.

  ‘Are you sure you dreamed a woman?’ Selma asked. ‘My Christopher has come closer since you arrived and I think it’s because our little girl was like you. But she died because there was nobody to help her, any more than you.’

  Selma had a strange look in her eyes, as if she were staring at someone only she could see. Sajee looked around quickly. There was nobody to be seen, but the feeling of a presence was powerful. Selma smiled and her grey eyes shone.

  ‘I’ll put you right,
’ she said, putting out a finger and running it slowly over Sajee’s lip. ‘Don’t worry. It’ll soon be time for everything to be put right.’

  That conversation left Sajee increasingly uncomfortable whenever she was close to Selma, and she tried to console herself with the thought that this had been just a daydream on the part of an old woman who was losing touch with reality. All the same, something strange was going on. Whatever Thormóður and Ísak had been up to the previous night in the cellar, it was suspicious. Now she knew where the key was kept, she could sneak down there and take a look when nobody was likely to notice. She felt a wave of trepidation at the thought, although she was most frightened that the secret was something connected to the hidden people and that her curiosity could trigger something bad.

  Selma treated Thormóður like a saint, and maybe he was? At home in Sri Lanka there were many holy men. Selma had said that it was largely thanks to Thormóður that they could continue to live at Bröttuskriður. She also reminded Sajee that Thormóður was the one who had come to her aid. He had given her a place to stay and found her work just when circumstances had conspired against her. Naturally, Sajee was grateful. But she was still uneasy about him.

  Thormóður was charming in his own self-assured way, but made no effort to connect, and she felt that he looked down on her, while Selma practically worshipped the ground he walked on. He brought her expensive gifts that she delighted in, and the house was packed with all kinds of expensive toys. All the same, Sajee felt herself constantly on the defensive towards him, and the feeling grew.

  Thormóður was an enigma with vast personal charm that he turned on and off like a tap when it suited him. When the charm was turned off, he became positively hostile, although she felt ashamed of these thoughts about a man who made such efforts to help others.

  She listened intently for the slightest sound and peered out of the window. There was a light in the barn, so she hoped that Ísak would be at work in the pit. Low snores carried from Selma’s room. She tiptoed along the passage and hoped that what she had seen during the night was right. A large palm stood in a pot by the cellar door, and if her suspicion was correct, Selma had pushed the key into the earth. She felt for it and soon found it, the metal cold against her fingertips, with a shiver of excitement as she withdrew the key. She wiped it carefully so that none of the soil would fall to the spotless floor. Then she carefully opened the cellar door. The hinges creaked, so she stood stock still until she heard Selma’s snore again.

  The steps down to the basement were even steeper than those to her room upstairs. Sajee shut the door behind her, took a deep breath and fumbled her way down the stairs she had scrubbed only a few hours ago. It had been simple enough, the marks of the men’s feet on the steps, but she had also wiped down the wall as a fine layer of dust lay everywhere.

  The ceiling was low and there was only one small window to let in a little daylight. She groped around in the gloom, as quickly as she dared, not daring to switch on a light. Further along the corridor were two doors. One led to a small room that was of no interest as it had been open last night. The other was locked and she was sure that behind it lay the explanation for whatever Ísak and Thormóður had been up to.

  As her eyes became accustomed to the darkness, she searched for a key, certain that Ísak must have taken it as there was no likely hiding place to be seen. She ran her fingers over the door frame, until she heard a sound, stopped and stood perfectly still. There was nothing but the whisper of her own breath. She took off her sweater and laid it on the floor, unwound her scarf and swept it a couple of times around the door frame. She reasoned that if the key were to fall from its hiding place, it would fall soundlessly onto her sweater. After a couple of attempts, she gave up and decided to go back upstairs. Selma could have woken up and Ísak could come in at any moment. She hurried up the stairs and was about to shut the door behind her when it occurred to her to try the key from the palm pot.

  She tiptoed back down the stairs, slid the key into the lock and turned. The door swung open and she stepped into a space that in the darkness looked like a laundry room. She would have to switch on the light to see better, confident that the black plastic covering the windows would prevent anyone noticing. The smell she had noticed during the night came back to her, stronger than ever with an aroma that was reminiscent of fennel or aniseed.

  She clicked on the light and saw she was in a large, white-painted room. A washing machine and dryer first attracted her attention, and she noticed a stove, fridge and a microwave oven nearby. She went to the middle of the room and looked around curiously. There were smaller appliances on the table and on the floor were plastic tubs fitted with pipes and tubes. She realised that all this was something that shouldn’t be allowed to see the light of day.

  During the night they had cleaned this room themselves, while she had seen to the rest.

  Sajee was startled as something creaked overhead. She stood still, holding her breath. She was overwrought, she told herself, and it was the wind that made the old house creak – but she still needed to go quickly back upstairs. She made another swift sweep of the room with her eyes. In one corner stood a little set of shelves, similar to the one in her attic room. On one side hung a card showing children who looked to be in distress. Sajee had often seen such advertising cards, asking for charitable contributions. This one looked to be old, in complete contrast with everything else in the room. It reminded her of the little shrines that she remembered so well from home, and which she had tried to emulate after coming to Iceland. The lowest shelf held a brass cross, a white teddy bear with yellow eyes occupied the middle and on the top shelf was a small inlaid casket. Sajee’s thoughts went to the little grave in the family plot and the carved stone bear that guarded it.

  The creaking sound from upstairs was repeated. She had to go back up, but the casket attracted her curiosity like a magnet. It was unlocked and contained nothing but a tightly wound red cloth, tied with a crocheted band that she quickly loosened. Inside was a narrow, curved bone, grey-brown in colour, so it must have been pulled from the earth. She picked it up an held it to the light bulb hanging from the ceiling to see it better. Maybe it was a bone from an animal that Ísak had been fond of and wanted to keep in this pretty casket. Perhaps this was where he kept his childhood memories like sacred relics; a bone from a favourite cat or even a fox. That had to be the explanation.

  The thought had just crossed her mind when a sickening feeling gripped her and she gasped. The delicate curve put her in mind of a tiny rib, brown at each end and white in the middle. Her fingers went numb and she felt a heavy breath behind her. Coarse hands gripped her shoulders. Selma stood close behind her.

  ‘So you’ve found it,’ she said, her voice hoarse.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Sajee blurted out. ‘I didn’t mean to… I was just so curious…’

  Selma gently turned her around, staring at her.

  ‘No, you didn’t mean to do anything, but all the same, you went where you weren’t supposed to go. I reckon you’re not so stupid after all.’

  Sajee said nothing. She knew they thought she was far from bright and took a decision on the spur of the moment to let Selma continue in this belief. She sensed that having a secret weapon could be useful in this strange household. She forced a smile and tried to make herself come across as simple.

  ‘It’s such a smart room, so clean. What do they do here?’ she asked innocently. ‘Do they make wine to drink?’

  Selma’s laughter was cold and she glared suspiciously.

  ‘That’s right. This is where the boys make booze.’

  ‘And what’s this? Sajee asked.

  Selma stared at the bone and extended a hand.

  ‘It’s from Ísak’s twin sister. She was like you. So the Hidden Lady let her die,’ she said in a low voice. ‘She was the one who showed me what to do.’

  Selma took the tiny bone from Sajee’s trembling hand and stroked it gently before again wrapping it
in the red cloth.

  ‘Why do you keep this here?’ Sajee asked, her voice quavering. She couldn’t stop herself, and had to know.

  ‘Because she was down here all those years, but Thormóður let me keep a little bit of her indoors. It’s good to know she’s here in the warmth,’ she added, replacing the cloth in the casket. ‘There was nothing for it after my father told me that Christopher had a wife in America. But I’ll never leave her.’

  Sajee stared at Selma in horror. This was too much, too terrible to comprehend.

  ‘I understand,’ she said, her voice trembling when she was finally able to speak.

  ‘I don’t know what you understand, but I’m certain that you were sent here. Thormóður is one of those chosen people who walk the Earth. Nothing he does is a coincidence, and he brought you here, my sweet little thing. Now you’ll be with me for ever.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Sajee said.

  ‘No. Of course not,’ Selma said, reaching out and gently stroking her lip.

  17

  It was late in the evening and she had eaten nothing but an apple and a few biscuits. Selma had left her some food as offerings, a little fruit and a packet of crackers. Before eating, she had prayed, hoping that the deities would understand her situation, as she was determined to take the greatest care of everything she consumed. The heaviness in her head was not normal. Earlier in the day she had told them that she wanted to quit, but they had acted as if they couldn’t understand her.

  Movement could be heard in the hallway as Ísak came in from the barn. He went into the kitchen, shutting the door behind him. Sajee hurried down the stairs, ready to flee out of sight if the door were to open.

  ‘Do you think she understood anything?’ she heard him ask.

  ‘Hardly. I crushed three sleeping tablets into her tea, so she’ll be out like a light.’

  This took Sajee by surprise. She had left the food, but drank the tea.

  ‘Isn’t that too much?’ Ísak asked.