Elínborg stepped into the reception area. Everything was as before, and Elínborg reflected that it had probably not changed since the day when the garage had opened for business. On the wall behind the counter hung a pin-up calendar displaying a photo of a scantily clad girl. It showed the year 1998. Days, weeks, years had no meaning here. Time seemed to stand still. Everything in sight — the counter, the old leather armchair, the desktop calculator, the order book — was coated in a thin layer of sooty grime from engines, spares parts, lubricants and tyres.
Elínborg called into the garage, but received no answer. She advanced cautiously into the workshop, where the Ferguson tractor stood in exactly the same place. As on Elínborg’s last visit, there were no other vehicles inside. Against the wall were two open tool-lockers.
‘I heard you were back,’ said a voice.
Slowly, Elínborg turned around. ‘You must have been expecting me,’ she said.
Valdimar was standing behind her, wearing a checked shirt and ragged jeans. In his hand he held a set of overalls, which he started to put on. ‘So you’re on your own, are you?’ he asked.
Valdimar must have been well aware that Elínborg was alone. Yet there was no veiled threat in his question, which seemed calculated to engender trust rather than fear.
‘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.’