“Didn’t he ever come in here?” Grimur said, and his voice transposed from soft and cunning to strict and firm.
“Just twice, something like that.”
“And what did he do then?”
“Just came in.”
“Oh, it’s like that. Have you started telling lies again? Are you lying to me again? I come back here after months of being treated like shit and all I get to hear are lies. Are you going to tell me lies again?”
His questions lashed Simon’s face like a whip.
“What did you do in prison?” Simon asked hesitantly in the weak hope of being able to talk about something other than Dave and his mother. Why didn’t Dave come? Didn’t they know that Grimur was out of prison? Hadn’t they discussed this at their secret meetings when Dave stroked her hand and tidied up her hair?
“In prison?” Grimur said, changing his voice to soft and cunning again. “I listened to stories in prison. All sorts of stories. You hear so much and want to hear so much because no one comes to visit you and the only news you get from home is what you hear there, because they’re always sending people to prison and you get to know the wardens who tell you a thing or two as well. And you have loads and loads of time to think about all those stories.”
A floorboard creaked inside the passageway and Grimur paused, then went on as if nothing had happened.
“Of course, you’re so young… wait, how old are you anyway, Simon?”
“I’m 14, I’ll be 15 soon.”
“You’re almost an adult, so maybe you understand what I’m talking about. Everyone hears about how all the Icelandic girls just throw their legs over the soldiers. It’s like they lose control of themselves when they see a man in uniform, and you hear about what gentlemen the soldiers are and how they open doors for them and they’re polite and want to dance and never get drunk and have cigarettes and coffee and all sorts of things and come from places that all the girls want to go to. And us, Simon, we’re crummy. Just yokels, Simon, that the girls won’t even look at. That’s why I want to know a bit more about this soldier who goes fishing in the lake, Simon, because you’ve disappointed me.”
Simon looked at Grimur and all the strength seemed to sap from his body.
“I’ve heard so much about that soldier on the hill here and you’ve never heard of him. Unless of course you’re lying to me, and I don’t think that’s very nice, lying to your dad when a soldier comes here every day and goes out for walks with your dad’s wife all summer. You don’t know anything about it?”
Simon said nothing.
“You don’t know anything about it?” Grimur repeated.
“They sometimes went for walks,” Simon said, tears welling in his eyes.
“See,” Grimur said. “I knew we were still friends. Did you go with them maybe?”
It seemed that this would never end. Grimur looked at him with his burnt face and one eye half closed. Simon felt he could not hold back much longer.
“We sometimes went to the lake and he took a picnic. Like you sometimes brought in those cans you open with a key.”
“And did he kiss your mother? Down by the lake?”
“No,” Simon said, relieved at not having to answer with a lie. He had never seen Dave and his mother kissing.
“What were they doing then? Holding hands? And what were you doing? Why did you let that man take your mother for walks down by the lake? Didn’t it ever occur to you that I might object? Didn’t that ever occur to you?”
“No,” Simon said.
“No one was thinking about me on those walks. Were they?”
“No,” Simon said.
Grimur leaned forward under the light and his burning red scar stood out even more.
“And what’s the name of this man who steals other people’s families and thinks that’s okay and no one does a thing about it?”
Simon did not answer him.
“The one who threw the coffee, Simon, the one who made my face like this, do you know his name?”
“No,” Simon said in a barely audible voice.
“He attacked me and burned me, but they never put him in the nick for that. What do you reckon to that? Like they’re holy, all those soldiers. Do you think they’re holy?”
“No,” Simon said.
“Has your mother got fatter this summer?” Grimur asked as if a new idea had suddenly entered his head. “Not because she’s a cow from the dairy, Simon, but because she’s been going for walks with soldiers from the barracks. Do you think she’s got fatter this summer?”
“No,” he said.
“I think it’s likely though. We’ll find out later. This man who threw the coffee over me. Do you know his name?”
“No,” Simon said.
“He had some strange idea, I don’t know where he got it from, that I wasn’t treating your mother properly. That I did nasty things to her. You know I’ve had to teach her to behave sometimes. He knew about it, but he didn’t understand why. Couldn’t understand that tarts like your mother need to know who’s in charge, who they’re married to and how they ought to behave. He couldn’t understand you have to push them around a bit sometimes. He was really angry when he was talking to me. I know a bit of English because I’ve had some good friends at the barracks and I understood most of what he was saying, and he was very angry with me about your mother.”
Simon’s eyes were transfixed on the scald.
“This man, Simon, his name’s Dave. I don’t want you to lie to me: the soldier who was so kind to your mother, has been ever since the spring and all summer and well into the autumn, could his name be Dave?”
Simon racked his brains, still staring at the burn.
“They’re going to sort him out,” Grimur said.
“Sort him out?” Simon didn’t know what Grimur meant, but it couldn’t be nice.
“Is the rat in the passage?” Grimur said, nodding towards the door.
“What?” Simon did not catch on to what he was talking about.
“The moron? Do you think it’s listening to us?”
“I don’t know about Mikkelina,” Simon said. That was some kind of truth.
“Is his name Dave, Simon?”
“It might be,” Simon said tentatively.
“It might be? You’re not sure. What does he call you, Simon? When he talks to you, or maybe he cuddles you and strokes you, what does he call you then?”
“He never strokes…”
“What’s his name?”
“Dave!” Simon said.
“Dave! Thank you, Simon.”
Grimur leaned back and moved out of the light. He lowered his voice.
“You see, I heard he was fucking your mum.”
At that moment the door opened and the children’s mother came in with Tomas following behind her, and the cold gust of wind that accompanied them sent a chill running down Simon’s sweating back.
22
Erlendur was at the hill 15 minutes after talking to Skarphedinn.
He did not have his mobile with him. Otherwise he would have called Skarphedinn and told him to keep the woman waiting until he arrived. He felt sure it had to be the lady that Robert had seen by the redcurrant bushes, the crooked lady in green.
The traffic on Miklabraut was light and he drove up the slope on Artunsbrekka as fast as his car could manage, then along the road out of Reykjavik where he took a right turn for Grafarholt. Skarphedinn was about to drive away from the excavation site, but stopped. Erlendur got out of his car and the archaeologist wound down his window.
“What, so you’re here? Why did you slam the phone down on me? Is something wrong? What are you looking at me like that for?”