“Didn’t you miss your old dad?” Grimur said, sitting down facing him. Simon couldn’t take his eyes off the burn on his face. He nodded.
“What have you all been up to this summer?” Grimur asked, and Simon stared at him without saying a word. He did not know where to start telling lies. He could not tell him about Dave, about the visits and mysterious meetings with his mother, the trips, the picnics. He could not say that they all slept in the big bed together, always. He could not say how his mother had become a completely different person since Grimur left, which was all thanks to Dave. Dave had brought back her zest for life. He could not tell him how she made herself look pretty in the mornings. Her changed appearance. How her expression grew more beautiful each day that she spent with Dave.
“What, nothing?” Grimur said. “Hasn’t anything happened the whole summer?”
“The… the… weather was great,” Simon whimpered, his eyes glued to the burn.
“Great weather. The weather was great,” Grimur said. “And you’ve been playing here and by the barracks. Do you know anyone from the barracks?”
“No,” Simon blurted out. “No one.”
Grimur smiled.
“You’ve learned to tell lies this summer. Amazing how quickly people learn to tell lies. Did you learn to tell lies this summer, Simon?”
Simon’s lower lip was beginning to tremble. It was a reflex beyond his control.
“Just one,” he said. “But I don’t know him well.”
“You know one. Well, well. You should never tell lies, Simon. People like you who tell lies just end up in trouble and can get others into trouble too.”
“Yes,” Simon said, hoping this would soon come to an end. He hoped that Mikkelina would come out and disturb them. Wondered whether to tell Grimur that Mikkelina was in the passage and had slept in his bed.
“Who do you know from the barracks?” Grimur said, and Simon could feel himself sinking deeper and deeper into the swamp.
“Just one,” he said.
“Just one,” Grimur repeated, stroking his cheek and lightly scratching the burn with his index finger. “Who’s this one? I’m glad there’s not more than one.”
“I don’t know. He sometimes goes fishing in the lake. Sometimes he gives us trout that he catches.”
“And he’s good to you kids?”
“I don’t know,” Simon said, well aware that Dave was the best man he had ever met. Compared with Grimur, Dave was an angel sent from heaven to save their mother. Where was Dave? Simon thought. If only Dave were here. He thought about Tomas out in the cold on his way to Gufunes, and about their mother who did not even know that Grimur was back on the hill. And he thought about Mikkelina in the passage.
“Does he come here often?”
“No, just every now and again.”
“Did he come here before I was put in the nick? When you’re put in the nick, Simon, it means you’re put in the nick. It doesn’t have to mean you’re guilty of anything bad if you go prison, just that someone put you there. In the nick. And it didn’t take them long. They talked a lot about making an example. The Icelanders mustn’t steal from the army. Awful business. So they had to sentence me, hard and fast. So no one else would copy me and go stealing too. You get it? Everyone was supposed to learn from my mistakes. But they all steal. They all do it, and they’re all making money. Did he come here before I was put in the nick?”
“Who?”
“That soldier. Did he come here before I was put in the nick? That one.”
“He used to fish in the lake sometimes before you went away.”
“And he gave your mother the trout he caught?”
“Yes.”
“Did he catch a lot of trout?”
“Sometimes. But he wasn’t a good fisherman. He just sat down by the lake, smoking. You catch a lot more than he did. With your nets too. You always catch so much with your nets.”
“And when you gave your mother the trout, did he stop by? Did he come in for coffee? Did he sit down at this table?”
“No,” Simon said, unable to decide whether the lie he was telling was too obvious. He was scared and confused, he kept his finger pressed against his lip to stop it trembling, and tried to answer the way he thought Grimur wanted him to, but without incriminating his mother if he said something Grimur was not supposed to know. Simon was discovering a new side to Grimur. His father had never talked to him so much before and it caught him off his guard. Simon was floundering. He was not sure exactly what Grimur was not supposed to know, but he tried his utmost to safeguard his mother.
“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?”