Reykjavik Nights Page 10

  Erlendur prodded the girl and she woke up, rolled onto her back and opened her eyes. She couldn’t make out his face in the semi-darkness.

  ‘What … who are you?’

  ‘My name’s Erlendur.’

  ‘Erlendur … what…?’

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Are you … are you a cop?’

  ‘Your mother’s worried about you.’

  Just then he heard a commotion in the sitting room; the two men had finally grasped the situation and had launched themselves at Gardar.

  * * *

  Later that grey morning the car crash on Skúlagata was the lead story on the radio news. The announcer, in a sombre yet dispassionate tone, as if he had delivered too many such reports, read that a jeep had veered into oncoming traffic and collided with an approaching car. An eighteen-year-old girl, who had been in the passenger seat, had died on the way to hospital. Her name could not be released at present.

  A couple of items later the newsreader announced that the girl who had recently been reported missing had now been found alive and well.

  21

  Erlendur slept until late the following afternoon, then went out to Skúlakaffi for a meal. As he ate, his thoughts turned to Thurí. He was anxious to take a look at the earring, so he kept an eye out for her on his way to meet Rebekka outside the doctor’s surgery. The day was hot and still; the sun rode high in the sky and people were making the most of the weather as they wandered through the streets and squares in summery clothes. While he waited outside the surgery, Erlendur looked up the slope to Bakarabrekka where a huddle of old wooden houses had fallen into ruin. A debate was raging as to whether they should be demolished to make way for new buildings or renovated and preserved for their historical interest.

  ‘You came,’ said a voice behind him. It was Rebekka.

  ‘Yes, hello.’

  ‘I was wondering, would you like to take a walk round the lake? The weather’s so good, and I’ve been stuck inside all day.’

  They strolled south along Lækjargata, rounded the corner by the old Idnó Theatre and saw a group of parents and small children feeding the ducks. The birds quacked and splashed, squabbling over the pieces of bread, while the children tried to throw scraps to the ones that hung back.

  They walked on with the sun in their eyes, along the lake to the park. Arctic terns swarmed above the little island in the lake, fighting a losing battle with the black-headed gulls.

  ‘There are fewer and fewer of them every year,’ remarked Rebekka. ‘The gulls are so aggressive.’

  ‘There are plenty of terns out on Seltjarnarnes,’ said Erlendur. ‘Perhaps they can take refuge there.’

  ‘Anything new on Hannibal?’ asked Rebekka after a pause.

  ‘Not much,’ Erlendur admitted. ‘Did you hear about the fire?’

  ‘What fire?’

  ‘Not long before your brother died the cellar he was sleeping in caught fire. He was thrown out because the owner thought he was to blame.’

  ‘Was he?’

  ‘It seems unlikely. He told me he was afraid of fire – actively afraid of setting the place alight. And I learned recently that the men who lived next door might have had their own reasons for wanting to get rid of him. You didn’t know about any of that?’

  ‘No, as I said, I hadn’t been in touch with Hannibal for years. Until the police told me, I had no idea he’d been living in the pipeline.’

  ‘He moved there after losing his room in the cellar.’

  ‘I did go looking for him once – about three years ago – down at the Fever Hospital. They told me he turned up from time to time, but he was almost always drunk so there was nothing they could do for him.’

  ‘Did you want to find him for any special reason?’

  ‘No, not really. I used to try and look him up every now and then, even after I finally gave up on him. Wanted to know how he was doing. But they couldn’t tell me where he was living.’

  They reached the park. Rebekka perched on a bench and Erlendur sat down beside her.

  ‘I’m ashamed to say it, but I wasn’t particularly surprised when I heard Hannibal was dead. Even if the circumstances weren’t what I expected, I knew sooner or later he’d die somewhere, homeless and destitute. When the police rang, I sensed it was about him, that it was all over. I’d been expecting the call for years. So, like I say, it didn’t come as a complete surprise.’

  ‘When did you last see him?’

  ‘I bumped into him in Austurvöllur Square. Completely by chance. He was with a group of other men in the same boat. He seemed all right then. At least, as far as I could tell he wasn’t that drunk or under the influence of drugs or whatever it was he was on.’

  ‘What did you talk about?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Rebekka. ‘We had nothing to say to each other. It was all over. Finished. Nothing left. Like two strangers trying to make polite conversation. It was a relief to both of us when we abandoned the attempt. He knew where I lived. I asked him to get in touch if ever he felt the urge, but…’

  She gazed across the lake.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I felt … Thinking about it later I felt so sorry for him. No one had ever been allowed to pity him or show any sympathy. But that day … he seemed different, embarrassed, as if he was ashamed of himself. As if he didn’t want me to know how he was living. I’d never seen him behave that way before.’

  ‘How did he end up like that? What made him go off the rails?’

  ‘Our brother used to say it was gutlessness. It didn’t take him long to give up on Hannibal. He couldn’t handle what happened to him. The way he wasted his life.’

  ‘It must have been hard to watch.’

  ‘Do you believe Hannibal was murdered?’

  ‘I don’t know. There’s no reason to think so. What do you think made him end up like that?’

  ‘He never told you?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘About the accident?’

  ‘No, what accident?’

  ‘He had a weakness for alcohol – from the beginning, I think,’ she said. ‘Always had a problem with drink, but after that…’ She grimaced. ‘After that it was as if he couldn’t bear to be sober.’

  ‘What do you mean? After what?’

  ‘They let me go with them,’ said Rebekka. ‘He asked if I’d like to come. He was like that. Always thinking about other people. About me. If I hadn’t been with them it would almost certainly have turned out differently, so I suppose it was my fault.’

  ‘What was?’

  ‘What happened to her. I keep asking myself – was it because of me?’ Rebekka’s voice had dropped to a whisper. ‘I’ve never been able to answer that question.’

  Erlendur waited for her to go on. Two swans swam past, eyeing them, then continued on their way.

  ‘My brother says Hannibal was weak,’ she said, picking up the thread at last. ‘He was always very hard on him. Before the accident too. His wife was Helena’s sister, you know. They married sisters. No doubt that had a lot to do with it. His wife never forgave Hannibal. You see, one day – it was a Saturday evening – nearly thirty years ago … he borrowed the car…’

  22

  Hannibal and his brother had kept busy throughout the war, working first for the British, then the American occupying forces. They made a decent living building army camps and laying the foundations for Reykjavík’s airport and new road system. Hannibal wasn’t good with money. He was lively and fun, generous; he lived for the moment. His elder brother couldn’t have been more different: clean-living, careful with money to the point of being tight-fisted, already setting cash aside for the future. He was forever lecturing Hannibal about taking better care of his earnings but his words fell on deaf ears.

  Rebekka, considerably younger than her brothers, was still at primary school. Hannibal was her favourite. He took more of an interest in her, spoke to her like an equal, invited her along to the cinema, bought her presents and
treats, helped with her homework. She had little to do with her older brother. Their relationship was very different; he never really concerned himself with her at all.

  Her elder brother had left home and was taking a carpentry course with an eye to starting up a building firm with two of his friends. Not only that, he had acquired a flashy American car through his army contacts and was engaged to a girl from Hafnarfjördur. They had met after the war when he was working on a new processing plant for her father, who owned a fishery in the town. She had a younger sister called Helena, and they were very close. One evening the brothers took the sisters on a double date to the cinema. It was the first time Hannibal had set eyes on Helena. From then on they were inseparable.

  Helena was attracted to everything about Hannibal that Rebekka knew and loved: his generosity, his helpfulness, the kindness he always showed his sister, the happy-go-lucky nature that at times bordered on recklessness, yet made him carefree and sunny. He was never bad-tempered or disagreeable; he would tackle problems with a smile instead of getting angry. Not that he was by any means a pushover. On the contrary, he was tough and knew his own mind; he had the kind of self-confidence that inspired respect and attracted friends.

  Helena and Hannibal. Soon they were only ever mentioned in the same breath. She shared his vitality and the admirable quality of never getting worked up over small things, always looking on the bright side. At the time they met she was studying to be a nurse. They had been together only six months when they heard that their brother and sister were planning to hold their wedding that summer. Hannibal, who had been thinking along the same lines, needed no further encouragement. He went straight out and purchased a plain gold ring on credit from the jeweller’s in Hafnarfjördur, persuaded Helena to accompany him on a long walk out to the Álftanes peninsula, and proposed as the sun was sinking below the mountains in the west. A large double wedding was held, with speeches, good-luck songs and dancing until dawn.

  Their honeymoon was brief. Helena had just finished her course and started work at St Jósef’s Hospital when the accident occurred.

  From time to time Hannibal used to borrow his brother’s car. He had learned to drive a lorry during the war and later passed his test, though he had never bought his own vehicle. His brother was somewhat reluctant to lend him his car, but on this occasion he was out of town and his wife was happy to let Hannibal take it. It was a beautiful summer evening and Hannibal wanted to go for a drive with Helena. They stopped off at his parents’ house in Laugarnes to help his father with a small job first. When they got back in the car, Rebekka was standing in the drive, looking a little forlorn in her summer dress, so he asked if she’d like to go with them. Beaming, she jumped into the car. Hannibal was always so nice to her.

  They drove down to Hafnarfjördur where they bought chocolate and vanilla ice creams and enjoyed them while chatting and giggling about some story Hannibal had heard at work. Helena was in the front seat, smiling, quick to laugh. Rebekka was in the back, savouring her treat as she listened to them talk about their dream of buying a place in Hafnarfjördur. At the time they were renting a small flat in the oldest part of town, but it was rumoured that work would soon begin on a new residential estate out here at Kinnar.

  They cruised down to the harbour. Though he enjoyed being behind the wheel, Hannibal was not a very experienced driver. He was inclined to get carried away, and more than once Helena had to ask him to slow down. Now, his mind on other things, he drove out onto one of the jetties and realised belatedly that he was going too fast. He slammed on the brakes but the docks were slippery from the recent catch and the car skidded on fish slurry. Hannibal was unable to regain control and before they knew it they were plunging over the edge into the harbour.

  The car sank straight to the bottom of the cold sea. They had been driving with the front windows rolled down and the icy water poured in. When they hit the surface, Rebekka had banged her head violently, first on the side window, then on the roof, and blacked out. Hannibal could see her floating, unconscious, in the back. Helena had cut her head open on the windscreen. Stunned by the blow, she had slid under the dashboard and was now jammed against the seat.

  Hannibal knew he had to act fast, but it dawned on him he could only take one of them up to the surface at a time. The other would have to wait. He lost precious seconds coming to terms with this horrific dilemma, taking in his wife trapped under the dashboard, Rebekka motionless in the back seat. Helena tried to free herself and reached out for his hand.

  The seconds ticked by.

  Finally, Hannibal grabbed his sister and kicked his way out through the side window, pulling her after him. Her summer dress caught on the door and he tugged in a frenzy until the fabric tore and she was free.

  More precious seconds had gone to waste.

  He gasped as he broke the surface. There was no one around. No one had witnessed the accident. He trod water, holding Rebekka’s limp body in his arms, yelling for help, then in desperation he struggled over to one of the struts supporting the jetty. There was a thin rope hanging there which he worked under his sister’s arms; then he hastily lashed her to the piling with her head above water.

  Having paused to check she was still breathing, he left her suspended there, took a gasp and dived down to the car again. He was uninjured, apart from a cut on his head and a sharp pain in his side. He swam with every ounce of his strength back down to the window, slid inside and saw that Helena was still caught between the dashboard and seat. The hand that had reached out to him in despair was now floating lifeless. He yanked it, but Helena did not stir. He grasped her shoulders, straining with all his might to lift her. At last he succeeded in freeing one of her legs and soon the other followed. He shoved her out of the window before him.

  By then he had been under too long himself and started gulping seawater; yet he never lost his grip on Helena. Just as he thought he would never make it, he surfaced, coughing, spluttering, his chest heaving. Holding Helena’s head above water, he swam with her to where Rebekka was dangling unconscious from the post.

  Out of his mind with terror, he screamed for help. Screamed at Helena in his arms. Screamed at Rebekka. Screamed in despair to God, but nobody heard his cries.

  In the end, he swam with Helena to a narrow iron ladder, heaved her over his shoulder and began to climb. Every step was sheer torment. There was no time. His immersion in the numbing cold had taken its toll and he was shivering uncontrollably when he finally made it up onto the jetty, laid Helena on the ground and started pumping the seawater out of her. He pressed down on her chest again and again, calling out her name, talking to her, telling her everything would be all right, comforting her, shouting at her to wake up. In between he yelled repeatedly for help, but nobody heard.

  Despite the water spurting from her mouth he knew he was too late, though he didn’t want to admit it to himself.

  He knew she couldn’t be saved.

  Eventually, unable to leave Rebekka in the sea any longer, he dived back into the harbour, swam over and released her from the rope. She was beginning to come round as he carried her up the ladder and laid her beside his wife.

  He resumed his battle to revive Helena. Then, finally accepting defeat, he knelt exhausted at her side, hid his face in her lifeless breast and wept.

  23

  The two swans swam by again, slowing to see if there was any hope of breadcrumbs from the humans on the bench. Disappointed, they moved on, then abruptly took fright, flapped their wings and ran noisily along the surface of the water, before soaring gracefully into the air and heading north towards Mount Esja. Rebekka watched until they vanished.

  ‘Hannibal was never the same again,’ she said. ‘It goes without saying. A tragedy like that can change a person, alter the whole course of their life.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose it can,’ said Erlendur.

  ‘His happy side disappeared,’ Rebekka continued. ‘Like so much else. So much went out of him after Helena died. He wasn
’t the same person. He refused to talk about the accident, never mentioned Helena’s name. Started drinking heavily. Kept changing jobs. Tried moving to the countryside for a while. Over the next ten years or so he changed into the vagrant you met. We did what we could but it was impossible to save him from himself. On the rare occasions when we got him to talk about the accident he was full of anger and self-recrimination – self-hatred really. If we tried to help he would accuse us of interference. He couldn’t tolerate that.’

  ‘So he blamed himself for what happened.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What about you? It must have been a traumatic experience for you too.’

  ‘Even after all this time, I can hardly bear to think about the way I imposed myself on them,’ she said. ‘And what happened to Hannibal made me feel worse. It was like a constant reminder of the accident – the way his life fell apart, the way he isolated himself, the way he lived. And … Oh, I don’t know…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The way he died. That he should have drowned too, so long afterwards. Talk about irony.’

  ‘But it must have been some comfort to him that you, at least, survived,’ said Erlendur.

  Rebekka made no reply.

  ‘Wasn’t it?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Honestly, I don’t know. Maybe, in a sense. Yes, of course. It must have been. But clearly it wasn’t enough. All he could think of was Helena.’

  ‘I’m guessing your older brother did nothing to ease the pain.’