The Draining Lake de-6 Read online

  “Sorry I’m always phoning you,” the voice said.

  Sigurdur Oli hesitated briefly before putting the telephone back down. It began ringing again immediately. He stared at it.

  “Shit,” he said.

  “Don’t hang up,” the man said. “I just want to talk to you. I feel I can talk to you. Ever since you came round with the news.”

  “I’m… seriously, I’m not your therapist. You’re going too far. I want you to stop. I can’t help you. It was an awful coincidence and nothing more. You’ll have to accept it. Try to understand that. Goodbye.”

  “I know it was a coincidence,” the man said. “But I made it happen.”

  “No one makes coincidences happen,” Sigurdur Oli said. “That’s why they’re coincidences. They begin the moment you’re born.”

  “If I hadn’t delayed her, they would have made it home safely.”

  “That’s absurd. And you know it. You can’t blame yourself. You simply can’t. No one can blame themselves for that kind of thing.”

  “Why not? Coincidences don’t come from nowhere. They’re consequences of the conditions we create. Like me that day.”

  “This is so absurd I can’t even be bothered discussing it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if we let that sort of thinking control our actions, how would we ever make decisions? Your wife went to the shop at a particular time, you didn’t come anywhere near that decision. So was it suicide? No! It was some drunken idiot in a Range Rover. Nothing more.”

  “I made the coincidence happen when I phoned her.”

  “We can go on like this until the end of time,” Sigurdur Oli said. “Should we go for a drive out of town? Should we go to the cinema? Should we meet at a cafe? Who’d dare to suggest anything, for fear of something happening? You’re ridiculous.”

  “That’s the point,” the man said.

  “What?”

  “How are we supposed to do anything?”

  Sigurdur Oli heard Bergthora come in through the door.

  “I’ve got to stop this,” he said. “It’s just nonsense.”

  “Yes, me too,” the man said. “I’ve got to stop this.”

  Then he put the telephone down.

  22

  He followed the radio, television and newspaper reports on the discovery of the skeleton, and saw how the story gradually paled in significance until eventually not a word was said about it. Occasionally a short statement appeared saying that there was nothing new to report, quoting a detective whose name was Sigurdur Oli. He knew that the lull in news about the skeleton meant nothing. The investigation must be in full swing and if a breakthrough happened someone would eventually knock on his door. He did not know when or who it would be. Maybe soon. Maybe that Sigurdur Oli. Maybe they would never find out what had happened. He smiled to himself. He was no longer sure that this was what he wanted. It had preyed on him for far too long. Sometimes he felt that he had no existence, no life, beyond living in fear of the past.

  Before, he had sometimes felt a compulsion, an uncontrollable urge, to reveal what had happened, to come forward and tell the truth. He always resisted it. He would calm down and in the course of time this need faded and he became numb again to what had occurred. He regretted nothing. He would not have changed anything, given the way things had turned out.

  Whenever he looked back he saw Ilona’s face the first time he met her. When she sat down beside him in the kitchen, he explained Jonas Hallgrimsson’s End of the Journey to her and she kissed him. Even now, when he was alone with his thoughts and revisited everything that was so precious to him, he could almost feel again the soft kiss on his lips.

  He sat down in the chair by the window and recalled the day when his world had caved in.

  Instead of going back to Iceland for the summer he had worked in a coal mine for a while and travelled around East Germany with Ilona. They had planned to go to Hungary, but he could not get a permit. As he understood it, foreigners were finding it increasingly difficult to obtain permission. He heard that travel to West Germany was also being severely restricted.

  They went by train and coach and then mainly on foot, and enjoyed travelling on their own. Sometimes they slept outdoors. Sometimes in small guesthouses, school buildings or railway and coach stations. Occasionally they spent a few days on farms that they chanced upon in their travels. Their longest stay was with a sheep farmer who was impressed by having an Icelander knock on his door and repeatedly asked about his northern homeland, especially Snaefellsjokull glacier; it transpired that he had read Jules Verne’s Journey to the Centre of the Earth. They spent two weeks with him and enjoyed working on his farm. Much the wiser about farming, they set off from him and his family with a rucksack packed with food, and taking their good wishes with them.

  She described her childhood home in Budapest and her doctor parents. She had told them about him in her letters home. What did they plan to do? her mother wrote. She was the only daughter. Ilona told her not to worry, but she did nevertheless. Are you going to get married? What about your studies? What about the future?

  These were all questions that they had considered, both together and separately, but they were not pressing. All that mattered was the two of them in the present. The future was mysterious and uncharted and all they could be sure about was that they would meet it together.

  Sometimes in the evenings she would tell him about her friends — who would welcome him, she assured him — and how they sat in pubs and cafes forever discussing the necessary reforms that were on the horizon. He looked at Ilona and saw her become animated when she talked about a free Hungary. She talked about the liberty that he had known and enjoyed all his life as if it were a mirage, intangible and remote. Everything that Ilona and her friends desired he had always had and taken so much for granted that he had never given it any special consideration. She talked about friends who had been arrested and spent time in prison, about people who had disappeared and whose whereabouts were unknown. He noticed the fear in her voice but also the exhilaration brought about by having deep conviction and fighting for it regardless of the cost. He sensed her tension and excitement at the great events that were unfolding.

  He thought a lot during the weeks they spent travelling that summer, and grew convinced that the socialism he had found in Leipzig was built on a lie. He began to understand how Hannes felt. Like Hannes, he had woken up to the realisation that the truth was not single, simple and socialist; rather, there was no simple truth. This complicated beyond all measure his view of the world, forcing him to tackle new and challenging questions. The first and most important hinged on how to react. He was in the same position as Hannes. Should he continue studying in Leipzig? Should he go back to Iceland afterwards? The assumptions behind studying in Leipzig had changed. What was he supposed to say to his family? From Iceland he heard that Hannes, the former youth movement leader, had written newspaper articles and addressed meetings about East Germany, criticising communist policy. He provoked both anger and uproar among Icelandic socialists and had weakened their cause, especially against the backdrop of what was happening in Hungary.

  He knew that he was still a socialist and that that would not change, but the version of socialism he had seen in Leipzig was not what he wanted.

  And what about Ilona? He did not want to do anything without her. Everything they would do after this, they would do together.

  They discussed all this during the last days of their trip and reached a joint decision. She would continue studying and working in Leipzig, go to her clandestine cell meetings, distribute information and monitor developments in Hungary. He would continue studying and act as if nothing had changed. He remembered his diatribe against Hannes for abusing the East German communist party’s hospitality. He now intended to do precisely the same, and had trouble justifying this to himself.

  He felt uncomfortable. Never before had he been in such a dilemma — his life had always been so simple and se
cure. He thought of his friends back in Iceland. What was he going to tell them? He had lost his bearings. Everything he had believed in so steadfastly had become alien. He knew that he would always live according to the socialist ideal of equality and fair distribution of wealth, but socialism as practised in East Germany was no longer worth believing in or fighting for. His mind was only beginning to change. It would take time to understand it completely and to redefine the world, and in the meantime he did not intend to make any radical decisions.

  When they returned to Leipzig he moved out of the ramshackle villa and into Ilona’s room. They slept together on the old futon. At first, her landlady had doubts. As a strict Catholic she wanted to preserve decorum, but she gave in. She told him that she had lost her husband and both sons in the siege of Stalingrad. She showed him photographs of them. They got on well together. He did odd tasks for her in the flat, mended things, bought kitchen utensils and food, and cooked. His friends from the dormitory sometimes called round, but he felt himself growing away from them, and they found him more subdued and reticent than before.

  Emil, his closest friend, mentioned this once when he sat down beside him in the library.

  “Is everything okay?” Emil asked, sniffing. He had a cold. It was a gloomy, blustery autumn and the dormitory was freezing.

  “Okay?” he said. “Yes, everything’s okay.”

  “No, because,” Emil said, “well… we get the feeling you’re avoiding us. That’s wrong, isn’t it?”

  He looked at Emil.

  “Of course that’s wrong,” he said. “There’s just so much that has changed for me. Ilona and, you know, lots of things have changed.”

  “Yes, I know,” Emil said in a concerned voice. “Of course. Ilona and all that. Do you know much about this girl?”

  “I know everything about her,” he laughed. “It’s okay, Emil. Don’t look so worried.”

  “Lothar was talking about her.”

  “Lothar? Is he back?”

  He had not told his friends what Ilona’s comrades had revealed about Lothar Weiser and his part in Hannes’s expulsion from the university. Lothar was not at the university when it reconvened that autumn and he had not seen or heard of him until now. He had resolved to avoid Lothar, avoid everything connected with him, avoid talking to him and about him.

  “He was in our kitchen the night before last,” Emil said. “Brought a big bag of pork chops. He always has plenty of food.”

  “What did he say about Ilona? Why was he talking about her?”

  He made a bad job of concealing his eagerness. He glared agitatedly at Emil.

  “Just that she was a Hungarian and that they were a law unto themselves,” Emil said. “That sort of thing. Everyone’s talking about what’s going on in Hungary but no one seems to know exactly what it is. Have you heard anything through Ilona? What’s happening in Hungary?”

  “I don’t know much,” he said. “All that I know is people are discussing change. What exactly did Lothar say about Ilona? A law unto themselves? Why did he say that? What did he mean by it?”

  Noticing his eagerness, Emil tried to remember Lothar’s exact words.

  “He said he didn’t know where she stood,” Emil ventured after a long pause. “He doubted that she was a genuine socialist and said she was a bad influence. She talked about people behind their backs. Us too, your comrades. He said she was nasty about us. He’d heard her do that.”

  “Why did he say that? What does he know about Ilona? They’re complete strangers. She’s never spoken to him.”

  “I don’t know,” Emil said. “It’s just idle gossip. Isn’t it?”

  He said nothing, deep in thought.

  “Tomas?” Emil said. “Isn’t that just idle gossip that Lothar’s repeating?”

  “Of course it’s crap,” he said. “He doesn’t know Ilona in the slightest. She’s never spoken badly of you. It’s a fucking lie. Lothar—”

  He was on the brink of telling Emil what he had been told about Lothar, when he suddenly realised that he could not. He realised that he could not trust Emil. His friend. Although he had no reason not to trust him, his life had suddenly begun to revolve around whom he could trust and who not. People he could open his heart to and those he could not talk to. Not because they were underhand, treacherous and conniving, but because they might allow something indiscreet to slip out, just as he had done about Hannes. This included Emil, Hrafnhildur and Karl, his dormitory friends. He had told them about his experience in the basement when it had happened, how Ilona and Hannes knew each other, how exciting everything was, even dangerous. He could not talk like that any longer.

  As far as Lothar was concerned, he had to tread particularly carefully. He tried to figure out why Lothar spoke of Ilona like that in his friend’s hearing. Tried to remember whether the German had ever described Hannes in such terms. He could not remember. Perhaps it was a message to him and Ilona. They knew precious little about Lothar. They didn’t know who exactly he was working for. Ilona believed her friends who thought he worked for the security police. And this could well be the method the police used. Spreading slander in small groups to create friction.

  “Tomas?”

  Emil was trying to get his attention.

  “What about Lothar?”

  “Sorry,” he said. “I was thinking.”

  “You were going to say something about Lothar,” Emil said.

  “No,” he said, “it was nothing.”

  “What about you and Ilona?” Emil asked.

  “What about us?” he said.

  “Are you going to stay together?” Emil asked falteringly.

  “What do you mean? Of course. What makes you ask?”

  “Just take care,” Emil said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, after Hannes got thrown out, you never know what might happen.”

  He told Ilona about his conversation with Emil, trying to play it down as best he could. Her expression turned anxious immediately and she asked him for every detail of what Emil had said. They tried to puzzle out Lothar’s motivation. He was clearly slandering her in front of other students and her closest circle, his friends. Was this the start of something bigger? Could Lothar be keeping a special watch on her? Could he know about the meetings? They decided to lie low for a few weeks.

  “They’ll just send us home then,” Ilona said, trying to smile. “What else could they do? We’ll go the way of Hannes. It’ll never be more serious than that.”

  “No,” he said consolingly, “it will never be more serious than that.”

  “They could arrest me for subversion,” she said. “Anti-communist propaganda. Conspiracy against the Socialist Union Party. They have phrases for it.”

  “Can’t you stop? Withdraw for a while? See what happens?”

  She looked at him.

  “What do you mean?” she said. “I don’t let prats like Lothar order me around.”

  “Ilona!”

  “I say what I think,” she said. “Always. I’d tell everyone who’s interested what’s going on in Hungary and the reforms people are demanding. I’ve always been that way. You know that. I’m not going to stop.”

  They both fell into an anxious silence.

  “What’s the worst they can do?”

  “Send you home.”

  “They’ll send me home.”

  They looked at each other.

  “We’ll have to be careful,” he said. “You’ll have to be careful. Promise me.”

  Weeks and months went by. Ilona continued as before, but was more cautious than ever. He attended his classes but was beset by worries about Ilona, telling her time and again to take care. Then one day he met Lothar. He had not seen him for a long time and when he thought afterwards about what had happened he knew that their encounter was no coincidence. He was leaving lectures on his way to meet Ilona by Thomaskirche when Lothar appeared from nowhere. Lothar greeted him warmly. He did not return the greeting and was ab
out to go his own way when Lothar grabbed him by the arm.

  “Don’t you want to say hello?” he said.

  He tore himself free and was heading down the stairs when he felt a hand on his arm again.

  “We ought to talk,” Lothar said when he turned round.

  “We’ve got nothing to talk about,” he said.

  Lothar smiled again, but his eyes were no longer smiling.

  “On the contrary,” Lothar said. “We’ve got plenty to talk about.”

  “Leave me alone,” he said, continuing down the stairs to the floor where the cafeteria was located. He did not look back and hoped that Lothar would leave him be, but Lothar stopped him again and glanced around him. He did not want to attract attention.

  “What’s all this about?” he snapped at Lothar. “I don’t have anything to say to you. Try to get that into your head. Leave me alone!”

  He tried to walk past him, but Lothar blocked his path.

  “What’s wrong?” Lothar said.

  He stared into the German’s eyes without answering.

  “Nothing,” he said eventually. “Just leave me alone.”

  “Tell me why you won’t talk to me. I thought we were friends.”

  “No, we’re not friends,” he said, “Hannes was my friend.”

  “Hannes?”

  “Yes, Hannes.”

  “Is this because of Hannes?” Lothar said. “Is it because of Hannes you’re acting like this?”

  “Leave me alone,” he said.

  “What has Hannes got to do with me?”

  “You—”

  He stopped immediately. Where did Hannes come into the picture? He had not seen Lothar since Hannes’s expulsion. After that Lothar had vanished into thin air. In the meanwhile he had heard Ilona and her friends describe Lothar as a puppet of the security police, a traitor and informer who tried to make people reveal what their friends were thinking and saying. Lothar did not know that he suspected anything. But he had been poised to tell him everything, tell him what Ilona had said about him. Suddenly it struck him that if there was one thing he must not do, it was to give Lothar a piece of his mind, or imply that he knew about him.