Burial Rites(65)

‘You have nothing to fear,’ Tóti said.

‘I hope that is the case,’ Jón replied. He pinched his lips together and resumed fulling his sock.

Tóti turned to Agnes. ‘Your friend. Why did she say this to you?’

‘I thought she was jealous. She had so wanted to meet Natan in the first place. The thing was, we knew that he was in need of a housekeeper.’

‘And what of that?’ Tóti asked.

‘A new position with a man never short of money? A better position, where you could be more than just a servant? Run a home and a farm and do as you please with no farm mistress to answer to?’ Agnes glanced at Margrét.

‘Go on, Agnes,’ Margrét muttered.

‘News of an opportunity like that doesn’t stay hidden, Reverend. All the girls at Geitaskard knew that Natan Ketilsson was unmarried, in need of a housekeeper, and maybe more besides, and María was as keen to better herself as I was, Reverend.’ She looked over to the others. ‘I wanted Karitas’s position more than anything. I didn’t do myself any dishonour.’

Gudmundur snorted, and Agnes’s eyes flashed.

‘The truth is that Natan and I became friends because we were fond of speaking with one another. He came to Geitaskard every few weeks, and we would talk.’ She glared at Lauga. ‘He offered me friendship, and I was pleased to have it, for I had precious few friends about me. María soon ignored me, and the more Natan saw of me, the less inclined everyone else was to be friendly. But they were just servants.’ She spat these words towards the farmhands slouching in the corner of the badstofa. ‘Natan was a clever man, a doctor, and he knew arithmetic, and he was generous with his money. He healed more than one cough among the Geitaskard workmen that autumn, and were they grateful? Not at all. They knew he was oftentimes only visiting to see me, and they punished me for it. What fault was that of mine? When I told them that Natan had finally asked me to work for him at Illugastadir, I thought they might be pleased for me. But they accused me of bragging, and thinking myself better than the pauper I really was. And that winter brought a new kind of loneliness, and I was grateful for the diversion Natan brought. I was pleased I was leaving Geitaskard. My brother had gone. María had spurned me. I had nothing to keep me there.’

Agnes fell silent, and knitted furiously. Tóti noticed that Lauga and Gudmundur were exchanging small, furtive glances. There were several moments of uncomfortable silence, broken only by the click of knitting needles, and a muffled giggle from Kristín. Eventually, as the wind gathered force outside, Jón stood and suggested they go to sleep. Tóti, suddenly weary, took the offer of a spare bed. A malaise had crept over him while Agnes had told of Natan, and his throat felt tight and painful. As the lamp was extinguished, he wondered if he was right in letting her speak.




SOMETIMES, AFTER TALKING TO THE Reverend, my mouth aches. My tongue feels so tired; it slumps in my mouth like a dead bird, all damp feathers, in between the stones of my teeth.

What did I say to him? What did the others make of what I said? It doesn’t matter. No one could understand what it was like to know Natan. In those early visits it was as though we were building something sacred. We’d place words carefully together, piling them upon one another, leaving no spaces. We each created towers, two beacons, the like of which are built along roads to guide the way when the weather comes down. We saw one another through the fog, the suffocating repetition of life.

At Geitaskard we walked in the evenings upon the snow, and it squeaked under our tread. Once, when I slipped on the ice, I grasped his arm and he lost his balance. We fell together, laughing, and on the ground he pushed me back so that we gazed up at the hazard of stars above us. He named the constellations for me.

‘Do you think that’s where we go when we die?’ I asked.

‘I don’t believe in heaven,’ Natan said.

I was shocked. ‘How can you not believe in heaven?’

‘It’s a lie. Man has created God out of fear of dying.’

‘How can you say such a thing?’

He turned his head, ice crystals caught in his hair. ‘Agnes. Don’t pretend you disagree. This is all there is and you know it. Life, here, in our veins. There is the snow, and the sky, and the stars and the things they tell us, and that’s all. Everyone else – they’re blind. They don’t know if they’re living or dead.’

‘They’re not so bad.’

‘Agnes. You pretend you don’t understand me, but you do. We’re the same kind.’ Natan propped himself up on his elbows and the moonlight poured over his face. ‘We’re better than this.’ He nodded towards the farmhouse. ‘This life of mud and struggle. Accepting everything as it is.’ He leaned closer and then he kissed me, gently. ‘You don’t belong in this valley, Agnes. You’re different. You’re not scared of everything.’

I laughed. ‘I’m certainly not scared of you.’

Natan smiled. ‘I’ve got a question for you.’

My heart throbbed. ‘Oh yes? What’s that?’

He lay back down on the snow. ‘What’s the name for the space between stars?’

‘No such name.’

‘Make one up.’

I thought about it. ‘The soul asylum.’