Burial Rites(78)

Seeing that Sigga was upset by his harsh words, I told her to leave and began to undress Natan myself, but he pushed me away and called Sigga back. ‘You forget your place, Agnes,’ he said.

Later that day I followed Natan to his workshop, carrying an unlit lamp I thought he might need. The days had shortened so rapidly over the weeks, and the light was shuddering to a close. The ocean looked uneasy.

When Natan tried the workshop door, he found it was already open. He demanded to know if I’d been in there without his permission, and I told him that he knew I had been tending the fire while he’d gone fishing. I had probably forgotten to lock the door, but he began to accuse me of meddling with his things, of trying to find his money, of taking advantage of him.

Taking advantage of him! My tongue got the better of me then, and I told him that he was the one who had lured me out to his lonely farm with a lie. He had told me I was his housemistress, and yet all the while it was Sigga. I asked him if he’d been paying her higher wages than me, and why he had thought to trick me in the first place, when he knew I would have followed him anyway!

Natan began to check his belongings. It hurt me that he thought I might have taken something of his. What did I want with his coins, or medicines, or whatever else he had hidden in there?

I stayed in the workshop. He could not make me leave. When he was satisfied nothing was missing he took out some sealskins that needed curing and refused to say anything more to me. But it was late in the afternoon and the sky outside was flat and grey, a poor light to be working by. I sulked by the hearth and watched him, waiting for him to turn to me, to take me in his arms, to apologise.

Perhaps Natan forgot I was there, or else he did not care, but after a time he set his knife on the ground, and wiped his hands on a rag. Then he walked outside the workshop and stood on the furthest fringe of the outcrop, staring out to sea. I followed him.

I slipped my arms about his waist to comfort him and told him I was sorry.

Natan did not pull away from my embrace, but I felt his body stiffen at my touch. I buried my face into the greasy folds of his shirt and kissed his back.

‘Don’t,’ he muttered. His face was still turned towards the sea. I tightened my hands upon his stomach and pressed myself against him.

‘Stop it, Agnes.’ He grabbed my hands, and pushed me away from him. His muscles moved as he clenched and unclenched his jaw.

A gale picked up. It knocked Natan’s hat from his head and carried it out to sea.

I asked him what was wrong. I asked him if someone had threatened him, and he laughed. His eyes were stony. His hair, no longer constrained by his hat, whipped about his head in a dark tangle.

He said that he saw signs of death all about him.

In the silence that followed, I took a deep breath. ‘Natan, you’re not going to die.’

‘Explain the death waves then.’ His voice was low, taut. ‘Explain the premonitions. The dreams that I’ve been having.’

‘Natan, you laugh about those dreams.’ I was trying to remain calm. ‘You tell everybody about them.’

‘Do you see me laughing, Agnes?’

He stepped towards me and grasped my shoulders, bringing his face so close to mine that our foreheads touched.

‘Every night,’ he hissed, ‘I dream of death. I see it everywhere. I see blood, everywhere.’

‘You’ve been skinning animals –’

Natan gripped me harder about the shoulders. ‘I see it upon the ground, in dark, sticky pools.’ He licked his lips. ‘I taste it, Agnes. I wake with the taste of blood in my mouth.’

‘You bite your tongue in your sleep –’

He gave an unfriendly smile. ‘I saw you and Daníel talking about me by the boat.’

‘Let go of me, Natan.’

He ignored me.

‘Let go of me!’ I twisted myself out of his grasp. ‘You should listen to yourself. You sound like an old woman, harping on about dreams and premonitions.’

It was cold. A great, churning cloud had moved in from the sea, snuffing all but the faintest scratchings of light from the sky. Yet even in the near darkness, I could see Natan’s eyes shine. His gaze unnerved me.

‘Agnes,’ he said. ‘I’ve been dreaming about you.’

I said nothing, suddenly longing to return to the croft and light the lamps. I was aware of the ocean, not two steps from our feet.

‘I dream that I’m in bed and I can see blood running down the walls. It drips on my head and the drops burn my skin.’

He took a step towards me.

‘I am bound to my bed, and the blood rises about me until I am covered. Then, suddenly, it’s gone. I can move, and I sit up and look about me and the room is empty.’

He pressed my hand and I felt the sharp edge of his nail dig into the flesh of my palm.

‘But then, I see you. I walk towards you. And as I draw closer I see that you’re nailed to the wall by your hair.’

As he said this, a great gust of wind blew my cap from my head, and my hair was loosed. Unbraided as it was, the long tendrils were immediately lashed about by the wind. Natan quickly reached out and grabbed a handful, using it to pull me closer.

‘Natan! You’re hurting me!’

But Natan was distracted. ‘What’s that?’ he whispered.

On the wind I could suddenly smell the heavy stench of rot, dark and putrid.