Burial Rites(86)

‘I knew you saw us,’ he said.

His words hit me like a blow to the stomach. My mouth opened and shut with no sound escaping. I got out of bed and brought back a lamp. I could not talk to him without seeing his face. I could not trust his words in the dark.

The lamplight flared over his bare skin. He regarded me coolly, turning away only to glance in Sigga’s direction, to see if she was awake.

‘Natan.’

My voice sounded old. I looked down and saw myself, naked, and for the first time I guessed how he saw me.

‘You’ve been playing with me.’

Natan shielded his eyes with a hand. ‘Put the lamp out, Agnes.’

I grabbed hold of the bedpost to steady myself. ‘You’re cruel.’

‘I don’t want to talk about this.’

‘You were never going to give me the housekeeping position, were you?’

‘Put the lamp out, and let’s go to sleep. Your eyes look like two piss-holes in the snow.’

‘Go to sleep?!’ I stared at him, waiting until I knew I could speak without crying. ‘How did you know I knew?’

He smiled at this. Said nothing.

‘Do you love me?’

‘You’re being ridiculous.’

‘Answer me.’

He reached for the lamp. ‘Put it out!’

‘Natan.’ I was beseeching him. The whine in my voice horrified me.

‘Would I have asked you here if I didn’t want you here?’

‘Yes, as your workmaid.’

‘You’re more than a servant, Agnes.’

‘Am I?’

‘Put the lamp out.’

‘No!’ I snatched it out of his grasp. ‘You can’t treat me like this!’

His eyes flashed. ‘You’re a nag, Agnes.’

I exploded.

‘A nag? Go to hell! I’ve always let you do what you want. Do I stop you leaving all the time? Do I stop you climbing on top of Sigga in the next bed when you think I’m asleep? She’s fifteen! You’re a f*cking dog.’

He leaned back on his elbows. ‘What makes you think I wait until you’re asleep?’

The look on Natan’s face was not of derision, but of scornful amusement. An immediate weight of despair and loss pressed on me until I was suddenly, unalterably, concave with grief.

‘I hate you.’ The words seemed stupid, childish.

‘And do you think I love you?’ Natan shook his head. ‘You, Agnes?’ He narrowed his eyes and stood up, his breath hot in my face. ‘You’re a cheap sort of woman. I was wrong about you.’

‘If I am cheap it is because you have made me so!’

‘Yes, go on. You’re pure and holy, and everyone else is to blame.’

‘No, you are to blame!’

‘Forgive me, I thought you wanted this.’ He grabbed me and pulled me roughly to him. ‘I thought you wanted to get out of the valley. But you just want what you can’t have.’

‘I wanted you! I wanted to leave the valley because I wanted to be with you.’ I felt sick with anger. ‘I can’t stand it here.’

‘Then go!’ He took a step back and grabbed me by my wrist. ‘Get out! You’ve done nothing but cause trouble!’ He started to pull me out of the badstofa. I was aware of Sigga sitting up in bed, watching us. Thóranna had begun to cry.

‘Let go of me!’

‘I’m just giving you what you want. You hate me? You want to leave? Good! Here is the door.’

As small as he was, Natan was strong. He dragged me down the corridor and pushed me over the doorstep. I tripped on the ledge and went sprawling into the snow, naked. By the time I got to my knees, he had slammed the door in my face.

It was dark and snowing heavily outside, but I was so light-headed with anger and grief that I felt nothing. I wanted to hammer down the door, to go to the window and scream for Sigga to let me back inside, but I also wanted to punish him. I wrapped my bare arms about my body and wondered where I should go. The cold needled through my skin. I thought about killing myself, about walking down to the shore and pushing my limbs into the frigid water. The cold would kill me; I wouldn’t have to drown. I imagined Natan finding me dead, washed up amongst the seaweed.

I went to the cowshed.

It was too cold to sleep. I crouched down next to the cow and pressed my bare skin against her warm bulk, and pulled down a saddlecloth to cover myself with. I pushed my freezing toes into a cowpat so they would not suffer.

At some time in the night someone entered the cowshed.

‘Natan?’ My voice was thin and pathetic.

It was Sigga. She had brought me my clothes and shoes. Her eyes were puffy from crying.

‘He won’t let you back inside,’ she said.

I dressed slowly, my fingers stiff with cold. ‘And what if I die out here?’

She turned to leave, but I grabbed her shoulder.

‘Talk some sense into him, Sigga. He’s actually gone mad this time.’

She looked at me, her eyes filling with tears. ‘I’m so sick of living here,’ she whispered.

The next morning I woke, and for a few moments I didn’t know where I was. Then my memory of the night came back to me, and anger tightened my stomach, invigorating me. I leaned against the cow, warming my cold nose and fingers, thinking of what I should do. I wanted to leave before Natan came out to feed the stock.