Burial Rites (37 page)

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.

TÓTI WOKE IN THE SHADOWED
badstofa of Breidabólstadur and saw his father at the end of his bed, slumped against the wall. His grizzled head lolled on his chest. He was asleep.

‘Pabbi?’ His voice was no more than a whisper. The effort seared his throat.

He tried to move his foot to nudge his father awake, but his limbs were heavier than he had ever known them to be. ‘Pabbi?’ he tried again.

Reverend Jón stirred, and suddenly opened his eyes. ‘Son!’ He wiped his beard and leaned forward. ‘You’re awake. Thank God.’

Tóti tried to lift his arm and realised that it was bound to his side. He was swaddled in blankets.

‘You’ve been suffering yet another fever,’ his father explained. ‘I’ve had to sweat it out.’ He pressed a calloused hand against Tóti’s forehead.

‘I need to go to Kornsá,’ Tóti murmured. His tongue was dry. ‘Agnes.’

His father shook his head. ‘It’s the care of her that’s done this to you.’

Tóti looked distressed. ‘I have forgotten the month.’

‘December.’

He tried to sit up, but Reverend Jón gently pushed his head back down on the pillow. ‘You’ll pay her no heed until God restores you.’

‘She has no one,’ Tóti argued, trying again to lift himself. His muscles barely responded.

‘And for good reason,’ his father said, his voice suddenly loud in the small room. He held his son down on the bed, his face grey in the unlit badstofa. ‘She’s not worth the time you give her.’

MARGRÉT WAS SILENT A MOMENT
. The milk had cooled in her cup. ‘He threw you into the snow?’

Agnes nodded, watching the older woman carefully.

Margrét shook her head. ‘You could have frozen to death.’

‘He wasn’t in his right mind.’ Agnes drew her shawl more tightly about her shoulders. ‘Natan had wanted Sigga for himself. He finally understood that she preferred Fridrik.’

Margrét sniffed and nudged a burning ember back against the hearth wall with a poker. ‘As you say, then.’ She stole a glance at Agnes, who was staring into the fire. ‘Go on,’ she said quietly.

Agnes sighed and unfolded her arms. ‘I went to Fridrik’s family’s home at Katadalur. I had not been there before, but I knew where it lay beyond the mountain, and the day grew clear enough for me to walk there without falling victim to the weather. It took me hours though, and by the time I entered the mouth of the valley where Katadalur stood, I was delirious with fatigue. Fridrik’s mother found me on my knees on her doorstop.

‘Katadalur is a horrible place. All slumped and squat, with the roof threatening to fall in, and the inside of the farm as miserable as its outside. Smoke from dung fires on the walls of the kitchen and the badstofa as cheerless as they come. When I entered there was a group of children, all of them Fridrik’s siblings, huddled together on one bed, just trying to stay warm. Fridrik was sitting next to his father and uncle on another bed, sharpening knives.

‘The first thing Fridrik said to me was, “What has he done now?” He asked me if Natan had decided to marry Sigga.

‘I shook my head and explained that he’d thrown me out. I told him I’d spent the night in the cowshed. Fridrik was not sympathetic. He asked me what I’d done to cause it, and I told him I’d fought with Natan, saying I couldn’t abide him treating Sigga the way he was.

‘That’s when Fridrik’s mother interrupted. She’d been listening quietly to us, and all of a sudden she gripped Fridrik’s arm and said: “He means to deprive you of your wife.”

‘I thought I saw Fridrik glance down to the knife on the bed covers and I became fearful.

‘I suggested that Fridrik speak to the priest at Tjörn, that maybe they could go to a District Officer. But Thórbjörg, Fridrik’s mother, interrupted me again. She stood up and gripped Fridrik about the shoulders, and looked him in the eye. She said: “You will not have Sigga while Natan is alive.” Then they all sat down, and while I slept, they must have decided to kill him.’

Margrét was still. The fire had died. Only a thin glowing crust of live ember flickered amid the ashes. The wind had not stopped wailing. Margrét slowly exhaled. She felt weary. ‘Perhaps we ought to return to bed.’

Agnes turned to her. ‘Don’t you want to hear the rest?’

CHAPTER TWELVE

OVER AT LAUGAR, IN SÆLINGSDALE
, Gudrún rose early as soon as the sun was up. She went to the room where her brothers were sleeping, and shook Ospak. Ospak and his brothers woke up at once; and when he saw it was his sister he asked her what she wanted, to be up so early in the morning. Gudrún said she wanted to know what they were planning to do that day. Ospak said they would be having a quiet day – ‘for there isn’t much work to be done just now.’

Gudrún said, ‘You would have had just the right temper if you had been peasants’ daughters – you do nothing about anything, whether good or bad. Despite all the disgrace and dishonour that Kjartan has done you, you lose no sleep over it even when he rides past your door with only a single companion. It’s obviously futile to hope that you will ever dare to attack Kjartan at home if you haven’t the nerve to face him now when he is travelling with only one or two companions. You just sit at home pretending to be men, and there are always too many of you about.’

Ospak said she was making too much of this, but admitted that it was difficult to argue against her. He jumped out of bed at once and dressed, as did all the brothers one after another; then they made ready to lay an ambush for Kjartan.

Laxdæla Saga

NATAN WAS NOT HOME WHEN
Fridrik and I arrived at Illugastadir. I’m not sure what would have happened if he had been. It took several minutes of knocking before Sigga opened the door to let us in. She carried Natan’s daughter on her hip.

‘He told me to refuse you if you came back,’ she said, but she let us in anyway.

I accepted the coffee she gave us. ‘Where is Natan?’ I asked.

‘A messenger from Geitaskard arrived. Worm’s not well. Natan left early this morning.’

‘How has he been?’

Sigga gave me a look. ‘He’s been in a bad temper.’

‘Has he forced you again?’ Fridrik was examining Natan’s shelf by his bed. Sigga watched anxiously as he picked up a few boxes and rattled them.

‘What are you looking for?’

‘Compensation,’ Fridrik muttered. He peered out the window at the snow outside. ‘I bet I was right. I bet he’s buried it all in the yard.’

I looked at Sigga. ‘Has he said anything about me?’

Sigga shook her head.

I attempted a grim smile. ‘Nothing you’d like to repeat to my face.’

Fridrik dusted the snow off his shoulders and sat down next to Sigga, drawing her onto his lap. ‘My little bird,’ he said. ‘My wife.’

Sigga resisted his caresses and sat back down on the bed. ‘Don’t call me that,’ she said.

Fridrik flushed red. ‘Why not? You’re mine.’

‘Natan told me he’s changed his mind. He won’t allow it.’ Her voice broke into a sob. ‘Not ever.’

‘Goddamn Natan!’

Despite the sombre mood of our gathering, it was hard not to smile at Fridrik’s dramatic cry. ‘I’m sure Natan will get over it,’ I said.

Sigga wiped her eyes and shook her head. ‘He says he will be the one to marry me if anyone does.’

My stomach dropped, and I noticed Fridrik turn pale. ‘What?’

‘That’s what he said,’ Sigga sniffed.

‘What did you say?’ My voice sounded thin and shaky.

Sigga burst into a fresh bout of sobbing.

‘You didn’t say yes, did you?’ Fridrik placed an arm around her, and Sigga pushed her face into his neck. She howled.

We three spent the next two days together at Illugastadir, making plans to leave. Sigga thought that she might be able to return to Stóra-Borg, and I offered to take her with me back to the valley as soon as the weather allowed. Fridrik suggested that I go to Ásbjarnarstadir to ask for work until winter’s end. He said the farmer there did not like Natan; he might take me on out of sympathy.

We were talking in this way one afternoon when we saw travellers coming down the mountain pass. We’d been so wrapped up in our plans to escape that we hadn’t seen them appear. We were outside in the yard, taking some air in the finer weather, and it was too late for us to hide. They would have seen us.

‘Agnes!’ Sigga hissed. ‘It’s Natan. He’ll tan me when he sees you.’

My heart was beating like a battle drum, but I dared not show it. ‘He’s not alone, Sigga. He won’t do anything with company about.’

We three stood waiting for the pair of riders. When they came close enough, I was surprised to see Sheepkiller-Pétur riding with Natan.

‘Look, Pétur,’ Natan said. ‘Three little foxes sneaking about the place.’ He smiled, but his eyes were cold. I thought he might attack Fridrik, but instead he dismounted and walked up to me.

‘What is she doing here?’ His smile vanished. I flushed red, and stole a glance at Pétur. He seemed taken aback.

‘Please let her come back, just until winter is over,’ Sigga protested.

‘I’ve had enough of you, Agnes.’

‘What have I even done?’ I was pretending to be calm.

‘You said you wanted to go, so go!’ He took another step towards me. ‘Leave!’

Sigga looked anxious. ‘She’s got no place to stay, Natan. It’s going to snow.’

Natan laughed. ‘You never mean what you say, Agnes. You say one thing, and a different meaning lurks beneath it. You want to leave? Leave!’

I wanted to tell Natan that I wanted him; that I wanted him to love me back. But I said nothing. There was nothing I could have said.

It was Fridrik who broke the silence.

‘You’re not going to marry her,’ he announced through gritted teeth.

Natan laughed. ‘Not this again.’ He turned to Pétur. ‘See what happens when you live with children? They draw you into their little games.’

Pétur gave a thin smile.

‘Fine.’ Natan started to lead his horse towards the field. ‘Agnes can stay, but not in the badstofa. Pétur and I are going to sleep here tonight, and then we’re going to Geitaskard again in the morning. If you’re still here when we return, I’m handing you over to the District
Commissioner as a trespasser. Fridrik, leave before I get Pétur to slit your throat.’ He laughed, but Pétur looked at the ground.

I slept in the cowshed again that night. It wasn’t so cold as when Natan first threw me out, and Sigga helped me make up a little bed before returning inside. It stank of shit, and the floor was alive with lice, but eventually I fell asleep.