Pets (22 page)

“People should not have such animals in their homes,” Havard says. “It always ends in some sort of trouble. But, on the other hand it's alright to have a dog. One can even make money on dogs.” He tells her that we had a daily wage in London, that my relative had paid us a small daily allowance for looking after his house and animals, but she could just imagine how far that went to keep us. So he had started betting on dog races and that had helped us to a certain extent. There's money to be made on dogs if you know how to play.

“But did you know that Emil was coming today?” Greta asks. I can imagine that she wants to change the subject, that she doesn't believe a word of the nonsense Havard is telling her. “I mean, was Emil expecting you?”

“I'm sure he was. Isn't he just on the way to visit his girlfriend. This Vigdis? He had at least started to write her an email, I saw it on the computer in there just now. Maybe he stopped somewhere on the way, no doubt some bar. Even I stopped at several bars on the way here today.”

“But the water? Wasn't there water boiling on the stove when you came here?”

“He just forgot it. I mean, people forget. He probably forgot that I was going to visit him too.”

It is difficult to say what Greta thinks about this friend of mine who says in one breath that we don't know each other at all and then in the next that I was expecting him to come for a visit. And what does she think about me—some fellow who really wants a date but obviously has a girlfriend, doesn't turn up for the date, and lets four other men come in his place?

“But you haven't met for some time?” Greta asks.

“No,” Havard answers curtly, and when he starts talking again he raises his voice, as if he is talking to Greta from another room. “I have been living in Sweden. We haven't seen each other for five years. I really only came today to return something I borrowed from his relative there in London.”

“What, something you borrowed five years ago!” Greta doesn't try to hide her amazement.

“Yes,” he answers. “An old book and some kind of carved model of a ship. It's in there beside his bed.”

In there beside his bed? I suddenly feel very uncomfortable; I grow hot all over, without any sweat appearing, and some sort of irritation spreads through my body. In there beside his bed? In there beside
me
?

“And what are you doing in
Sweden
?” Greta asks. “Not looking after some animals again?”

Havard laughs and is about to say something when Greta interrupts him; she has to phone home. She seems to go into the kitchen, the sound of her dialing comes from there. She has to wait a little while before there is an answer, then she says hello to her mother and asks if her daughter is asleep. It sounds as though her mother has managed to get the little girl to sleep. She begins to talk about something that Greta isn't very interested in—something to do with the family, some problem that I can't imagine Greta wants to get involved in, as she is just back from abroad and full of thoughts of me perhaps. Or Havard; how she can get rid of him. I am listening hard to hear Greta's reply when Havard suddenly comes into the bedroom and stops in the middle of the room. I feel one hundred percent sure that he will address me or, without saying a word, just drag me out from under the bed like some criminal on the run. But instead he sits down in the chair in front of the computer and starts to unlace his shoes. Of course I am in no position to peep out from under the sheet, but it is clear that his shoes are rather tight; he has to pull hard to get them off.

Greta is still talking to her mother. Havard stands up from the chair; if I'm not mistaken, he is undoing his pants. Something hard bangs into the arm of the chair or desk—probably the buckle on his belt. I hear his pants slide down to the floor, and then Havard sits down on the edge of the bed. He makes some kind of drumming sound with his mouth, a sound that forms a melody. I try to anticipate where the springs will press down into my body if he lies down on the bed. My speculations are accurate, the mattress sags down about ten centimeters when Havard lies down, and the springs poke into the lower part of my stomach and my groin. It doesn't cause any great pain, but I swear to myself; why the hell does the man have to let me know physically that he has found out where I am? He sighs with pleasure, and I can feel him stretching. Greta is clearly trying to finish off her telephone conversation; I heard her say earlier that she would probably be a little late coming home and now she repeats it to her mother.

“Come and talk to me, Greta! I'm here in the bedroom!” Havard calls out as soon as she is off the phone. I hear her come into the hall and then suddenly there is a knock at the door. Greta asks him to wait. I'm not particularly surprised that, despite the fact Havard is lying on the bed, he doesn't seem to be at all worried that I might be the person on the doorstep. The front door is opened and Greta calls out “Hello?” into the dark. Havard is amused; he laughs, as if he is saying to himself that of course there was no one outside. Greta must be hearing things. She calls out my name and now I'm afraid that she will wake up or disturb Bella in the flat above or give Tomas a reason to knock again. I don't expect Armann to be woken up by the sound of her voice. She calls again in a loud whisper, “Hello? Emil?” almost as if she expects me to be hiding out there in the cold and doesn't want anyone else to notice me. I wish I could answer her; I long to be able to answer her.

But I wasn't the one who knocked on the door.

10

I wasn't the one who knocked, I repeat to myself. Of all those who have come here today I am the only one who hasn't knocked on the door. I opened the door with a key. I let myself in. It's as though I have to remind myself that it is
I
who live here.

When Greta has closed the door she calls to Havard: “Didn't you say that the man who knocked earlier was wearing an anorak?”

“Yes, was it him?” Havard answers, and I can just see the grin on his face as he lies there half naked just above me.

“No, I didn't see anyone,” Greta says, sounding surprised. “I don't know who it could have been.”

She seems to be in the living room.

“
I
was wearing an anorak,” Havard calls out cheerfully. “Maybe it was me? Maybe I was coming a second time? Can you be bothered to come in here?”

She tells him to wait. I imagine she is having a drink. Then I hear her using her lighter, and I recall the moment when we stood outside the airport smoking together. I haven't had a cigarette for four or five hours. Then she opens the front door again, as if she is trying to convince herself that there is no one outside.

“The second coming of Howard Knutsson,” Havard whispers to himself and lifts up his body so that his weight moves from his behind to his legs. With this distribution of weight the springs press down near my face; they are only one or two centimeters away from my nose. Then I hear him drop something onto the floor. I lift the sheet a fraction and see his underwear lying there; they are white, and I notice that they are the same brand I wear. His pants, on the other hand, have been put on the chair. I imagine he is still wearing his shirt.

Suddenly it feels as if the sheet is pulled—it goes up several centimeters. Havard tosses about on the bed, and he seems to be spreading the duvet over his body.

“I want to show you something!” he calls out.

He is going to show her something! A little something! He is probably under the duvet; he is relaxed now, so the springs are down over my stomach again. I hear Greta enter the room.

“I thought you were going.” Greta sounds startled to see him in bed.

“Come and sit down,” Havard says and tells her to take the pants off the chair. “I'm going in a minute, I was just so cold in there.”

Since the sheet has been lifted up from the floor I can see Greta walk to the chair. She picks up the pants and puts them on top of Halldor's toy box. As she sits down I wriggle as far as I can towards the wall, so that she is less likely to notice me.

“How do you like this suit that I bought today?” Havard asks.

“This one? Did you buy it today?”

“I bought it on Laugavegur. Just before I came here. The jacket is in the living room.”

Hasn't she noticed his underwear on the floor? Isn't she going to say anything about him being in bed?

“See here,” he says. I feel him roll over in the bed, and he seems to be getting something from the floor. “This is what I was going to give back to him. I came all the way from Sweden to return it,” he adds proudly.

Greta stretches towards the bed. The chair creaks; I imagine that she takes the book and the ship.

“Moby
. . .
Dick,” Havard says with a laugh and then asks: “Were you calling home because of your daughter?”

Greta says yes; her daughter has to go to school the next morning and didn't fall asleep straight away when her grandmother was looking after her. She was rather excited because her mother had just come home.

“I know all about it,” Havard says.

“Yes, of course, you have a daughter too. How old did you say she was?”

“My daughter? How old do
you
think she is?”

“I would guess about nine or ten, from seeing the photo.”

“She is ten,” Havard answers.

“But, wait a moment, didn't you say just now that she was eight?”

“She
was
eight. Now she is ten.”

“Was she never nine then?”

“She's no normal child,” Havard answers with a laugh. “You noticed that she was holding the Bible, didn't you? Completely of her own free will.”

“But where can I have seen you before?” Greta asks. “I'm quite sure I have seen you somewhere before. You don't have a brother who looks like you, do you?”

“Well, I am a twin,” Havard says. “The other Havard lives here in Reykjavik.”

“Where in Reykjavik?”

“Somewhere in the eastern part of town. Somewhere near Hlemmur, I think.”

“You think?” Greta asks with a laugh.

“I haven't a clue where he lives,” Havard answers with typical carelessness.

“What, do you mean to say that you don't know where your brother lives?”

“Hey, am I supposed to look after my brother?” he says and repeats that he lives somewhere in East Reykjavik.

“Why didn't you tell me you had a brother?” Greta asks and is no doubt referring to the time, just after she arrived, when she said that she thought she recognized him. “Then I must have seen your brother in town, I was so sure I had seen you before.”

“You mean that you remember my face from having seen my brother somewhere in town?”

“It must be that,” Greta answers. “What does your brother do?”

“He's in some dodgy business. I have no idea what he does, I haven't heard from him for a long time.”

“What's he called?”

“Havard.”

“No really, what's he called?” Greta repeats in disbelief.

“Havard.”

“You aren't both called Havard?”

“No.”

“What are you called then?”

“Gisli.”

“Come on.”

“Gisli Norstedt,” Havard answers.

“And your brother is called Havard?”

“Havard Norstedt.”

“Are you identical twins?”

Havard laughs rather nastily at Greta's question.

“You must really be, seeing you are so alike.”

“Yes, we broke out of the same shell. We both came from the same rotten egg.”

Greta laughs, and Havard asks if Armann is still in the living room.

“Of course Armann is still there,” she says. “Hey, I'm going to fetch my glass.”

She is going to fetch her glass, I tell myself, and Havard asks if there is enough red wine left for a second glass. She says she thinks so, stands up from the chair, and goes out.

“Don't be long, I'm so terribly frightened of the dark,” he shouts after her.

I hear her open a zip in the living room and then she seems to be rummaging about; I imagine her with her hand in her bag looking for something. I don't dare to imagine what she needs from her bag. Havard moves about in the bed. I notice his underwear on the floor and recall one morning at Brooke Road.

It was our third or fourth day in England. I woke up about nine o'clock. The sun was shining and, as I couldn't get back to sleep, I went down into the kitchen to fetch some Alka-Seltzer. We had been drinking whisky and beer late into the night, and I hadn't gone to sleep until six. Havard was still wide awake at the time, and he was playing music from Orn's or Osk's collection. When I entered the kitchen in the morning, newly wakened, I saw him standing out in the garden in his underwear—I was sure he hadn't gone to sleep—and he was holding Moby, the albino guinea pig. There were two empty beer cans beside the sink. He didn't see me there beside the window; he had his back towards me, and he lifted the guinea pig up like he was holding a trophy. Then he cuddled the animal and seemed to be stroking it. I remember the music coming from the living room; it was something similar to what he had been playing when I went to sleep earlier that morning. He seemed to be about to put the guinea pig down, and when he turned round suddenly I ducked back behind the wall by the window. But when I looked out again I saw that he hadn't put the animal down yet. Now he was holding it at arm's length and was talking to it. Then he cuddled it up to his naked chest. When he put it gently down on the pavement, I grabbed hold of the Alka-Seltzer box and rushed back upstairs to the bathroom to get a glass of water.