Pets (3 page)

They set off again along Saebraut in the direction of Breidholt. When they were about to turn into Vesturberg he stopped the driver and told him to carry on until they reached a certain block of flats in the Sudurholar area. He explained to him that he was going to check if his friend was at home and he wanted the driver to wait. The driver asked him to leave the plastic bag in the car. He asked the driver if he didn't trust him and the latter replied that that wasn't the issue, no one got out of his car without paying. He said OK but how could he trust the driver, he could just drive away, maybe his wallet was in the bag—besides the contents of the bag were worth more than a taxi fare, considerably more. The driver kept silent. He lifted the bag and gave it a shake, as if he was demonstrating that it was a token of mutual trust, then he put it down on the seat again and got out of the car.

He ran up the steps which led to the balconies on the second floor, a sort of outdoor staircase, from which one had access to the flats in the building. He stopped for a moment outside the second door from the end but didn't knock, then he went on to the furthest apartment and rang the bell. A young woman came to the door. She was wearing a long black T-shirt and tight leggings. He said good morning and asked if Hinrik, his old pal Rikki, was at home. The woman ran her eyes up his body and shook her head, he was at work. Then he asked if Rikki was no longer playing in a band, he had expected him to be at home in the morning, but the woman repeated that he was at work, he only played on weekends now. She was getting cold standing in the doorway and was about to shut the door. He stopped her by putting his palm up in the air, gave a quick glance back towards the taxi in the parking lot below, and asked if he could use her toilet. He explained that he was in a taxi and needed to pee before he set off again. The woman looked him straight in the face, then lowered her gaze and looked away before she asked how he knew Hinrik, she wasn't used to letting strangers in. He said then that they were old friends, he had even come here before, maybe she didn't remember him but he had been there just the same, though it could have been before she met Hinrik. She repeated that she didn't like letting strangers in but gave in when he pointed to the taxi waiting for him. He was on his way back downtown.

She stepped back into the hall to let him pass, and he nodded, stepped in, and offered to take off his shoes. She told him not to bother, it wasn't necessary, but he said he didn't want to leave dirty footprints. She told him where to find the toilet, he had to go along the corridor there and it was the middle door.

He disappeared into the bathroom and shut the door. Then he raised the toilet seat and looked in the mirror above the sink. He ran his fingers through his thick hair and noticed that the mirror was the door to a cupboard. He opened the cupboard and looked at the selection of perfume, aftershave, toothbrushes, and medicine. He took out a plastic container of codeine, flicked off the lid, sniffed the contents and stuffed four pills into the breast pocket of his jacket. He ran his finger over other pill jars in the cupboard and before he closed the door he shook a little aftershave into his hand and patted it on to his cheeks and neck. Next he unzipped the fly of his pants, pulled out his penis, and let the dark stream pour straight down like a waterfall into the toilet bowl. He said out loud that was good, as always; there wasn't much that could compete with it. Then in a lower voice, almost whispering, he added: “Especially in strange houses.”

7

The captain's voice introduced itself over the loudspeaker. To begin with it sounded as if he was only going to chat to the passengers, but then he began to relate various facts concerning the flight, for instance that we were flying over Scotland, at a height of thirty thousand feet and there were twenty-five degrees of frost outside.

“That's not very warm,” Armann commented. Yet I sensed that he was quite happy with the temperature in these parts, besides it was in keeping with the clothes he was wearing. “What would that be in Fahrenheit?” he added.

I told him I didn't know, maybe about twice as high, and at that moment Armann grabbed the opportunity that I was afraid he had been waiting for. He had caught me in a trap that I wouldn't be able to get out of for the rest of the trip.

“Yes, but that is just it,” he said and stuffed the Opal box back in his breast pocket, this time so it would be easier to pull out again. “Shouldn't one say ‘twice as
low
'? That's the thing with frost and heat; as soon as the frost increases the heat goes down, isn't that so?”

I felt like telling him to discuss it with the captain but refrained. It wasn't such a terrific sacrifice spending three hours of one's lifetime on something in which one hadn't the slightest interest. I reminded myself that what doesn't kill a man should harden him, and with that in mind I launched into the discussion on frost and temperature, but said I hadn't given it much thought, at least not specifically.

“It is exactly one of the things we make mistakes about,” Armann said. I expected him to pass me his Opal box. “In reality the cold never goes up.” When he had uttered these words, he bent forward a little and glanced at me, as if he was trying to judge my level of intelligence or observation.

“Really?” I asked dubiously, and consoled myself with the thought that it took much less energy participating in something boring than trying to struggle against it, especially when there was no possibility of avoiding it.

“Yes, it is just like that,” Armann said and raised his index finger to emphasize the point. “Heat rises on the other hand. When there are heat waves old people die in their cars, even people my age—except, of course, I don't have a car—but as soon as one moves to a colder part of the world, as for instance where we are now, the situation is reversed: the cold actually goes down as the frost hardens.”

“No, are you sure about that?” I interrupted. I thought it rather unlikely that he really believed what he was stating.

“Yes,” he said, but he took time to reconsider his earlier statement. “What I mean is that the more degrees of frost that are added, the lower the heat goes, and as a result the temperature goes down. In other words: the frost goes down.”

I was going to object but decided to see just how he would get himself out of this dilemma. I gave him my full attention to show him I expected an explanation.

“We can take a clear example from everyday life,” he continued and it was quite obvious that he was waiting impatiently for the flight attendant, who had started to serve drinks, to reach us. “Let's imagine a particular person, one man in a two-room flat. Another man comes in the door and the number of persons in the flat goes up; the number of inhabitants increases but the space allotted to each one diminishes, that is if we imagine that both of them are going to live in the flat.”

“Now wait a minute.”

“Otherwise they aren't inhabitants, as we understand the word,” he added hastily.

“I wasn't referring to that.”

“Let's just imagine that these two individuals have bought the flat together. They were maybe inclined that way, if you know what I mean.”

“But you are talking about two completely different concepts,” I said. “Numbers and space. One can't compare numbers and space, especially when you are trying to support your proposition that cold can't go up, just go down.”

I thought that he would begin to realize the frivolity of the conversation and give up. But he stubbornly carried on.

“Yes, you can,” he said, “just as hot and cold are completely different concepts. It's feasible that there are no other entities in the world as strongly opposed as heat and cold. One goes up while the other goes down.”

“Not at the same time,” I objected. “Though the temperature goes up somewhere, that doesn't mean that the cold goes down at the same time. Unless you mean that while the heat goes up in Bolivia, for example, there will be more frost in Norway, or something like that.”

“That is just what I mean,” Armann replied, very pleased with himself. “Just like the example with the flat; the greater the number of inhabitants the less space there will be.” His serious expression—and the pause in his argument—hinted that we had reached a certain level of agreement in our discussion, “a certain landing,” if one could talk in those terms. But, even though the discussion had come to a close, I couldn't resist adding one more comment.

“But the temperature goes down too,” I said and emphasized the word
down.

“Is that so?” Armann said. I couldn't make out whether his question revealed his lack of interest or lack of confidence.

“You can't deny it,” I said.

“Only up to a certain level,” he answered. “When the temperature is so low that it reaches freezing point, then it begins to
. . .
” He hesitated, and, in order to gain time to think, he waved to the flight attendant, who was still too far away to be of any assistance.

I, for my part, began to wonder, as a result of our conversation, what decision the captain would take when the plane approached Keflavik airport. Would he go up or down? Would we, Armann and I, and the rest of the passengers, succeed in landing?

8

When he emerged from the bathroom, he stayed on the threshold for a little while, lifted his hands up to his face to sniff them, then took hold of the doorknob without turning around, and quietly closed the door. He looked about for the woman, but when he didn't catch sight of her, he went into the next room. The door was partly open, and, after giving it a gentle push, it revealed a child's bedroom. He smiled and looked around the colorful little room; it was full of toddlers' toys which were jumbled together with things that belonged to a slightly older child, obviously a boy. Then he walked over to a small desk with a computer on top. The computer seemed to be too big for the table; there wasn't room for anything else on it. He pressed a letter on the keyboard and a soldier in a camouflage uniform—holding a big machine gun, with a helmet on his head and a fierce, pitiless expression on his face—popped up. He was startled. He jerked his hands back and shook them, like he was also holding a vibrating machine gun, though he didn't add the appropriate sound effects. Then he tapped the computer, as if he was patting a child on the head, before turning to the large birdcage beside the desk.

There were two little budgies in the cage. He bent down to it, tapped on the rails, and clicked with his tongue in an attempt to attract their attention. The birds just looked at him, nothing more; they seemed completely uninterested. He picked up a yellow pencil which was lying on the desk beside the computer, poked it carefully in between the bars of the cage, and waggled it, but the birds took no notice. So he poked the pencil into the stomach of one of the birds. That resulted in both of them flying up with loud squawks; they seemed to crash into each other or the sides of the cage. It was difficult to see exactly what they were doing, but the noise they produced brought Hinrik's frightened wife running into the room and she asked him what on earth was going on. He answered that he had unexpectedly found himself in this room; he had no doubt gone in the wrong direction when he came out of the bathroom. The birds seemed to have calmed down.

The woman directed him out into the hall. While he followed her, he praised the child for his attractive bedroom, or were there perhaps two children, he had noticed that there were bunks in the room. At least they were animal lovers, it was years since he had seen a budgie in a cage. She didn't reply, just waited by the hall door with her arms crossed. He walked into the hall, and when he bent over his shoes he seemed to remember something suddenly. He straightened up and asked the woman if he could make one phone call, he needed to see if another friend of his was at home before he set off again in the taxi. She sighed impatiently, said something about it being quite sufficient that he had been allowed to use the toilet, she wasn't sure that it was normal allowing some stranger to come in, he must be able to understand that. He said he did, of course she should never open the door to a stranger, but, as he and Rikki were such good friends, she could trust him one hundred percent. It was obvious from the expression on the woman's face that she didn't quite know how she should react to this last comment, but after thinking a little, staring worriedly at the floor, and puffing as if she was exhaling cigarette smoke, she gave in and said he could make one call, but it had to be short. She was busy, had no time for this. He thanked her.

As he picked up the receiver, he called out to her that he just had to dial information first; he wasn't quite sure of the number. When he got through to the operator, he asked for the number of Emil S. Halldorsson, Grettisgata something or other, he wasn't quite sure what the number was. While he was pressing the numbers that he had been given, there was a loud knock on the front door and the woman went to answer it, swearing under her breath that there was no peace here at home, during lunchtime in the middle of the week. The cab driver stood on the doorstep and asked the woman politely if his passenger was by any chance still inside. She said he was coming, he was just making a phone call.

He had let the phone ring for a good while without getting any reply, and when he came back and saw the taxi driver in the doorway, he smiled and said well, well, so he had come to fetch him. The driver said he had just wanted to check if he had disappeared off the face of the earth. While he put on his shoes he thanked the woman warmly, he had expected such kindness from the wife of his friend Hinrik, who was such a fine fellow. His last words were that no one had answered at his friend's house, he was no doubt working, just like poor old Rikki, and then he followed the driver down to the parking lot. Once inside the car, he said he wanted to go down to Austurstraeti, where the driver would be rid of him. He wouldn't have to worry about him any more, at least not for the rest of that day. He took the leather-bound book out of the plastic bag and was busy turning over the pages as the taxi drove out of the car park and along the road.