The Day is Dark (31 page)

Now Matthew stirred slightly as he sensed Thóra’s presence. ‘What time is it? I’m dying of hunger.’

Thóra sat on the edge of the bed and patted his belly. ‘It’s late. We missed supper.’

Matthew opened one eye. ‘Are you kidding?’ Thóra shook her head. Matthew shut his eye again and rearranged his pillow. ‘Then I’ll just die here.’

‘There must be something available. It’s not as if we can pop over to the café next door and have a hot dog. The hotel must have sandwiches or something.’ Thóra poked him in the ribs. ‘Come on, let’s check it out, have a snack and then go to sleep. Or to bed, anyway. You won’t regret it.’

‘Sounds good.’ Matthew sat up. ‘Can I shower?’

‘Sorry. I think I’ve used up all the hot water on the east coast of Greenland. Maybe in the whole country.’ Thóra stood up. Her entire body and soul were feeling much more refreshed. ‘We won’t be long, and then you can hop in the shower afterwards.’ She knew he’d been craving a bath for days. ‘We’ll be really quick. I promise.’

The food wasn’t all that good, but Matthew and Thóra were so hungry that they gulped it down as if they hadn’t seen anything edible for days. The dining room had been empty so they’d thrown themselves on the mercy of the bartender, who had his hands full serving drinks to Alvar, Bella and Eyjólfur. The young man very helpfully offered to check whether there was anything to eat in the kitchen. He returned with five pots of yoghurt, a banana, a loaf of bread and some slices of ham. He apologised that there were no leftovers remaining from supper, but Thóra thought this was fair enough under the circumstances.

After Thóra had scraped the last bit of yoghurt from her second pot and only the end crust was left of the bread, she suddenly found she was craving alcohol. ‘Let’s go over to the bar, I need a drink.’

‘What about my shower?’ Matthew was still finishing his third bowl of yoghurt. ‘I have to wash. I’m starting to disgust myself.’ He looked towards the bar where their three colleagues were sitting. ‘You go ahead while I go up and shower. I’ll come back down when I’m finished. You’ll be one glass ahead of me but I’ll catch up.’ He put down his teaspoon and stood up. ‘I’ll be in much better shape once I’m clean.’

Thóra went over and sat next to Eyjólfur. Bella was between him and Alvar, and Thóra was glad not to be too close to the latter. He looked like he was brooding, and was downing beer at impressive speed. ‘You’re looking very lovely,’ said Eyjólfur, glancing appreciatively at Thóra’s legs as she lifted herself onto the high stool. ‘I’d forgotten there was other clothing besides trousers.’

Thóra did not appreciate his drawing attention to her outfit. She ordered a glass of white wine. ‘Aren’t you all tired?’ she asked. ‘I can’t remember ever having felt so exhausted.’

‘Then you haven’t lived much,’ muttered Alvar, without looking at her. He was staring straight ahead at the bottles of alcohol on the shelves behind the bar, apparently hypnotized by the gleam of the glass. ‘Was that meant to be an insult?’ said Eyjólfur. He nudged Thóra with his elbow. ‘Aren’t you going to fight back?’

‘Oh, I can’t be bothered.’ Thóra had no interest in bickering with a foul-tempered drunk in some bar in Greenland. ‘Do you recall whether Oddný Hildur had two dental crowns in her lower jaw?’

‘Are you kidding?’ Eyjólfur put down his glass. He could see Thóra’s question had been sincere. ‘No, but I didn’t really ever have a close look at her teeth.’

‘Would you be able to tell?’ Bella interrupted, yawning. ‘I mean, you can often see someone’s top teeth, but not always the bottom ones.’

Of course, thought Thóra, dental implants were more noticeable when people smiled and revealed the gums above them. In fact she remembered having been at a club in Ibiza when she was younger, where the UV lighting used on the dance floor had made it advisable for people with porcelain crowns to smile as little as possible. ‘You never went with her to a club or anything like that?’

Eyjólfur laughed. ‘Me at a club with Oddný Hildur? Christ, no. I never saw her outside of work.’ His smile vanished. ‘What sort of question is that, anyway? Did they find some teeth?’

‘No, no. I’m just curious.’ The white wine was ice-cold and was going down very easily. It was a shame there wasn’t any decent food to have with it. ‘Where are Friðrikka and Finnbogi?’ She wanted to drop the subject of the teeth with him, but also to find out whether she would get a chance to ask Friðrikka about them. She’d have to be more subtle than she’d been just now, though, so Friðrikka wouldn’t read anything into the question.

‘The doctor was going to go to bed, but Friðrikka went for a walk.’ Alvar emptied a nearly half-full glass in one go and ordered another beer. Thóra was willing to bet that it was his fifth or sixth in a row. He was talking up a storm, compared to how quiet he was normally.

‘A walk?’ asked Thóra in surprise. ‘It’s the middle of the night. Is it even possible to take walks here? And why hasn’t she come back?’

Eyjólfur leaned round on the bar to look Alvar in the face. ‘You spoke to her – what time did she leave?’

Alvar seemed upset at having to take part in the conversation just when the bartender had poured him a brand new beer. ‘Not that long ago. Half an hour, an hour. She just wanted to have a stroll in the area around the hotel. There’s a full moon and the sky is clear, so she’s hardly in any danger.’ He spoke in a rush, gulping at his beer as soon as he’d finished. Half the liquid in the glass disappeared into him.

‘Aren’t you on the rescue squad?’ said Bella scornfully. ‘I wouldn’t call you if I got lost.’

‘And I wouldn’t search for you if you did.’ Alvar slammed the glass down on the bar. It looked like he really wanted to storm off in a huff, but that would have meant leaving the bar. So he just sat there stiffly. Bella was unconcerned. ‘Maybe she came back without us noticing.’ She drew a finger down her damp glass, leaving a broad streak on its slippery surface.

‘Maybe.’ Eyjólfur seemed sceptical. ‘God, I’m dying to get online. There’s no wireless or DSL connection in the rooms but the girl in reception pointed me to a computer with an Internet connection in the lobby. This is the longest I’ve been offline since the Internet was invented, I think.’

‘Were you even born then?’ Thóra sipped her wine. She was looking forward to Matthew’s return; the conversation at the bar could only improve once he joined in. She carried on before Eyjólfur could defend himself. ‘Did you definitely make a copy of the entire computer system?’

‘Yes, and the contents of most of the PCs. It’ll be almost like sitting in the office building at the camp except that you’ll have a view of something other than snow while you go over the data.’ Eyjólfur looked up at the ceiling. ‘I can’t wait to get home. Shouldn’t we just ignore this travel ban and take the next plane out of here? The cops are still at the site, so who’s going to stop us? It’s not as if we’ve done anything wrong.’

‘It isn’t the most popular airport in the world. I’m sure the police have let their colleagues there know that we aren’t allowed to leave the country.’ Thóra smiled at him. ‘Otherwise I’d be there like a shot too.’

The bartender suddenly stopped washing glasses in the sink behind the raised bar and looked towards reception. The four guests fell silent and turned to follow his gaze. They heard a door shut and a moment later Friðrikka appeared in the doorway, her cheeks flushed from the cold. She walked over to them and as she drew nearer they felt a cold draught. ‘I thought you’d all be asleep.’

‘And we thought you were lost.’ Eyjólfur lifted his glass and toasted her. ‘I see that the search parties are just as motivated as they were when Oddný Hildur disappeared.’

Friðrikka pulled off her gloves and stuck them in her jacket pocket. ‘When were you going to start the search, tomorrow morning?’ she said. ‘Or tomorrow night, even?’

‘People are hardly considered lost after half an hour or an hour.’ Alvar drew out each word. It seemed all that beer was starting to have an effect. ‘We would probably have gone to look for you before going to bed.’ Thóra saw from Friðrikka’s expression that this conversation was heading for trouble and she tapped on Eyjólfur’s back, since he had turned around on his stool so as not to miss anything. ‘Where is that computer?’

‘Are you leaving?’ Eyjólfur seemed frustrated. ‘The fun is just getting started.’ He pointed towards reception. ‘It’s out the front there.’ He gave her an inquisitive look. ‘Are you a blogger?’

Thóra almost laughed. If she had had any spare time outside of work and her home, she would take naps, not blog. ‘No, I was going to send my son an e-mail. It was so late when we arrived that I couldn’t phone home. I don’t have a blog.’

‘Okay. It just crossed my mind. Blogs can be pretty cool. Some of Berg Technology’s employees kept them, with news from the work site and personal stuff. I helped to set some of them up. Bjarki and Dóri’s was fucking genius. Homemade videos and stuff like that that’s really funny if you know them.’ He stopped, recalling that the men were probably dead, and hurriedly gave them the website address.

‘Tell Matthew where I am when he comes down.’ Thóra took her glass and gave Eyjólfur a parting pat on the shoulder. Friðrikka stood awkwardly at the bar, obviously debating whether to stay or go, then as Thóra left the bar she decided to sit in her newly vacated chair.

The computer in the lobby was old and the connection slow, but Thóra managed to get into her e-mail and send Gylfi a message saying that she hoped to be home soon. She didn’t mention the body or the bones, though it probably wouldn’t have hurt to do so. After sending the message she tried to get onto the drillers’ blog. Despite the wavering and flickering on the screen at every touch of the mouse Thóra became completely absorbed in the site, until Matthew laid his hand on her shoulder and asked how it was going. She could smell his aftershave, with an undertone of soap, and longed to go back with him to their room. But first she had to show him what she’d found on the blog.

Unfortunately, it couldn’t wait.

Chapter 25

22 March 2008

The fourth step would be difficult this time. In his previous attempts to dry out Arnar had found this stage on his road to recovery fairly easy. But now things were different. ‘We made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves,’ the step stated. Now he had to account for a far more serious issue than having defaulted on debts, disappointed his parents, betrayed his friends and colleagues and let his addiction negatively affect his work. To whom could he entrust this? God? Arnar was not convinced He existed. Yet he had accepted that there was some power that was superior to him, since it was impossible for him to become healthy again without believing that. Suddenly the thought struck him that perhaps there was no benevolent God in the universe, only evil. If so, Arnar had joined forces with the Devil and could have no hope of salvation, either in this life or in whatever might come after death.

He had once slaved his way through Dante’s
Divine Comedy
. Although he hadn’t understood the work thoroughly – or its strange title – it had had a great effect on him. Many of the poet’s images of life after death were still embedded in his mind; for example, the fate of false prophets. They had offended God by pretending to be able to foresee the future and their heads were turned in reverse; in addition to this they wept so much that they were blinded by their own tears. Arnar had admittedly never been guilty of that, but he felt he knew exactly where he would end up in Dante’s Hell. Until now he had thought it certain that he would be placed deep in the Seventh Circle of Hell, reserved for those guilty of sodomy; there he would wander a burning desert, trying unsuccessfully to protect himself from fire that rained from the sky. Now he realised he would end up even lower: in the Ninth Circle. This place was intended for those who had betrayed those closest to them. Arnar could not recall precisely how this circle was organised but he did remember that the souls there were trapped in a frozen lake; how much of their bodies was free of the ice depended upon whom they had betrayed.

As a mortal sinner he therefore had only two choices: fire or ice. At a glance he would prefer fire; though he trembled at the thought of either eternal cold or a sea of flames, at least in the latter he wouldn’t be as lonely as he’d be in the frozen lake, where no one could speak and the souls could only gaze helplessly at the other wretches stuck in the gleaming ice.
Comedy
was a strange name for a poem that was mostly so devoid of joy. Moreover, Arnar had trouble tallying this description of hell with Jesus’ having sacrificed himself on the cross for the sins of mankind. If Dante’s description had any truth to it, it would mean Christ’s sacrificial death had been for nothing. Perhaps the poet had felt like Arnar when he wrote the poem, certain that the sun would never rise again.

No, Arnar could think of no one to whom he could entrust this. In terms of who would be chosen to help him through the steps, it changed nothing. He detested himself when he thought about this, and he couldn’t bear the thought of seeing that same disgust kindled in the eyes of someone else. He had painted himself into a corner; if he did not account for himself he would be unable to free himself from the claws of Bacchus. The memory of what he had done would eat at him from within and tear down his flimsy defences against his addiction. There were two choices remaining to him, both of them bad: to come clean and reap contempt and condemnation, or to go grovelling back to alcohol like a dog in the dirt. Whichever he chose, the reckoning or the bottle, it was clear he had many more sleepless nights to come. Once again the best solution seemed to be to kill himself, like a man. This gave him a third choice of location in Dante’s Hell: in the middle of the Seventh Circle, where he would become a thorn bush fed upon by Harpies, winged beings with the heads of maidens.

Arnar laughed out loud in his dark, lonely room. What was wrong with him? Did he really think that he would gain peace of mind by contemplating an old poem; free himself from guilt over his treachery and lust for revenge? He emitted a dry and mirthless laugh, turned on his side and adjusted his pillow. How far could one go in the name of revenge? Were there any unwritten rules or ethical guidelines he had missed finding out about? Hardly. Right now he could think of two proverbs in connection with revenge. One was in line with what he had done – an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth – but the other was entirely the opposite; to turn the other cheek. The former had its origin in mankind’s first attempts to codify laws in writing, with the Hammurabi Code, while the latter was from the New Testament. Nearly 2,000 years separated these two approaches and another 2,000 had passed without any new options being provided. It must be high time to invent a new phrase. It was hard to tell how it would be worded, but Arnar suspected that his actions would nonetheless have contravened it.