Yrsa Sigurðardóttir - The Silence of the Sea

‘Daddy.’ Bylgja was tugging at the sleeve of his jumper. He had no idea how long she had been doing this but her insistence suggested it had been some time. His dry eyes stung as he looked down at her. Never in his life had he been as mentally and physically exhausted. ‘Daddy. Your lips are bleeding.’

Ægir licked his split lips and tasted iron. No wonder his mouth was dry; it was hours since he had drunk anything. This was not from any shortage of things to drink, as he had ferried a large supply of cans and bottled water down to the cabin before barricading himself inside with the girls. It was simply that he felt neither thirst nor hunger. There was no room for such sensations when his heart was in a thumbscrew that had been tightened to breaking point. His exhaustion didn’t help. How long had he been awake? He couldn’t remember. It didn’t matter. If it hadn’t been for the girls he would have thrown himself overboard and become one with the sea, but for their sake he couldn’t allow himself that way out. He had to ensure that they reached home safely. And for that he needed to stay awake, which is why they were now standing on deck in the last rays of the evening sunlight.

He had been so overcome by drowsiness in the airless cabin that a quick trip outside had been essential. He took in a great lungful of sea air and closed his eyes. Fog stole into his mind, as if a curtain had been drawn, concealing all the terrible thoughts that had been plaguing him so relentlessly.

‘Daddy. Daddy. You mustn’t fall asleep.’ He couldn’t tell which twin was speaking. ‘ Daddy !’

Ægir started and opened his eyes wide. The fresh air was supposed to have had the opposite effect, to wake him up and invigorate him, not knock him out. ‘I’m awake.’ It wasn’t working. He would have to find another way of warding off the beguiling drowsiness. If he had been able to trust Halli or Thráinn he would have asked if they had any stimulants in the medicine chest for use in emergencies. But this was merely another example of irrational thinking caused by fatigue, for if he could have trusted either of them, he wouldn’t need to keep vigil – they could take it in turns to rest. ‘Let’s go. That’s enough.’

‘Do we have to go below again?’ Arna’s face was a picture of dread. ‘What if the ship sinks?’

‘It won’t.’ Ægir was too tired to be kind or understanding. He was desperately sorry about this, aware that they needed him to be a father, not just a bodyguard, but he couldn’t perform both roles. He would trust himself to stay awake for the rest of the voyage but not to give free rein to his emotions. If he did he would fall to pieces. ‘Come on. We can watch a DVD.’

‘We’ve watched all the films we’re allowed to.’ Bylgja sounded close to tears but this did not stem from the limited selection of videos, as Ægir was well aware. He couldn’t discuss the loss of their mother with them now, though. Later he would have time to choose the right words and arrange them into sentences designed to provide solace for their grief. But for now such a task was beyond him. He had explained that their mother had died as the result of an accident and that they would have to be brave. He had stressed that they must bear up until they reached port but after that they would deal with their grief together and face the future without Mummy. It was all he was capable of in that moment. The tears had poured down their small cheeks but his daughters had shown a self-control far beyond their years. No doubt they sensed how much was at stake. ‘I don’t want to watch the grown-up films.’ Bylgja smothered a sob.

‘Then we’ll just watch the funniest one again.’ Ægir scanned their surroundings, suddenly apprehensive about going below. He hadn’t been aware of Thráinn or Halli on their way up, or during the short time they had been standing outside on the lower deck, in a corner where no one could creep up on them from behind. The yacht was making good speed, but that did not necessarily mean that the bridge was manned. The men could be anywhere and if either of them wanted to harm him and the girls, they would make an easy target on their way below. Then again, perhaps only one of the men was left alive. Or neither. He desperately regretted his foolish decision to leave the cabin. If anything, it had only exhausted him further.

‘We’ll have to find something else to do. If I watch another film I’ll start thinking. And I don’t want to think.’ Bylgja gazed at her father and he didn’t have the heart to contradict her. He felt exactly the same.

‘Would you like to do some colouring?’ If they said no to this, Ægir didn’t know what else to suggest. He was impressed he’d even managed to come up with that. His eyelids began to droop again.

‘Yes, please.’ Bylgja put her hand in his and squeezed. ‘Don’t go to sleep, Daddy.’

‘The colouring books aren’t in our cabin.’ Arna grabbed Ægir’s other hand and he tightened his grip in an attempt to communicate all he wanted to say to them.

‘Where are they?’

‘In the saloon.’ Arna broke off. ‘Where Mummy is.’ Her fingers writhed in his hand. ‘I want to see her. To kiss her goodbye. So does Bylgja.’ Their eyes, fixed on him, were full of anxiety and Ægir detected a hint of fear as well. It was hardly surprising in the circumstances, but what shocked him was that they appeared to be afraid of him. He must look like a madman.

‘We can’t go in there.’ He spoke without thinking. ‘It’s impossible. Anyway, Mummy isn’t there any more.’

‘Where is she then?’ Large, heavy tears began to slide down Bylgja’s cheeks again. He opened his mouth but no words came out. If Lára was no longer lying where she had died, he had no idea where her body could have been taken. He didn’t even know what Thráinn and Halli had done with Loftur’s body, but they were probably stored in the same place. He felt dizzy at the thought of them lying somewhere side by side, Lára and Loftur. ‘Will she be thrown in the sea, Daddy, like the woman we saw falling, or Loftur?’

‘No.’ It felt as if his insides had turned to stone and were now slowly cracking. Soon they would disintegrate, leaving nothing behind but dust. He almost looked forward to it.

‘We want to kiss her goodbye if she’s going to be thrown overboard, Daddy. Or we’ll never get another chance.’ The tears were still flowing silently, making Bylgja’s whole face shiny.

‘Come on.’ It was as if their words finally had a galvanising effect on him and abruptly his fatigue was gone. What had he been thinking of? Where was the gun, for example? And was he really going to leave the body of his wife, the mother of his daughters, to those psychopaths? Not in a million years.

‘What if the men come, Daddy?’ Arna dug her heels in but Ægir dragged her along with him regardless. ‘You said we should hide from them.’ She had started to cry too, but unlike her sister she allowed herself to make a noise. No doubt she was torn between fear for her own safety and the longing to see her mother one last time.

‘It’ll be all right. I promise.’ Ægir had to let go of their hands in order to open the door. Ushering the girls inside, he closed it quietly behind them. Then he laid a finger on his lips to hush them. The terror and grief in their faces were so heart-rending that he was hit by a sudden, urgent desire to seek out Halli and Thráinn and strangle them with his bare hands. He couldn’t give a damn if one of them was innocent. Or both; they had never finished exploring the lowest deck of the boat, so it was still theoretically possible that there was a stowaway on board. He led the girls cautiously up the two levels to the saloon and hesitated outside the door, unwilling to barge in when he didn’t know what might await them inside. The only way to find out would be to go out on deck and peer in through the window but it was still daylight so they would be exposed to anyone in the room. So he pushed the girls behind him and undid the catch on the door. Then he opened it slowly and calmly, without saying a word, and stuck his head through the gap, ready for anything.