Yrsa Sigurðardóttir - The Silence of the Sea

‘Nothing will change. So you say.’ The woman shook herself and shivered. ‘But nothing will be the same either.’ Thóra didn’t reply. The woman was quite right; of course nothing would be like it was before.

Her husband coughed and turned his head to look out of the window. ‘What happened to the girls? I notice you avoided mentioning them but I need to know. As little as I want to.’

Thóra stared down at the table. ‘It’s not clear. Snævar flatly denies having laid a finger on them and swears that they simply vanished. He says he searched high and low for them but with no success. As matters stand, nobody knows if he’s lying, but the yacht did circle for a while as if looking for something that had fallen overboard and the location fits more or less with his statement.’

‘What about Karítas? Didn’t he tell her during their phone call?’ Margeir stared even more intently out of the window. The street was empty and there were no passing cars. It was as if the neighbourhood had come to a standstill out of consideration for the old couple’s loss.

‘Karítas backs him up. She says he told her the girls had simply vanished.’

‘Do you believe that?’

‘No, I don’t. But then no one will ask my opinion.’

‘God will ask.’ The woman fumbled under her cardigan and her hand reappeared clutching a small silver cross on a modest chain. ‘And lies won’t help them then.’

Shortly after this Thóra took her leave, promising to ring at the end of the week, or earlier if anything new emerged. On her way out she passed the door of the sitting room where Sigga Dögg sat on the floor watching a cartoon. Tom and Jerry were involved in a chase around a boat that rocked violently, causing the cat more problems than the mouse. The episode was almost over and as Thóra stood watching the child, both cat and mouse fell overboard. They splashed around in the sea, still fighting, their open mouths full of water. Next the pair appeared clad in white robes, complete with wings and halos, floating up from the surface of the sea to heaven; the mouse beaming from ear to ear, the cat looking thoroughly fed up. Perhaps this was the explanation for the child’s words about her sisters and parents. She knew they had been on a boat and when they didn’t come home, she may well have concluded that they had gone the same way as poor old Tom and Jerry.

‘They used to be Arna and Bylgja’s favourite programmes. I’m afraid the tape will wear out.’ Sigrídur smiled faintly. ‘Not that my granddaughters will mind now.’

Sigga Dögg looked round at the sound of her grandmother’s voice. She studied the two women calmly for a moment, then turned back to the screen. The next episode was starting; life went on, though some had fallen by the wayside.

On the way home Thóra couldn’t stop thinking about this shattered family and the fate of the two little girls, which would perhaps never be known. Although not religious, she sent a silent prayer of thanks to the higher powers for her own family’s good fortune. Yet the thought of Gylfi’s imminent adventures in Norway filled her with trepidation, reminding her that nothing could be taken for granted. The future could never be pinned down. Abruptly, she decided against going back to the office where Bella was sitting glued to the computer with its new high-speed connection. Instead, she turned the car and drove to Orri’s nursery school. She would pick him up early and enjoy the rest of the day with him. The sun peeped out from behind the clouds and suddenly the world seemed a brighter place.

‘He’s not coming.’ Bylgja had long since stopped crying. Her cheeks were dry, not because the flow of tears had ceased but because the fringed hem of the dress that was pressing, cool and soft, against her face had soaked them up as they fell. It was almost as if she hadn’t cried at all and this made her feel even worse. As if she had betrayed Daddy and didn’t care about him. ‘What do we do if he doesn’t come? He didn’t tell us.’

Arna shifted in the narrow space and the dresses rustled as if joining in with their whispering. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Should we stay here until the bad man finds us?’ Bylgja adjusted her position as well since Arna’s elbow was now sticking into her stomach. She didn’t care about the discomfort; they would rather be squashed up together than alone in separate wardrobes.

‘I don’t know. Maybe he won’t find us.’

‘He’ll find us if he looks.’

‘Maybe he isn’t looking for us.’ Arna sounded as if she was still crying.

‘Maybe.’ Bylgja was all for closing her eyes and concentrating on something other than the trouble they were in. She wanted to think about the holiday cottage her mother had been dreaming of, and the advertisements she sometimes let them study with her to help her choose which one they would buy if they were incredibly rich. If she closed her eyes and put her hands over her ears she could imagine they were sitting together at the kitchen table, looking through the papers in search of the nicest. A cottage with a deck, and little trees that would be big by the time she and Arna were grown up. But even when she shut out all she could see and hear in the dark cupboard, she couldn’t block out the heaving motion of the yacht and that ruined everything. ‘Are you thinking about Mummy?’

‘Yes.’ Arna started wriggling again.

‘Do you think the bad man has thrown her in the sea?’ Arna didn’t reply. ‘You must answer. I want to hear you talk.’

‘I can’t talk about Mummy in the sea.’ Arna sniffed. The dress next to her was probably covered in wet patches. ‘Let’s talk about something else.’

‘I want to get out of this cupboard.’ Bylgja groped for her glasses, which she thought she had put on the floor. ‘I feel awful and I want to look for Daddy.’

‘But what about the bad man?’

‘Perhaps there is no bad man. Perhaps it was all a mistake and Daddy’s forgotten about us and is talking to Thráinn and Halli. Remember how tired he was? I bet he’s fallen asleep. I’m so fed up with whispering. And maybe we’ll use up all the air in the cupboard and suffocate.’ It grew suddenly brighter and Bylgja put her hands over her eyes: Arna had opened the door. They scrambled out and after a moment the light stopped hurting their eyes.

‘What shall we do?’ whispered Arna. She glanced around, her gaze lingering on the signs of their father. A shirt on the chair by the dressing table, the briefcase on the floor and the book he had been reading at the beginning of the voyage, which was lying face down on the bedside table. She didn’t want to think about whether he would ever finish it. Even the Coke can he had been drinking from produced a peculiar sensation in her tummy, a sharp pain that travelled upwards as if aiming for her heart. ‘Let’s go. Let’s go out on deck.’

‘Do you think it would be all right?’ Bylgja suddenly regretted being responsible for making them leave the cramped interior of the wardrobe. They had been safe in there. For the moment, at least.

‘Yes. I think so. Remember, we went out on deck with Daddy when he was tired and it was all right then. I don’t think he’d tell us off.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes. We can always come back down here if we want to.’ Arna went over to their father’s bedside table, picked up his paperback, folded over the corner of the page and closed it. ‘I’m going to take Daddy his book.’

‘If we find him.’ Bylgja squinted. She thought about making another attempt to locate her glasses but decided against it. It wasn’t worth it. She didn’t want to see anything on this horrible ship, so she’d be better off without them. She envied Arna for thinking of taking the book and looked around for something she could bring along. ‘I’ll take his briefcase. He’ll be glad to have that too.’