Yrsa Sigurdardottir - Someone to Watch Over Me

As Svava entered the room she noticed something odd. The sterile smell that generally overwhelmed everything was contaminated with what smelt like body odour. She went to the girl’s bedside and saw that her forehead was damp. Grabbing a flannel from the bedside table, she wiped off the girl’s brow before laying her hand across it to check whether she might have a temperature. This didn’t seem to be the case; the girl was rather cold to the touch, if anything. Still, there was something wrong, because the girl’s eyes were wide open and moving back and forth as if she were having some kind of attack. Maybe she was suffering from cramps, though of course her body lay motionless, as her muscles were no longer under her brain’s control. Her EKG showed a rapid pulse, far too rapid, although her systolic and diastolic blood pressure readings appeared normal. If the girl was simply feeling off colour she might be a bit panicky. Svava had plenty of experience in dealing with the physically disabled, but it was rare to see someone this seriously affected, who was unable to express herself except with her eyes.

‘Did you have a bad dream?’ Svava leaned closer to the girl’s face and followed her eyes closely. She thought she’d been told that the girl would blink once for yes and twice for no but had never tested this out, so it could very well be the other way around; Svava couldn’t remember. The girl blinked twice and Svava decided to stick to her first instinct. ‘Are you thirsty?’ Again the girl blinked twice. Svava hoped she’d guessed correctly; it would have been awful if the girl had woken from a nightmare dying of thirst and was given nothing to relieve it. ‘Are you… are you awake?’ A ridiculous question, but it was the only one that Svava could think of to test out the answer. The girl blinked once. So Svava had got it right: one blink was yes and two was no. But although she had worked this out, they’d be here all night if she didn’t ask the right questions.

‘You can use the cards.’ She looked up and saw the locum nurse in the doorway. ‘I’ve worked in departments that take care of people as acute as her, and I learned a bit about communicating with them. There’s computer equipment that’s a lot more sophisticated, but nothing like that seems to have come with her, if she even knew how to use it.’ She looked at the girl, then back at Svava. ‘Not that I know how to use that kind of thing myself, so I wouldn’t have been much help. But I’m pretty good with the cards, which should be here somewhere…’

‘What cards?’ Nobody had told Svava.

The girl walked in and looked around. She bent down to the bedside table and picked up some plastic cards, each of which was divided into a number of squares with pictures or symbols. She positioned one of them directly in front of the girl’s face and started pointing. The girl used her eyes by blinking or looking left or right, seemingly directing the nurse to the right square. After doing this for some time and working through several cards, the girl suddenly shut both eyes and didn’t open them again. Only then did Svava dare to say anything – she hadn’t wanted to disturb this primitive, almost alien communication. ‘Did you make any sense of that?’

The woman shrugged and looked puzzled. ‘I’m no expert at this so I may have misunderstood her, but what I did get wasn’t exactly helpful.’

‘What did she say?’

‘Hot. Burning.’ The woman shrugged apologetically. ‘Something like that.’

‘Burning?’ Svava didn’t think the cards were much use if this was the result. ‘She doesn’t seem hot to the touch; but maybe I need to change her duvet for a lighter blanket.’ She put her hand on the motionless girl’s leg; yes, if anything, it felt rather chilly. ‘I guess the best thing would be to advise the morning shift to get a developmental therapist in to speak to her. Someone who can communicate with her properly.’ She looked at the young woman, who appeared to be sleeping – though that wasn’t very likely – and noticed that she had an earphone in one ear, plugged into the radio. She pulled it out carefully and held it up to her own ear. It was set to one of the talk-radio stations; she recognized the theme music that was playing. ‘Wouldn’t it be nicer for her to listen to something a bit lighter? Although whatever’s playing, it’s not ideal to sleep with that in your ear. Maybe she just wanted to block out the noise.’

After putting the plastic cards back in their place, they both walked out. Svava turned in the doorway and looked back at the young woman’s pale face and lank hair.

Hot. Burning.

What did she mean?

The residence stood on the edge of the neighbourhood – if it could be called a neighbourhood. Paved streets lay between empty plots that were still waiting for houses to be built on them. At one junction after another the street signs served as uncomfortable reminders of the area planners’ broken dreams. It would be a long time before any happy families drove down Mímisbrunn, Friggjarbrunn or any other ‘brunn’ to their new homes. If anyone was thinking about building there, they would either have to have a lot of spare cash or a loan at favourable terms, neither of which was available these days. It was as if Iceland’s castles were no longer in the sky but had crash-landed there on the outskirts of the city to remind them to be more cautious next time around. The roundabout that was meant to keep traffic flowing smoothly now did nothing more than complicate the route of anyone who strayed there by accident. Thóra stared out of the window while Matthew sat at the wheel, just as dumbfounded as she was by what they saw. As they turned a corner a single house appeared at the end of a cul-de-sac, but instead of lessening the surreal atmosphere, this solitary building only underlined it.

‘I guess the people who first noticed the fire must live there?’ Matthew nodded towards the house, which dis-appeared from view as they exited the roundabout. Thóra had told him all about the case before asking him to accompany her on this tour. She was more comfortable having him along; she didn’t know her way around the area, least of all in darkness and with a light snow falling. This way she could concentrate on finding the place without having to worry about driving. Also, it was just nice to have company.

‘Probably,’ she replied. ‘I don’t remember the name of the street, but there aren’t many houses to choose from.’

‘Are you going to pay them a visit?’ Matthew’s voice suggested he sincerely hoped not.

‘No. There was nothing unclear about their testimony, at least nothing that has any bearing on the verdict. They didn’t see anyone, they didn’t hear anything, they simply went to sleep and then woke to the smell of smoke when it was already too late. Who knows, maybe something will come to light that’ll change my mind, but I don’t think I have anything to discuss with them.’ Thóra squinted in order to read the sign ahead of them. ‘I think we should turn here.’

Matthew took his eyes off the road briefly and smiled at her. ‘You don’t say. It’s either turn here or drive off-road onto the open moor.’

‘Well, you never know,’ said Thóra. ‘According to the map I looked at, we should almost be there. We drive to the end of this road and from there a little dead-end street should lead off to the home.’

‘If it’s still standing,’ said Matthew. ‘Maybe it was demolished. The way you described the fire made it sound as if it was practically destroyed, there can’t have been much to restore.’

But the house had been neither demolished nor restored. A large concrete shell stood exactly where the map said it should, at the end of a short road that had probably only been built to serve this one house. That it should have been allocated a name was rather generous, since it looked much more like a driveway. A low fence marked the boundaries of the large plot surrounding the centre and a wide gate swung gently back and forth as if it wanted to invite them into its solitude.