Yrsa Sigurdardottir - Someone to Watch Over Me

‘She hurt… a lot. I don’t want to talk about it.’

‘Did she hurt you ? Was that why you hit her?’

‘No, she took the picture that Tryggvi gave me. It was mine but she took it from me and said that I couldn’t have it. I got angry and hit her with the broom. She deserved it. You can’t take what belongs to other people. That’s stealing.’

Thóra hurried to speak before Grímheiður chipped in with some motherly guidance and reprimanded her son for this long-past deed. ‘Did you get the picture back? What was it of?’ Perhaps Jakob had nicked a report or some other document from Tryggvi’s apartment; according to the descriptions given of him in the court papers, Tryggvi hadn’t communicated with other people.

‘Glódís never let me have it back. And I wanted to have it, it was a picture of a man shouting. And letters that I didn’t understand.’

‘Did Tryggvi give you the picture? Did he say anything to you?’

‘No, he just handed it to me. That’s just as much giving as if he’d said something. He couldn’t talk.’

This conversation appeared to be leading nowhere. Jakob’s attack on Glódís had apparently been prompted by frustration and irritation at the injustice that he thought he’d been done; first he’d been deprived of his home, and then his picture. ‘So Tryggvi was your friend. That’s nice.’

‘Poor Tryggvi.’ Jakob shut his eyes tightly and murmured something incomprehensible. Then he opened them wide again and stared at Thóra. ‘Look at me. Look at me.’

Thóra, who had hardly taken her eyes off him since he came in, held his gaze. ‘I’m looking, Jakob. Did you want to tell me something?’ The young man’s energy suddenly flagged and he seemed to go limp in his chair.

‘I want cake.’ His tone was a classic child’s whine. ‘I’m not answering any more questions.’

‘Just a little longer, Jakob. Then you can have cake.’ Thóra hoped she was right. She had no idea what rules they had about eating here; there could very well be a ban on eating between meals. She hoped not. ‘Who do you think set the centre on fire, Jakob? You can tell me and I won’t tell anyone. It would help me so much if you told me what you think, because you knew everyone.’ There was no need for her to put so much effort into this question, because the answer came immediately and categorically.

It was just a pity that it couldn’t be taken seriously. ‘It was an angel. An angel with a halo. A broken halo.’

‘Did you know this angel?’ Thóra hoped that he simply meant a good person, maybe someone he’d had a good experi-ence of.

‘No, I don’t know any angels. They all belong to God.’

‘If an angel set the residence on fire, then it wasn’t an angel from God.’ Thóra shook her head to make this clear to him. ‘Angels are good and those who are good don’t start fires and hurt people. How do you know it was an angel? Did it tell you that?’

‘No, I just know it was. I almost saw it completely and it was completely good. It wanted to make people stop crying.’ Despite the confusion about this character, Thóra was finally on track. Perhaps Jakob had seen who was responsible after all – if there was any truth to his words. ‘And what was the angel doing when you saw it?’

‘It was walking. With a suitcase. In my room. There was a bad smell, then it left.’

‘Where did it go, Jakob? Did it go up to heaven?’ Thóra wanted to know how crazy this story was. If he replied that the angel had ascended to God, it would be very difficult to take his story seriously. If not, there was a good chance that the glow from the fire or another illusion had caused the arsonist to appear to Jakob, in his drowsy state, to be an angel. Perhaps the suitcase had been the petrol can, for instance.

‘It just went. To the others.’ Jakob suddenly leaned over to his mother. ‘Then it got incredibly hot.’

‘Why didn’t you tell the police about this, Jakob? Then they could have punished the angel instead of you. They think you started the fire.’

‘I told them about the angel but they didn’t want to hear about it. They said I mustn’t lie.’

‘Wasn’t anyone nice to you when you were talking to the police?’ Thóra knew a therapist had been present during the interrogations, the transcripts of which she’d skimmed over, though she didn’t remember the person’s name. Of course, it could be that this angel story had come out in an interrogation that hadn’t been recorded, in which case the investigation couldn’t exactly be considered exhaustive.

‘No one was nice. Not once. They were all so angry with me.’ He shut his eyes and burrowed his head into his mother’s shoulder. Grímheiður’s face was awash with grief; going over the story again was clearly taking it out of her.

‘Were there only policemen with you?’

‘I don’t want to talk about this. I want to go home.’ Jakob didn’t open his eyes, and instead pressed closer to his mother, which pushed her head completely to the side.

‘Maybe you’ll get to go home, Jakob, if you keep being so helpful. I think you’re doing a very good job talking to me and I’m sure you’ll get some cake soon.’ She decided to leave further discussion of the interrogation for a better time. She still had to go through the files Ari had given her and the interrogation about the angel might be in there somewhere. ‘Was the suitcase green? Green like grass?’

‘I know exactly what colour green is,’ Jakob replied crossly, straightening up. His mother’s head immediately sprang back into its proper position. ‘But I don’t remember. It was so dark.’

‘But was it really big, or just like this?’ Thóra held her hands out to what she thought was the right size for a petrol can.

‘Like this. Not huge.’ He suddenly grinned broadly. ‘Mummy and I went to Spain once and we bought a suitcase. It was huge – like this, see.’ Now it was his turn to hold out his hands and he stretched them out as far as he could without falling off his chair. His poor mother – if Jakob was right about the size, the bag could have fitted both of them in and a few more people besides. Thóra sighed. If this was an indication of how many errors the young man’s statements might contain, he would never be a great witness.

‘Jakob. Tell me one thing. You must promise to be completely honest. Cross your heart.’ Thóra traced a cross over her heart, and he followed her example. ‘Did you set the residence on fire, maybe by accident?’ He shook his head. ‘Did you have a lighter or matches, or did you find any in the home?’ He shook his head again. ‘You’re not fibbing?’

Jakob shook his head a third time and now with such force that his hair stood out as he did so. ‘No. No. No. No. I was afraid of the angel and I left. I didn’t want him to take me with him to heaven. I wanted to go to Mummy.’

‘But did you take the suitcase with you?’

Jakob hesitated and looked at his mother. She continued to stroke his hand. ‘Just tell the truth, darling. You remember, the true stories are always the best ones.’

‘I took it. The angel had lost it and I didn’t want the fire to damage it. God might get angry at the angel and that wouldn’t be good. I put it outside so it wouldn’t burn.’

Bingo. Thóra believed him, despite all this talk of divine beings and other peculiarities in his story. ‘Good, Jakob. Thank you.’ She smiled at him and he returned the smile faintly, his slanted eyes crinkling above his chubby cheeks. ‘Did you hear the angel say anything, Jakob? To you or anyone else?’

‘No, but I couldn’t hear very well. There were so many people screaming and then there was an explosion. I think the angel left because of all the noise. Angels don’t like noise very much. That’s why it wanted to take people to heaven. They always cry so much on Earth.’