Yrsa Sigurdardottir - Someone to Watch Over Me

He didn’t reply, but stared at her as if he didn’t recognize his own mother. Berglind wasn’t even sure if he could see her. But he couldn’t be looking at something in between them, since there was nothing there. ‘What are you looking at? My jumper?’ At moments like these it was better to talk, even though no one might be listening except you.

‘I want to go in now.’ Pési continued to stare straight ahead, hypnotized, his expression unaltered. He was even paler than usual; the only colour in his face was two red spots high on his cheekbones. The ghostly white hands sticking out from his thin sleeves looked as if they belonged to an overgrown porcelain doll.

‘Come on, then.’ She held out her hand, but it failed to draw him out of his hypnotized state. ‘Let’s go in, Pési.’ She went up to him, bent down and took his little, ice-cold palm. Then she felt her shoulder-length hair electrify and rise slightly. Brittle, fragile leaves were lifted into the air and blew across the grass.

‘Who was driving, Mummy?’

Berglind squeezed his small hand. She was desperate to pull him inside with her, get away from the oppressive stench that lingered under the washing line and stand with him in the kitchen, surrounded by the fragrance of hot cocoa. There they could chat together comfortably about everything but the terrible event that had destroyed their lives. She would do anything to free herself from this burden, but didn’t know what this ‘anything’ might be. She and Halli hadn’t realized until too late what a good life they’d had before. They were broke, their journey to work was too long, Pési was ill too often, she was always getting split ends, the weather was awful… these complaints sounded ridiculous now, compared to what was to come after. A year ago she would have been at work, not standing half dressed out in her garden like an idiot, trying to coax her son back inside. Once again she wondered why things had escalated so slowly before becoming unbearable; although the spirit had manifested itself immediately after the accident, it wasn’t until around the time of the financial crash that they had begun to feel as if they couldn’t stand it any more and had turned to the church for help. In other words, nearly a year after the actual accident. Berglind had the feeling that something had pushed the haunting to another level, but it was difficult to say what that might have been. Nothing had changed in her and Halli’s behaviour during that time, and Pési had continued to be the same little angel, following a routine that developed gradually with his increasing maturity. Whatever had caused it, it must have been something external. The best Berglind could come up with was that the changes were connected to Magga’s family, but when she had spoken to their neighbour, who knew their circumstances, the woman hadn’t known anything useful. Magga’s family were still overwhelmed by grief and trying to come to terms with what had happened.

Suddenly Pési appeared to jump start. All at once he seemed to feel the cold, because when he started speaking his teeth chattered. ‘There was someone in the garden, Mummy. I saw them earlier.’

‘Come on. You’re going to get ill if you stay out a minute longer in this cold.’ Berglind herself was feeling the cold even more now, and she stamped her feet in an attempt to get rid of the chill. It had no effect.

‘There’s a bad smell when someone dies, Mummy.’ He looked at her but instead of staring into her eyes, he looked at her open mouth. ‘Not straight away, though.’

Forgetting her earlier idea of taking him carefully by the arm, Berglind grabbed her son by the shoulders, picked him up and ran inside with him.

The priest couldn’t hide the fact that he was keen to get going. He kept starting his sentences with the phrase Well, then , but then he lost his bottle, repeatedly missing his chance to make an exit. Had he done a better job of concealing his desire to be elsewhere, Jósteinn probably wouldn’t have done anything to delay his departure; but his opportunities to make other people suffer were decreasing, and he fully exploited every single one he came across. ‘I’m just not sure that God exists. And if he does, then I can’t understand the hand I’ve been dealt.’

‘You shouldn’t worry about it. God loves you just as much as those who have done no harm. You simply need to work at realizing that and thinking about what you’ve done. When you recognize how wrong it was, you will repent, and repentance is the first step to letting God into your life.’ It was far too hot in the room, just the way Jósteinn liked it, and small beads of sweat had formed on the priest’s forehead.

‘You misunderstand me. I’m not searching for God. I asked how he came up with the idea of creating a man like me if he’s as perfect as you’re making out.’

‘No one is entirely evil, Jósteinn. We’ve discussed this before.’ The priest glanced sideways at the window and the freedom waiting outside. ‘But we don’t need to go over it again. You’re a smart man, and I know you remember everything I tell you.’

‘So you’re suggesting that your God created me?’ Jósteinn stared down at his lap, at the legs of his ripped velour trousers that had once been dark wine-red but were now almost pink.

‘Yes, I am.’ The priest laid his hands on his knees and prepared to lever himself up from the low couch. ‘Well, then…’

‘But if he has created me and I am the way I am, I don’t understand it.’ Jósteinn shut his eyes and listened carefully. He had read that if one of your senses didn’t work, the others made up for it. He couldn’t hear anything more clearly, just the faint sound of the cook’s radio from out in the corridor, water running in a bathtub further back in the house and the priest’s shallow panting as he suffocated from the heat. Nothing he hadn’t heard while his eyes had been open. ‘Your God is either kind of incompetent, or exceptionally unkind.’

‘We can discuss this when we next meet, Jósteinn. I wasn’t born yesterday and I’m fully aware that you’re trying to provoke me. But it’s completely normal for you to be pondering this and the fact that you are is a good sign, in my view. It shows me that you’re on the right track. Salvation harms no one, believe me, and your heavy burden will be lifted if you seek salvation wholeheartedly.’

‘Oh, I thought you knew. I don’t have a soul to save.’ Jósteinn opened his eyes again and tried pinching his nose. He neither saw nor heard more clearly as a result. ‘Either I never had one, or I lost it somewhere along the way,’ he said nasally. Maybe he would have to do this for longer to experience heightened perception.

‘What nonsense, Jósteinn. Of course you have a soul. Everyone has a soul.’ When there was no answer, the priest’s face lit up like someone who’s glimpsed his opportunity. ‘Well, I think I should visit you more often, Jósteinn. Pay more attention to you. And your soul.’ He stood up.

‘How do you know I have a soul?’ Jósteinn let go of his nose, but continued staring at his knees.

‘Because, Jósteinn, although you attacked your friend Jakob, I understand that you’re helping him, spending your own money to help him and his mother. That’s not the action of a soulless man.’

Jósteinn smiled but didn’t look up. ‘What that is, is a huge misunderstanding.’

‘How so?’ The priest was still standing by the sofa.

‘I’m not doing it to be kind to Jakob. It’s not compassion that motivates me. Far from it.’ He smiled again before trying to cover both his eyes and his ears simultaneously. ‘I’m only doing it in order to inflict pain. To… harm.’ The smile vanished. ‘It’s quite possible to do that without having a knife.’