Arnaldur Indriðason: Hypothermia

When Leonóra fell ill, it was as if the ground had been snatched from under María’s feet. It transformed her life just as much as it did Leonóra’s. She would not leave the patient’s side. Baldvin moved into the spare room while María slept beside her dying mother. She gave up work completely, cut off almost all contact with friends and became isolated in the home. Then one day a building contractor got in touch with them. He had discovered that Leonóra and María were the joint owners of a small plot of land in Kópavogur and wanted to buy it from them. The area was up and coming and the price of land there had rocketed. While they had known of the existence of this property, it had never crossed their minds that it would bring them any wealth and they had almost forgotten about it by the time the constructor made them the offer. The amount he wanted to pay for it was astronomical. Baldvin had never seen such figures in writing before. María did not turn a hair. She had hardly ever taken any interest in mundane matters and now all she cared about was her mother. She let Baldvin see to the sale. He contacted a lawyer who helped them agree on a price and payment schedule, stamp documents and register the sale. All of a sudden they were rich beyond Baldvin’s wildest dreams.

María became increasingly isolated as her mother’s health deteriorated, and during Leonóra’s final days she did not leave her room. Leonóra wanted to die at home. Her doctor paid regular visits to check on her morphine supply but no one else was allowed in to see her. Baldvin was sitting alone in the kitchen when Leonóra departed from this life. He heard María’s wail of grief from the bedroom and knew that it was all over.

María was incapable of social contact for weeks afterwards. She told Baldvin what had passed between them just before her mother died. They had agreed that Leonóra would give her a sign if what they called the afterlife existed.

‘So she told you about Proust?’ Erlendur interrupted.

Baldvin took a deep breath.

‘She was in a very agitated state, on sedatives and antidepressants, so she forgot about it immediately afterwards,’ he said. ‘I’m not proud of all the things I did – some of them were downright sordid, I know that, but what’s done can’t be undone.’

‘It started with Proust, did it?’

‘In Search of Lost Time,’ Baldvin confirmed. ‘Fitting title. It was always as if they were harking back to a lost time. I never understood it.’

‘What did you do?’

‘I took the first volume off the bookshelf one night last summer and left it on the floor.’

‘So you and Karólína had started laying traps for her?’

‘Yes,’ Baldvin said quietly. ‘It had started by then.’

He had not pulled the curtains and the cottage was cold and dark inside. Erlendur glanced into the living room where María’s life had ended.

‘Was it Karólína’s idea?’ he asked.

‘She began to wonder about the possibilities this might open up. She wanted to go much further than I did. I felt… I was prepared to help María if she wanted to explore these issues: the afterlife, life after death, to find out if there was anything on the other side. She had talked about it often enough, to me and, of course, most of all to Leonóra. She took great solace in the thought of an afterlife. She took solace in the idea that our existence here on Earth was not the end of everything. She preferred the idea that it was the beginning of something. She read books. Spent hours on the Internet. Researched the whole subject very thoroughly.’

‘So you didn’t want to go all the way, then?’

‘No, definitely not. And I didn’t.’

‘But you both exploited María’s vulnerability?’

‘It was a dirty trick, I know,’ Baldvin said. ‘I felt bad about it the whole time.’

‘But not bad enough to stop?’

‘I don’t know what I was thinking of. Karólína was on my back. She made all sorts of threats. Finally I agreed to try it. I was curious, too. What if María regained consciousness with memories of visions from the other side? What if all this talk of an afterlife was true?’

‘And what if you didn’t resuscitate her?’ Erlendur said. ‘Wasn’t that the main issue for you? The money?’

‘That too,’ Baldvin admitted. ‘It’s a strange feeling, having someone’s life in your hands. You’d know that if you were a doctor. It’s a strangely powerful feeling.’

One night Baldvin tiptoed into the living room, went to the bookcase, located Swann’s Way by Proust and placed it carefully on the floor. María was sleeping in their bed. He had given her a slightly larger dose of sleeping pills than normal. He also gave her other drugs that she knew nothing about, psychedelic drugs with disorientating properties. María trusted him to administer the drugs. He was her husband. And moreover a doctor.

He got back into bed with her. Karólína had suggested that she should play the role of the medium in their conspiracy. Baldvin was to encourage María to talk to a medium called Magdalena whom he had purportedly heard someone recommend. They knew María would make no enquiries. She was in no state to be suspicious of anything. She had blind faith in Baldvin.

She was almost too easy a prey.

Baldvin slept badly that night and, waking up before María in the morning, got out of bed and watched her sleep. She hadn’t slept so peacefully for weeks. He knew she would suffer a shock when she woke up and went into the living room. She had long given up sitting staring at the bookshelves, but he noticed that her gaze strayed to them many times a day. She had been waiting for a sign from Leonóra and now she would receive it. She would be too overwrought to suspect Baldvin. He doubted whether she even remembered telling him about the book. Now she would receive her confirmation.

He woke María gently before going into the kitchen. He heard her get up. It was a Saturday. Before long María appeared at the kitchen door.

‘Come here,’ she said. ‘Look what I’ve found!’

‘What?’ Baldvin asked.

‘She’s done it!’ María whispered. ‘The sign. Mum was going to choose that book. It’s lying on the floor. The book’s lying on the floor! She… she’s making contact.’

‘María…’

‘No, really.’

‘María… you shouldn’t…’

‘What?’

‘Did you find the book on the floor?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, of course, that’s…’

‘Look where it had opened,’ María said, leading him over to the book which was lying open on the floor.

She read the words of the verse aloud. He knew that it was by pure chance that the book had opened at that point when he put it on the floor.

‘The woods are black now,

yet still the sky is blue…’

‘Don’t you think it’s fitting?’ María said. ‘The woods are black now, yet still the sky is blue… That’s the message.’

‘María…’

‘She sent me a message just as she said she would. She sent the message.’

‘Of course it’s… It’s unbelievable. It’s what you had discussed and-’

‘Exactly like she said. It’s exactly what she said she’d do.’

Tears welled up in María’s eyes. Baldvin put his arms round her and led her to a chair. She was in a highly emotional state, wavering between sadness and joy, and in the following days she experienced more peace than she had for a long time; the sense of reconciliation that she had so long desired.

A week or so later Baldvin asked out of the blue:

‘Might it make sense to talk to a medium?’

Not long afterwards Karólína received María at the flat of a friend who was away in the Canary Islands. María had no idea that Baldvin and Karólína had studied drama together, let alone that they had been romantically involved. She and Karólína had never met before. María knew little about Baldvin’s friends from his years as a drama student.