Yrsa Sigurðardóttir - I Remember You

‘Are you sure it’s a boy? I’m not sure, and I chased the kid for a long time.’ Garðar yawned. ‘But whether it’s a girl or a boy, there’s absolutely no way I’m going out into this weather to look for them. The child doesn’t want anything to do with us, and he or she will be able to get in somewhere if it’s cold enough. They’d have to be a total wimp if they couldn’t manage to tear a board off a window somewhere.’

Líf had stuck her head back down in the sleeping bag and had to raise her voice in order to be heard. ‘Don’t even think of feeling sorry for this child, Katrín. I don’t care whether you’re a teacher or not; that is not a viable option.’

Sometimes life could be simplified by rules and regulations, and this was one such example. Katrín listened to what Líf was saying and suppressed the waves of emotion that rose and fell inside her, as though she were riding on a boat. Now Líf only had to ban her from being afraid and Katrín would be just fine. She shut her eyes and for the first time since they had lain down she thought she might be able to fall asleep.

But then Putti started and gave a low growl. Katrín’s toes quivered along with the dog’s chest. She couldn’t resist the urge to sit up, even though it was dark and she didn’t want to see a single thing. ‘Why is he growling? Did you hear anything?’

Líf sunk herself deeper into her sleeping bag, emitting a low cry that the down filling muffled even further. Garðar sighed. ‘This dog is hopeless. He’s just growling because he wants something to eat. Or needs to pee. He’s never needed to hear anything to make noise.’ In Putti’s defence, the wooden floor on the lower storey was creaking loudly. They’d all got to know this noise, which came from loose boards in the kitchen. Now Garðar reacted and sat up next to Katrín. ‘What the hell…?’ Again Líf cried out inside her sleeping bag.

Katrín gripped Garðar’s upper arm tightly. ‘Could the wood in the house be contracting because of the weather?’ She could hear how shrill her voice sounded, but she couldn’t care less. ‘We’d have heard if someone had come in. Wouldn’t we?’

Garðar answered neither question directly. ‘Where’s the torch?’ He felt around on the floorboards next to the mattress and found what he was looking for. ‘This is absolutely…’ He wriggled out of his sleeping bag and looked around for his clothes. ‘I’m going to take a look downstairs. It’s probably nothing, and I can add some wood to the stove at the same time. I can’t guarantee the temperature up here tonight if the weather continues like this.’ From the sound of it, he seemed to be having a few problems putting on something over his thick pyjamas. Putti’s growl had turned into a pitiful whine, as if he felt as unhappy about Garðar’s plan as Katrín did. Líf, however, was silent and motionless in her sleeping bag, so still that it was as if she’d lost consciousness. Katrín longed to follow her example, dig herself further into her own sleeping bag, squeeze her eyes shut and count down the minutes remaining of the night. But she couldn’t bring herself to do so. The thought of lying in the darkness and having only Líf and Putti to rely on if Garðar didn’t return was far more intolerable than going down with him and maybe running the risk of meeting the child. And what could happen, actually? Children had never made her feel uncomfortable before now, and it was pointless to give in to this kind of hysteria. So she stood up, pushing Putti to his feet at the same time. He stopped whining, so only his breathless panting could be heard.

‘Would you mind turning on the torch? I can’t find my jumper.’ She was pleased to hear how calm she sounded. ‘I can help with the stove.’ The floor was ice-cold under her bare soles.

Garðar didn’t protest, clearly happy with the company. A bright beam of torchlight lit up the room and it took them a few moments to accustom their eyes to the dazzle. Katrín threw on her jumper and slippers and once she’d escaped the iciness beneath her feet and could finally see something, her courage grew and she felt bold enough to go downstairs. ‘I’m ready.’ Putti moved right up to her and rubbed his side against her legs. This was his way of indicating that he too was ready. She looked at the oblong hump on the floor. ‘You wait here, Líf; we’ll just be a moment and we have a torch, so nothing will happen.’ How a torch, even a powerful one, was supposed to protect them against all misfortune was unclear, but Líf neither said anything nor gave any indication whatsoever that she’d heard Katrín. So Katrín just shrugged and followed Garðar to the landing.

Even with the torch on they had to inch their way carefully down the steep staircase to ground level. It would be easy to hurt oneself very badly on these steps. The beam from the torch seemed less powerful here than it had in the narrow room upstairs. The conical light created long shadows that swayed in rhythm with Garðar’s rapid hand movements. It was as if everything were in motion and Katrín stayed close behind Garðar in order to lessen the discomfort she was feeling. ‘There’s no one here.’ Garðar stopped in the living room doorway. The beam was reflected in the window opposite. He was briefly blinded by the glare and had to cover his eyes. ‘I’m going to check on the front and back doors, but it was obviously just the weather.’ He pulled Katrín up next to him so she could see for herself that there was no one in the living room, but he was careful not to point the torch at the window again. ‘This is getting ridiculous.’ Having dwindled as they came downstairs, the storm whipped itself up once more. The house creaked and Katrín instinctively wrapped her long jumper tighter around herself.

‘Let’s check the doors and then throw some wood in the stove. I’m freezing; I can’t wait to go back up again.’ She looked down at Putti, who seemed to tremble as he stood between them with his tail between his legs. ‘See Putti? Poor thing – he looks like he’s about to croak.’

Garðar looked at the dog and his scowl became even more exaggerated in the strange light of the torch. More than anything he resembled an actor in a silent movie, interpreting a very surprised man. ‘He looks more scared than cold, to me.’ Garðar reached down to pat Putti on the head. The dog cowered, avoiding his touch. ‘Yes, he’s terrified.’ Garðar stood up straight. ‘He’s not used to this weather, poor little thing. Back home we’ve never seen him freak out, have we, on the rare occasions that it gets stormy?’

Katrín hoped that he was right, that Putti was just frightened by the intensity of the storm. The other possibility was that he sensed the presence of an unfamiliar person, which she found a far more disturbing thought. ‘Maybe he needs the toilet.’ She wanted to add her own down-to-earth explanation, just for a change.

‘He’s out of luck, then.’ Garðar pointed the beam at the floor, illuminating the way to the front door. ‘He’s not going out in this weather, so you can blame me if he pisses in here.’ He walked away slowly. They had stacked all sorts of building materials along the walls in the hallway and Garðar took some time to check in all the places where a child might conceal itself. Because of this it took quite a while to cover the short distance, but Katrín felt a sense of relief every time it turned out that there was nothing hidden behind the stuff. She cheered up even more when they got all the way to the door, which turned out to be locked. ‘You see? I told you.’ Garðar tugged at the doorknob to reassure himself that it was secure. Then he let go, and pointed the torch at the floor. ‘What the hell?’ He was standing in a puddle. ‘Did the damn dog piss on the floor?’