Yrsa Sigurðardóttir - I Remember You

Katrín opened her eyes and stretched. If you ignored the babble of the stream separating the house from the abandoned village, the silence was absolute. Finding it a little uncomfortable, she listened harder, but nothing changed. She and Garðar had both had trouble sleeping in the silence the night before, even though they were exhausted by the seemingly endless conveyance of things from the pier. Líf, on the other hand, who couldn’t help much after being so sick, had slept like a rock. They could have used her help; the wheelbarrow the skipper had mentioned had been nowhere to be found, meaning they had to carry everything themselves. Katrín had resolved to count the number of trips but lost count as exhaustion took over, so she didn’t know whether it had been twenty, fifty, or even a hundred. Her aches and pains told her all she needed to know; her upper arms hurt at the mere thought of last night’s travails. She rubbed her sore muscles. Frustratingly, as she’d suspected, all the hard grind at the gym in recent years appeared to have been no help.

Katrín shifted position on the porch and tried to spot Garðar and Líf on the slope west of the village, but it was hard to detect anything much through all the angelica, dry and dead since last summer, and downright impossible to see all the way to the top. Garðar had said that the slope seemed gentle most of the way up, then there was level ground that reached almost to the next fjord to the north. Katrín suspected Garðar hadn’t had much to go on when he described the conditions there. She felt too comfortable to stand up and try to see them, and she was sure they’d be back soon anyway. She wasn’t entirely certain how long ago they’d left; it had been many years since she had worn a wristwatch, contenting herself with the clock on her mobile phone. But the phone’s battery was too precious to leave it turned on. One thing was certain – they’d been away for so long that she was utterly relieved not to have gone with them. The skipper had said there was mobile phone reception on top of the hill, but that information might be about as reliable as his tale about the wheelbarrow. Maybe they’d have to walk much further in search of a good connection once they were up on the summit. It would have killed her to have to tramp around up there, and in any case, Garðar didn’t need her there just to ask the estate agent whether some boxes they’d found in the house belonged to them or to the estate. Katrín didn’t see why he was wasting time on this, especially given that they depended on the phone being charged if the weather were to turn bad or they needed emergency assistance, but once he’d decided on something he was immovable, so she hadn’t objected. Even when Líf, who was too unwell to help out with the renovations, said that she would accompany him, Katrín had held her tongue, though she longed to say that Líf really should be trying to paint something. She guessed the reason Líf was so keen on going off with Garðar was because she knew Katrín would find work for her to do as soon as the two of them were left alone. Katrín wasn’t quite as compassionate as Garðar, who had told Líf that morning that she should just rest until she felt better.

She peered again through the yellowed sea of vegetation in the hope of locating them. Maybe something had happened; neither of them was used to hiking in the mountains, and Líf was quite accident-prone to boot. She smiled. Of course they were all right. What could possibly happen? The three of them were the only people here, and apart from the birds, a grey fox appeared to be the only other living thing in the area. The animal had watched them from afar as they moved their materials the night before, but it hadn’t appeared today; Putti’s presence had probably frightened it away. Once Garðar and Líf had set off, Katrín was virtually alone in the world, since the blessed dog had let itself be persuaded to go with them even though its short legs hardly looked sturdy enough to climb mountains. This was the first time she’d experienced such total isolation and she found the surroundings and the empty house behind her oppressive. She would gladly have welcomed the company of the fox, if it made an appearance. Katrín had no idea whether foxes were mostly nocturnal, or if they came out during the day. She hoped that the animal would show its face, but she primarily wanted Garðar to come back – and Líf, of course. She struggled to her feet, but although she could now see most of the slope, she still couldn’t catch the slightest glimpse of them – though that meant almost nothing, since both of them were wearing clothing in earth tones that would blend into the snowless winter landscape. She was searching for signs of movement along the path they’d taken when she heard a sudden creak in the house behind her. A chill ran down her spine and she instinctively moved a little further away. She longed to run up the slope to where Garðar and Líf must be.

Then she relaxed. She could be such a wuss. This was an old house – there was nothing unnatural about a noise or two. It was only thermal expansion of the wood in the sun. She was just so unused to this oppressive silence. Still, she yelled out when a hand gripped her firmly by the shoulder and someone shouted, ‘Boo!’

‘Idiot!’ Katrín shoved Garðar’s hand away and stamped her foot, furious. ‘I could have had a heart attack.’ She’d never liked sudden shocks, ever since childhood, and her anger at Garðar was also directed at all those who had played this same trick on her through the years. ‘I hate it when you do that.’

Garðar pulled back his hand in surprise. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.’ His expression, full of remorse, made Katrín think of all the painters who had captured that same expression in their immortal works of art.

‘You just really startled me.’ She smiled apologetically. ‘You’re not an idiot. It was just a knee-jerk reaction.’ Garðar looked like a hurt child and she felt a sting of remorse as she remembered how sensitive he’d become after months of unemployment. ‘I’d just been trying to catch sight of you on the slope, and I really didn’t expect you to sneak up on me from behind like that.’ It must have been Garðar making the creaking noise as he walked through the house. They had all noticed the large number of loose and worn-down floorboards that loudly reminded you of their presence every time you stepped on them. ‘But I’m so glad you’re back. Where’s Líf?’

Garðar looked as if he were trying to decide whether he should hold her little outburst against her or let it go, and in the end he seemed to decide to be his old cheerful self. He smiled and stroked her hair and she could see a flash of the good old Garðar reappearing: the Garðar who was rising rapidly through the ranks of one of the country’s biggest investment companies; the Garðar who got the most out of life; the Garðar she’d fallen in love with. ‘She went inside. She was going to find some food for us.’ He kissed her on the cheek. ‘I didn’t mean to creep up on you, I just didn’t realize how fast you can move.’

‘What? I’m like a snail; I can hardly move an inch for my aching muscles.’

‘A snail? A cheetah, more like – we could see you out at the front of the house, but when I was nearly here you shot inside so fast that I thought the house had caught fire.’ Garðar kissed her other cheek. ‘So I followed, and found you standing behind the house. What’s going on?’

Katrín frowned. ‘I was never in front of the house. I finished the wall I was painting and came out here on the porch to get some fresh air and look out for you. Maybe your eyes were playing tricks on you.’

Garðar shrugged, but appeared as surprised by Katrín’s explanation as she was by his story. ‘I guess so. Has anyone else come here since we left? Was there a boat, or something?’