Hannah Kent - Burial Rites

Margrét didn’t say anything. She badly wanted to look at Agnes, but she thought that if she turned in her direction, she would stop talking and things would be as before. She chose her next words carefully.

‘It must have been hard for you at Illugastadir.’

‘It grew worse after the whale. Natan spent less and less time at home. When he did come back he spent hours telling Sigga and me that he was not paying us to be idle. He found fault with everything we did. The butter was too wet, the badstofa was dirty, someone had been in his workshop and upset his vials. No matter that neither of us dared go inside his workshop when he wasn’t there. The wind would stir some object of his, or the yard would be disturbed after one of us had hauled driftwood up to the house, and he’d think that we’d been digging holes, trying to find his money. Neither one of us even knew he buried it out there until he said that.

‘Then everything took another turn for the worse. Natan met Fridrik coming from Illugastadir on his return from the south. At first they seemed civil enough, but Sigga, Daníel and I soon heard them shouting at each other across the pass. Natan was threatening blows and the District Commissioner should Fridrik ever step foot on his farm. They went on for some time, before Fridrik left and went home.

‘Natan was raging that night. He dragged Sigga outside and I could hear him accusing her of betraying his trust, of lying to him. He threatened to throw her to the winds, and I could hear Sigga pleading with him. She had nowhere to go. No one would hire a servant at this time of year. It was snowing, she would die from cold. Eventually Natan lowered his voice, and I could not hear what he was saying. Neither of them returned indoors for over an hour, but when they did come inside Sigga’s eyes were red, and she went straight to bed. Then Natan ordered me to get up and follow him.

‘It was as black as pitch. He walked me down to the sea’s edge, and told me that Fridrik had asked him for permission to marry Sigga. He said that he had known Sigga had been carrying on with Fridrik behind his back, but he did not think it would lead to this. He thought it had been an idle flirtation.

‘When I told Natan that I thought it was a harmless sentiment between two innocents, he laughed, and said that neither of them were what he would call innocent. Then he reached into his pocket and showed me three silver coins, and said the boy had offered him money for his permission to marry Sigga. I asked him why he had taken the money if he seemed so set against it, and Natan laughed and said that only a fool refuses money freely offered. Then he asked me why I’d let Sigga and Fridrik carry on when I knew he didn’t want the boy on his property in his absence. I told him that I didn’t like Fridrik, but that I was used to farms full of servants and folk about the place, and the days at Illugastadir were the longest I had ever known.’

Agnes took a final draught of her milk and threw the dregs on the fire. Margrét flinched at the hiss.

‘I won’t sleep again now,’ Agnes said.

Margrét nodded. ‘No, I don’t suppose I will either.’ She hesitated. ‘I didn’t know that Fridrik and Sigga were wedded.’

Agnes gave a short laugh. ‘They never married,’ she said. ‘Although Fridrik did offer her his hand. He came back the very next day. Natan had gone to Geitaskard. Sigga was in a sulk, and slipping about the place like a shadow, and when I cornered her in the kitchen and asked her what Natan had said the night before, she burst into tears and wouldn’t say a word. I asked her if she’d told Natan she loved Fridrik and she shook her head. Then I told her about Fridrik’s money, how he had paid Natan for her hand in marriage, and this shocked her out of her tears. She gaped at me and mumbled that she couldn’t believe Natan had agreed. He had said she ought not to marry such a man. She was too young, and besides, she was his servant and would remain so until he saw fit to let her go.

‘Daníel saw Fridrik coming that day and told him that he was better off turning tail if he cared to see summer, but Fridrik ignored him and asked me where Sigga was. I hadn’t the stomach to follow him indoors and see what passed, so I went down to the shore and waited. And sure enough, Fridrik came out holding Sigga’s hand, and told me and Daníel that they were engaged to be wed.’

‘What did you do?’ Margrét asked.

Agnes sighed. ‘What was there to do? I trudged up the slope and poured us all a capful of brandy. Fridrik was beaming, but Sigga was anxious. After a few nips Daníel began to sing songs to the couple and I slipped outside for some fresh air and walked down to the ocean.’

The fire crackled before them. A clump of burning dung broke apart and sent a flurry of sparks towards the rafters.

Eventually Agnes spoke again. ‘Do you ever visit the sea?’

Margrét shook her head and huddled into her shawl. ‘When I was younger I spent some time working by it. Around Langidalur.’

‘The sea is different up around Vatnsnes. Sometimes the water in the fjord is like a looking glass. Something you want to run your tongue across. “As glazed as a dead man’s eye,” as Natan used to say.’ She shifted closer to the fire. ‘One time I saw two icebergs grinding against each other. The wind had blown them together. When they came closer I saw that both boulders had gathered driftwood upon their shelves, and after some time I heard a terrible cracking and saw the driftwood erupt into flames.’

‘It sounds like something out of the sagas,’ Margrét remarked.

‘It was eerie,’ Agnes agreed. ‘I couldn’t help but watch. Even when night fell I could still see small flames burning out to sea.’

For a few moments the two women gazed at the fire. The flames were now dying in a red glow that spread over the women’s faces. Outside a low moan signalled the onset of more winter winds.

AFTER FRIDRIK PROPOSED TO SIGGA it snowed hard enough to bury a highwayman. There was no riding home for Fridrik, and I made him bunk with Daníel. The brandy slipped them into sleep like a shoehorn.

I remained wakeful. Thoughts of Natan and Sigga wormed through my brain, interrupting my dreams. I knew why Natan hated Fridrik. It wasn’t because the boy had taken a shine to his wealth and valuables, although that was part of it. No, it was because of Sigga. I decided that he wanted Sigga as much as he didn’t want me.

I must have eventually fallen into an uneasy sleep. The badstofa was empty when I woke, and the snow had finally stopped falling. The world outside was white, except for the oily grey of the ocean. There was a noise out by the home field, and when I went out to see what it was, I saw Fridrik kicking a dead sheep. His aggression made my stomach turn.

‘What are you doing?’ My voice rang out clear and strong in the still air. Fridrik didn’t hear me. He kept kicking, grunting. His boots sent up a spray of bloody snow.

‘Fridrik!’ I called again. ‘What are you doing?’

He stopped and turned around. I saw him rub his face on his sleeve and he began to haul his boots through the heavy drifts towards me. As he came closer I saw that he was in a mood.

‘Hello, Agnes,’ he said, breathing heavily.

‘Why are you kicking that animal?’

Fridrik was panting. His breath issued from his mouth in a puff of fog. ‘It was already dead.’

‘But why were you kicking it?’

‘What does it matter?’ Fridrik squinted up at the heavy sky. ‘More snow’s coming, I’m thinking. Best not get caught in it.’ He sniffed and wiped his nose on his glove, leaving a shiny smear upon the wool.