Bragi Ólafsson - Pets

“Emil the ant,” Armann giggles; the Indian elephant was still on his mind.

“Here’s to Emil,” Havard says.

“Here’s to Emil,” Armann says.

They clink their glasses. There is a sound of cellophane, which gets drowned out in the first tones of “Flaming Star” from Elvis Presley. Through the music and the partition I hear Armann groan with pleasure as he has exhales his first puff of cigar smoke.

1

When someone knocks on the front door either Armann or Havard stands up and turns down the music.

“Well, well, do you think it’s the master of the house?” Armann says enthusiastically.

“No, Armann, it’s the other woman,” I hear Havard correct him.

“The other woman?” Armann asks, but he gets no answer. Havard has already opened the door.

“Come in,” he says, and I can just imagine Greta, tall and dressed in black, perhaps wearing a hat to protect her freshly washed hair from the frost. Her daughter is asleep now in her grandmother’s soft bed. Her mother is back and she can’t wait to wake up tomorrow morning to play with her new toys from London.

Greta has clearly felt cold on the way; she shudders and says something about the frost on this iceberg, something I have heard myself say under similar circumstances. However, I feel warm inside when I hear her ask if I have come back, and I imagine I detect a hint of concern in her voice. She must have sensed on the bus that I really wanted to see her again, and though Havard has told her that I came home and went straight out again, she is understandably surprised that I’m not here waiting for her. Instead she is invited in by the last man I would want my girlfriend to be introduced to. I am quite shocked when she asks Havard if she has perhaps seen him somewhere before.

“I don’t think so,” he answers.

“I’m sure I have seen you somewhere before,” she repeats, and I say to myself: “Dear God, don’t let them know each other.” Remember Armann instead, I mumble into the carpet. You must remember him from the plane. One doesn’t miss a man like Armann. Just don’t recognize Havard, I think to myself.

But it seems certain that she has met Havard at some stage; she repeats that she must have seen him somewhere before, and Havard simply answers that it’s possible but he can’t remember when that might have been.

“May I take your coat?” he asks. I imagine he puts it on one of the kitchen chairs, as he doesn’t bring it into the bedroom.

Greta has obviously come into the living room, as Armann now greets her. He says: “Pleased to meet you,” then asks if she is a friend of mine. Before she gets a chance to reply, he says his name is Armann Valur, they met today; I had accidentally taken his glasses with me from the plane we were on together and he had just come a short while ago to fetch them.

“Then we were on the same plane,” Greta says cheerfully and sniffs. “Oh, by the way, my name is Greta.”

“Pleased to meet you, Greta, My name is Armann Valur,” Armann repeats and then asks: “But tell me, were you and Emil on the same plane?”

“You and I must have been on the same plane. If you were on the same plane as Emil, then we were traveling together,” Greta answers, and I say to myself that she has a pretty voice. It’s warm and provocative at the same time — not at all thin and self-conscious, like Vigdis’s voice, for instance.

“Then you weren’t with Emil, were you?” Armann carries on in disbelief.

“Not like that, no,” Greta answers. She obviously seems to find this misunderstanding amusing. “Or I mean, yes of course I was with him on the plane today. And with you too.”

“Are we perhaps expecting more passengers from this flight?” Havard interrupts ironically and asks Greta if she would like something to drink, if he can bring her anything. She says that she brought a bottle of red wine, but maybe he could offer her a strong drink first, something to put a bit of warmth into her body, perhaps cognac if there is any.

“No problemo,” Havard answers, and I’m quite certain that the phrase “to put a bit of warmth into her body” awakens some unseemly thoughts in his mind as he fetches the cognac.

“But tell me, Greta,” Armann continues, suddenly becoming very formal, “Did you come back from London today?”

Greta laughs amiably; I would laugh with her if I could.

“Clever boy, Armann!” Havard calls from the kitchen, and I gather from Greta’s next comment that she doesn’t think it is right to tease Armann — an older man whom she has never met before — any more.

“Yes, I was just returning from London,” she says seriously; she is letting Armann know that he was right.

“So we were all returning from London,” Armann says. He seems to have understood the situation at last.

“Emil and I were once together in London,” Havard informs them, and I beg him not to say any more. But of course Havard can’t hear a man who doesn’t speak out loud and is, on top of everything else, under the bed in the next room. I, on the other hand, can hear him quite well when he goes into the living room (probably with a glass of cognac for Greta) and mentions the very subject which I was just — in my silent way — begging him not to discuss.

“We were looking after a whole house in London,” he says, as if he expects to be rewarded with the undivided attention of the listeners. “And not just a whole house, four little animals too.”

Why on earth don’t I do something? What is wrong with me? What reason do I have for lying here under my own bed while these two men (one of them just released, or escaped, from some kind of institution in Sweden, the other, who should have been long gone, having come to collect his glasses) behave as if they are at home here; it seems as though they are at home, in my very own flat. The only reason I don’t do anything is because it is too late. Now that Greta has arrived — this woman whom I have adored from a distance for nearly fifteen years and got to know by some amazing coincidence — I am not going to crawl out from under the bed and show myself — on the very day that promised to be one of the better days of my life — as the wretched coward that the day’s events have turned me into.

“Then you weren’t on the plane today?” Greta asks with a laugh.

“I was just having a look around Reykjavik,” Havard answers. “I have just come home from Sweden myself.”

“From Lund, by any chance?” Armann asks.

“Lund!” Havard almost spits the word out. “What the hell would I want to do in Lund!”

“Lund is in Sweden. You said you were in Sweden.”

I can’t decide whether Armann is teasing Havard, and maybe trying to get a little revenge after being called a clever boy , but as a result Havard’s stay in Sweden and London is not discussed any further. Greta begins to talk about the strange names of towns in Sweden; she mentions some name that I don’t catch, and when Armann adds a few more and tells them that he has been to a language conference in Uppsala, Greta shows interest and the conversation veers too far from Havard for him to bring it back down to his level. He keeps quiet for a little while and though I’m fully aware of how much alcohol he can consume, I start hoping that he is getting tired.

“But what about you, my comrade Havard, were you studying there in Sverige?” Armann asks after Greta mentions that she attended an arts course on some island in Sweden.

“I’m comrade Havard, now am I?” Havard is offended and sounds as if he is feeling rather isolated. “No, comrade Armann, men like me don’t have any need for education.”