Bragi Ólafsson - Pets

“Yes, you told us earlier, didn’t you?” Greta interrupts. “What kind of animals were they?” Her voice is full of childish enthusiasm, which, I have to say, surprises me.

“He had a rabbit and some kind of guinea pig,” Havard answers. “A snowy white albino guinea pig. Then there was the lizard. An iguana lizard. Some kind of miniature prehistoric monster. And a cat.”

Greta gets excited at this information. She laughs and says it’s like a whole zoo and tells him that she has been looking after some little hamsters for the past two weeks. “Well, sort of,” she adds: she has been staying with her sister in London too. There were two little hamsters in the bedroom where she slept, really crazy little things which slept all day and kept her awake all night. Then one of them gave birth to several babies, which it had been trying to eat when they found him. “Or her, I should say.”

“That’s exactly what these stupid creatures do,” Havard says.

“How do you mean?”

“They eat their offspring.”

“Yes, but only if they think someone is going to take them away,” Greta answers, as if objecting to Havard’s low opinion of hamsters. “They don’t have babies just to eat them,” she adds.

“People should not have such animals in their homes,” Havard says. “It always ends in some sort of trouble. But, on the other hand it’s alright to have a dog. One can even make money on dogs.” He tells her that we had a daily wage in London, that my relative had paid us a small daily allowance for looking after his house and animals, but she could just imagine how far that went to keep us. So he had started betting on dog races and that had helped us to a certain extent. There’s money to be made on dogs if you know how to play.

“But did you know that Emil was coming today?” Greta asks. I can imagine that she wants to change the subject, that she doesn’t believe a word of the nonsense Havard is telling her. “I mean, was Emil expecting you?”

“I’m sure he was. Isn’t he just on the way to visit his girlfriend. This Vigdis? He had at least started to write her an email, I saw it on the computer in there just now. Maybe he stopped somewhere on the way, no doubt some bar. Even I stopped at several bars on the way here today.”

“But the water? Wasn’t there water boiling on the stove when you came here?”

“He just forgot it. I mean, people forget. He probably forgot that I was going to visit him too.”

It is difficult to say what Greta thinks about this friend of mine who says in one breath that we don’t know each other at all and then in the next that I was expecting him to come for a visit. And what does she think about me — some fellow who really wants a date but obviously has a girlfriend, doesn’t turn up for the date, and lets four other men come in his place?

“But you haven’t met for some time?” Greta asks.

“No,” Havard answers curtly, and when he starts talking again he raises his voice, as if he is talking to Greta from another room. “I have been living in Sweden. We haven’t seen each other for five years. I really only came today to return something I borrowed from his relative there in London.”

“What, something you borrowed five years ago!” Greta doesn’t try to hide her amazement.

“Yes,” he answers. “An old book and some kind of carved model of a ship. It’s in there beside his bed.”

In there beside his bed? I suddenly feel very uncomfortable; I grow hot all over, without any sweat appearing, and some sort of irritation spreads through my body. In there beside his bed? In there beside me ?

“And what are you doing in Sweden ?” Greta asks. “Not looking after some animals again?”

Havard laughs and is about to say something when Greta interrupts him; she has to phone home. She seems to go into the kitchen, the sound of her dialing comes from there. She has to wait a little while before there is an answer, then she says hello to her mother and asks if her daughter is asleep. It sounds as though her mother has managed to get the little girl to sleep. She begins to talk about something that Greta isn’t very interested in — something to do with the family, some problem that I can’t imagine Greta wants to get involved in, as she is just back from abroad and full of thoughts of me perhaps. Or Havard; how she can get rid of him. I am listening hard to hear Greta’s reply when Havard suddenly comes into the bedroom and stops in the middle of the room. I feel one hundred percent sure that he will address me or, without saying a word, just drag me out from under the bed like some criminal on the run. But instead he sits down in the chair in front of the computer and starts to unlace his shoes. Of course I am in no position to peep out from under the sheet, but it is clear that his shoes are rather tight; he has to pull hard to get them off.

Greta is still talking to her mother. Havard stands up from the chair; if I’m not mistaken, he is undoing his pants. Something hard bangs into the arm of the chair or desk — probably the buckle on his belt. I hear his pants slide down to the floor, and then Havard sits down on the edge of the bed. He makes some kind of drumming sound with his mouth, a sound that forms a melody. I try to anticipate where the springs will press down into my body if he lies down on the bed. My speculations are accurate, the mattress sags down about ten centimeters when Havard lies down, and the springs poke into the lower part of my stomach and my groin. It doesn’t cause any great pain, but I swear to myself; why the hell does the man have to let me know physically that he has found out where I am? He sighs with pleasure, and I can feel him stretching. Greta is clearly trying to finish off her telephone conversation; I heard her say earlier that she would probably be a little late coming home and now she repeats it to her mother.

“Come and talk to me, Greta! I’m here in the bedroom!” Havard calls out as soon as she is off the phone. I hear her come into the hall and then suddenly there is a knock at the door. Greta asks him to wait. I’m not particularly surprised that, despite the fact Havard is lying on the bed, he doesn’t seem to be at all worried that I might be the person on the doorstep. The front door is opened and Greta calls out “Hello?” into the dark. Havard is amused; he laughs, as if he is saying to himself that of course there was no one outside. Greta must be hearing things. She calls out my name and now I’m afraid that she will wake up or disturb Bella in the flat above or give Tomas a reason to knock again. I don’t expect Armann to be woken up by the sound of her voice. She calls again in a loud whisper, “Hello? Emil?” almost as if she expects me to be hiding out there in the cold and doesn’t want anyone else to notice me. I wish I could answer her; I long to be able to answer her.

But I wasn’t the one who knocked on the door.

10

I wasn’t the one who knocked, I repeat to myself. Of all those who have come here today I am the only one who hasn’t knocked on the door. I opened the door with a key. I let myself in. It’s as though I have to remind myself that it is I who live here.

When Greta has closed the door she calls to Havard: “Didn’t you say that the man who knocked earlier was wearing an anorak?”

“Yes, was it him?” Havard answers, and I can just see the grin on his face as he lies there half naked just above me.

“No, I didn’t see anyone,” Greta says, sounding surprised. “I don’t know who it could have been.”

She seems to be in the living room.

“ I was wearing an anorak,” Havard calls out cheerfully. “Maybe it was me? Maybe I was coming a second time? Can you be bothered to come in here?”