He said he had not timed it, naturally, but he guessed that the cement had only taken about four or five minutes to harden around the soft fur of the poor animals. It was, however, more difficult to say precisely when they had stopped breathing. I remember the first thought that came into my mind was that they had been walled up alive like the Canterville ghost. Of course there was no denying that the accident was tragicomic, and now, looking back on it — with Havard here, in person, in my living room, treating Armann Valur to my purchases from the duty-free store — I thought for the second time today that what doesn’t kill a man makes him stronger.
These words are no doubt appropriate in certain circumstances, but it would be necessary to rearrange them so that they make sense in this case.
When we sat down to accept what had happened and take stock of the situation, Havard suggested that we buy replacements. It must be possible to find another albino guinea pig and another light brown rabbit in a city as large as London, and it wasn’t entirely certain that Osk and Orn would ever see the difference. For some reason I found the idea rather distasteful. It was horrible to think of Osk coming home and noticing that the rabbit and guinea pig in the garden were not the same animals she had left when she went off on holiday. And Havard and I would pretend that nothing had changed. “Is that Moby?” Osk would ask, really perplexed, and we would coolly say that it was, as if we were rather surprised that she should ask such a question. “But Moby had a tear in its ear,” she was likely to say next, and we would look as if we didn’t understand what she was talking about; the ear had probably healed while she was in Europe. She had been away for a rather long time. Then she would look puzzled and think that Dick was a slightly darker color than she remembered and the guinea pig looked thinner; hadn’t we given it enough to eat? After discussing these strange changes in the animals — which we naturally weren’t aware of — we would sit down and have some tea or coffee and Osk’s suspicions would remain unsolved, something beyond our human understanding, perhaps supernatural.
But, of course, I had the task of explaining what had happened when Osk came home about four weeks later. Havard had been gone for a while by then, and he had added to my worries by causing another accident (if it could be called an accident). What I considered even more serious was the fact that he had taken the whale boat and the book. What he did to Moby and Dick could have happened to anyone — or almost anyone — and I decided to tell Osk, and later Orn, the truth about the accident. Havard had only meant to help the unfortunate animals, no doubt I would have reacted in just the same way and grabbed hold of the hose. But it was certainly a more unpleasant ordeal having to relate the fate that befell Ahab. The story of the rodents seemed trivial in comparison; at least these types of animals are easier to replace.
I pause for a moment over the word supernatural. Here I am lying under my own bed, recalling the ridiculous death of several animals which my companion and I were paid to look after five years ago, and now this Havard, whom I thought had cleared out of my life and was under careful supervision in an institution abroad, is back to haunt me, standing just a partition’s width away in the living room. Am I imagining all this? Am I all right? Is something strange going on in my brain, just as I imagined a few hours ago was the case with Armann Valur? Am I experiencing what I felt earlier today, that I don’t really belong here, that this isn’t my own home?
Is the eccentric up there playing with me?
All I need to do is shake my head to get rid of these speculations. Not even that, because as soon as the phone starts ringing in the next room they disappear.
“This phone won’t leave us in peace!” Havard barks. “It’s all going to end in a mess!”
That is just what I’m beginning to be afraid of too.
11
I have no difficulty hearing what Havard says on the phone. Before answering, he turns down the Elvis in the living room; he is standing with the receiver no more than a meter away from the bed. I thought he was going to come into the bedroom or the bathroom, but he stopped in the hall; I can see his shoes from where I am lying.
“No, he just isn’t at home, not at this moment but I’m expecting him to turn up any minute now. Greta? Your name is Greta. I’ll do that.”
I hadn’t expected her to call so soon. My watch is in the living room, so I don’t know exactly what the time is, but, since I came home in the taxi at six o’clock, I can’t imagine that it is later than seven-thirty or eight.
“Yes,” Havard carries on, “I am. . at least we are old mates. Do I know where? No, I’m not sure, he has just come home from abroad and he must have nipped out. He wasn’t here when I arrived. It was open. Oh, really? So he hasn’t come to you? This evening? You were going to meet him this evening? You aren’t Vigdis? No, of course not. What? Vigdis? No, I just thought that. . No, you’re called Greta, you told me just now. I’m Havard.”
The damn fool. I can’t tell if he is mentioning Vigdis just for malicious pleasure, but I’m quite sure he thinks it is strange and probably thrilling that I seem to be involved with two women.
“Alright, I’ll just have to tell him you called. You’re coming over then? What? When you have put her to bed? Alright, fine. He will surely be back by then, Emil is not the sort of person to just go off. Alright, OK you do that.”
Then he says “bye, bye” in an exaggerated feminine manner and I imagine — at least I sincerely hope — that Greta has put down the phone. Not because she might think that the person who answered the phone is gay — I wouldn’t mind that kind of misunderstanding — but because his greeting sounded more like an insult. Only Havard could think of talking to a total stranger like that.
As much as I look forward to Greta’s visit, the last thing I want is for her to see my place for the first time in this impossible situation. It was clear that she intended to come over once her daughter has fallen asleep — she would hardly be putting her mother to bed — and that could mean that she will be here within an hour.
“Here, you have to have another drink,” Havard shouts from the kitchen, where he must have put down the phone.
“Trinken und trinken?” Armann replies, and it is even more obvious now than it was a short while ago that he appreciates my indirect hospitality. Besides, the alcohol has started to affect his speech.
“You are drinking cognac, aren’t you?” Havard says from the kitchen, where he is still pottering about.
“There’s still some left,” Armann says with a laugh and adds in a rather loud voice: “Here, I must tell you something the bartender told me at my hotel in London.”
“Yes, you and Emil were in London together, weren’t you?”
“Well, we flew home together. But the bartender in the Cumberland Hotel where I stayed told me an interesting story. He told me why he became. . well, almost exactly why he decided to become a drinker.”