‘Not with me,’ said Matthildur. ‘It’s you I’m afraid for.’
‘He can’t hurt me,’ said Ezra. ‘There’s nothing he can do to me. I’m not scared of him, Matthildur.’
‘I know.’
‘I don’t like it one bit. He’s never done me any harm and I look on him as a friend. We used to work together. So. . I’m not finding this easy. But I don’t believe we have anything to be afraid of by telling him. We have to talk to him — make him understand what’s happened. It’s not as if it’s unusual. People are always falling in love with the wrong person.’
‘I know,’ Matthildur said again.
They lay side by side under his blanket, quietly savouring the warmth from each other’s body. A diffident tap at his door had sounded towards midnight. He hadn’t been expecting her and was delighted by her surprise visit. They had kissed; he had broken off to stroke her face wonderingly, then they kissed again, with growing intensity, until he half carried her to the bedroom. They did not even undress properly but made love with all the hunger and passion that she roused in him. She had to muffle the cries that rose to her lips, born of a rapture that she had never experienced with her husband.
‘Jakob mustn’t find out before we talk to him,’ said Ezra as he lay beside her. ‘He mustn’t hear it from anyone else. We have to be honest with him before the news gets out.’
‘I’ll talk to him,’ said Matthildur. ‘I promise.’
‘Let me come too. He’s supposed to be my friend.’
‘No, it’s best if I do it alone. I’m sure it would be. I’ll talk to him and tell him I’m going to move in with you. Explain that I can’t stay with him after what’s happened, after the news of him and Ingunn ruined everything. And because I’ve fallen in love.’
‘All right,’ he said. ‘But I still want to come with you.’
‘Stop worrying so much about Jakob. Concentrate on us instead. On the two of us.’
Then she was gone.
Then came the sunny day in March, two months later, when he bumped into Jakob. Ezra was passing the cemetery when he heard a voice hail him over the wall. Looking in, he saw Jakob working there in his shirtsleeves. He was preparing for a funeral that was to be held at the church the following day. A local man had died in his prime after a short illness and a good turnout was expected. Ezra went in through the gate.
‘Where are you off to then?’ Jakob asked, taking a break from his labours. He did odd jobs for the church, mostly maintenance and gravedigging.
Ezra explained and added awkwardly that he was in a hurry. He felt uncomfortable in Jakob’s presence, tortured by the possibility that Matthildur had confessed their affair or he had discovered it by other means. They had been extremely careful but one could never be sure.
‘I never see you any more,’ said Jakob.
‘I’ve been busy.’
‘Working hard, eh?’ said Jakob. ‘The meek will inherit the earth all right. And that’s us, Ezra. Workers like you and me.’
31
Ezra did not register the question. His thoughts were far away, reliving that fateful graveyard meeting with Jakob and all the repercussions that followed. The encounter could probably never have been avoided, though coincidence had decided the time and place. Until that day it had loomed menacingly, as inevitable as death itself.
Ezra had broken off in mid-sentence. The cat prowled into the kitchen and stared suspiciously at Erlendur before deciding it was safe to climb into its basket.
Erlendur put his question for the third time and was finally rewarded with a reaction. Ezra looked up from his reverie. ‘What did you say?’
‘What happened next?’ asked Erlendur.
‘He invited me round to his house.’
‘Did you go?’
Ezra did not answer.
‘Did you go?’ asked Erlendur again.
‘There was an ugly note in his voice when he said it,’ Ezra continued at last. ‘But then Jakob was an ugly customer. A despicable man.’
Jakob took out a packet of cigarettes and offered it to Ezra who refused.
‘Still don’t smoke?’ Jakob asked.
‘Never got the hang of it,’ replied Ezra, trying to smile.
‘I buy them from the British. Pall Mall. Bloody good fags. Stjáni’s kicked the bucket — I expect you’ve heard.’
‘Yes, I’d heard. The funeral’s tomorrow, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah. I’ve got to be done here by then. We’re lucky with the weather.’
‘Mm,’ said Ezra, squinting up at the sun. ‘Well, I’d best make tracks.’ He turned with the intention of continuing on his way.
‘Luckier than my darling Matthildur was,’ remarked Jakob.
Ezra froze. ‘What did you say?’
‘It was good to see you,’ said Jakob, with a note of dismissal, but Ezra did not budge.
‘What was that you said about Matthildur?’
It was not his words that gave Ezra pause. They were commonplace, of no special significance. Jakob had every right to express such a sentiment. But it was his tone that made Ezra prick up his ears. It was not difficult to interpret, perhaps because he was alert to every nuance regarding Matthildur, especially where Jakob was concerned. There was no question: Jakob did not even attempt to disguise it. His tone was accusatory.
‘There’s so much I want to get off my chest about Matthildur,’ continued Jakob, with the same note in his voice. ‘I’d like to have talked to you before but I get the feeling you’ve been avoiding me.’
‘No, I haven’t,’ protested Ezra hastily — perhaps too hastily. He wondered if Jakob would pick up on his agitation, his accelerated heartbeat.
‘Well, that’s how it seems. All those times you were off sick. Then you suddenly quit the boat and go and get a job on shore. As if I’d offended you. As if we weren’t mates any more.’
‘You haven’t offended me,’ Ezra assured him. ‘Of course we’re still mates.’
Was Jakob deliberately turning the tables on him? It was Ezra who had done Jakob wrong: he and Matthildur had gone behind Jakob’s back, betrayed his friendship and his trust. Perhaps keeping his distance had been a mistake. It was true he had been steering clear of Jakob. He had never once got in touch with his friend and had offered him no support after Matthildur went missing. He had quite simply vanished from Jakob’s life, just as she had. On reflection, such behaviour was bound to have aroused suspicion.
‘Well, that’s a relief to hear,’ said Jakob.
‘What did you want to say about Matthildur?’ asked Ezra.
‘Come again?’
‘You said you had a lot to get off your chest.’
‘That’s right,’ said Jakob. ‘I was thinking of holding a memorial service or — well, you can’t really call it a funeral, she has to be officially pronounced dead first. And that can take ages. They have to make absolutely sure in circumstances like these, you see? But she’ll never be found. Not after this long.’
‘It’s not out of the question,’ objected Ezra. ‘When the thaw comes.’
‘And there’s another matter I haven’t told anyone about. I don’t know how much I should say. It’s. . a bit awkward. I don’t really know how to put it or who to talk to. There are so few people I can trust and. .’
‘What is it?’
‘It’s about Matthildur,’ said Jakob. ‘She’d been rather distant before she vanished.’
‘Distant?’
‘Yes, partly because of personal stuff. You know, the kind of problems that crop up in any marriage. Maybe you’ll understand one day, if you ever get a woman of your own, Ezra.’
Again, Ezra detected that tone. And the choice of words: ‘a woman of your own’.
‘And partly for other reasons,’ Jakob continued. His words were followed by a significant pause.
‘What do you mean, other reasons?’ asked Ezra at last, when it seemed Jakob did not intend to continue.
‘I don’t have any proof — nothing concrete, that is. But then I don’t suppose men in my position ever do until the evidence is shoved under their nose. Right under their nose — you get me?’