They chatted about the weather for a while; they’d had an outstandingly good summer in this part of the country, resulting in a bumper hay crop, and everyone had been so busy with the harvest that almost nothing else had got a look-in. She asked for news from Reykjavík, particularly about the Situation: about local women consorting with soldiers and whether it was very blatant and how such a thing was possible and why didn’t the government step in. Thorson told her that while there was a certain amount of courting going on between the soldiers and Icelandic women, it was perfectly harmless for the most part, though of course there were exceptions, and the so-called Morality Committee had been set up to keep an eye on underage girls. The old woman tutted a great deal at this and said she’d heard it was a disgraceful state of affairs, and of course it was only going to get worse now that the country was being flooded with Yankees.
She helped herself to another pinch of snuff. Thorson noticed a stubby, much-smoked pipe in an ashtray beside her and guessed that it was hers as well. Her gums were almost completely toothless, and she whistled as she talked. Her long grey hair hung in two plaits, on either side of her face, and her skin was as wrinkled as a crumpled paper bag. Her whole appearance, from her gnarled fingers to her bent back, bore the stamp of the long years of toil that had been her lot in life.
‘What about Vera? Is she in the Situation then?’ she asked.
Unwilling to spread gossip, Thorson merely repeated that her boyfriend had died very recently.
‘Well, since you’re asking about her... I was going to say that Vera was one of those women who always attracts trouble. Man trouble, I mean. Of course she had looks on her side, no question, and she knew how to flaunt them. The local lads used to swarm around her like flies. She had them all eating out of her hand. And there was a bit of bother about something that happened...’
‘Oh?’
‘... which may have been why she moved away.’
36
Brynhildur Hólm coughed and asked for a drink of water. Flóvent went to the door and ordered the guard to fetch a jug. Then he took his seat opposite her again and picked up where he had left off, asking her to clarify what she had said about Felix: that he took after Hans Lunden rather than his own father, that he had a cruel streak. Brynhildur refused to elaborate: Flóvent could interpret her words as he wished. The guard returned with a jug of water and two glasses.
‘All right. Then tell me about Rudolf’s research,’ Flóvent said, pushing the papers towards her. ‘What exactly was he studying?’
Brynhildur looked at the pages in front of her. ‘If I tell you what I know, will you help Felix? Perhaps it was wrong of me to say he had a cruel streak. Because my heart bleeds for him, you know. Felix is in a bad way. He’s frightened, backed into a corner, and I’m afraid he’ll do something foolish if this goes on any longer. Afraid he’ll do something terribly foolish.’
‘I’m not sure what it is you’re asking of me,’ said Flóvent. ‘Naturally, I’ll do what I can for Felix within reason, but he’ll have to turn himself in.’
‘I’m not sure he will.’
‘Do you think he’s really in danger? Assuming Eyvindur wasn’t the target.’
‘He’s convinced of it. I want to help him but I don’t know how.’
‘Would you begin by explaining the significance of these papers?’ asked Flóvent, tapping the pile.
Brynhildur said nothing for a while, as if weighing up her choices and not liking any of them.
‘It all started with their interest in criminals,’ she said at last. ‘Rudolf knew he’d never get permission from the government to conduct this type of research. It was Hans who urged him to do it anyway, privately. Ebeneser and Rudolf were committed Nazis in those days and thought they could get away with it. I was persuaded by their theories myself, but actually...’
She broke off for a sip of water. ‘I wish we didn’t have to talk about this,’ she said. ‘We never spoke of it again. Not until...’
‘Not until the letter arrived?’
Brynhildur nodded.
‘So what was the study? What is all this?’ asked Flóvent, gesturing at the pages.
‘The idea actually came from Rudolf’s brother. Hans had been doing some research in Germany, and during his time as a lecturer at Jena he had published a short pamphlet setting out his ideas. Rudolf believed he could carry out a similar study here. No one would need to know. Iceland was the ideal place. Up here in the remote north. An isolated society. The brothers agreed about that. They were still on good terms at the time.’
‘Isolated?’
‘Yes. You see, Nazism was a growing force in Germany, and it gave rise to a variety of theories, including the notion that criminality — amorality, I suppose you could call it — is passed down from generation to generation. In other words, that criminal traits are inherited. Rudolf told me that Hans was very interested in this idea. He was familiar with existing studies on the hereditary aspect of human abnormalities such as alcoholism, homosexuality, violence, incest and so on but criminal traits were of particular interest to him because he believed it might be possible to reduce or even eradicate them. Through measures like the castration of criminals, he believed it would be possible to cut their numbers from one generation to the next. That was the gist of Hans’s theories.’
‘And?’
‘And Rudolf was convinced. He persuaded Ebeneser to join him, which wasn’t difficult. Ebeneser would have done anything for him, and at the time he worshipped almost everything that came out of Germany. I myself... Rudolf and I have... that is...’
‘Go on.’
‘After his wife died he employed me to help him with the housekeeping. I had just completed my training and was also working as a nurse, and over time we became — how shall I put it? — close.’
‘Lovers? You denied that when I asked you earlier.’
‘I... I don’t like discussing... our private life. After his accident he needed me more than ever.’
‘What happened?’
‘It was a riding accident. Out on Laugarnes Point. His horse took fright and bolted. Rudolf was left paralysed from the waist down and became terribly depressed. Understandably. He says I saved his life. That if I hadn’t stood by him through that awful time, he wouldn’t have seen any reason to go on living.’
‘I see. Tell me about the study.’
‘As headmaster, Ebeneser was in a unique position to provide Rudolf with information about his pupils’ backgrounds. He could check up on their family history and select boys for the study. Ebeneser’s a keen genealogist as well, so he was able to trace the ancestry of the offenders in question. Since I was the school nurse, I handled the questionnaires, took measurements and obtained samples. We were looking for developmental markers — both mental and physical — as well as physiological traits. Rudolf prepared the tests. We carried out our observations as unobtrusively as possible. I incorporated them into the boys’ usual check-ups. I simply increased their frequency, since it was perfectly natural that I should pay more attention to boys from broken homes, or the homes of convicted criminals.’
‘Boys like Eyvindur?’
Brynhildur nodded. ‘I don’t believe they ever realised what we were doing. Rudolf came to the school from time to time to examine them. He processed the data we provided him with and passed on reports to his brother. Hans was very enthusiastic about our work, as you can imagine, since he was engaged in the same sort of research himself. Nazism was gaining a foothold in Germany, and our observations were supposed to lay the groundwork for a larger study into the Aryan race that Hans dreamt of conducting in this country: the search for the origin of the Icelanders, of the Viking temperament.’