Pets (7 page)

“So this is good, you say?” the brother asked when he had put the cognac back and picked up the liter of malt whisky instead. He glanced nervously over his shoulder. As I nodded, I pulled my bottom lip over my top one and tried to give him the impression that he was being given advice by a specialist. I quite expected him to ask for more advice, perhaps chat a little now that his wife had gone off, but he was satisfied with what I had already told him, placed the bottle carefully in his basket, and added another liter of malt whisky. Then he thanked me again and went off, clearly pleased with his purchases.

I hadn't intended to buy whisky but while I imagined Eyvi and his brother in the living room with both bottles on the table—it wasn't easy to guess whose bottle had been opened—I put one in my basket. Then I chose a good cognac and some Belgian chocolates for Vigdis. I added a liter of dry martini and two cartons of Camel filters, as well as cigars that looked as though they were one hundred percent tobacco, though it wasn't stated on the box. Before placing everything on the counter, I grabbed six cans of beer too. I expected to be told that I had exceeded the allowance, but I wasn't stopped at the counter or at the customs gate.

I still hadn't seen the fair-haired woman, but I had spotted Armann again and it was obvious that he was having some trouble. I decided not to bother about him. Instead, now that I had gotten through customs, I cheered myself up with the thought that I was a free man and after four hours of going without could even enjoy a cigarette. I welcomed myself and pulled my overcoat out of my suitcase. It was cold in the entrance but I enjoyed the fresh air and looked forward to settling down on the bus.

First of all I had to have a smoke. While I was unwrapping the pack of Hamlets that I had bought at Heathrow, I looked across the hallway and amused myself by wondering if Eyvi had arrived to pick up the couple from the duty-free store. I was keeping an eye out for the blonde woman at the same time. I saw two men who could have been Eyvi. One of them was half bald and wore a dark blue fleece jumper and grey Terylene pants and the other, whom I recognized from somewhere downtown—either he worked in a shop or at the Post Office—was quite like the brother, with thinning fair hair, running shoes, and some kind of tracksuit under his anorak. He was holding a set of car keys that he rattled to announce his arrival.

When I walked outside, I saw the couple in front of me looking in the direction of the car park. The Fly Bus had arrived and the driver had started to load suitcases into the luggage compartment. The couple stood surrounded by their suitcases and duty-free bags and were looking rather miserable, not exactly dressed for February's frost. I lit a cigar and took a sip from the Cointreau bottle from the plane. When I looked at them again, the woman seemed to be quietly scolding the man—I imagined it was because of the whisky he had bought—and I didn't think she did much to warm him with her hard, fierce expression. I strained my ears to catch what she was saying and seemed to hear her mention the bus. A few minutes later the man walked slowly back towards the entrance of the airport building. He stopped close to me, turned around, and looked at his wife, as if he was tired rather than annoyed. Then he carried on and went inside.

The frost was beginning to sting my cheeks. I put out the half-smoked cigar and was about to get into the bus, but when I swung my bag up on to my shoulder I noticed the blonde woman standing outside the door with her luggage. She was lighting a cigarette. I had another drink from the miniature bottle and got out a pack of cigarettes from my coat pocket as I walked over to her.

“I have to ask you for a light,” I said.

“It's alright to do it,” she answered.

I was almost sure she was referring to what she had said when she came out of the toilet in the plane. The words were exactly the same, except instead of letting me know that it was alright “to enter,” she now said it was all right “to do it.”

14

It wasn't very bright inside the antique shop. What little light there was came from the weak yellow glow of lamps that were positioned amongst the dark wooden furniture; the atmosphere was better than the bar on Austurstraeti. He watched the policemen walk down Laugavegur until he couldn't see them any more, then he wandered round the shop and inspected the furniture and knickknacks. He stopped in a corner, sat down in a deep, wide armchair that was covered in dark green upholstery, and stayed there for a while. There weren't many customers in the shop: a middle-aged shop assistant stood beside a tall chest of drawers and arranged small statues around a mantelpiece clock; a young couple, who were holding a little girl by the hand, were interested in a beautiful sideboard with a mirror; and an old lady walked to and fro looking at different objects, fingered some of them but didn't seem to be looking for anything in particular. He stretched out his legs, slid further down in the chair, and leaned his head back. He held the plastic bag on his lap as if it was a cat and after a few moments he had closed his eyes and seemed to be asleep. It was warm in there.

When the old woman left the shop the doorbell rang, warning the customers to expect a cold gust of air. He opened his eyes and sat up straight in the armchair. The shop assistant had moved behind the counter; she was fiddling with a copper-colored standard lamp that had a light red shade. He got up from the chair, walked over to the counter, and said good morning. The woman smiled in a friendly manner and nodded. Carefully, he took the box, which contained the sailing ship, out of the plastic bag and, as he put it down on the table, said he would like to show her something. She asked what it was, and he turned the box round so that she could see the beautifully carved ship; her face lit up. He told her that it was from the middle of the nineteenth century and she replied that she could imagine that, without knowing anything about it of course. He put his hand under it and lifted it up so that she could see it better. When she asked where he had gotten hold of it he answered: “in England.” He had bought it a few years ago in London for two thousand pounds. She nodded again and looked at him closely, as if she was trying to fathom why he was showing her the ship. If that was the case, the answer came immediately: was she interested in buying it from him, he would let her have it at a very reasonable price. She smiled and when he said that he would let her have the ship for a hundred and fifty thousand kronur, she laughed in a rather embarrassed manner. She wasn't so sure about that, they weren't buying much these days, but she was willing to let her husband have a look at it, he was the one who evaluated the goods here, she didn't have any say in such matters. Then he said that there was no doubt to be had about this object. If he let them have it for a hundred and fifty thousand he was almost giving it away. The woman said that she wasn't sure if there was a market for such objects. He interrupted her and said with a smile that he wasn't intending to sell the ship, he was going to give it to a good friend of his. He had only been curious to find out what he could get for it.

He burped. It seemed as if he had accidentally let the burp slip out; he put his hand in front of his mouth and mumbled a muffled apology into the palm of his hand. Suddenly there was a very clear change in the woman's manner. It appeared that something more serious than a burp had made the man seem highly suspicious. Her face showed how nervous she had become. The corner of her mouth twitched and she backed away. While he put the ship back inside the bag and thanked the woman, she glanced around the shop, like she was looking for the couple with the child. She seemed very relieved when he made his way to the door. He looked out of the window in both directions before stepping out into the street, then he took hold of the door and swung it slightly back and forth to make the bell ring. The shop assistant gave him a forced smile when he waved goodbye and left.

He walked up the main street and didn't stop until he reached a restaurant close to the bus station, Hlemmur. He glanced quickly at the menu in the window and then went inside. There were dark wood paneled cubicles on the left hand side that reminded one of an American country bar but many other details indicated that the place was run by Asians. To the right, near the wall, was a large dining-room table with a glass plate—it seemed to have been meticulously carved in an eastern fashion—and there were two short Asian girls standing at the counter. He walked up to them and asked, in English, if he could use the phone. They answered him in Icelandic: there was a pay phone further in, just before you come to the toilets. One of them gave him change for the phone while the other poured out the double vodka he had ordered as he asked for the telephone directory. He went over to the public telephone and searched in the directory. He dialed the number and waited but got no reply. Then he looked in the directory again for another number. While he flicked roughly through the pages he said the name Halldor out loud and repeated it several times under his breath, adding the surname Emilsson. He took a good sip out of the vodka glass and, just when he seemed to have found the number, he swallowed, which made him grimace and shudder. This time someone answered.

He asked if that was the number belonging to the parents of Emil S. Halldorsson and it obviously was because he stuck his thumb up in the air and moved his lips as if he was saying yes. Was this his mother then? He told her that he was an old school friend of Emil and that Emil had given him their number and had suggested he call them if he wasn't at home. Did she know if her son was in town? It was important that he contacted him, preferably today. He was abroad? Coming home today? Now, later on? He should land around five o'clock? Did she think there would be any delay? Most probably not. No doubt Emil had completely forgotten to tell him that he would be going abroad, he had spoken to him several weeks ago. He lived abroad himself and they weren't continually in contact. What, he went off when he won the lottery? He hadn't told him that either. He asked if he had won a fortune and smiled when Emil's mother answered. Good for him, going off; one didn't often get money like that.

He thanked Emil's mother and ended the conversation.
Later on
. He repeated the phrase to himself and replaced the receiver. He picked up his glass, tipped it up slowly to his lips, as if he hadn't quite decided whether he should drink it, and gulped down what was left without screwing up his face.

15

I wasn't particularly surprised to see the couple from the duty-free store get on the bus. I waited outside on the pavement with the blonde woman until the driver announced that he was ready to leave. We smoked another cigarette together and she told me that the customs officials had searched her. They had carried out quite a thorough examination, she said. To me, she didn't look the type that customs officials would have reason to pick on. She was wearing a neat black leather jacket on top of her T-shirt—she must have bought the jacket on this trip—and she had wrapped herself in a thick, black scarf.

I was just about to tell her that we had met before (though we didn't really meet), about fifteen years ago, but changed my mind. I would tell her later, if we ever got to know each other better, which I really hoped we would.

The driver had seen to all the baggage and had locked the luggage compartment. We put out our cigarettes and climbed into the bus. I didn't expect to see Armann in there—I hadn't noticed him come through customs—but I looked around for him before I sat down. He would obviously have to wait for the next bus; somehow I couldn't imagine that he would be picked up in a private car.

It seemed natural that we sit together, the blonde one and I; the only seats that were vacant were near the front of the bus.

“My name is Emil,” I said when we had sat down. I thought it was about time I introduced myself.

“Greta,” she replied, combing her hair back with her hands and tying it into a knot. “What were you doing in London?”

I told her that I had been shopping.

“For some company?”

While I explained to her what kind of shopping trip I had been on, I took two cans of beer out of my duty-free bag and offered her one. I was pleasantly surprised when she said yes.

“But what were you doing?” I asked.

“Smuggling dope,” she said with a grin. “No, I was just visiting my sister who lives in London.”

I hadn't noticed how beautiful her smile was and how full her lips were when she smiled at me on the plane. Despite the fact that fifteen years had passed, I thought her face seemed younger now, and I secretly tried to imagine her with ruffled hair, as she was when she emerged from the children's bedroom. There was something very sexy about her eyes, as if she was drowsy or, at least, not very wide awake, which, on the other hand, was a contradiction, because she seemed to me to be very smart and clearly had a sense of humor.

“Were you there for long?” I asked, just to say something.

“Yes and no,” she answered. “I would have liked to stay longer but maybe not with my sister. I like being in London.”

“But not at your sister's?”

“Yes, of course it's good to stay with one's sister in London. But I wouldn't have minded if she was sitting here now beside you instead of me.”

I didn't quite know what to say to this.

“I didn't mean it like that,” she said, as if she had read my thoughts. “I would just have liked to stay longer in her flat, that is without her being there as well. But, what did you say, were you just shopping? Not
doing
anything?”