the silence.
The rustling resumed, now clearly emanating from the next room. The door between the kitchen and the living room was closed, but he had no doubt there was someone there. He kept the living room door open behind him to make use of the faint light from the hallway and took a few cautious steps into the room, tiptoeing to avoid alerting his visitor.
He realised his mistake as soon as he was halfway across the room. The ancient floorboards were wildly uneven, the floor – in fact, the entire, century-old house – set on an angle. The living-room door started slowly to close, reducing what little light Ari Thór had to a faint glow. Without a doorstop to hold it in place, it would gather momentum as it swung back in its quest for equilibrium. He turned around, quickly but silently, trying vainly to reach the handle.
The crash as the door finally banged shut wasn’t all that loud, but in the night-time silence it was like the banging of a drum.
Hell.
He stood motionless in the middle of the room, hoping that the noise hadn’t carried, but knowing that it had. The intruder reacted instantly, making no attempt to keep quiet now, and Ari Thór guessed that he would bolt for the front door, to exit by the most direct route.
I’ll catch him, I have to catch him.
He heard the front door close with a bang just as he set off from the now pitch-dark living room. He tripped in the darkness, feeling searing pain jolt through his shoulder as he fell hard against the living room table, and was sure that before he passed out he heard an anguished cry somewhere outside.
20
SIGLUFJÖRDUR. SUNDAY, 11TH JANUARY 2009
Ugla sat at the piano and played an old tune, a light-hearted piece that dated back to the middle of the last century – a song she knew by heart and which Hrólfur had delighted in hearing. She played almost unconsciously as she waited for Ari Thór, who was late for his piano lesson.
It was still hard to believe that Hrólfur was dead. He had seemed so fit and healthy for his age … Damn it! Why couldn’t he have been more careful on the stairs? They could have carried on meeting for coffee, continued deepening their friendship. Suddenly she stopped playing, and remembered the argument between Hrólfur and Úlfur at the theatre. Had it ended badly? Could Hrólfur have been pushed?
She had to admit that Hrólfur had been quite drunk that evening. She had always tried to avoid him when he had been drinking. Alcohol brought out his darker side. Hrólfur had quickly realised that she preferred not to meet him under those circumstances, never inviting her for coffee unless he was completely sober. Although he could be abrasive, inside he was as gentle as a lamb and Ugla would certainly miss him. Her thoughts suddenly turned to herself. Hrólfur had always been her guardian angel at the Dramatic Society and she was fully aware of that. So what now? Would things change? They could hardly take her leading part away now, but next time? Maybe the lead would go to Anna in the future?
Úlfur had sent everyone an email to confirm that the opening night would be postponed by two weeks. It had been a short, clearmessage that didn’t waste any words or, for that matter, express any emotion about the situation.
Of course there was nothing to be done but wait for the new opening night. Ugla would have preferred to get on with it. She had prepared for the performance as if it were an exam all of that week, and she didn’t know if she could bear to continue for another fortnight.
She glanced at the clock on the wall. She had been looking forward to Ari Thór’s visit, and not just because he was her only student. She enjoyed his company and there was a calming air about him. She couldn’t deny that he was a handsome man, elegant, even, but there was something else that attracted her to him, something invisible and intangible. Somehow he managed to smile with his eyes as well as his mouth. Was she attracted to him?
The rustling resumed, now clearly emanating from the next room. The door between the kitchen and the living room was closed, but he had no doubt there was someone there. He kept the living room door open behind him to make use of the faint light from the hallway and took a few cautious steps into the room, tiptoeing to avoid alerting his visitor.
He realised his mistake as soon as he was halfway across the room. The ancient floorboards were wildly uneven, the floor – in fact, the entire, century-old house – set on an angle. The living-room door started slowly to close, reducing what little light Ari Thór had to a faint glow. Without a doorstop to hold it in place, it would gather momentum as it swung back in its quest for equilibrium. He turned around, quickly but silently, trying vainly to reach the handle.
The crash as the door finally banged shut wasn’t all that loud, but in the night-time silence it was like the banging of a drum.
Hell.
He stood motionless in the middle of the room, hoping that the noise hadn’t carried, but knowing that it had. The intruder reacted instantly, making no attempt to keep quiet now, and Ari Thór guessed that he would bolt for the front door, to exit by the most direct route.
I’ll catch him, I have to catch him.
He heard the front door close with a bang just as he set off from the now pitch-dark living room. He tripped in the darkness, feeling searing pain jolt through his shoulder as he fell hard against the living room table, and was sure that before he passed out he heard an anguished cry somewhere outside.
20
SIGLUFJÖRDUR. SUNDAY, 11TH JANUARY 2009
Ugla sat at the piano and played an old tune, a light-hearted piece that dated back to the middle of the last century – a song she knew by heart and which Hrólfur had delighted in hearing. She played almost unconsciously as she waited for Ari Thór, who was late for his piano lesson.
It was still hard to believe that Hrólfur was dead. He had seemed so fit and healthy for his age … Damn it! Why couldn’t he have been more careful on the stairs? They could have carried on meeting for coffee, continued deepening their friendship. Suddenly she stopped playing, and remembered the argument between Hrólfur and Úlfur at the theatre. Had it ended badly? Could Hrólfur have been pushed?
She had to admit that Hrólfur had been quite drunk that evening. She had always tried to avoid him when he had been drinking. Alcohol brought out his darker side. Hrólfur had quickly realised that she preferred not to meet him under those circumstances, never inviting her for coffee unless he was completely sober. Although he could be abrasive, inside he was as gentle as a lamb and Ugla would certainly miss him. Her thoughts suddenly turned to herself. Hrólfur had always been her guardian angel at the Dramatic Society and she was fully aware of that. So what now? Would things change? They could hardly take her leading part away now, but next time? Maybe the lead would go to Anna in the future?
Úlfur had sent everyone an email to confirm that the opening night would be postponed by two weeks. It had been a short, clearmessage that didn’t waste any words or, for that matter, express any emotion about the situation.
Of course there was nothing to be done but wait for the new opening night. Ugla would have preferred to get on with it. She had prepared for the performance as if it were an exam all of that week, and she didn’t know if she could bear to continue for another fortnight.
She glanced at the clock on the wall. She had been looking forward to Ari Thór’s visit, and not just because he was her only student. She enjoyed his company and there was a calming air about him. She couldn’t deny that he was a handsome man, elegant, even, but there was something else that attracted her to him, something invisible and intangible. Somehow he managed to smile with his eyes as well as his mouth. Was she attracted to him?
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