House of Evidence, page 22
June 23, 1934. Order and discipline are the rule everywhere here in Berlin. The public are grateful to the National Socialist Party for having dealt with communism. The previous situation in the city was such that the violence and killings perpetrated by the communists were intolerable. Nearly every citizen had at least once experienced a life-threatening situation as a result of street fighting. This plague has now been eradicated. Though the National Socialists may have placed certain limits on the people’s personal freedom, the idea that it is forbidden to express criticism of the regime is pure fabrication by foreigners. Ill-feeling abroad toward the National Socialists is often based on the fact that they are considered to be too demanding on party members, who must be prepared to make sacrifices to help fellow party members suffering hardship. They are required to eat simple rather than elaborate meals on Sundays, and to donate the difference in price to a fund for the unemployed. This policy of assistance is not mentioned in foreign papers. The fact is also suppressed that the German government wants by all means to avoid war, a policy that is consistent with German public opinion…
July 4, 1934. There has been unrest here in Germany of late, but today Hitler announced that the revolt has been stamped out…We are about to go home. Our visit here has laid solid foundations for our goals, but there remains plenty of work still to do…
Halldór had slept badly. He spent much of the night thinking about the case he had been tasked with solving. Until now, all the clues had led down blind alleys, and he was at a loss as to what to do next. He would certainly have a further talk with Matthías and ask for an explanation for this visit to Birkihlíd last Wednesday evening, but he doubted that it would bring him any closer to solving the case. He finally fell asleep early in the morning, but was plagued by bad dreams. He dreamed he was at Birkihlíd looking for some clue, he didn’t know what, as water streamed down the chimney. He was madly bailing it out through the parlor window, which for some reason was broken, and he felt it was his fault. Morning finally came, and Halldór stumbled out of bed, washed his face, shaved, got dressed, and made his way down to the kitchen and his cup of tea. Morgunbladid slid through the letterbox a few minutes later, and he had only just begun reading an interesting article on police households when the phone rang. Stefanía leapt to her feet immediately.
“Perhaps it’s the minister again,” she said, hurrying to answer the phone.
“He’s just a bank manager now,” called Halldór.
“Hello,” she warbled happily into the receiver. Her smile faded almost instantly.
“It’s only a long-distance call,” she said disappointedly. “It’s for you.”
Halldór took the receiver. “Hello…hello.”
Erlendur’s voice came through the receiver along with a bit of static. “Hi. How’s it going?”
Halldór looked at his wife, whose ears were twitching. “There’s not much progress.”
“Right. Well, listen, I was in Salzburg yesterday. I sent the wife and kids on up into the mountains so I could have some peace and quiet here in the city.”
“Okay.”
“Yeah, I went to the police station and spoke with the officer in charge, a Mr. Kirschbaum. He was very friendly, and took me to the place where Matthías lives. We talked to some of his neighbors and various things emerged.”
“Really?”
“Yes, apparently, it is common knowledge in the area that Matthías and his servant Klemenz are queers who live together as a couple.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, they even seem to be members of a club for men like that, here in the city. Mr. Kirschbaum found their names on a secret list the police keep of clubs of this kind and their membership. You can never be too careful with guys like this.”
“No, that’s true.”
“Well, that was all. Mr. Kirschbaum then drove me to Zell am See, and we drank beer and Jägermeister well into the night. He’s ready to lend assistance if we need any further help in this matter.”
“That’s good news,” said Halldór, looking at the clock. “You’re up early.”
“Yeah, Halli woke us at dawn. He’s off skiing and I’m just getting dressed.”
“Right, have fun.”
“Thanks, good luck.”
“Bye.” Halldór put the receiver down.
Diary XIV
July 20, 1934. My brother Matthías is thirty today. I dare not mention this to my mother, as she never initiates conversations about him. I thought this would change when Father died but I can see no signs to indicate this. I am writing to Matthías secretly to thank him for all his help in Berlin. I am sending him a little book of poetry…
July 26, 1934. Morgunbladid reports clashes in Austria…
July 31, 1934. Completed the purchase of a new automobile today. It is a Ford…
August 3, 1934. Hindenburg, President of Germany, died yesterday. The office will be amalgamated with that of chancellor, and Hitler will, consequently, become the country’s next president…
January 17, 1935. I have been unsure about whether I did the right thing when I decided on one meter gauge rather than standard gauge, as the wider gauge can carry heavier railcars with large snowplows. I have, however, just heard of a new type of rotary snowplow that digs itself through the snow, with big motorized blades throwing the snow to one side. I can have a railcar with a plow like that run before the train to clear the track. Then there is little danger of cancellations on account of the weather…
March 29, 1935. I have had quite a few projects to work on this summer. I cannot see myself being able to finish them all if I am to work on the railroad as well…
April 3, 1935. Had a letter from Berlin with many beautiful railroad stamps. Björn Klee has done a good job for me exchanging the Icelandic stamps I sent him last winter for stamps from various countries with pictures of steam engines…
June 7, 1935. I have had one reply to my advertisement in the engineer’s magazine for an assistant engineer. A young man, recently graduated from Copenhagen, Thórdur Thórdarson, his family from the Gnúpverjahreppur district…
June 8, 1935. I have now realized that there will be no viable basis for operating the railroad if it only goes as far as the Thjórsá River. There are, on the other hand, enormous opportunities if we take the railroad onward, north to Akureyri. Then there would be a large junction station at Ölfusá River, below Mt. Ingólfsfjall. From there the track would go via Biskupstungur on to Kjalvegur and along the existing road route north to Akureyri. The new snowplow makes this very feasible. I assume that a densely populated area will form round the junction station…
June 21, 1935. Now that there are three of us working in the engineering studio, I need to think about accommodation. The office is not large enough for all of us. Having to approach it through the parlor is also a disadvantage. Thórdur suggested I should have an extension built on the north side of the house…
August 5, 1935. Kristján is back in town after his trip north. He says there is an excellent route for the railroad from the Kjalvegur Road along Blöndudalur Valley to the populated areas in the north. There would then be a junction station near the mouth of the valley, and perhaps a branch line going to Blönduós. The main line would continue through the Vatnsskard pass over to Skagafjördur…
September 25, 1935. We moved the drafting table and the cabinet into the extension this morning. Everything fits in very well there. The studio is very light, and will probably be an excellent place to work. I gave a small reception to mark the occasion this afternoon…
October 12, 1935. Young Jacob is ten years old today. He is an obedient and polite little boy…
December 1, 1935. My mother was suddenly taken ill during the night with severe internal pains and vomiting. This continued well into the day, before subsiding so that she was able to sleep. It is Sunday and difficult to get hold of a doctor. Sveinborg is sitting with her…
December 2, 1935. The doctor gave my mother laudanum to alleviate the pain…
December 9, 1935. My mother died this evening. She was conscious for a while this morning and asked about Matthías. He has not been mentioned in the house since he went abroad. I saw that it made her happy when I told her that he was well and that I had met him last year…
Hrefna slept longer than she had intended, but was nevertheless lucky: when she got to the students’ residence, Elísabet was still asleep in her room.
“There are some things that have emerged in the investigation of your uncle’s murder that we need to find a credible explanation for. I think you may be able to help me,” Hrefna explained once inside Elísabet’s room.
“What do you mean?” Elísabet asked, lighting a cigarette.
“I have been tipped off that you have more than a casual relationship with Sigurdur Sigurdsson, the son of Sigurdur Jónsson.”
Elísabet looked defiantly at Hrefna. “Yeah, Diddi and I are good friends.”
“Why didn’t you tell me when we spoke before?”
“It would probably have shocked Mom. She doesn’t even know I’m going out with a guy, let alone this guy. But I can’t see that it has anything to do with your investigation.”
“We have firm proof that Sigurdur was in Birkihlíd on the evening Jacob was murdered.”
“What proof?”
“I’m not discussing that with you.”
Elísabet inhaled the smoke deeply and then blew it out forcefully. “If I tell you that the reason for his being there was completely normal and had nothing to do with the murder, would that be enough?”
“No,” Hrefna replied, shaking her head.
Elísabet was quiet for a few moments.
“Okay. I’ll try and explain this a bit better. When I was younger and my mom and I came for a visit to Birkihlíd, I sometimes used to read Grandpa Jacob’s diaries. He died a long time before I was born, of course, but I felt I got to know him through those books. It always seemed so sad to me how he dedicated his life to that railroad, but never saw his dreams come true. He was so talented that he should have been able to make his mark in any field in the community, but instead he ends up in this blind alley. Do you know what I mean?”
“Yeah, I have also read the diaries.”
“Well. I’ve been dabbling in writing poetry since starting college, and Diddi has written music to a few of them. He plays the guitar, you see.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“I wanted to write a poem that described Grandpa’s destiny. It’s almost ready and I asked Diddi for a song. I had to try and describe Grandpa to him, naturally, and Birkihlíd was the best place to do that. I also wanted to show him the diaries. I knew what time Sveinborg goes shopping on Wednesdays, and we were waiting outside when she went. I had my key from when I was supposed to be living there.”
“So you both went in?”
“Yes, for a little while. We just went through the main rooms, and Diddi sat down at the piano and played a few chords. And then I just felt a bit weird, and we went back outside. That was all.”
“Where can I find Sigurdur and get him to confirm this?”
“I don’t know. He was going somewhere out into the country to play a gig, Ólafsvík, I think. Then he was planning to work in the freezing plant for a few days if there was any work available. I haven’t heard anything from him since the day before yesterday.”
Hrefna decided her story was implausible enough to be true. “Let me hear the poem,” she said.
Elísabet bit her lip. “Okay,” she replied, and then recited it confidently.
“Awake I lie, and wintry visions
within life’s path to me appear;
as bitter winds they blow, to weaken
the boldness of your yesteryear.
“You left in silence; lost forever
in Lethe’s depths your thoughts now lie.
Bold your venture, but too heavy
a burden: did your spirit die?
“There are no tracks that onward gleam,
there are no tracks to carry me
out from dark, into the dream,
there are no tracks that man can see.
“There are no tracks on empty roads,
there are no tracks—and ever more
swift the train runs, speeding goes,
and sweeps o’er all that lies before.
“You nursed a hope, though no man saw
unknown the checks that hindered you.
Striving, dreaming, strong-willed, more,
yet still the aim was never true.”
Elísabet fell silent, awaiting Hrefna’s reaction.
“I believe you,” Hrefna finally said.
Elísabet sighed in relief.
“Tell me about your visits to Birkihlíd when you were a child,” Hrefna asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Just anything you can remember.”
Elísabet thought for a moment and then said, “At Christmas we either came south to Reykjavik or Granny and Uncle Jacob came north to us. That’s how it always was until Granny died. Mom and I also visited Granny every summer for a couple of weeks or so.”
“Tell me about your grandmother,” Hrefna asked.
“Granny was an amazing lady. She always spoke English to us, but she understood Icelandic perfectly. Mom speaks English like a native and she often spoke it to me when I was little, so I could also understand Granny. We got on very well, even though she was very determined and wanted to control everybody.”
“How was life at your grandmother’s?”
“Everything was very fixed. Mealtimes, for instance, were exactly on time because Granny was a stickler for routine. She always went for a walk at the same time, and always walked the same route. Then she had a nap in the early afternoon.”
“What about Jacob Junior?”
“The strange thing is I don’t remember him very well. He worked in the bank and then spent evenings in his study. He had no idea how to deal with children, and I think he avoided me when I came to visit.”
“Would you say he was normal?” Hrefna asked.
“What’s normal? Uncle Jacob was an intelligent and well-educated man. He didn’t have much in common with most people, but he was the victim of extraordinary circumstances, given the violent death of his father.”
“Have you any idea why he was killed?”
“No, I don’t. It actually seems completely absurd to me…and tragic. Not because I mourn him so much, but that anyone could have been driven to kill such a man.”
“What were his relations with the rest of the family like?”
“Very good while Granny was alive. We all knew that he sacrificed himself for her, but after she died his eccentricity became unbearable.”
“Tell me more about your grandmother. Did you feel happy in her company when you were a child?” Hrefna asked.
“Yes, I was always happy with her. Many of my first memories are from Birkihlíd.”
“Tell me about them.”
“They’re just childhood memories,” she replied. “There’s one that I’ve always been very fond of. In Granny’s little bookcase, there were a few English women’s magazines that I looked through over and over again. Granny was sitting on a chair and I lay on the floor, leafing through them. I remember they all featured various cartoon strips, but because there were only single copies of this or that magazine, I had to imagine the stories before and after the installment that I had. I told Granny this, and she helped me improvise the stories. I remember one of the cartoons very well. It was about a boy and a girl who were lost in a dark enchanted forest. Suddenly, in the last picture, there was a white horse with a big horn sticking out of its forehead. In my version, the horse took the boy and the girl on his back and fought all the evil things in the forest with his horn. Then he brought them back home to their granny and grandpa. I sometimes dreamed of the white horse with the horn, and they were good dreams. If I was unhappy, all I needed was to think about the white horse with the horn…the white unicorn.”
“Were you aware that your grandmother wanted to keep the home unchanged, as it had been when your grandfather was alive?” Hrefna asked.
“That’s simply how it was. She didn’t particularly try to, she was just happy in the house as it was and there was no need to change anything. It wasn’t a compulsion like it became with Uncle Jacob later.”
“Did she keep in contact with her relatives in England?”
“Yes, she did, all her life. She visited them almost every year until the final years, when she had to be careful with her money.”
“Did your grandmother talk about Jacob Senior…your grandfather?”
“Yes, she often told me stories of what they did together, especially their travels. As I got older, she showed me the diaries, and I really enjoyed reading them.”
“Did you read all the diaries?”
“No, not the books after 1932. They were not with the others.”
“Did you ask your grandmother about them?”
“Yes, but she wouldn’t show them to me.”
“Do you know why that was?”
“She said that I wouldn’t understand some of the things in them. I just accepted that and didn’t ask anymore. I never doubted anything Granny told me. She always knew best.”
“What can you tell me about your uncle Matthías?”
“About Matthías? What do you mean?”
“What was the relationship between him and the family like?”
“There was no relationship, apart from a letter at Christmas. But Grandpa Jacob often mentioned him in the diaries and seems to have really appreciated him.”
“Have you met him recently?”
“No, I haven’t tried to get to know him. Most of my interests lie outside the family. But I was pleased that he stood up to Uncle Jacob. Mom was getting really fed up with this compulsion of his.”
“Do you know Klemenz, his manservant?”
“No. I find all that rather unpleasant. One person waiting on another for years on end doesn’t fit my worldview. I’m quite a bit more radical than this family of mine.”
July 4, 1934. There has been unrest here in Germany of late, but today Hitler announced that the revolt has been stamped out…We are about to go home. Our visit here has laid solid foundations for our goals, but there remains plenty of work still to do…
Halldór had slept badly. He spent much of the night thinking about the case he had been tasked with solving. Until now, all the clues had led down blind alleys, and he was at a loss as to what to do next. He would certainly have a further talk with Matthías and ask for an explanation for this visit to Birkihlíd last Wednesday evening, but he doubted that it would bring him any closer to solving the case. He finally fell asleep early in the morning, but was plagued by bad dreams. He dreamed he was at Birkihlíd looking for some clue, he didn’t know what, as water streamed down the chimney. He was madly bailing it out through the parlor window, which for some reason was broken, and he felt it was his fault. Morning finally came, and Halldór stumbled out of bed, washed his face, shaved, got dressed, and made his way down to the kitchen and his cup of tea. Morgunbladid slid through the letterbox a few minutes later, and he had only just begun reading an interesting article on police households when the phone rang. Stefanía leapt to her feet immediately.
“Perhaps it’s the minister again,” she said, hurrying to answer the phone.
“He’s just a bank manager now,” called Halldór.
“Hello,” she warbled happily into the receiver. Her smile faded almost instantly.
“It’s only a long-distance call,” she said disappointedly. “It’s for you.”
Halldór took the receiver. “Hello…hello.”
Erlendur’s voice came through the receiver along with a bit of static. “Hi. How’s it going?”
Halldór looked at his wife, whose ears were twitching. “There’s not much progress.”
“Right. Well, listen, I was in Salzburg yesterday. I sent the wife and kids on up into the mountains so I could have some peace and quiet here in the city.”
“Okay.”
“Yeah, I went to the police station and spoke with the officer in charge, a Mr. Kirschbaum. He was very friendly, and took me to the place where Matthías lives. We talked to some of his neighbors and various things emerged.”
“Really?”
“Yes, apparently, it is common knowledge in the area that Matthías and his servant Klemenz are queers who live together as a couple.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, they even seem to be members of a club for men like that, here in the city. Mr. Kirschbaum found their names on a secret list the police keep of clubs of this kind and their membership. You can never be too careful with guys like this.”
“No, that’s true.”
“Well, that was all. Mr. Kirschbaum then drove me to Zell am See, and we drank beer and Jägermeister well into the night. He’s ready to lend assistance if we need any further help in this matter.”
“That’s good news,” said Halldór, looking at the clock. “You’re up early.”
“Yeah, Halli woke us at dawn. He’s off skiing and I’m just getting dressed.”
“Right, have fun.”
“Thanks, good luck.”
“Bye.” Halldór put the receiver down.
Diary XIV
July 20, 1934. My brother Matthías is thirty today. I dare not mention this to my mother, as she never initiates conversations about him. I thought this would change when Father died but I can see no signs to indicate this. I am writing to Matthías secretly to thank him for all his help in Berlin. I am sending him a little book of poetry…
July 26, 1934. Morgunbladid reports clashes in Austria…
July 31, 1934. Completed the purchase of a new automobile today. It is a Ford…
August 3, 1934. Hindenburg, President of Germany, died yesterday. The office will be amalgamated with that of chancellor, and Hitler will, consequently, become the country’s next president…
January 17, 1935. I have been unsure about whether I did the right thing when I decided on one meter gauge rather than standard gauge, as the wider gauge can carry heavier railcars with large snowplows. I have, however, just heard of a new type of rotary snowplow that digs itself through the snow, with big motorized blades throwing the snow to one side. I can have a railcar with a plow like that run before the train to clear the track. Then there is little danger of cancellations on account of the weather…
March 29, 1935. I have had quite a few projects to work on this summer. I cannot see myself being able to finish them all if I am to work on the railroad as well…
April 3, 1935. Had a letter from Berlin with many beautiful railroad stamps. Björn Klee has done a good job for me exchanging the Icelandic stamps I sent him last winter for stamps from various countries with pictures of steam engines…
June 7, 1935. I have had one reply to my advertisement in the engineer’s magazine for an assistant engineer. A young man, recently graduated from Copenhagen, Thórdur Thórdarson, his family from the Gnúpverjahreppur district…
June 8, 1935. I have now realized that there will be no viable basis for operating the railroad if it only goes as far as the Thjórsá River. There are, on the other hand, enormous opportunities if we take the railroad onward, north to Akureyri. Then there would be a large junction station at Ölfusá River, below Mt. Ingólfsfjall. From there the track would go via Biskupstungur on to Kjalvegur and along the existing road route north to Akureyri. The new snowplow makes this very feasible. I assume that a densely populated area will form round the junction station…
June 21, 1935. Now that there are three of us working in the engineering studio, I need to think about accommodation. The office is not large enough for all of us. Having to approach it through the parlor is also a disadvantage. Thórdur suggested I should have an extension built on the north side of the house…
August 5, 1935. Kristján is back in town after his trip north. He says there is an excellent route for the railroad from the Kjalvegur Road along Blöndudalur Valley to the populated areas in the north. There would then be a junction station near the mouth of the valley, and perhaps a branch line going to Blönduós. The main line would continue through the Vatnsskard pass over to Skagafjördur…
September 25, 1935. We moved the drafting table and the cabinet into the extension this morning. Everything fits in very well there. The studio is very light, and will probably be an excellent place to work. I gave a small reception to mark the occasion this afternoon…
October 12, 1935. Young Jacob is ten years old today. He is an obedient and polite little boy…
December 1, 1935. My mother was suddenly taken ill during the night with severe internal pains and vomiting. This continued well into the day, before subsiding so that she was able to sleep. It is Sunday and difficult to get hold of a doctor. Sveinborg is sitting with her…
December 2, 1935. The doctor gave my mother laudanum to alleviate the pain…
December 9, 1935. My mother died this evening. She was conscious for a while this morning and asked about Matthías. He has not been mentioned in the house since he went abroad. I saw that it made her happy when I told her that he was well and that I had met him last year…
Hrefna slept longer than she had intended, but was nevertheless lucky: when she got to the students’ residence, Elísabet was still asleep in her room.
“There are some things that have emerged in the investigation of your uncle’s murder that we need to find a credible explanation for. I think you may be able to help me,” Hrefna explained once inside Elísabet’s room.
“What do you mean?” Elísabet asked, lighting a cigarette.
“I have been tipped off that you have more than a casual relationship with Sigurdur Sigurdsson, the son of Sigurdur Jónsson.”
Elísabet looked defiantly at Hrefna. “Yeah, Diddi and I are good friends.”
“Why didn’t you tell me when we spoke before?”
“It would probably have shocked Mom. She doesn’t even know I’m going out with a guy, let alone this guy. But I can’t see that it has anything to do with your investigation.”
“We have firm proof that Sigurdur was in Birkihlíd on the evening Jacob was murdered.”
“What proof?”
“I’m not discussing that with you.”
Elísabet inhaled the smoke deeply and then blew it out forcefully. “If I tell you that the reason for his being there was completely normal and had nothing to do with the murder, would that be enough?”
“No,” Hrefna replied, shaking her head.
Elísabet was quiet for a few moments.
“Okay. I’ll try and explain this a bit better. When I was younger and my mom and I came for a visit to Birkihlíd, I sometimes used to read Grandpa Jacob’s diaries. He died a long time before I was born, of course, but I felt I got to know him through those books. It always seemed so sad to me how he dedicated his life to that railroad, but never saw his dreams come true. He was so talented that he should have been able to make his mark in any field in the community, but instead he ends up in this blind alley. Do you know what I mean?”
“Yeah, I have also read the diaries.”
“Well. I’ve been dabbling in writing poetry since starting college, and Diddi has written music to a few of them. He plays the guitar, you see.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“I wanted to write a poem that described Grandpa’s destiny. It’s almost ready and I asked Diddi for a song. I had to try and describe Grandpa to him, naturally, and Birkihlíd was the best place to do that. I also wanted to show him the diaries. I knew what time Sveinborg goes shopping on Wednesdays, and we were waiting outside when she went. I had my key from when I was supposed to be living there.”
“So you both went in?”
“Yes, for a little while. We just went through the main rooms, and Diddi sat down at the piano and played a few chords. And then I just felt a bit weird, and we went back outside. That was all.”
“Where can I find Sigurdur and get him to confirm this?”
“I don’t know. He was going somewhere out into the country to play a gig, Ólafsvík, I think. Then he was planning to work in the freezing plant for a few days if there was any work available. I haven’t heard anything from him since the day before yesterday.”
Hrefna decided her story was implausible enough to be true. “Let me hear the poem,” she said.
Elísabet bit her lip. “Okay,” she replied, and then recited it confidently.
“Awake I lie, and wintry visions
within life’s path to me appear;
as bitter winds they blow, to weaken
the boldness of your yesteryear.
“You left in silence; lost forever
in Lethe’s depths your thoughts now lie.
Bold your venture, but too heavy
a burden: did your spirit die?
“There are no tracks that onward gleam,
there are no tracks to carry me
out from dark, into the dream,
there are no tracks that man can see.
“There are no tracks on empty roads,
there are no tracks—and ever more
swift the train runs, speeding goes,
and sweeps o’er all that lies before.
“You nursed a hope, though no man saw
unknown the checks that hindered you.
Striving, dreaming, strong-willed, more,
yet still the aim was never true.”
Elísabet fell silent, awaiting Hrefna’s reaction.
“I believe you,” Hrefna finally said.
Elísabet sighed in relief.
“Tell me about your visits to Birkihlíd when you were a child,” Hrefna asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Just anything you can remember.”
Elísabet thought for a moment and then said, “At Christmas we either came south to Reykjavik or Granny and Uncle Jacob came north to us. That’s how it always was until Granny died. Mom and I also visited Granny every summer for a couple of weeks or so.”
“Tell me about your grandmother,” Hrefna asked.
“Granny was an amazing lady. She always spoke English to us, but she understood Icelandic perfectly. Mom speaks English like a native and she often spoke it to me when I was little, so I could also understand Granny. We got on very well, even though she was very determined and wanted to control everybody.”
“How was life at your grandmother’s?”
“Everything was very fixed. Mealtimes, for instance, were exactly on time because Granny was a stickler for routine. She always went for a walk at the same time, and always walked the same route. Then she had a nap in the early afternoon.”
“What about Jacob Junior?”
“The strange thing is I don’t remember him very well. He worked in the bank and then spent evenings in his study. He had no idea how to deal with children, and I think he avoided me when I came to visit.”
“Would you say he was normal?” Hrefna asked.
“What’s normal? Uncle Jacob was an intelligent and well-educated man. He didn’t have much in common with most people, but he was the victim of extraordinary circumstances, given the violent death of his father.”
“Have you any idea why he was killed?”
“No, I don’t. It actually seems completely absurd to me…and tragic. Not because I mourn him so much, but that anyone could have been driven to kill such a man.”
“What were his relations with the rest of the family like?”
“Very good while Granny was alive. We all knew that he sacrificed himself for her, but after she died his eccentricity became unbearable.”
“Tell me more about your grandmother. Did you feel happy in her company when you were a child?” Hrefna asked.
“Yes, I was always happy with her. Many of my first memories are from Birkihlíd.”
“Tell me about them.”
“They’re just childhood memories,” she replied. “There’s one that I’ve always been very fond of. In Granny’s little bookcase, there were a few English women’s magazines that I looked through over and over again. Granny was sitting on a chair and I lay on the floor, leafing through them. I remember they all featured various cartoon strips, but because there were only single copies of this or that magazine, I had to imagine the stories before and after the installment that I had. I told Granny this, and she helped me improvise the stories. I remember one of the cartoons very well. It was about a boy and a girl who were lost in a dark enchanted forest. Suddenly, in the last picture, there was a white horse with a big horn sticking out of its forehead. In my version, the horse took the boy and the girl on his back and fought all the evil things in the forest with his horn. Then he brought them back home to their granny and grandpa. I sometimes dreamed of the white horse with the horn, and they were good dreams. If I was unhappy, all I needed was to think about the white horse with the horn…the white unicorn.”
“Were you aware that your grandmother wanted to keep the home unchanged, as it had been when your grandfather was alive?” Hrefna asked.
“That’s simply how it was. She didn’t particularly try to, she was just happy in the house as it was and there was no need to change anything. It wasn’t a compulsion like it became with Uncle Jacob later.”
“Did she keep in contact with her relatives in England?”
“Yes, she did, all her life. She visited them almost every year until the final years, when she had to be careful with her money.”
“Did your grandmother talk about Jacob Senior…your grandfather?”
“Yes, she often told me stories of what they did together, especially their travels. As I got older, she showed me the diaries, and I really enjoyed reading them.”
“Did you read all the diaries?”
“No, not the books after 1932. They were not with the others.”
“Did you ask your grandmother about them?”
“Yes, but she wouldn’t show them to me.”
“Do you know why that was?”
“She said that I wouldn’t understand some of the things in them. I just accepted that and didn’t ask anymore. I never doubted anything Granny told me. She always knew best.”
“What can you tell me about your uncle Matthías?”
“About Matthías? What do you mean?”
“What was the relationship between him and the family like?”
“There was no relationship, apart from a letter at Christmas. But Grandpa Jacob often mentioned him in the diaries and seems to have really appreciated him.”
“Have you met him recently?”
“No, I haven’t tried to get to know him. Most of my interests lie outside the family. But I was pleased that he stood up to Uncle Jacob. Mom was getting really fed up with this compulsion of his.”
“Do you know Klemenz, his manservant?”
“No. I find all that rather unpleasant. One person waiting on another for years on end doesn’t fit my worldview. I’m quite a bit more radical than this family of mine.”
