The Journey Home: A Novel (9 page)

I am ashamed to recall what a simpleton I was in those days, how blind I was. Of course, I loved Jakob more than words can tell, but what is love but a quest for disappointment? I was blind when I took leave of Mrs. Brown with a long embrace. Blind when I lied to my mother that I was going to Somerset for Boulestin.

Blind.

When we got talking after dinner, the first engineer began to enthuse about the car I had arrived in. He was clearly surprised that I should know anything about it, though I explained to him that this was quite by chance. It was obvious that he was very keen on machines and cars and he embarked on a rather lengthy description of the spare parts and carburetors he had bought while in port. I nodded out of politeness as he was a nice chap. When he turned the conversation to the
Gullfoss
’s engines and invited me down to the engine room, I didn’t know what else to do but go with him.

We were down there for some time and I can honestly say that I enjoyed myself. The engines roared with a confidenceinspiring steadiness, unaffected by the whims of the world, by disasters or changes of mood. The smell of oil mingled with sea salt, filling me with courage.

As we emerged from the engine room, we were greeted by the clinking of glasses and crockery, and an unpleasant reek of smoke. The engineer invited me to sit with him in the smoking saloon and I couldn’t really do anything but accompany him, even though I had no interest in consorting with the people sitting in there. Supper had passed without strain as I had the good luck to end up between two Danes who spoke neither Icelandic nor English. To make things easier for myself I lied to them at the beginning of the meal that I didn’t speak Danish. They were therefore perfectly agreeable dinner companions.

Now, however, I was defenseless. We had no sooner entered the saloon than the engineer began to introduce me to one passenger after another. Till now I had managed to keep myself to myself, avoiding having anything to do with any of them, but now there was no escape. No doubt he thought he was doing me a favor, assuming that my lack of sociability stemmed from shyness.

“She knows about cars,” he said more often than once to break the ice. Unfortunately, he was successful.

“Cars, hee hee,” tittered a young woman with a pale complexion and a white hat, her long fingers toting a cigarette-holder, which made them seem even thinner and whiter. The man with her began a long monologue about a Studebaker he apparently meant to buy shortly. I bore with the conversation which followed his declaration, trying to show the proper politeness so that the engineer wouldn’t think I was arrogant. All the same, I guessed from his expression that he read my mind and sympathized. But perhaps it was only my imagination. He took me to a table in the corner and asked whether I wasn’t in need of refreshment after all this car talk. Then he turned to wave to a waiter.

I had no sooner sat down than the doctor of medieval literature slumped down in the chair opposite me. There was something about his manner which I didn’t like, a pathetic look that I hadn’t noticed before and couldn’t put my finger on but which immediately put my back up.

“I’m finished,” he announced to me, continuing to drain his glass. “Finished,” he repeated. “Fini.”

“That’s a shame,” I answered, instead of keeping my mouth shut.

“Three years in Copenhagen and two in Edinburgh. And my father and mother think I’ve taken my exams. They think I’m the best-educated man in Iceland.”

“And that you’ve discovered the author of
Egil’s Saga,
isn’t that so?”

I looked around. The engineer had disappeared. I would have to wait.

“My father’s a fisherman. He’s a fisherman,” he repeated, mumbling into his glass. “A fisherman,” as if he had only just realized the fact.

The waiter brought me a glass of sherry.

“Ingolfur will be back in a moment. He just had to step up to the bridge.”

“My mother works in a bakery. I’m the eldest. Siggi is twenty and my sister Edda was confirmed this spring. They’re all going to meet me on the docks. All of them. And my father will put his fist on my shoulder and say: ‘we’re proud of you, my boy.’ ‘Dr. Hallgrimur Palsson,’ my mother will say solemnly. ‘Soon to be professor.’ ”

He laughed, then his face crumpled and he began to sob.

“I haven’t completed a single exam in the last three years.”

He was sorry for himself. My goodness, was he sorry for himself.

“And they’ve scrimped and saved. All these years they’ve been saving up.”

There were two couples sitting at the next table. I noticed that the women were eavesdropping.

“I’m going to drown myself tonight. I’m going to throw myself overboard before we get home.”

His declaration clearly worried the women at the next table. They nudged their husbands. But I had had enough.

“That’s a good idea,” I said. “What are you waiting for?”

He looked stunned.

“I’m going to
drown
myself,” he repeated. “Put an end to my life.”

His voice was slurred but he managed nevertheless to pronounce “put an end to my life” with something approaching solemnity.

“Yes, well, shouldn’t you be getting a move on? The weather’s fine and the sea’s calm. Not bad weather for killing yourself.”

I stood up. He looked like a dog which had just been kicked.

“How could you say that? How could you say that to me?” The couples at the next table put their heads together. I guessed what they were whispering when I saw their expressions. But what did they know? What experience did they have of boys like this?

I knew what sort of person I had been sitting with. I knew the type.

12

Franz Himmelfarb owned two factories, one in Berlin, the other in Düsseldorf. He also owned a book shop which stocked antiquarian and rare books, an abattoir, a partnership in a newspaper, and a firm selling umbrellas and sunshades.

“Of course they’re rich,” said Mrs. Brown. “They’re Jewish.”

Jakob had little interest in his father’s business and seldom mentioned it.

“The only difference between an umbrella and a sunshade is the color,” he once said. “No doubt Father would be delighted if the Lord were to invent something new for people to shelter from.”

I never met his parents but judging from photographs Jakob was the image of his father. Yet he had his mother’s mouth—a beautiful woman with large eyes and wavy hair. I once asked him about their religion.

“They have assimilated,” he answered, smiling. “They have the same representative to the Almighty as you—old Luther.”

As for himself, he said he believed in the sun, moon and stars.

His doctoral thesis was on Blake’s poetry.

I care not whether a man is Good or Evil; all that I care
Is whether he is a Wise Man or a Fool.
Go! put off Holiness,
And put on Intellect.

How impressive it sounded when he quoted it. The Great War was the result of stupidity and misunderstanding, he explained, not wickedness, treachery or cunning. “Wretched fools,” he said of the Continental heads of state, “cockerels who competed to see who could crow loudest on their dunghills until they could no longer avoid clashing.” And that’s how it had always been—since history began—though ignorant historians did their utmost to define the lunacy in terms of good and evil.

We were sitting out on the veranda under a blue tarpaulin which we had hung over it shortly after our arrival. It began to rain but we remained dry and unconcerned under the canvas, watching the drops forming rivulets along the gutters in the road, and the dusk falling silently over the valley. Jakob leaned back in his chair, the song of his typewriter silenced, the hare which I had bought that morning cooking in a pot on the primitive stove. We feared nothing under that blue canopy, nothing whatsoever. Wars and battles belonged to history and there was little danger of them being repeated here.

Steam rose from the earth after the rain. He put his arms around me, his eyes large and brown, his fingers long and tender on my breasts.

“Out here?” I asked.

“Show him the way,” he whispered.

“Here?”

“Stroke him . . . Show him the way . . .”

Brown eyes, I think, though sometimes I seem to see other eyes staring at me when I try to remember him. Sometimes all I can see is his silhouette in my mind. Sometimes just his beret with no face under it. Then I become afraid and sit up in bed with a jerk. “Anthony,” I call, but have forgotten what I meant to say to him by the time he comes to me with the sleep still in his eyes.

It was a warm spring. We generally sat outside on the veranda in the late afternoon, waiting for dusk to fall on the day’s efforts. I remember once hearing laughter carried to us from somewhere in the valley. This was at the end of May. We both listened as the wind wafted it over to us in intermittent waves which were sometimes difficult to pick up. It was like listening to a tune from a hurdy-gurdy man carried a long distance on the breeze. The wind would drop for a moment and nothing could be heard, so I thought the girl had stopped (we were both convinced it was a girl laughing), then at that moment the wind would change direction and without warning the laughter would sound again.

“She laughs like you, Disa.”

“I don’t laugh like that.”

“Exactly the same.”

“Me?”

“Just that sort of rippling laughter.”

“Not like that.”

Jakob imitated the laugh: “Tee, hee, heeheehee . . .”

“I don’t laugh like that.”

“Will you marry me?”

The breeze caressed our cheeks and the night drew its blanket over us. We embraced again and again, unable to be apart, his breath was my breath, his heart beat in my breast.

The following morning I went to the telephone exchange in Paulton to ring my mother. It was sunny when I set off but by the time I reached the outskirts of the village it had begun to rain. I was cycling and hadn’t brought a coat, so I was soaked to the skin in a matter of seconds. There was no wind but the raindrops were big and heavy and my dress soon clung to my body. By the road into the village there was a small church and I remember the vicar standing in the doorway as I cycled past. I think he waved to me with a smile. I also remember the butcher, a friend of mine, standing cheerfully at the window of his shop as I coasted past, but perhaps that is just my imagination. I enjoyed the feel of the rain on my face, which was red and hot after the sunshine of the last few days.

It took more than two hours to get a connection to Kopasker.

“Disa, is that you? Is something wrong?”

“There’s nothing wrong, Mother. I’ve got engaged.”

Silence. Crackling on the line.

“I said I’ve got engaged.”

“What did you say, child?”

I gabbled on nineteen to the dozen despite the poor connection. “We’re getting married this autumn,” I told her, “when we get back to London. Jakob, he’s called, Jakob Himmelfarb, a German. I love him, I tell you, love him so much you wouldn’t believe it, Mother. And it’s so beautiful here in the countryside, there’s a little stream by the garden (which isn’t so much a garden as a meadow) and the grass has started to turn green and the birds have begun to sing all day long for our amusement. I get butter, cheese, eggs, chickens and ducks from the farm farther up the valley, the people there are so dependable and easy to get along with.” I also told her about the butcher and the little restaurant beside the library where I cooked three evenings a week. “Butler’s Tavern, it’s called,” but I didn’t mention that I was forbidden to cook anything except traditional English food since the owner received complaints. I told her that Jakob and I had been to London twice that year—“God, how expensive everything is there compared to here, Mother. A pound of butter costs . . . and the cheese isn’t nearly as good. But it was fun to see Julie and some of the other staff.” However, I didn’t mention the falling out between Boulestin and myself, though Mrs. Brown had told me that he was ready to take me back in the autumn. “But perhaps we’ll come to Iceland first. Yes, Jakob has suggested that it might not be a bad idea as things stand. Oh, Mother, I’m so happy.”

Silence.

“Mother?”

I thought the connection had been lost.

“Mother, are you there?”

“I was under the impression you were in the countryside under Boulestin’s protection,” I heard her say. “How come you’ve never told us before about this—what’s he called again?—this Jakob? You said you were there for Boulestin . . .”

“Oh, Mother . . .”

“You deceived us. Your parents. And now you claim you’re engaged. Are you out of your mind, child? Is there something wrong with you? Deceived us, your parents. And now you say you’re getting married this autumn. You’re out of your mind . . .”

I had begun to cry.

“Mother, you don’t understand . . .”

“No, I don’t understand you. I don’t understand how you could treat us like that. After everything we’ve done for you. Your father . . . And then you go behind our backs. This sort of behavior leads to nothing but unhappiness. Nothing but unhappiness, Asdis.”

The tune from the traveling hurdy-gurdy man, apparently seamless at first, then falling apart. The notes are lost when the wind drops, becoming scattered and in the end forgetting one another, lost in the void. Lonely notes drifting through the emptiness, futile—completely futile.

In July David, Jakob’s younger brother, announced his imminent arrival. His letter was waiting for us when we came home after a day’s walk in the woods; I remember being surprised that the letter should be from him as the handwriting on the envelope was so elegant that I had assumed the sender was a woman. The envelope was blue and so was the paper. Light blue.

We were tired and happy that day after a long walk and a dip in a little lake we had come across and had completely to ourselves. The lake—or rather pond—was hidden in a leafy clearing and Jakob amused himself by diving below the surface, swimming up to me underwater and seizing my toes. At first I was anxious, thinking he had been under for too long and imagining that he had got caught in the weeds at the bottom and couldn’t get free. Then my toes were pinched and I burst out laughing with relief when he surfaced and took me in his arms. We ate a late lunch on the bank of the pond, cold omelette, smoked salmon and cheese, and drank a translucent red wine which slipped down the throat without troubling the brain cells. After the meal we dozed and when we awoke the shadows were lengthening and the flat rocks of the bank had grown cool to the touch. We strolled home accompanied by the diffident rays of the evening sun.

“He intends to stay for one night,” said Jakob after reading the letter. “And he will not be alone.”

He was fond of his brother and looked forward to seeing him, as well as being curious to meet his girlfriend. David seemed to be madly in love with her and Jakob’s smile became almost paternal as he read his brother’s description of the girl, so sincere and ingenuous were his comments.

They arrived on Saturday, shortly after midday. We watched them walk up the drive to the house, David carrying a small suitcase in one hand and holding the girl’s hand in the other. She wore a long white skirt, white blouse and a white hat on her head, a tall, slim figure, gliding along like a moonbeam. Jakob kissed his brother on both cheeks and I did the same even though I didn’t know him; he was a good-looking young man, more delicately built than his brother and not as tall. The girl, whose name was Anna, greeted me with a weak handshake but Jakob was quick to give her a welcome kiss. David fussed around her like a humble servant and Jakob and I gave each other sideways glances and smiled, as it was almost funny to watch the boy’s behavior.

“Would you like to sit here in the shade? I’ll fetch a chair for you. Is the seat comfortable enough? Would you like me to fetch a cushion? Are you comfortable now?”

She offered to help me in the kitchen, and when I declined sat in the shade on the veranda and asked David to light her a cigarette. She smoked one after another and David leaped up at regular intervals to relieve her of the stub and empty the ashtray. She caressed his neck whenever he bent down to her and nibbled his earlobe teasingly after whispering something to him which doubtless wasn’t meant for our ears. Perhaps she thought we wouldn’t notice but somehow I’m not convinced. I thought he blushed.

When Jakob suggested we take a stroll down to the river and over to the next valley, she said she’d prefer to stay behind and rest. David was quick to decide to stay behind with her. I looked over my shoulder when we reached the river. She was still sitting in the shade on the veranda, David at her side watching us. For some reason I felt sure they would go inside the moment we were out of sight.

Though I say so myself, supper was delicious. I had pulled out all the stops for David’s sake. First we ate vegetable soup, then blue cheese and ham which I had baked in a pastry crust, then finally pigeons served with prunes. We drank a young red wine which Jakob had picked up on our last visit to London; it had a pleasant flavor. We tried to talk as little as possible about the situation in Germany, but naturally couldn’t avoid it altogether. The girl took no part in the conversation, keeping silent. I don’t remember how the talk turned to Catholics, but Jakob said he had heard that the German government was continuing to charge monks with sexual deviancy. He didn’t hide his opinion but when his brother David opened his mouth to agree with him, his girlfriend said in a teasing voice:

“Since when have you been so interested in monks?”

She sat between Jakob and me at the round table in the sitting room, flirting a little with Jakob, getting in her laugh before David or me whenever he made an amusing comment, and flattering him at every opportunity. Her parents had moved to Namibia before the Nazis came to power but she didn’t mention them to Jakob or me. I had gathered from David’s letters that she herself was a student, though it was a bit unclear.

She smoked the odd cigarette during the meal, blowing the smoke to one side. At first David made sure that she wasn’t put to the trouble of reaching for a cigarette and lighting it herself but as the meal went on he stopped noticing when she extended her fingers toward the packet. The food and wine had filled him with unexpected vigor and he prattled on, grilling me about Icelandic horses, as he was apparently a keen rider. He was cheerful and unsuspecting when Jakob began to ask him how everybody was at home in Munich.

“And how is your friend Lore?”

David took his brother’s question literally, answering that he had met his childhood friend and her sister two weeks before when they were in London and had lunch with them.