He should have been permanently on his guard, he understood that now, and of course he should have warned Aníta of the danger.
The visibility was so poor, Bergthóra had said, so casually, and he wanted to scream at her at the top of his voice, but right now his most urgent priority was to find out if she was telling the truth, and, if she was, to go to Aníta’s aid.
Perhaps, just perhaps – God he hoped so – Bergthóra was lying. This faint hope ignited a spark that ran through him like fire, a gleam of light in this accursed rain.
‘Where is she?’ he asked hoarsely. ‘Where’s Aníta?’ While he was waiting for her answer, he tried to picture Aníta’s face, but he couldn’t. She seemed shrouded in mist, as though he couldn’t even command his imagination any more.
‘Just up the street from here, I said. You weren’t listening to me, Helgi. But then you never do.’
She was disturbingly calm, with that uncannily cold glint in her eyes.
The visibility was so poor…
‘Are you telling me the truth, Bergthóra?’ he asked, allowing himself to hope, though of course he should have been straight out of here, racing to save Aníta.
‘I’ve never lied, Helgi. Unlike you. I know you started seeing that woman while we were still together.’
‘No! That’s not true, that’s simply not true.’
Then he was running. There was no point arguing with her; it wouldn’t achieve anything. The downpour was mixed with hail now, which stung his eyes and face as he ran. He felt as if he was trying to force his way against the wind, though perhaps that was his imagination. The situation was reminiscent of a bad dream, an unsettlingly realistic, utterly chilling, terrifyingly convincing nightmare. Visibility was poor, that was true enough. He couldn’t see Aníta anywhere, but he wiped his eyes and kept running, only slowing his frantic pace a little so he wouldn’t miss anything if she turned out to be lying on the side of the road.
It felt as if he were about to hit a wall, as if he had come to a dead end and his world reached this far and no further.
Perhaps it would be best to stop here in the middle of the road and let himself drown in the deluge, forget everything and never have to find out whether it was true that Bergthóra had knocked Aníta down.
No sooner had the thought occurred to him than it was driven out by the sight ahead. There she lay, in the dim glow of the nearest streetlight.
The heavens screamed.
Helgi set off at a run towards her.
THE END
