She told Simon and Mikkelina to have clean sheets and hot water ready to wash the baby. After having three children, she knew the procedures.

It was still winter and dark, but the weather had unexpectedly turned warmer and it had rained during the day; spring would soon arrive. Their mother had been outdoors that day clearing the beds around the redcurrant bushes and pruning dead branches. She said the berries would be good when she made jam that autumn. Simon did not let her out of his sight and went to the bushes with her. She tried to calm him down by saying that everything would be all right.

“Nothing will be all right,” Simon said, and repeated it: “Nothing will be all right. You mustn’t have that baby. You mustn’t. That’s what he says, and he’ll kill it. He says so. When’s the baby due?”

“Don’t you worry,” his mother said. “When the baby’s born I’ll take it to town and he’ll never see it. He’s ill and helpless. He lies in bed all day and can’t do anything.”

“But when’s the baby due?”

“It could be at any time,” his mother said soothingly. “Maybe sometime soon, then it’s over and done with. Don’t be afraid, Simon. You must be strong. For my sake, Simon.”

“Why don’t you go to hospital? Why don’t you leave here to have the baby?”

“He won’t let me,” she said. “He’d fetch me and order me to give birth at home. He doesn’t want anyone to find out. We’ll say we found it. Entrust it to the care of good people. That’s the way he wants it. Everything will be all right.”

“But he says he’ll kill it.”

“He won’t do that.”

“I’m so scared,” Simon said. “Why does it have to be like this? I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do,” he repeated, and she could tell he was plagued by anxiety.

Now he stood looking down at his mother, who was lying on the mattresses in the kitchen. Apart from the double bedroom, that was the only place in the house large enough, and she began to strain in absolute silence. Tomas was in Grimur’s room. Simon had crept to the door and closed it.

Mikkelina lay by the side of her mother, who tried to make no noise at all. The door to the double bedroom opened, Tomas came out into the passage and went to the kitchen. Grimur was sitting on the edge of the bed, moaning. He had sent Tomas to the kitchen to fetch a bowl of porridge which he had not touched. Told him to help himself to it as well.

When Tomas walked past his mother, Simon and Mikkelina, he noticed that the baby’s head had appeared. Their mother pushed with all her might until the shoulders emerged as well.

Tomas took the bowl of porridge and a spoon, and suddenly his mother saw out of the corner of her eye that he was about to take a mouthful.

“Tomas! For God’s sake don’t touch that porridge!” she shouted in desperation.

A deathly silence descended upon the house and the children stared at their mother, who was sitting with the newborn baby in her arms and staring at Tomas, and he was so surprised that he dropped the bowl to the floor where it smashed to pieces.

The bed creaked.

Grimur came out into the passage and into the kitchen. He looked down at their mother and the newborn baby in her arms, a look of disgust on his face. He looked over to Tomas, then at the porridge on the floor.

“Can it be?” Grimur said in a low, astonished voice, as if he had suddenly found the answer to a riddle that had long been puzzling him. He looked back down at the children’s mother.

“Are you poisoning me?” he shouted.

The mother looked up at Grimur. Mikkelina and Simon did not dare look up. Tomas stood motionless over the porridge that had splashed across the floor.

“Didn’t I fucking suspect as much! All that lethargy. That pain. Sickness…”

Grimur looked around the kitchen. Then he jumped at the cupboards and jerked open the drawers. He went berserk. He swept the contents of the cupboards onto the floor. Picked up an old bag of cornmeal and hurled it at the wall. When it burst, he heard a glass jar drop out of it.

“Is this it?” he shouted, picking up the jar. “How long have you been doing this?” he hissed.

The children’s mother stared into his eyes. A candle was burning on the floor beside her. While he was searching for the poison she had hurriedly picked up a large pair of scissors that she had kept by her side to heat in the flame, then cut the umbilical cord and knotted it with shaking hands.

“Answer me!” Grimur screamed.

She did not need to answer. He could tell from her eyes. Her expression. Her obstinacy. How she had always, deep down inside, defied him, unflinching, no matter how often he thrashed her, he saw it in her silent dissent, the challenge glaring back at him with the soldier’s bloodstained bastard in her arms.

Saw it in the baby she hugged to her breast.

“Leave Mum alone,” Simon said in a low voice.

“Give it to me!” Grimur screamed. “Give me the baby, you fucking serpent!”

“Leave Mum alone,” Simon said, more loudly.

“Give it here!” Grimur screamed, “or I’ll kill you both. I’ll kill you all! Kill you! All!”

He foamed at the mouth with rage.

“You fucking whore! Are you trying to kill me? Do you reckon you can kill me?”

“Stop it!” Simon shouted.

The children’s mother clutched the baby tight with one arm, and groped for the scissors with the other, but she could not find them. She glanced away from Grimur and looked around for them in a frenzy, but they were gone.

Erlendur looked at Mikkelina.

“Who took the scissors?” he asked.

Mikkelina was standing by the window now. Erlendur and Elinborg exchanged glances. They were both thinking the same thing.

“Are you the only one left to tell what happened?” Erlendur asked.

“Yes,” Mikkelina said. “There’s no one else.”

“Who took the scissors?” Elinborg asked.

28

“Do you want to meet Simon?” Mikkelina asked. Her eyes were moist with tears.

“Simon?” Erlendur said, not knowing what she meant. Then he remembered. The man who had collected her from the hill. “You mean your son?”

“No, not my son, my brother,” Mikkelina said. “My brother Simon.”

“Is he alive?”

“Yes, he’s alive.”

“Then we have to talk to him,” Erlendur said.

“You won’t get much out of him,” Mikkelina smiled. “But let’s go and see him anyway. He enjoys visits.”

“Aren’t you going to finish your story?” Elinborg asked. “What kind of a beast was that man? I don’t believe it. Someone behaving that way.”

Erlendur looked towards her.

“I’ll tell you on the way,” Mikkelina said. “Let’s go and see Simon.”

“Simon!” their mother shouted.

“Leave Mum alone,” Simon screamed in a quavering voice, and before they knew it he had plunged the scissors into Grimur’s chest.

Simon pulled back his hand and saw that the scissors had gone in up to the handle. He looked in disbelief at his son, as if he did not fully realise what had happened. He looked down at the scissors, but seemed incapable of moving. He looked again at Simon.

“Are you killing me?” Grimur groaned and fell to his knees. Blood pumped out from the scissor-wound onto the floor, and slowly he slumped backwards and slammed against the wall.

Their mother clutched the baby in silent terror. Mikkelina lay motionless by her side. Tomas was still standing where he had dropped the porridge. Simon began shivering, standing beside his mother. Grimur did not move.

Everything went silent.

Until their mother let out a piercing, anguished howl.