‘Yes.’
‘She’s related to you.’
‘Yes.’
‘Thank you, She’s young… I… hardly more than twenty.’
‘Yes.’
‘She’s smiling. There’s so much light around her. There’s a radiance around her. She’s smiling. She says that Leonora’s with her and is content.’
‘Yes.’
‘She says you’re not to worry… She says Leonora’s feeling wonderful, She says…’
‘Yes?’
‘She says she’s looking forward to seeing you again.’
‘Yes.’
‘She wants you to know that she’s happy, It’ll be wonderful when you come, Wonderful.’
‘Yes?’
‘She says you mustn’t be afraid, She says you’re not to worry, Everything will be fine, Whatever you do, She says that whatever you decide to do… it’ll… she says it’ll turn out well, You mustn’t worry, Everything will turn out fine.’
‘Yes.’
‘There’s a beautiful aura around this woman, She… There’s a radiance coming from her… She’s telling you… are you familiar with… there’s a writer?’
‘Yes.’
‘A French writer?’
‘Yes.’
‘She’s smiling, It’s… the woman with her… she’s… she says she’s feeling better now, All the… all the pain…’
Magdalena squeezed her eyes shut.
‘They’re fading… ’
She opened her eyes but it took her a while to recover her bearings.
‘Was… was that all right?’ she asked.
Maria nodded.
‘Yes,’ she said quietly, ‘Thank you.’
When Maria got home she told Baldvin what had happened at the seance, She was in an emotional state, declaring that she had not expected such unequivocal messages and was surprised at who had made contact during the seance, She hadn’t thought about her maternal grandmother since she was a little girl and she had only ever heard people talk about her great-aunt Lovisa, She was her maternal grandmother’s sister, who had died young of typhoid fever.
Maria had difficulty getting to sleep that night, She was alone in the house because Baldvin had had to pop down to the hospital and the autumn wind was howling outside.
Finally she managed to drop off.
She started awake a moment later at the sound of the garden gate banging against the fence, It was pouring with rain, She listened to the banging of the gate and knew it would keep her awake.
Getting out of bed, she put on her dressing gown and slippers and went into the kitchen, There was a back door to the garden that opened on to the sun deck they’d added on a few years ago, She tied the belt of her dressing gown tightly around her and opened the door, As she did so she smelled a strong smell of cigar smoke in the air.
She stepped cautiously on to the sun deck, feeling the cold rain stinging her face.
Has Baldvin been smoking? she wondered.
She saw the gate banging but instead of hurrying to close it and running back inside she stood as if frozen to the spot, staring into the darkness of the garden, She saw a man standing there, drenched from head to foot: a heavily built figure with a paunch and a deathly white face, The water was pouring off him and he opened his mouth and closed it several times as if trying to gasp for air before shouting at her:
‘Be careful!… You don’t know what you’re doing!’
22
The medium Andersen was suspicious and unwilling to disclose any information over the phone, refusing even to believe that Erlendur was from the police. Erlendur recognised his voice immediately from the recording. The man said that if Erlendur wanted to talk to him he would have to make an appointment like anyone else. Erlendur objected that his business wouldn’t take long and wasn’t anything very important, but the man would not budge.
‘Are you going to charge me?’ Erlendur asked at the end of the phone call.
‘We’ll see,’ the man said.
One evening not long afterwards Erlendur rang a bell on the entryphone panel of a block of flats in the Vogar neighbourhood and asked to speak to Andersen.
The medium buzzed him in and Erlendur climbed slowly up to the second-floor landing where Andersen was waiting. They shook hands and the man showed him into the sitting room. As he entered the flat Erlendur was met by the faint aroma of incense and by soothing music flowing from invisible speakers.
Erlendur had postponed this visit until he felt it could no longer be avoided. He had no particular interest in the work of psychics or their ability to make contact with the dead, and was afraid this might lead to unpleasantness. He was determined to behave himself, however, and hoped that the medium Andersen would do the same.
Andersen offered him a seat at a small round table and sat down opposite him.
‘Do you live here alone?’ Erlendur asked, surveying his surroundings. It looked like a perfectly ordinary Icelandic home. There was a large television, a collection of films on video and DVD, three stands full of CDs, parquet on the floor, family photos on the walls. No veils or crystal balls, he noted.
No ectoplasm.
‘Do you need to know that for your investigation?’ the medium asked.
‘No,’ Erlendur admitted. ‘I’m… What can you tell me about Maria? The woman I asked you about on the phone. The one who committed suicide.’
‘Can I ask why you’re investigating her?’
Erlendur began his speech about the Swedish survey on suicide and its causes but was not sure if he could lie convincingly to a man who made his living from being clairvoyant; wouldn’t Andersen see straight through him? He gave a hasty explanation and hoped for the best.
‘I really don’t know how I can help you,’ Andersen said. ‘A strong bond of confidentiality often forms between me and the people who seek me out, and I find it hard to break that.’
He smiled apologetically. Erlendur smiled back. Andersen was a tall man of about sixty, greying at the temples, with a bright countenance, a pure expression and an unusually serene manner.
‘Are you kept busy?’ Erlendur asked, trying to lighten the atmosphere a little.
‘I can’t complain. Icelanders are very interested in matters of the soul.’
‘You mean in life after death?’
Andersen nodded.
‘Isn’t it just the old peasant superstition?’ Erlendur asked. ‘It’s not so long since we emerged from our turf huts and the Dark Ages.’
‘The life of the soul has nothing to do with turf huts,’ Andersen retorted. ‘That sort of prejudice may help some people but I’ve always found it ridiculous myself. Though I understand when someone is sceptical about people like me. I would be sceptical myself, of course, if I hadn’t been born with this power – or insight, as I prefer to call it.’
‘How often did you see Maria?’
