The Tricking of Freya (37 page)

And that is how I came to the decision not to board the plane but to return to Gimli, for a few more days, a week at the most. To see what I could
find out. About-face! There were no buses to Gimli late on a Sunday, but
Stefan was delighted to retrieve me. I did not tell him my true motivations.
Of course not. I said simply that I'd decided to stay and help him pack up
the house, visit more with Sigga. Then I left a message on my boss's answering machine that my grandmother was suddenly ill. I was in Canada,
I'd check back later in the week.

It began raining again, and through the window I could see my plane arrive, watch the other passengers board. I left myself behind.

And so I re-returned to Gimli. Because of you, Cousin. Remember, I knew
nothing about you at that point, nothing concrete, not when or even if you'd
actually been born. But you became my excuse, my quest. Like King Gylfi,
I arrived back in Gimli bearing questions. One question, actually, and not
even one of the Big Ones. As I walked along the beach the next morning
a bright blue day of wavelets plashing the shore and a few cloud-puffs
jaunting across the sky I cared not how the world began or how it would
end. No, I intended to learn the answer to one simple question: Did Birdie
ever have a child? Surely that was not too much to ask, not after everything
I had been through, for even if I was not, technically, an orphan (too old),
still, the death of my father (true, I don't remember him, but isn't that itself
a loss?), the suicide of my aunt, the sudden death of my mother, didn't
these count for something?

No. I was lapsing into self-pity. I ordered a coffee and two slices of
vinarterta at the bakery from the lank-haired girl, then made my way over to
Betel. Still, if the answer was yes, there was a child and I felt convinced
as I walked along First Street sipping weak Styrofoam-cup coffee that it
must be so-then the child would be ... what? Not a lost key, no, or a
missing piece of a jigsaw puzzle, or even the long-sought solution to a mystifying riddle. Those things were too precise, too simple. No, the child
would be more like the knot whose untangling might begin to unravel the monster snarl where my life and my mother's life and Birdie's life fatally
meshed. Ensnared in these thoughts, I walked with my head bent groundward, as if the child might be found right there on the sidewalk, or there, on
the doorstep of Betel, still red-faced and squalling after all these years
yes, the child would explain

And then my thoughts were jolted right out of my head. I'd nearly
knocked over a little old lady entering Betel's front door. Luckily the woman
caught her balance, as did I. The only one to take a fall was the cup of coffee. "Oh, I'm so so sorry, I didn't see you at all," I stammered. And no wonder. Peering down the woman was so short and humped over she barely
reached my ribs -I recognized Halldora.

"I'm easy enough to miss, I suppose." Fixing me with her impossibly
huge eyes. "But I thought you left us yesterday." Sounding not the least bit
happy to see me.

"I did. I mean I was supposed to. But I decided to stay for the rest of the
week ... so I could spend more time with Sigga. And help Stefan get the
house ready." This last sentence especially had such a virtuous ring, surely
even Halldora could not help hut be impressed.

"Well, isn't that something."

"It's nothing, really."

"Nothing is it? That house will sell for more than nothing."

"I didn't mean-"

"Children move off to the city, can't be bothered to visit, then come
sniffing around when it's time to collect. Believe me, I know all about it!
Now, please, dear, be sure to clean up this mess, because it doesn't take
much for an old person like myself with brittle bones to slip and fall and
break a hip and end up in hospital catching pneumonia and never coming
out again. Happened to Mary Stevenson just two months ago, rest her
soul."

And then she was gone, with a smart rap of her cane, leaving me down
on my knees sopping up the spilled coffee with a paper napkin.

An aide was helping Sigga dress when I arrived on the second floor. I stood
in the hall leaning against the pale green wall waiting for them to finish,
gathering my spilled thoughts. A door opened at the far end of the hall, but no, luckily, it wasn't Halldora, only an ancient man in a wheelchair, pushed
by an attendant who guided him briskly, expertly through the doorway and
around a linen cart. That's the way, I decided. It was just a matter of finding
the right route. Sigga had been on the verge of answering my question yesterday, when Halldora had interrupted. All I had to do now was gently maneuver Sigga's wandering mind back to that same point in the conversation.

Just then Sigga's voice rose sharply and escaped into the hallway. "I can
do it myself, Hannah, thank you." Sounding, to my surprise, not in the least
decrepit, but instead exactly like the old Sigga, or rather, a less old Sigga,
the Sigga of my childhood: gracious but commanding, the Sigga one dares
not cross. Sigga the Queen.

Hannah gave up whatever it was she was trying to do, passing me outside the door with a wan, just-doing-my-job smile. I took a breath and entered. Sigga was seated by the window at a small table draped with an oddly
oversize linen tablecloth that nearly reached the floor. I recognized it from
our old dining table at Oddi. Sigga seemed not to notice my entrance. She
was wearing a dark green dress, her head was bent toward her lap, her
hands fiddling with something behind her head.

"Let me help you, Amma."

Startled, Sigga dropped the necklace she had been trying to clasp. I
picked it up off the floor, ran the smooth pearls over my palm. It was the
same double strand she'd worn for her birthday, smooth and polished
against the sagging skin of her neck. I reached around her to fasten it, but
she pushed my hands away. "Just put it on the dresser." As if I were Hannah, or some other aide, and I wondered for a moment if Sigga knew me
that morning.

"I remember that dress. It looks lovely on you."

"Nonsense," Sigga said crossly. "It hardly fits anymore."

The soft wool fell in empty folds over her chest, the shoulders drooped.
And yet somehow it did look lovely, still. "I can come back later."

"But you just got here."

"If this isn't a good time ..."

"No, this will do. Just take a seat at the table here and we can visit. Stefan called last night to tell me you could stay. I was terribly surprised. How
can you do this, Freya? What about your job?"

"I told my boss you'd suddenly taken ill."

"Oh my." Sigga shook her head. "I don't think that was a good idea.
Nothing good ever comes of a lie."

"It was the only way, Amma."

"I suppose so. And surely Stefan could use your help. It's a big job, I'm
afraid, packing up that house. I should have gotten rid of more things over
the years. Honestly, I feel terrible about it."

"It won't be too bad. With the two of us working, we can have the whole
thing packed up in a week." A bit of false optimism. Sigga didn't fall for it.

"A week!" She shook her head. "Oh, I doubt it. All that ... stuff."

She seemed shaken by my last-minute change of plans, and nothing I said
reassured her. She kept smoothing the linen tablecloth, flattening it against
the table. Out the window, the puffy clouds continued their jaunt over Gimli
harbor.

"Elskan," she began at last, "as I mentioned to you at the party, I have
things I need to discuss with you. Things about our family." Sigga's voice
seemed clear suddenly. Her mind too. A wave of dread washed over me. I
knew, instantly, what was coming: my day of reckoning. Sigga would finally
confront me about the trip to Iceland with Birdie, the events leading up to
Birdie's suicide. Over the years I'd imagined the interrogation over and over
again. Why did you go with her? Why didn't you let us know where you were?
Why didn't you get help? But no one had ever asked. Not the police or the
doctors or my mother or grandmother or Stefan or anyone. Except me. I became an expert in the art of self-interrogation. Defending myself against
imaginary accusations. Deposing myself to no avail. That was all rehearsal.
This would be the real thing. If I wanted absolution, I would have to take
the stand; for how could Sigga forgive me without understanding what, exactly, I had done, and not done? The dread was mixed with relief. Finally,
someone would extract the story from me, piece by piece, even if only to
confirm my guilt. I stared at the floor, waiting.

"There are things you didn't learn when you were younger," Sigga said finally. "But you're certainly old enough now."

I got it then. Sigga wasn't planning to ask me anything. She was going to
tell. Everything that happened. About Birdie. About Birdie's child. I wouldn't
have to ask a thing. Or answer. I needed only to sit back and listen. All would be revealed. I relaxed into my chair. "I'd like that, Amma," I said calmly. "I
think I'm ready now. Old enough. I have questions about it all."

"Of course you do. How old did you say you are?"

"Nearly thirty."

"Oh, that's old enough, I suppose. Though a youngster compared with
me! Anyway, you were too young before."

I nodded.

"The question is where to begin."

Of course, I thought. That was always so, in anything to do with Birdie.
Nothing was simple. Though Sigga seemed not in the least bit troubled by
the prospect. For the first time all morning she was smiling. Odd, considering the topic we were about to embark upon. But not nearly as odd as what
came next.

"Are you aware, elskan, that on my side of the family we go straight back
to Aud?"

`Aud?" I sat up straight again. I'd never heard this name before. "Aud
who?"

"Aud who?" Sigga stared at me in disbelief. "Aud-the-Deep-Minded,
that's who."

I smiled uncertainly. Was Sigga teasing me? "I don't remember hearing
about Aud. When was she born?"

"I don't know exactly," Sigga answered. "Mid-eight hundreds, I suppose."

"The mid-eighteen hundreds, you mean?"

"No, I didn't mean that. Really, Freya." Sigga's stern librarian tone was
back. "You're going to have to listen more carefully. Are you sure you're
really interested?"

Aud-the-Deep-Minded. Of course. Daughter of the Norwegian chieftain Ketil Flat-Nose, wife of Olaf the White, mother of Thorsteinn the Red,
sister of Jorunn Wisdom-Slope. According to Sigga, Aud was not only deepminded but formidable. One of the original settlers of Iceland, she arrived
without the protection of husband, father, or son but lost no time consolidating power and claiming land. I'll spare you the details, Cousin, as Sigga
told them to me that day. You can read them yourself in Laxdaela Saga.

Finally, just when I felt I could stand no more -I had not returned to
Gimli, had I, to learn about Aud-the-Deep-Minded! Aud came to the end of her life. Never, Cousin, was I so happy to see someone die. But it was not
a speedy death, no. Not the way Sigga told it. Aud invited her kin and all
families of note from all over Iceland to the wedding feast she was holding
for her favorite grandson, to whom she planned to leave her vast wealth. Regal still, though ancient, Aud was tall and stately, striding through the great
hall, past the long tables of guests eating and drinking and toasting, and
then without anyone noticing she exited the hall and entered her own sleeping closet, where she lay down with great dignity to die.

"Remarkable," I commented.

"Not really," Sigga replied. "Those Viking women, they were no frail
flowers. And did what she had to do in her life."

"Did Birdie?" (Not subtle, I agree. But I was desperate; I had been sitting with Sigga for over an hour and we were still in the ninth century.)

"Birdie?" Sigga queried.

"Yes, Birdie. Did Birdie do what she had to do?" I was referring to Birdie
giving up her child. But perhaps Sigga thought I was referring to Birdie's
suicide?

"Birdie?" Sigga repeated, and I could see then the leap had been too
much for her.

"Ingibjorg," I said gently. "Your daughter."

"I know perfectly well who Birdie is," Sigga snapped. "Why-"

I'll never know what she might have said, or not said, next, because right
at that moment someone knocked on the door. Yes, it was Halldora. The
door had been open, so the knock was mere formality. I glowered at her in
greeting, but Sigga's face lit up.

"Why look who's here!" She clapped her hands lightly together. "It's my
darling Halldora."

Darling indeed. Uncanny, the woman's timing. She entered the room
pushing a little wooden cart. Off the side of it hung her cane, on top of it a
lace cloth, three cups on saucers, a plate of cookies. I had the distinct impression that Halldora had been standing outside the door for some time.
Halldora-the-Snooping-Minded.

"Isn't Halldora a dear? Every morning she brings coffee and we have ourselves a little visit. She's a spry one, my Halldora is. Of course, she's barely
eighty that's young in my book! After lunch she pushes the reading cart around to all the residents who can't make it down to the library. She was a
nurse, you know, for forty years. Oh yes, she makes herself useful, Halldora
does."