‘Understood. Bad PR for you to start with. They’re just trying to shield you,’ Eva said, handing her trousers to try on.

Úrsúla took off the trousers she had come to work in, which were probably on the hippie side for a minister, and took the new trousers, tailored in a solid block of colour, from Eva.

‘I didn’t write down her name, phone number or address, or anything. I gave the whole thing to Freyja. All I remember is the woman’s name is Rósa; I don’t recall her other name.’

‘If she came here to the ministry, then her name and ID number will have been registered at reception. Just ask the reception secretary downstairs.’

Úrsúla was relieved. She had completely forgotten about the main reception desk, as she always came in through the building’s back door. She would find out the woman’s name and prepare a new memo, which this time she would place directly in Óðinn’s hands. 45

17

He woke up and bumped his head. His first thought was that he was in the shelter and someone was having a go at him, then he remembered that he was safe in his hiding place, his own personal foxhole. He felt dizzy, and was sure that he was being rocked back and forth, but in the darkness it was difficult to figure things out. He patted his pockets and found the torch, turned it on and lit up his refuge. All of a sudden he had the feeling that it was Christmas. This wasn’t a Christmas like his recent ones, when he had been fed by the Salvation Army and psalms were sung, but a childhood Christmas. Back then his mother had lit candles and baked as the Christmas greetings were read out on the radio, and they had sat at the table and read out loud to each other from the books they had received as presents. It would be good to have a book here in his hiding place. All he had were newspapers, and of course the cutting of Úrsúla and the Devil. He shone the torch on it once again and tried to fathom what the look in her eyes meant, but it was as if she wouldn’t give anything away. That was the problem with the picture. She was smiling, which indicated that she was happy, but how could she be happy in his company? It would be different if it was someone other than Úrsúla. Then he’d understand that she wouldn’t know any better. But she, Úrsúla Aradóttir, ought to know that caution was needed around this man.

He felt his feet tingle, and knew that this was a precursor to cramp. He tried to shift himself around and stretch out his legs, but the space was too small. The cramp came on so he tried to shake his leg, kicking hard. That worked for a little while, but the cramp was obstinate and was back before long and he kicked out a few more times. This was the damned leg that had been broken all those years ago and had been nothing but trouble ever since. His breathing came fast and shallow as he tried to stop himself groaning with the pain, and he reached out to take hold of the luminous green handle that he used to get in and out of his hiding place. But everything 46 rocked beneath him, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to stand up right now. He would have to wait until the movement had stopped and the dizziness had abated. He took a piece of Danish pastry from his pocket and stuffed it in his mouth. Sometimes a bite of something sweet kept the pain in his feet at bay. But he had to spit it out. The anger welling up in his throat stopped him from swallowing. He was raging with fury that Úrsúla should be in cahoots with that man, the Devil incarnate, who would kick a man when he was down, the Devil who took people’s lives.