The Mist

to the window. It had started to snow again, quietly, inexorably covering Leó’s tracks, obliterating the evidence of his lie. But she knew and that was enough. She would have to be on her guard and take care for both of them. However pretty the white flakes looked as they danced past the window, to her they were ominous. She could feel the snow piling up, surrounding her, hemming her in. It would be a white Christmas, as usual. Stiflingly white. And now this intruder had entered their peaceful home and poisoned the atmosphere. You couldn’t describe it any other way. He’d poisoned it. The wind whined outside – hardly a harbinger of peace on earth and goodwill to all men.
‘Shall we move into the sitting room?’ Einar stood up. ‘And how about some coffee?’
‘Sounds great,’ said Leó, following Einar’s example.
‘I’ll put some on.’ Erla watched the men go through to the other room.
She fetched the packet of coffee from the cupboard, counted out the measures for three cups, filled the machine with water and switched it on, hoping the electricity wouldn’t go before it had finished. As she watched the drops percolating into the jug, one after the other, she listened to the murmur of the men’s voices from the sitting room. The radio was still on; it was the weather forecast now. She turned it off. She didn’t need it to tell her that they were in for another snowstorm.
Erla took the coffee through and poured a cup for herself as well. She meant to drink plenty so the caffeine would keep her awake and alert tonight. ‘Milk or sugar?’ she asked Leó. She had no need to ask her husband: heavy on the milk, heavy on the sugar.
‘Just black, thanks.’
She sat down, and for a while no one said anything. The curtains were open and, outside, they could see the snow falling, or rather being whirled past the window.
‘That’s a fine Christmas tree you’ve got there,’ their visitor said at last, as if to fill the silence.
Erla chose not to answer. Rudeness didn’t come naturally to her, but she had no intention of playing along with this man, chatting away as if nothing was the matter. All she could think about was getting rid of him as soon as possible. It had to be made abundantly clear to him that he was unwelcome here. Even though she wasn’t always that happy in this house, it was her and Einar’s home, her sanctuary. But now she felt as if both her peace of mind and her safety were under threat.
‘Yes, though it’s rather a whopper this time,’ Einar replied. ‘It wasn’t meant to be that big, but it’s hard to picture how large it is until you get the tree into the sitting room.’
‘Well, I must say, it all looks nice and festive. Have you lived here long?’
Far too long, Erla wanted to say, but bit her lip.
‘All my life,’ Einar said, his pride audible. ‘Erla’s from Reykjavík, but she took on the farm when she agreed to take on me. It’s a good place to live. You know, you get used to the silence and the fact nothing ever happens out here. Of course, it’s not for everyone, but I reckon Erla’s adapted pretty well. It must be quite a change for you, though?’
‘You can say that again. I was brought up with the constant noise and bustle of the city. I’m almost sorry to have to hurry off in the morning, as it must be very special experiencing Christmas here, in the snow and the solitude.’
‘Yes, well, you’ll miss all that,’ Erla said pointedly.
‘It’s always quiet here, of course,’ Einar went on, trying to smooth over her rudeness. ‘Nothing ever happens. But we make an occasion of it. Have a special meal, treat ourselves, you know. And we listen to the Christmas service when the long-wave reception is clear enough, though it’s a bit touch and go, as you can imagine after hearing the news earlier. Sometimes it’s just as well to know most of the hymns off by heart, so it doesn’t matter if you can’t hear the words.’ He chuckled.
‘I suppose it’s quite a trek to the nearest church,’ Leó said.
‘You’re right about that. There’s absolutely no point us trying to make it to church in winter. I remember how that used to upset my mother in the old days, but Erla and I have tried not to let it bother us. You can get used to most things eventually.’
‘And…’ Leó turned to Erla: ‘What about your daughter? Will she be coming round tomorrow? You mentioned she lived nearby?’
‘Of course she’s coming,’ Erla said at once, sharply. ‘She’ll be here in the morning. Though I don’t suppose you’ll meet her because you’ll be gone by then, Leó.’
‘How … how old is she?’ Leó asked after an embarrassed pause.
Erla didn’t answer immediately as she was thinking hard about what to say. It was time to expose the man’s lies. She shot a glance at Einar, trying to convey the message: I’ll take care of this.
‘You should know,’ she said then, in a harsh, almost accusatory tone.
The words had quite an impact on Leó. He jerked back on the sofa, where he was sitting, and spilt some coffee on himself.
‘I’m sorry?’ he said, with a quick intake of breath.
The lights flickered again, more alarmingly this time, the darkness lasting longer before they came back on. The brief blackout distracted them from the conversation, giving the visitor an excuse to dodge her question, and he took full advantage of it: ‘God, I’m not used to this. Is there nothing we can do to sort it out – to stop the power going completely, I mean? You haven’t got a generator, have you?’
‘Not a single thing, I’m afraid,’ Einar said with a grin. ‘We’ve never got round to installing a generator. They’re just too expensive.’
Erla had the feeling he was getting a secret kick out of teasing the city