Hypothermia

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‘Would you like something to eat?’ Erlendur asked once they had got chatting.

‘I thought I could be a vicar,’ Tryggvi said, waving his hand to indicate that food would not agree with him. He seized the bottle instead and took a long swig, then wiped his lips on his sleeve. ‘But theology was boring,’ he continued. ‘So I tried medicine. Most of my friends went in for that. I…’

‘What?’

‘I haven’t seen them for years,’ Tryggvi said. ‘I expect they’re all doctors by now. Specialists in this and that. Rich and fat.’

‘Was it their idea?’

Tryggvi gave Erlendur a look as if he was getting ahead of himself. This was his story and if Erlendur didn’t like it he could always leave.

‘I still don’t know why you’re digging this up,’ he said.

Erlendur sighed heavily.

‘It may be relevant to a case I’m investigating, that’s all I can really say.’

Tryggvi shrugged.

‘As you like.’

He took another swig from the bottle. Erlendur waited patiently.

‘I heard it was you who asked them to do it,’ he said finally.

‘That’s a bloody lie,’ Tryggvi said. ‘I didn’t ask for any of it. They approached me. It was them who came to me.’

Erlendur was silent.

‘I should never have listened to that prick,’ Tryggvi said.

‘What prick?’

‘My cousin. Stupid bloody prick!’

Another silence fell but Erlendur did not dare to break it. He didn’t want to drop any hints but hoped that the tramp would feel an urge to tell his story, to open up about what had happened, even if only to a stranger at the Central Bus Station.

‘Aren’t you cold?’ Tryggvi asked, pulling his jacket more tightly around himself.

‘No, it’s not cold in here.’

‘I’m always cold.’

‘What about your cousin?’

‘I don’t really remember much about it,’ Tryggvi said.

Looking at him, Erlendur had the feeling that, on the contrary, he remembered every last detail of what had happened.

‘It was some crazy idea we had during a piss-up that went too far. They needed a guinea pig. “Let’s use the theology student,” they said. “Let’s send him to hell.” You see, one of them was… he was my cousin, a rich bugger with some stupid bloody fixation with death. I was a bit that way myself and he knew it. He knew it so he paid me what was a whole month’s wages back then. And there was a girl in the group too who I… who I was a little in love with. Maybe I did it for her. I can’t say I didn’t. They were senior to me; my cousin was in his final year and so was she. The girl.’

18

Tryggvi had downed half the bottle and was staring blearily out at the bus stands. His account was meandering and repetitive and strangely convoluted, and sometimes he stopped and sat in silence for a long time. But Erlendur didn’t dare to interrupt him. Then he lowered his head and stared down at the table as if he were alone in the world, alone with his thoughts, alone in life. Erlendur sensed that Tryggvi had spoken little of these events since they occurred and that they involved various unresolved issues that he had never managed to shake off, that had continued to haunt him ever since.

It had been his cousin’s idea. His cousin had been in his final year of medicine and was intending to go on to do postgraduate study in the States in the autumn. He worked in what used to be known as the City Hospital, was top of his year, the life and soul of the party, played the guitar, told amusing stories, organised weekend trips to the mountains. He was at the centre of everything, his self-confidence was unshakeable; he was energetic, domineering and determined. Once, bumping into Tryggvi at a family get-together, he asked him if he had read about the French medical students who had recently conducted an interesting, but of course totally illegal, experiment.

‘What experiment?’ Tryggvi asked. He was his cousin’s opposite in every way: shy and retiring, and liked to keep himself to himself. He never spoke up in company, refused to go on trips to the mountains with the rowdy medical students and was already beginning to have problems with alcohol.

‘It was unbelievable,’ his cousin said. ‘They induced a cardiac arrest in one of their fellow students and kept him dead for three minutes until they resuscitated him. The justice system hasn’t a clue what to do with them. They killed him, but they didn’t, if you see what I mean.’

Tryggvi’s cousin seemed obsessed with this piece of news. For weeks afterwards he talked of nothing but the French medical students, followed their trial in the news, and started whispering to Tryggvi that he would be interested in doing something similar. He had been contemplating the idea for ages and now this news had brought his enthusiasm to a pitch he couldn’t control.

‘You studied theology, you must at least be curious,’ he said one day when they were sitting in the medical faculty cafeteria.

‘I’m not letting anyone kill me,’ Tryggvi said. ‘Find someone else.’

‘There is no one else,’ his cousin said. ‘You’re the perfect person. You’re young and strong. There’s no heart disease of any kind in our family. Dagmar’s going to be in on it, and Baddi, another guy I know who’s studying medicine. I’ve talked to them already. It’s watertight. Nothing can happen. I mean, you’ve often wondered about it – you know, life after death.’

Tryggvi knew who Dagmar was. He had noticed her as soon as he started medicine.

‘Dagmar?’ he said.

‘Yes,’ his cousin answered, ‘and she’s no fool.’

Tryggvi knew that. She was his cousin’s friend and had once talked to him, at the first and only medical faculty party he had attended. She knew they were cousins. He had met her several times since and they had chatted. He thought she was lovely but he didn’t have the courage to take the next step.

‘Does she want to be in on this?’ he asked in surprise.

‘Of course,’ his cousin said.

Tryggvi shook his head.

‘And naturally I’ll pay you,’ his cousin added.

In the end Tryggvi gave in. He didn’t know exactly why he let them persuade him. He was always broke, he yearned to be with Dagmar. His cousin was extremely overbearing and moreover he had reawakened Tryggvi’s fascination with life after death. He knew about Tryggvi’s interest from when they were younger and used to discuss the existence of God, heaven and hell. They both came from deeply religious families who used to pack them off to Sunday school, were regular churchgoers and did good works in the parish. But the cousins were not particularly devout themselves when they grew up and began to have their doubts about various aspects of doctrine, such as the resurrection and eternal life and the existence of heaven. Tryggvi thought his decision to embark on a theology degree had stemmed from this. From his doubts, combined with the urgent questions that had pursued him all his life: what if? What if God existed? What if eternal life was true?

‘We’ve discussed it so often,’ his cousin said.

‘It’s one thing to talk about it…’

‘We’ve got this one minute. You’ll have one minute to go over to the other side.’

‘But I…’

‘You went into theology in search of answers to these questions,’ his cousin pointed out.

‘What about you?’ Tryggvi asked. ‘What do you want to prove by this?’

His cousin smiled.

‘Nothing ever happens around here and no one ever does anything,’ he said. ‘At least, not like this. It would be exciting to test those stories about the bright light and the tunnel, because we can do it without taking too great a risk. We can do it.’

‘Why don’t you do it yourself? Why don’t we put you to sleep?’

‘Because we need a good doctor and with all due respect, coz, I’m a better doctor than you are.’

Tryggvi read about the trial of the French medical students. They had successfully resuscitated their friend who had made a full recovery and by his own account had suffered no ill effects afterwards.

The evening they put their plan into action was his cousin’s twenty-seventh birthday. They all met up at his place: the cousins, Dagmar and Baddi, and from there headed down to the hospital. Tryggvi’s cousin had prepared an empty room with a bathtub and brought in a cardiograph and defibrillator. Tryggvi lay down in the bath. It was filled with a constant flow of cold water and they had procured large bags of ice which they added to the tub.

Gradually Tryggvi’s heartbeat slowed and he lost consciousness.

‘All I remember is coming round,’ Tryggvi said, watching an empty coach pulling up to the terminal. It had started to rain and the sky was overcast in the south. Rainwater streamed down the windows.

‘What happened?’ Erlendur asked.

‘Nothing,’ Tryggvi said. ‘Nothing happened. I felt nothing, saw nothing. No tunnel, no light. No nothing. I fell asleep and woke up again. That was it.’

‘The experiment worked, then – they managed to… managed to put you to death?’

‘That’s what my cousin said.’

‘Where is he now?’

‘He went to do postgraduate study in the States and has lived there ever since.’

‘And Dagmar?’

‘I don’t know where she is. I haven’t seen her since… since then. I quit medicine. Quit university. Went to sea. I felt happier there.’

‘Were you unhappy?’

Tryggvi didn’t answer.

‘Did they ever try it again?’ Erlendur asked.

‘I wouldn’t know.’

‘Did you make a full recovery?’

‘There was nothing to recover from,’ Tryggvi said.

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