In Valhalla's Shadows by W. D. Valgardson

Author:W. D. Valgardson [Valgardson, W. D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: novel, fiction, Manitoba, crime, Murder, Iceland
ISBN: 9781771621977
Publisher: Douglas and McIntyre (2013) Ltd.
Published: 2018-09-08T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22

The Disappearance

“They sing,” Tom said. “Beautiful voices. All together, in different groups. Four-part harmony.” He was leaning against the store counter. “I need a pound of butter.”

“No one needs a pound of butter. Why don’t you try margarine?” Karla said. She got a pound of butter from the cooler. Because of the heat, Horst was lying down in their living quarters. Without him there, Karla looked more relaxed. “You’d be better to use margarine.”

“How much do you charge for pickerel fillets?” He knew there were fresh fillets in the cooler and frozen fillets in the freezer. The fillets were the most popular meal.

“Six dollars a pound. It’s a bargain. Do you know what you’d pay in the city?”

“The fishermen have a quota?” he said.

“Nine thousand pounds per licence. Not enough to live on unless they have the money to buy more than one licence.”

The café side of the emporium had customers at three tables. The rest were empty. There was the soft murmur of voices and the clink of cutlery on plates.

When he paid her for the butter, Karla asked, “Did they explain what that hysterical performance out front was about?”

“It never came up,” he said. “I see that some of the sailboats left this morning.”

“There’s a regatta down south. It always takes business away from us. I think some people were offended by the performance and left the next day. I explained that it’s never happened before.”

“I’ll bet nine months from now there’s going to be a cluster of babies born. All those guys watching the spinning.”

Karla wasn’t amused. She stared at him the way his teachers had stared at him when confronted with his sarcastic humour. Sweat formed on her face. She pulled at her blouse and flapped it.

“You’d think a storm would cool things off. All we get here are extremes. A hundred above in the summer and forty below in the winter.”

“You sang like a bluebird the other night. Some of us squawk like ravens.” He knew that a compliment about her singing always made her easier to deal with.

“Have you had any music lessons? Any music in the family?”

“My father had a good voice, but outside of the church choir he wouldn’t sing.”

“People should use the talent God has given them,” she said with a bit of a sniff.

He realized that her ability, whatever it was, had given her a belief in her own superiority in the same way that ex–hockey players, even when reduced to selling cars, carried a physical arrogance about them the rest of their lives.

“Tin ear,” he said, then realizing that she might have thought he was referring to his father, added, “Me. No talent.”

“I can teach you. You’d have to pay, of course.” She winked at him. “Now, Freyja there, she might provide lessons for free. She has a nice voice. Not much range but pleasant. I’ve got much better range than her, more experience. I can show you tricks that she can’t.”

“I’ll bet,” he said.

She studied him as if she didn’t understand him, as if there was a mystery about him yet to be unlocked.

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