Why Did You Lie? Read Online Free PDF Page A

the ceiling.
    The doctor had told her that if Thröstur could see, his pupils would contract, adding – as if to rub salt in the wound – that his other senses had probably failed as well. Although he didn’t come right out and say it, the implication was that her husband was no better than a living corpse.
    When Nína pressed him, the doctor wouldn’t confirm that this was a hundred per cent certain, so she had allowed herself the tiny hope that Thröstur was in some way aware of his surroundings. But a more likely explanation was that there was no such thing as certainty in medical science, any more than in other areas of life. If you weren’t dead, you were alive. But if the doctors’ dire predictions proved correct, she ought really to hope with all her heart that Thröstur wasn’t aware of the changes that had taken place in his life. It would be more merciful if he could sense nothing at all, but just felt as if he was sleeping, floating on the wings of beautiful dreams. But her innate pessimism told her that his dreams were probably as bleak as his prospects.
    Gripping the cold handle, Nína opened the door again, trying to suppress this line of thought. Yet she couldn’t shut out the questions: how could she ensure that Thröstur never found out what sort of state he was in? Never woke up to find himself trapped in a useless body? The only way, in the end, would be to follow the doctors’ advice and switch off his life support. Nína felt the blood rushing to her cheeks. Why the hell did she have to make this decision? What were the hospital staff, with all their specialist training, for? Couldn’t they just tell her what to do? Light spilled in from the corridor and Nína took a deep breath. Don’t think too much; that was best. Activate cruise control and go about your life without thinking. That hurt less.
    Almost every other fluorescent bulb in the corridor turned out to be working. The walls, once brilliant white, were now discoloured and grubby, and the doorframe was chipped from where people had carelessly bashed it when carrying objects through. The unforgiving glare also revealed how filthy her trouser legs were, and she automatically tried to brush off the worst of the dirt. She had waded heedlessly through the slush on her way to work this morning, after spending the night in a chair by Thröstur’s hospital bed. Nowadays the nursing staff had given up shaking her and telling her to go home for a rest; they knew better than anyone when it was best to say nothing. It wasn’t difficult, after all. It was always best to keep one’s mouth shut. No words were capable of dulling her pain. The silent sympathy she sensed from the doctors and nurses was enough for her, and it was a relief not to have to explain anything; they understood that she would not go home unless compelled to. The flat was an empty shell of what it had once been. All that remained, it seemed, were things whose sole purpose was to remind her of what she had lost.
    Nína stood with her hand on the light switch, lost in thought, while the door swung slowly shut as if guided by an invisible hand. As if it wasn’t bad enough that the ceiling was so low, the floor sloped as well. She didn’t turn away until the door had finally closed. It must have been her imagination but she could have sworn she had seen the handle move.
    In front of her were the rows of doors leading to the archives, three on each side. There was no need to waste effort on wondering where to start as all the storerooms were presumably full of old files. The obvious course would be to begin at the back or front and work systematically to the other end. Yet it was to one of the doors in the middle that she headed first. She didn’t know why; there was nothing behind her decision but an inexplicable certainty that this was where she should start. The door handle was warm, as if welcoming her, as if inside she would receive long-desired peace. Odd. She hadn’t been