Paradise Reclaimed (10 page)

Suddenly the whole crowd had moved into the middle of the salon to tussle with the casket, but without any success, and at this some became irritated; the king of Britain was the first one to take a kick at this wretched rubbish from Iceland and said that it was nothing but an infernal contraption. Others said that it was no more than to be expected that Icelanders should embarrass decent folk.

And when Steinar produced the Poem for Opening a Casket they looked at it and said that it only made matters worse; one distinguished gentleman from Britain crumpled it in his fist and threw it to the floor, where it was swept away by a servant. “At that moment some ladies came to tell my interpreter that we were to go into the sitting-room for coffee and cakes; so we took leave of the kings and emperors of the world while they were still straining to get the aforementioned casket open,” said Steinar in his letter.

When Steinar had refreshed himself, Kristian Wilhelmsson himself came in and said condescendingly that the master of the royal household had ordered Pussy to be brought to the door of the palace. Steinar and the king went out on to the steps together; and there stood the pony. A red-uniformed coachman was holding the reins tight under his muzzle. The pony was sleek and fat, with a paunch like a lapdog and flanks like saddle-bags, his coat closely curried and shampooed. Steinar could not but think it a change for the worse to see the mane clipped so short and the tail docked right up to the bone. The bridle was mounted in silver, and the headstall was of embroidered leather lined with gaily-coloured felt. Never has an Icelandic pony received such favours before. “I walked over to Krapi,” wrote Steinar, “our white horse who issued from the water and can jump up to heaven besides, and I stroked his muzzle. I felt as if he were the horse of my soul. I recognized again the gleam in his eye. The king himself said he could tell from the pony’s glance that he recognized his old master, but I felt that he looked at me with an alien expression, like a dead kinsman who comes to one in a dream; and at that moment, indeed, I wished that he did not recognize me at all.

“I asked the master of the royal household if there were no good riding-courses nearby, but he replied, ‘Not outside these orchards and flower-gardens.’ He then repeated what the king had already told me, that Pussy was used for drawing a children’s trap amid the flower-beds; he added that such a kitten of a pony was just a plaything for children, but not entirely safe, because he kicked out or reared if he were not led by the bridle.”

After that, Steinar wrote: “Then the king took leave of me and said that I could ask him for whatsoever I wished that lay in his power to grant. I replied with an Icelandic adage, that it is good to have credit with the king. It now so happens, I said, that I have no need of anything that kings can grant; but I left a bridle on the animal by mistake when I handed him over that time, and I would very much like to have the bridle back. The king called the groom over and told him to give this farmer from Iceland as many good bridles as he would accept.” And in conclusion Steinar wrote: “And there I left the horse of my soul and the casket of my soul in the king’s keeping, but got the bridle and also some pictures of the kings and the queens in all their finery.”

At this point in the letter Steinar said that it was now late at night in Copenhagen and he would have to be brief in closing, for the ship would be sailing shortly.

Postscript.
“I must not omit to inform you, my dear family, that on the day I took leave of the emperors and kings and their ladies and the Madame Grand Duchess Konstantinovna, it so happened that I went to buy myself, for two aurar, a drink of the water that springs from a rock in the forest, the clearest water in all Denmark: it is called the Kirsten Piil Spring. And there, by the will of Providence and divine ordinance, I met a man whom I had twice come across accidentally in Iceland. Indeed I had begun to think that it had all been a dream. This man is called Þjóðrekur, and he is a bishop. He was standing beside this spring and drinking good water for two aurar. This man is my destiny. Can therefore not come to Iceland for the time being. I commit you to God’s keeping in my tearful prayers, and now no more of this scribble.”

14

Business matters

Now the snow lay deep over the land; and a great darkness; and no entertainments for the last hundred and fifty years, as was said before; scarcely a light indoors, let alone love or money. But most people understood God, and many could understand sheep (more or less); none the heart. People mumbled old verses to themselves or muttered proverbs, and youth drank life from the sagas. It should be recorded, however, that a certain young lad had become a little smaller than Egill Skallagrímsson since the previous year; but farming sense had not ousted his viking temperament to the extent of making him put the ewes to the ram. At the end of the rutting season some good neighbours bestirred themselves and made arrangements to provide for the sheep that were still in season at Hlíðar in Steinahlíðar. But unfortunately the cows were completely overlooked. There was no one with enough intelligence left on the farm, said the woman.

Late in January, while most of the darkness still lay over the land and the world was lost beneath the snow, it so happened that a magnificent outburst of barking roused echoes in the hearts of the family at Hlíðar. It was a long time since Snati had taken the trouble to go up on the roof, they said; and this was certainly not a matter of baying at the moon—there was a kind of silver edge to his bark.

Soon a topcoated man appeared at the door. The whole house shook when he stamped the snow off himself. He engulfed the mother and daughter in the embrace of his many-layered coat and smothered them with kisses in that vast beard of his reeking of snuff and cognac: “There’s no need to feed my ponies, they’re fat enough as it is,” he said, “and my boys are quite used to waiting out of doors while I’m putting maidens to sleep inside. So they say that our good friend has become a Mormon?” he went on.

“Mercy on us,” said the woman.

“Mormons!” said Björn of Leirur. “They’re men after my own heart, yes, real men. Twenty-one wives at least, my dear, and each with their own front door and hall and separate room so that there’s never any clash within the house. Quite a change from all this hole-and-corner business here in Iceland. Haven’t I always said that my old friend Steinar of Hlíðar was a phenomenal fellow? And you’re getting along famously, ladies? Fat, eh? Thanks for last autumn. I only came along to run my hands over you. It’s essential to be fat, especially inside. I know that my old friend Steinar would not easily forgive me if I let you lose any weight while he’s away with the Mormons.”

“May I ask,” said the woman, “why is everyone always harping on about those wretched Mormons? What sort of fairy-tale is this? I was under the impression that I knew my Steinar just as well as some of the housewives hereabouts, the ones who do all the talking about Mormons. I don’t know what opinions they’ve had about my Steinar up until now, but I can say, stupid as I am, that my husband must have changed a lot in half a year if he’s now started having twenty-one wives.”

“Dear lady,” said Björn of Leirur, “both the sheriff and the king know what kind of person Steinar is. He’s not just far above Yes and No, my dear; in the end you get nothing more out of him than a little squeak. He is even above gold. There has never been another man like him in Iceland. A nice thing if I let such a man’s womenfolk waste away! Someone said you were short of milk.”

“That’s not the worst of it,” said the woman. “My old Daisy lost her calf in the autumn and is as dry as a bone; and then we forgot to serve the summer-bearing cow—that’s how clever we are now on this farm. My daughter has never been near cattle until this winter, and knows nothing about animal breeding; and I’ve become weak in the head. So it goes without saying we haven’t had very much dairy-food to waste. But though young Víkingur is a little pinched-looking and rather listless in his work, no one can say that your handmaiden Steinbjörg doesn’t seem to be thriving.”

Björn of Leirur went over to the girl and felt her all over until she blushed scarlet and saw spots before her eyes and could hardly stand on her feet.

“Oh, so that’s the way it is,” said Björn of Leirur. “Well, I’ll be damned!”

“I’m always running to the tub of fish-oil that Daddy was going to use for light if the worst came to the worst,” said the girl. “I should think I’m almost down to the bottom of it by now.”

“I’ll bear you in mind when it clears up enough to drive a cow over to you,” said Björn of Leirur and stopped fondling the girl. “I have a cow that calved at Christmas—not a champion milker, but she gives a steady yield. But it takes more than a calving cow to sort everything out. It’s not enough to serve the cows if no one looks after the girls. I only wish I had a son who would do for this little girl here. No such luck. But something will have to be done, my child.”

All the strength drained out of the girl.

“I’ve been thinking of a young lad not so far from here,” said Björn of Leirur, “and if I remember right, you yourselves had begun to have some pleasant thoughts about one another.”

The girl was now sitting slumped on the edge of her bunk.

“I’ll set you up in a nice little croft and scrape some livestock together for you,” said Björn of Leirur.

The girl hid her face in the crook of her arm.

Björn of Leirur sat down beside her and took her in his arms, and on his lap this big girl became small again.

“Eh, what do you say, then, my little lamb?”

“I don’t know,” the girl mumbled in his ear. “I wish I were fast asleep.”

For a long time he lulled her in his arms, saying, “There, there, my lamb, there, my lamb, there, my little creature”; and sometimes he even said, “There, my little scamp.”

Her mother sat nearby as still as a statue.

“In my time, Björn,” she said at last, “young men used to come along themselves and propose. The risk is all theirs, after all.”

“They’re much too bashful, poor things, while they haven’t got anything behind them,” said Björn of Leirur. “I never ran a yard after a girl of my own free will until I was nearly forty. Now I sometimes marry off three or four a year. And now I’m off. It’s blowing up again, anyway.”

The visitor thrust his beard into the women’s faces and gave them another whiff of snuff and cognac, squeezed himself through the door in his bulky overcoat, and was gone.

When it thawed, two men came up from the littoral farms bringing a full-uddered cow for the folk at Hlíðar, and went back with one of the barren cows. In the eyes of the district, this looked like a straight exchange.

But Björn did not leave it at that. A few weeks passed, and then the stripling from Drangar was at the door one fine day. He was not so much of a stripling any longer, for that matter. He was rather more confident than when he had called in the autumn. This time he did not hesitate to ask for the daughter of the house without any preliminaries. They saw one another in private. First they looked sidelong at one another for a little while, then he began, “You didn’t tell the truth.”

It is not too much to say that the girl was shocked by such an address. From time immemorial an untrue word had never been heard uttered at Hlíðar in Steinahlíðar.

“I don’t know what you’re getting at,” she said, and looked at him in amazement.

“You said last autumn that nothing had happened,” he said.

“What
has
happened?” she said. “I don’t know of anything that has happened. Is there something the matter?”

“Not with me,” he replied.

“Thank God for that. Nor me, either. I only wish I knew how to talk.”

“You have been to bed with a man,” he said.

“I just don’t know what to do with you,” she sighed. “Fancy going on about that still!”

“You have kissed him,” said the boy.

“Björn of Leirur,” said the girl. “Only when he thrusts his beard into our faces sometimes when he comes here.”

It is not too much to say that he was nonplussed by the straightforward way she answered him, but also more especially by the sight of her sitting there on the floor bursting out all over and looking her interrogator straight in the eye. His question stuck in his throat at this candour of heart and soul that faced him.

“Some say that you’re getting stout,” he said at last. “I think so too.”

She said, “I’m certainly not a very good-looking person, that’s quite true. But can I help it if I’m growing? I can see you haven’t forgotten what I blurted out last autumn, that you were a little slender. I don’t know why I said it; but please, you mustn’t bear me a grudge over it.”

“There aren’t many who are as stout as Björn of Leirur,” said the boy. “And he’s been giving you a cow, too.”

“Who says so?” she asked.

“That’s what they say,” he replied.

“Am I now considered the housewife here?” she said.

“Somehow or other you’ve landed up in Björn’s collection,” said the boy.

“Landed up in what?” said the girl. “The things you can think up sometimes! And there was I thinking you were such nice people out at Drangar. Was there anything you came for?”

“One could hardly call it that,” said the boy. “As far as I could gather, he’s had it all out with you already.”

“Out?” said the girl. “How out? And out about what? I’m stumped.”

“Didn’t he want to have you married off? Wasn’t he going to fix you up with a husband?”

“I think you’re a little queer in the head,” she said.

“Yes, I’m probably a bit simple—at least compared with you,” he said.

“Björn of Leirur is always joking with people just to amuse them,” she said. “But though I enjoy listening to his blether, I’ve never heard that anyone is obliged to take it seriously.”

“Yes, that’s these philanderers all over,” said the boy. “They joke and joke and no one takes anything seriously, least of all the women—until all of a sudden they find themselves in bed with them.”

“Just to have somewhere to sleep, maybe, when all the other beds are occupied,” said the girl.

“They add to their collection wherever they stay the night, these fellows. I understand he’s had another one out east since the autumn, and a third one west over in Ölfus. And several more, no doubt.”

“You’ve had your nose in plenty of places, I must say,” said the girl.

“These were only the three he allowed me to choose from,” said the boy. “But I gathered that you were the one he wanted to subsidize best.”

“Do you think I don’t know what a tease old Björn is?” said the girl. “I wouldn’t half be called a fool if I started to take his nonsense seriously.”

“He offered to bestow ten hundreds of land on you,” said the boy. “And livestock by arrangement.”

“And that’s the sort of thing you pay attention to?” she said. “No wonder you think you’re quite a man.”

“It’s up to you,” he said.

“To me?” said the girl. “It’s nothing to do with me. Just leave me out of your seamen’s talk.”

“What are you thinking of doing then?” he asked.

“Nothing,” said the girl. “We’re just waiting for Daddy to come back.”

“Once I thought you quite liked me,” he said.

“Please don’t tease me any more today,” she said. “We have a grain or two of coffee. Can we make you a cup?”

He looked at her for a long time and was no longer sure about what he should do.

Finally he rose to his feet, picked up his cap, stared down into it and then turned it over.

“Would you consider marrying me?” he asked.

Now the girl dropped her eyes right down and said, “I don’t know. Hmmm. What about you?”

“If I only knew rather better what I was getting,” he said. “As I said to Björn of Leirur. . . .”

“What has this to do with Björn of Leirur?” said the girl.

“Land and livestock aren’t enough when a man like that’s involved,” he said.

“Why should we expect anything from Björn of Leirur, a stranger?” said the girl. “Daddy will be home soon and then I’ll say to him, ‘Will you let Jóhann of Drangar and myself have a part of Hlíðar?’ ‘But of course,’ he’ll say.”

“Your father is a poor man,” said the boy. “My father is also a poor man. What I earned at Þorlákshöfn all went into the farm at home, and besides I’ve only just come of age this year. It seems to me a matter of course to make use of our hold on Björn of Leirur and insist on straight gold for this. He rides the whole country with the stuff in his saddle-bags.”

“For what?” asked the girl.

“To put it bluntly, for the fact that you went to bed with him, as you told me yourself, and let him put you to sleep,” said the boy.

“How glad I am I never let you have a ride on Daddy’s Krapi,” said the girl.

“He threw you an English guinea, but he owes you at least a hundred. I want you to go to him yourself and tell him so.”

“If I go anywhere it will be to my father, for he has both gold and precious stones as well as magic charms in secret compartments that no one will ever be allowed to see,” said the girl.