Read Online Paradise Reclaimed by Halldór Laxness - Free Book Online

have been thinking about it since that evening at Þingvellir,” said Steinar. “And I am no more likely to forget it after this. Anyone who goes out of his way to get himself beaten up and tethered outside a church because he refuses to recant—there must be something in what he believes. I cannot understand why people in this country should be put off from going over to your country simply because there is immersion there. I think you are probably right in what you say, that according to the Bible there ought to be immersion. Why do the Icelanders not want to go from a bad country to a good country since it costs so little?”
    “Oh, I never said it costs little,” said Bishop Þjóðrekur. “You picked me up wrong there. You can’t get much for little, my friend, no sirree.”
    “Of course, I should have known,” said Steinar. “I should have guessed that immersion alone does not take you far. What costs you nothing is worth nothing. Excuse me, but what has it cost you, if I may ask?”
    “What’s that to you?” asked the bishop.
    “I was thinking of myself,” said Steinar, “and how much I was man enough to afford.”
    “That’s your own affair,” said Bishop Þjóðrekur. “But if we come upon a stream of clear water I could immerse you.”
    “And then what?” asked Steinar.
    “You have freed me,” said the bishop, “and you are due your own ransom. But I can only say in the Apostle’s words: silver and gold have I none, but such as I have I give thee.”
    “Ah well, bless you, it is a kind offer and a kind thought,” said Steinar. “But if you are heading south for Eyrarbakki I think we are at the crossroads now and our paths must part for a while. It has been very pleasant meeting you. So goodbye for now and may God be with you for ever and ever, and think kindly of me.”
    “And the very same to you, my lad,” said the Mormon.
    “And if you ever happen to be in Steinahlíðar, no one will set the dogs on you at Hlíðar.”
    With that they parted, each on his own way, one to the east and the other to the south. But when they were a stone’s throw from one another, Bishop Þjóðrekur suddenly came to a halt.
    “I say, there!” he shouted. “What’s your name?”
    “Oh, did I not tell you?” the other shouted back. “My name is Steinar Steinsson.”
    “Were you asking what it cost me to become a Mormon?” asked Bishop Þjóðrekur.
    “Forget it, friend,” said Steinar.
    “Only the man who sacrifices everything can be a Mormon,” said the bishop. “No one will bring the Promised Land to you. You must trek across the wilderness yourself. You must renounce homeland, family and possessions. That is a Mormon. And if you have nothing but the flowers that people in Iceland call weeds, you must take your leave of them. You lead your young and rosy-cheeked sweetheart out into the wilderness. That is a Mormon. She carries your baby in her arms and hugs it close. You walk and walk, day after day, night after night, for weeks and for months, with your belongings on a handcart. Do you want to be a Mormon? One day she sinks to the ground from hunger and thirst, and dies. You take from her arms your baby daughter who has never learned to smile; and she looks at you with questioning eyes in the middle of this wilderness. A Mormon. But a child cannot get warm against a man’s ribs. Few can replace a father, none a mother, my friend. Now you trudge alone across the wilderness for miles and miles with your daughter in your arms; until one night you realise that the biting frost has nipped the life from these tiny limbs. That is a Mormon. You dig a grave with your hands and bury her in the sand, and put up a cross of two straws that blow away at once. That is a Mormon. . . .”

8
    Secret in mahogany
    Now the family at Hlíðar were continually glancing out towards the shoulder of the hill to the west, where travellers from the south were first to be glimpsed. The plan was to have some milk