Read Online Walking Into the Night by Olaf Olafsson - Free Book Online
Authors: Olaf Olafsson
Tags: Fiction
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gave the door a light push.
He was moving slowly between her legs, slowly and steadily like the pendulum in the dining-room clock downstairs. “Oh yes,” she heard him say, “oh yes.” He was wearing a white night-shirt but Katrin’s bare arms were pink in the dawn light when she put them round his back.
She pulled the door quietly to and tiptoed swiftly back to her own room. Lying down with eyes closed, she wondered why it was that this sight should not have bothered her in the least.
18
I came to Iceland a week before the wedding.
The fog lifted suddenly as we approached the south coast. Without warning, the mountains appeared above our heads, a patch of sunshine on their slopes.
It was raining out in the bay, a dense, unremitting drizzle; birds mewed above us.
I didn’t feel as if I were coming home. When I left, I was nothing. Now I felt myself shrinking again.
I saw the rivers meandering over the sands and vanishing into the sea, the glaciers beyond them hidden in blue mist. A white ribbon of cloud hung from a black peak by the shore, gilded now and then by the morning sun, but never for long. Except for a green streak here and there among the roots of the mountains, all was white, gray, and black.
Perhaps I hadn’t had enough sleep.
The great open spaces before me and the cold silence of the sands awoke no feeling of freedom in my breast. Rather it was as if I were gradually being bound with invisible fetters, until I wanted to scream at the barren wasteland. In Copenhagen I woke a free man in the mornings, sometimes at the side of a girl whom I’d danced with till dawn, at other times alone. Then I’d lie still in bed for a few minutes before getting up, listening to a horse pulling a cart down the cobbled street, the fishmonger across the road bearing the wet, glittering night’s catch into his shop, the people downstairs getting out of bed, opening the window onto the street, coughing, saying: “Well, better get moving.”
I was part of this life, in the midst of it, and no one doubted my right to be there, no one asked who I was, no one looked askance at me. I smiled at people and they smiled back, some even turned round in the street and said to themselves or their companion: “That was a handsome young man.” I was hardworking, with the sense to put money aside; I was the owner of two smart suits, one blue, the other brown, as well as hats, overcoats, three pairs of good shoes, and an umbrella, though I used it rarely. I had dined at Vivex more than once and knew important people who would invite me to their houses because they enjoyed my company. I was popular everywhere and had no enemies.
I owned two good suits, but it was my bad luck to meet you in my waiter’s apron.
As we sailed farther west there were boats drawn up on the gravel bank, fish-drying frames on the windblown shingle, the doors of a timber shack on the beach half-open, cold darkness within. Slowly we approached land. I could now see turf huts scattered here and there, sheep grazing in a dun field, dark clouds on the hills above. I already regretted having come back.
But you were waiting. You were waiting for me beyond the fog; a distant smile, cold yet warm; eyes that seemed full of kindness—or was it pity? Not contempt but pity. It’s worse.
I knew you, but didn’t know you. In your presence I never knew which leg to stand on. Yet I couldn’t stay away.
19
You greeted me on the quay, your father hanging back a little. I saw him watching us, a little embarrassed perhaps, and though I took you in my arms, I didn’t hold you as tightly as I wanted to.
I had met your father several months before when he came to Copenhagen on business. He had been very pleasant when you introduced us, without a trace of arrogance or suspicion. He had taken an interest in my “studies”—rather too much interest, it seemed to me at first, but then I recovered—and told me about his business trips. He had just come from Spain,
He was moving slowly between her legs, slowly and steadily like the pendulum in the dining-room clock downstairs. “Oh yes,” she heard him say, “oh yes.” He was wearing a white night-shirt but Katrin’s bare arms were pink in the dawn light when she put them round his back.
She pulled the door quietly to and tiptoed swiftly back to her own room. Lying down with eyes closed, she wondered why it was that this sight should not have bothered her in the least.
18
I came to Iceland a week before the wedding.
The fog lifted suddenly as we approached the south coast. Without warning, the mountains appeared above our heads, a patch of sunshine on their slopes.
It was raining out in the bay, a dense, unremitting drizzle; birds mewed above us.
I didn’t feel as if I were coming home. When I left, I was nothing. Now I felt myself shrinking again.
I saw the rivers meandering over the sands and vanishing into the sea, the glaciers beyond them hidden in blue mist. A white ribbon of cloud hung from a black peak by the shore, gilded now and then by the morning sun, but never for long. Except for a green streak here and there among the roots of the mountains, all was white, gray, and black.
Perhaps I hadn’t had enough sleep.
The great open spaces before me and the cold silence of the sands awoke no feeling of freedom in my breast. Rather it was as if I were gradually being bound with invisible fetters, until I wanted to scream at the barren wasteland. In Copenhagen I woke a free man in the mornings, sometimes at the side of a girl whom I’d danced with till dawn, at other times alone. Then I’d lie still in bed for a few minutes before getting up, listening to a horse pulling a cart down the cobbled street, the fishmonger across the road bearing the wet, glittering night’s catch into his shop, the people downstairs getting out of bed, opening the window onto the street, coughing, saying: “Well, better get moving.”
I was part of this life, in the midst of it, and no one doubted my right to be there, no one asked who I was, no one looked askance at me. I smiled at people and they smiled back, some even turned round in the street and said to themselves or their companion: “That was a handsome young man.” I was hardworking, with the sense to put money aside; I was the owner of two smart suits, one blue, the other brown, as well as hats, overcoats, three pairs of good shoes, and an umbrella, though I used it rarely. I had dined at Vivex more than once and knew important people who would invite me to their houses because they enjoyed my company. I was popular everywhere and had no enemies.
I owned two good suits, but it was my bad luck to meet you in my waiter’s apron.
As we sailed farther west there were boats drawn up on the gravel bank, fish-drying frames on the windblown shingle, the doors of a timber shack on the beach half-open, cold darkness within. Slowly we approached land. I could now see turf huts scattered here and there, sheep grazing in a dun field, dark clouds on the hills above. I already regretted having come back.
But you were waiting. You were waiting for me beyond the fog; a distant smile, cold yet warm; eyes that seemed full of kindness—or was it pity? Not contempt but pity. It’s worse.
I knew you, but didn’t know you. In your presence I never knew which leg to stand on. Yet I couldn’t stay away.
19
You greeted me on the quay, your father hanging back a little. I saw him watching us, a little embarrassed perhaps, and though I took you in my arms, I didn’t hold you as tightly as I wanted to.
I had met your father several months before when he came to Copenhagen on business. He had been very pleasant when you introduced us, without a trace of arrogance or suspicion. He had taken an interest in my “studies”—rather too much interest, it seemed to me at first, but then I recovered—and told me about his business trips. He had just come from Spain,
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