Heaven and Hell by Jon Stefansson

Author:Jon Stefansson [Stefansson, Jon]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Published: 2011-12-13T15:55:30+00:00

Around eight hundred people live here in the Village.

There is much that fits into eight hundred souls.

Many worlds, many dreams. A swarm of events, heroism and cowardice, betrayal and devotion, good times and bad.

Some live in such a way that it is noticed and their existence sets something in the air in motion, others hang on to life for many years, even eighty, but never touch anything, time goes through them and then they are dead, buried, forgotten. Live for eighty years but still do not live, one might even mention a betrayal of life, because there are others who are born and die before they manage to say their first word, get a stomach ache, a bad cold, and Jón the joiner needs to make a little coffin, a little box to go around a life that never was, except for a few sleepless nights, irresistible eyes, such small toes that they resembled a miracle. Paid a short visit like the dew. Gone when we awoke and the only thing we can do is hope deep inside, where the heart beats and dreams dwell, that no life is wasted, is without purpose.

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Numbers have no imagination and therefore you can’t make much of them. According to maps the mountains here rise nine hundred metres into the sky, which is absolutely correct, some days they do that, but one morning when we wake and look out the mountains have grown considerably taller and are at least three thousand metres, they scratch the sky and our hearts shrink. On those days it is difficult to stoop over salt fish on the drying lot. The mountains are not a part of the landscape, they are the landscape.

The sand Spit on which the Village stands stretches out like a bent arm into the slender fjord and reaches nearly across it. The sea within the arm of the Spit is sheltered and freezes readily, changes into smooth ice, we whistle at the moon and emerge from our houses with ice skates. It is often placid here because these mountains stop the winds, yet you shouldn’t think there is eternal calm in our village and that feathers lost by flying angels float down to us, of course this happens but make no mistake, a gale can certainly blow in! The mountains deepen the calm and they also magnify the winds, which can rush wildly into the fjord, arctic winds full of murderous intent, and everything that is not securely fastened blows away and disappears. Beams, shovels, carts, roof tiles, entire roofs, right-footed boots, ideals, lukewarm expressions of love. The wind howls between the mountains, tears up the sea, the saltiness settles on the houses and cellars flood. When it becomes calm and we can go outside without dying, the streets are covered with seaweed, as if the sea has sneezed over us. But the calm always returns, angel feathers float down, we stand on the 113

beach and listen to slow, small waves break with a low

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