The Journey Home: A Novel by Olaf Olafsson

Author:Olaf Olafsson
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Literary, General, Historical, Fiction
ISBN: 9780385720410
Publisher: Anchor
Published: 1999-01-02T00:00:00+00:00

13

Later I couldn’t remember whether it was the bowl of apples I noticed first or the shaft of sunlight falling on them between the thick curtains. I hadn’t seen such beautiful apples since leaving England, red and shiny like precious gems. I yearned to touch them and moved closer to the table where the bowl stood on a round, yellow cloth but stopped at the last moment and made do with reaching out my hand and grasping at the sunbeam. A shadow fell on the apples in the dim drawing room and I instantly whipped back my hand in order to see them shine anew.

It was then that a voice spoke behind me: “They’ll rot too, if they’re forgotten.”

I wasn’t startled because the voice was gentle and amiable. He took off his glasses and wiped them with a handkerchief, inspecting them absentmindedly, then instead of putting them back on, twisted them between his fingers, clockwise and counterclockwise in turn.

“It’s getting dark,” he said eventually and switched on the lamp beside the bowl. “These long, dark winter nights.”

I was about to point out that it would still be light if he were to draw back the heavy curtains, but thought better of it.

“I woke to the snow buntings this morning,” he continued. “They had found some treat in the garden after last night’s rain. I enjoy watching them, so I went out on to the balcony in the dawn breeze to get a better view. Poor things,” he said finally, then fell silent, putting an end to these ramblings. He invited me to sit down but remained standing himself, rubbing his glasses with the handkerchief while pacing up and down, obviously out of habit.

“The winter has a bad effect on my wife. Apart from the Advent season, of course, when she always takes part in the Christmas preparations. Rushes round the house, making sure all the rooms are decorated, and lighting candles from dawn to dusk. She does her bit when it comes to baking and making leaf-bread too and the house is filled with the smell day after day. With a smile on her lips, my dear, a smile on her lips.”

He fell silent before adding: “But now Christmas is over. And some people find the winter months slow to pass.”

He was stocky without being precisely fat, jollier than in the photographs in the newspapers. His eyes were shrewd but at the same time distant, his hair gray at the temples and his hands more delicate than his build would suggest.

“You had better know straightaway that my wife rarely leaves her room in the winter. On bad days she stays in bed but when she’s feeling better she sits by the doors to the balcony, which has a view over the bay. She’s from the west of the country. She likes to watch the sea. You should know all about that,” he added with a smile, “a girl from Kopasker.”

I nodded and muttered something about understanding what he meant.

“We have to make sure that she eats, as generally she doesn’t have much appetite.

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