Walking Into the Night by Olaf Olafsson

Author:Olaf Olafsson [Olafsson, Olaf]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction
ISBN: 9780307430090
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Published: 2007-12-18T05:00:00+00:00

34

In August of 1918, I came home for good. It was my sincere intention to stay put. You can see from the bird pictures I painted during the first two months that I had settled down. The shade of chestnut on the godwit’s breast and head is witness to the fact, and when I had finished the picture of the snipe, I felt it might start its drumming right there in our living room. I was determined to avoid anything that I knew would depress me; I kept away from the Mozart evenings, for example, inventing business in town or staying late at the office and playing chess with Stefan, who had kept his eye on everything while I was in New York and proved a trusty employee and friend.

Those Mozart evenings—I shudder every time I hear his music. Fortunately that’s not often, but I’m surprised the discomfort should have stayed with me all these years.

It was on one of those Mozart evenings that I received the letter. In fact, though it’s never occurred to me before, it’s a strange coincidence that it should have worked out that way. After a meal at Hotel Iceland, Stefan and I had returned to the office to play chess. I clearly remember that I was playing the Sicilian defense and had the upper hand in the first game. I was delighted, as I usually lost to Stefan, who was a cunning player, so I rose to my feet in triumph, saying I’d treat him to a drop of brandy in celebration of my unexpected victory. I did it to tease him, and he took it in the right spirit, as usual.

When I glanced out the window, over the rooftops on the other side of the street and out over the bay, I saw the Gullfoss in the twilight.

“She’s coming from New York,” said Stefan.

“Yes. Let’s go and get some fresh air,” I said. “I’d like to hear the news from New York.”

That morning everything had been routine, nearly perfect. I had slept well and got up late, past nine. You were up and I could hear you talking to Katrin and Einar down in the kitchen. Katrin was saying: “How well that sweater suits you, Einar dear.” And he answered: “Daddy bought it for me in America.” Katrin asked you what little Maria should wear today. You hesitated, then replied: “The red dress her father brought back last time.” You who were so far removed from such matters—I was amazed that you remembered the dress at all, let alone that I’d bought it on my last trip west. But I definitely heard it. You said those exact words: “The red dress her father brought back last time.”

I dressed slowly in the February gloom. In the east a pale gleam kindled a few clouds until one of them began to glow. I stared at it for a while; I felt it was moving away from me but then it drew closer again, cautiously, as if it knew it stood out against the sky.

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