Snowblind by Ragnar Jónasson Read Free Book Online

his back to the Parliament building and the City Hall to his right. There had been few people about and he looked out over the houses as if he were detached from himself, purely an observer taking in a handsome view, a film sequence rolling from left to right. It was nine in the evening and there was a vista of dignified houses,their windows decorated with advent candles, Christmas trees with shimmering lights and the cathedral bells ringing. It was as if the peace of the city had proved itself stronger than the Christmas rush. The ducks on the lake called, answering the bells. He had stood stock still, breathing in the spirit of the moment, with time passing more slowly than he could ever have imagined.
    The bells continued to peal, but this time they were the bells of Siglufjördur. Ari Thór stopped in his tracks, enveloped by his memories. Ugla laid a hand on his shoulder; it was as light as a feather, but it still made him start. He immediately – wishfully – thought of Kristín, even though he knew that it wasn’t her.
    He looked around and smiled.
    There she stood, Ugla the piano teacher, in dark jeans and a bright white T-shirt, in her early twenties, tall and slim. There was a warm aura about her, despite the chill air, but also a hint of sadness in her eyes. The glow of the streetlights gleamed on her long, fair hair and she returned his smile.
    ‘Aren’t you coming in? You’ll freeze to death out here.’
    Ari Thór had seen her advertisement in the Co-op window a couple of weeks ago. He had always wanted to play the piano, but never had the time or inclination to do anything about it. He had pulled off one of the strips with her name and phone number, and now he was here for his second lesson.
    He was dressed for the cold and could see the goose pimples on Ugla’s arms as she stood in her short-sleeved top on the steps.
    A contraction of the muscles under the skin , he recalled Kristín telling him, providing a medical explanation for the phenomenon, when he had come out with the old cliché that he got goose pimples every time he saw her.
    ‘Thanks,’ he said, hanging his coat on a hook in the lobby and closing the door behind him. ‘Of course I haven’t been able to practise since the last lesson, as I don’t have anything to practise on. I’m probably your worst-ever student.’
    ‘Don’t worry about it. You’re the best and the worst. Let’s just sayright away you’re the best as you’re my only student. I’m still wondering why I bothered to place the ad to begin with, but I suppose old Hrólfur sparked my interest.’
    ‘Hrólfur? The writer?’ Ari Thór asked. He had heard of the old master who lived in the town.
    ‘That’s him. He’s a wonderful old character. You ought to meet him; get him to sign a book for you. You never know – might be your last chance! Not that he isn’t sprightly for his age, and he’s as sharp as a knife.’
    ‘I’d like a chance to meet him, although I’ve never read any of his books.’
    ‘You have to read North of the Hills . It’s a real masterpiece. It’s his only novel and it’s brilliant. After that he wrote short stories and poetry.’
    ‘I didn’t know that…’
    ‘I’ll lend you the book,’ Ugla said, interrupting him. ‘He signed it for me, so you had better not spill anything on it.’ She gave him a warm smile. ‘What would you like to drink? Coffee?’
    ‘Do you have tea?’
    Ari Thór had drunk so much coffee during his university years that even the smell brought back uncomfortable memories of late-night sessions, edgy with caffeine and stress. He was trying to wean himself onto tea instead.
    ‘Sure. Take a seat and I’ll bring you some.’
    He sank into a deep, red armchair, letting his hands lie on the armrests and taking in the living room. During their first lesson, Ugla told him that she had rented the flat furnished, which included the old piano. Certainly nobody would have imagined that a young woman would have