The Flatey Enigma by Viktor Arnar Ingólfsson Read Free Book Online Page B

days do you reckon that man survived on that island?” Kjartan asked.
    “Difficult to say,” Grímur answered. “Maybe a few.”
    Högni sipped on his coffee and said, “There was once a woman who tended to her animals in the winter on a remote island out there in Skardsströnd. There were two laborers with her, a man and a woman. The man had run out of tobacco after the long period of isolation, and the girl had some boyfriend on the mainland. So they wanted the old woman to allow them to go home, but she wouldn’t let them until they tricked her by extinguishing the fire in the hut. That way she had to send them to the mainland to fetch more fire. But when they left her, there was a cold northern wind one night, and the sea froze over so that the old bag couldn’t be reached for the next eight weeks. She had something to eat on the island, even though it was raw, and she got a tiny bit of warmth from the animals, but she was always considered a bit weird after that.”
    Högni gave Kjartan a meaningful look.
    “But the man in Ketilsey had neither food nor heat,” said Kjartan.
    “You’re right there, lad,” Grímur answered with a grave air. “I just hope the poor wretch didn’t have to suffer long.”
    They walked inside, and the district officer showed Kjartan the old typewriter on the small standing writing table in the living room. It seemed to be in reasonable condition, and Kjartan placed two sheets in it with a carbon sheet in between and rolled it into place. He recalled the doctor’s words from memory and then started to type. He was accustomed to using a typewriter and wrote texts with relative ease. The opening read as follows: “Notice to the inhabitants of the district of Flatey. The remains of a man’s body were found on Ketilsey.”
    Once the description of the man’s clothes had been written, he added the words of Jón Finnsson that had been found in the deceased’s cardigan pocket. Finally, he wrote: “If anyone can provide any information on the man’s journey to Ketilsey or knows of a missing person, they are asked to contact Grímur Einarsson, the district administrative officer of Flatey.”
     
     
    “…the characters in the sagas contained in the Flatey Book are not my favorite people. If its accounts are accurate, these were some of the worst rogues, and few of them were honorable leaders. Ólaf Tryggvason’s and Ólaf Haraldsson’s relentless endeavors to convert the Norse to Christianity are of little credit to their religion. It can also be argued that the Viking raids delayed the advance of civilization in northern Europe for centuries. It is, however, the Icelandic record keepers that I admire. The people who passed the sagas down from one generation to the next, first orally and then from one vellum sheet to another. There are countless phrases in the Flatey Book that have now become sayings that are quoted over and over again, without anyone being remotely aware of their origin. Sayings such as ‘No one can stand against great odds,’ ‘Ale is another man,’ and ‘The one who yields is generally the wisest.’ These are all sayings that Icelanders have become accustomed to using without thinking particularly about their origin. Few contemporary authors exhibit this kind of insight…”

CHAPTER 8
     
    T he deacon’s house was located in the island’s interior, a small low cottage. Even though the man was not tall, he still had to stoop to get through the doorway, once he had parked his cart by the gable of the building. The place comprised a small hallway sectioned off by a partition of rough crate planks, a kitchen, and one room, which served both as a living room and bedroom. Pink floral wallpaper adorned the walls, and the ceiling was of dark wood.
    Thormódur Krákur removed his Sunday best clothes, folded them neatly, and placed them in a green painted chest that stood at the foot of the bed. He then put on his work clothes: old gray overalls, woolen socks,