Lögberg-Heimskringla - 16.03.1972, Síða 2

2
LÖGBERG-HEIMSKRINGLA, FIMMTUDAGINN 16. MARZ 1972
löBberB-^eimsferingla arlh; it itt Gimlish
ECCENTRICS
by KRISTMANN GUDMUNDSON
Translated from the Icelandic by LEE BRANDSSON
(Mr. Brandsson is a sludeni of Icelandic at the
University of Manitoba)
He was a typical English-
man in appearance and man-
ner; tall and thin, almost
gaunt, with sharp features,
grey eyes, and a kind yet un-
concemed appearance, not al-
together free from that air of
self-importance which strang-
ers o f t e n find irritating.
Often we would be sitting at
the same time down by the
river in a pub which has long
been known to be haunted.
I paid him no particular at-
tention at first, but I soon
noticed that he sometimes
looked at me strangely. Some-
thing about the loök in his
eyes did not agree with the
rest of his expression; it was
dreamy, troubled and ques-
tioning, as though he wanted
my advice on something, but
could not bring himself to
ask. I began to watch him
more closely because of this.
He dressed carelessly, but
tastefully, and he was always
neat. There was scarcely any
doubt that he was of the
upper classes, and certainly
wealthy, but otherwise he
puzzled me. He had an air of
exceptional sincerity, if I may
be permitted to use such an
expression, but I thought he
looked lonely. He didn’t seem
to recognize anyone who came
in, although it was generally
the same people day after
day, and he paid no attention
to anyone — exeept perhaps
me — but stared for long
periods of time out of the
w i n d o w which faced the
river, and seemed to forget
both time and place. He
always sat at the same small
table for two, and even if
every other seat in the pub
was taken, no one sat with
him. Something in his appear-
ance and manner kept others
away.
One evening the pub was
so crowded there was scarce-
Iy room to walk about. I
ordered myself a mug of beer
anyway, and began to look
for a seat, but there was none
to be found. He was sitting
alone at his little table, star-
ing out the window. Sudden-
ly, he looked at me, raised
his eyebrows slightly, and
pointed to the empty chair
across from himself where he
was sitting.
I smiled in appreciation, and
sat down. He went on staring
out the window. After a
while I begán to talk about
the weather, as that is just
about the only way one can
begin a conversation with an
Englishman one does not
know personally, unless of
course, he has his dog with
him. He answered politely,
saying that spring was quite
cold this year, although it had
been warm last year and the
year before, which meant
only that the weather was a
little cool in his opinion. I
agreed with him, buf with
some reserve, as I found it
warm enough, being used to
worse weather in Iceland.
“Iceland,” he said, showing
little concem, “I was there
during the war. It was in the
winter and the weather was
not unlike this, as I recall.”
Then suddenly he peered at
me searchingly and again that
strange, questioning look ap-
peared on his face. “Foreigner
— yes I thought so. You come
here quite often.”
His voice was friendly and
casual, and I replied in much
the same tone. “This is a com-
fortable place, and I should
like very much to see the
ghost which is said to walk
here in plain sight. But un-
fortunately I have never seen
it.”
“But I have,” he said. His
voice had changed, it was as
though he had difficulty
breathing.
I looked at him quickly.
His face startled me; his eyes
1 o o k e d piercingly through
narrowed lids, his lips tightly
drawn.
“Do you have s e c o n d
sight?” I asked softly.
“No — I don’t know.” He
remained silent for a while,
then when he had taken hold
of himself, he spoke again. “I
have not actually seen her,
only her image on the win-
dow here.”
“What does she look like?”
“An old lady — from the
Victorian age, as near as I
can tell. She’s a gloomy wo-
man.”
I looked out the window
unconsciously. “I would like
to see her,” I said honestly,
“Since I was a young boy I
have never seen anything
supernatural, to speak of.”
“But you saw things when
you were young?” *
“Yes, I saw many things
which were hidden from most
others.”
“That worldly unconcern
disappeared from his expres-
sion and voice as he spoke:
“Then perhaps you will un-
derstand me — I thought you
might.”
“Have you seen other things
b e s i d e s the ghost?” I said
hesitantly, afraid that I might
offend him.
“Yes,” he replied bluntly,
“I have.”
I felt that he wanted our
conversation to continue, but
I didn’t dare to urge him on,
as I knew how difficulí it is
for Englishmen to talk about
their private thoughts. He
stared down into his glass.
Twice he looked as though
he were about to speak, but
both times he remained silent.
I didn’t speak either, and con-
trolied my curiosity.
“I own a house down in
Kent,” he finally said after
a long silence. “It’s not far
from Canterbury. I inherited
it from my uncle who died
in the iast year of the war.
I was in the hospital myself
at the time — wounded in
one of the last air raids, —
lost my wife and our child
that same night. Well, many
people had their griefs, but
when it hits a man person-
ally ... I was slow at recover-
ing, a little depressed and
tired, so I took a trip out to
Kent to cheer myself up, and
to see my uncle’s house. I
had never seen it before, but
I had heard various things
about it. It was supposed to
be haunted, as is often the
case here in England. But I
wasn’t a f r a i d of ghosts,
although I did not actually
doubt their existence. Well, I
was soon convinced, though.”
He paused again, sipped
from his glass, looked out the
window, remained thoughtful
for a while, and continued:
“It’s an old house, typical of
the simple styling of the mid-
seventeenth century, with a
large garden arotmd it, and
a small pond with waterlilies.
My uncle was a bachelor, and
he had a housekeeper, who
was still there, and an old
gardener as wel'l. They were
the best of people, trust-
worthy, honest, and pleasant.
I moved in with the old
man on the second floor. I
had a comfortable apartment:
lofty, spacious; two rooms be-
sides the bedroom, beautiful
antique furniture and old
paintings, reflecting the
peacefulness of another age.
I liked all of it. The house-
keeper pampered me, as if I
were her child, and I enjoyed
talking with the gardener.
But when I asked him about
the hauntings, it was hardly
possible to force a word from
him. I understood, however,
'that it was a woman, because
he muttered that ‘she’ had
often been seen both in the
garden and on the top floor
of the house. “You will prob-
ably see her soon enough” he
mumbled.
I didn’t have long to wait.
I was sleeping in my uncle’s
bed, but about midnight I was
awakened by a gust of cold
air in my face. I ha!lf sat up,
and saw her immediately.
She was standing at the foot
of the bed.”
He sat rigidly in his chair,
with his head lowered, and
his eyes closed. I had to wait
some time for him to con-
tinue, as he once again seemed
to forget tirne a n d place.
Finally he löoked up and
shook his head, perhaps won-
dering what I was thinking.
“I saw her very clearly,
and I can remember it was as
though it happened yesterday,
but how can I describe her?
She was enveloped in a blue-
white glow, and she was
staring straight into my eyes.
It was scarcely possible to tell
her from a living person, but
I knew, or thought I knew,
that she was not. Her clothes
were Victorian: a beautifully
decorated floor-length sum-
mer dress in rose pastel, and
a wreath of white roses on
the dark hair over her fore-
head. She was somehow com-
pletely unhke women of our
time: she had a long graceful
neck, sloping shoulders, her
whole body delicate; unbe-
lieveably slender bands, her
face oval and pale, more
beautiful than I can say. But
I shall always remember her
eyes most clearly: large and
deep, full of hving darkness,
yet bright and warm with
Iove. They were questioning
eyes, as though she expected
something of me.
I wasn’t frightened. She
was so charming and beauti-
ful that I stared at her, fas-
cinated. I wished only that
she might not vanish. I tried
to speak to her, but it was
as though she could not hear
me, or else could not answer
in words. Her hps did not
move, no line in her lovely
face changed, her feehngs
were ail reflected in her eyes,
those deep, secret eyes of
night, which reminded me of
sunrise and morning light.
I rose slowly from my bed
without taking my eyes off
her, and put on a gown over
my night clöthes. I wasn’t
.sure what I was going to do,
,but as I drew near her, she *
moved away, glided across
the floor and disappeared
through the closed door. She
waited for me on the landing
outside, and floated slowly
down the stairs in front of me.
She stopped for a moment
in the entrance hall and
Iooked at me, then moved
through the locked door. I
followed her, but had to stop
to open the door.
The weather was delightful,
the sky Was clear, lighted by
thousands of sparkling stars
and a full moon. At first I
could see her nowhere, but
at last my eyes came upon
her standing among some
nearby trees. She waited
there until there was not
more than two or three steps
between us. We looked into
each other’s eyes for a mo-
ment, then we began to walk
toward the pond with the
waterlilies. It was a strange
walk, and I cannot describe
how I felt. I was not afraid,
but I felt that I was losing
touch with reality, and that
everything which I had
learned, and all tjiat I knew,
was disappearing. I felt light-
headed, and I must have
walked unsteadily. It occured
to me that possibly I had died
in my sleep, and had entered
the kingdom of the dead. I
had read Lord Dawding’s
book “Many Lives”, and had
been fascinated by it. Could
it be that this mysterious
woman was sent to receive
me and talke me wherever I
was supposed to go? Perhaps
it was not significant that
everything seemed real and
solid; that was how it was
supposed to be, according to
descriptions given by ghosts.
To be honest I was pleased
by the idea; I had nothing to
leave behind.
I was thinking all this as
we walked in the warm,
peaceful night. Then a
thought occured to me, a plan
to find öut whether I was in
fact dead: if the ghost walk-
ing beside me was also solid,
then I must be dead, other-
wise not. I reached out with
my hand to take her arm,
but there was nothing there;
it was like grasping at a
moonbeam. All the same, she
was aware of this. She looked
at me with her big eyes, and
I thought I saw in them for
a moment the gleam of good-
natured humor.
When we came to the pond
she hesitated a little and
moved more slowly. She went
straight to an old marble
bench, which had been there
Framhald á bls. 7.