Reykjavík Grapevine - 04.08.2008, Síða 12

12 | REYKJAVÍK GRAPEVINE | ISSUE 10—2008
ARTICLE By Haukur S. MagnúSSon — illuStration By Hugleikur dagSSon
We spoke about the need to enlighten our English-
speaking friends on the joys of Iceland’s sinister
creatures, and how they could be put to good use
in arts, literature and music (as they have been). “I
think the galore of old Icelandic ghost stories and
monster tales are a criminally under-utilised. [...]
The Christmas Cat [homicidal feline that prays on
poor kids during Christmas] isn’t even used that
much. And that’s a beautiful monster. In our past
and our stories, we’ve got this massive database of
monsters and mythological creatures,” remarked
Hugleikur.
We concluded that those of you who haven’t
heard about the Nykur, Grýla, Fjörulalli, Gilitrutt
or any of the other mythological beings that have
plagued rural Icelanders throughout the ages re-
ally are missing something. But don’t you fret: as
of this very article, you will be able to read about
a different and exciting Icelandic ghost, monster
or elf in every issue of the Grapevine. And the best
part is that Hugleikur himself has agreed to use
his vast drawing skills to properly illustrate each
subject.
THE DEACON OF DARK RIvER
The first mythological being to be featured in
the series is the dreaded Deacon of Dark River
(“Djákninn á Myrká”). Not only is he one of Ice-
land’s best known ghosts, he is also the subject of
a well-known disco-funk hit (“Garún”, by Manna-
korn). His unfortunate tale has been told around
Icelandic campfires for centuries, and while it isn’t
exactly scary, it does its job by being super eerie.
The story goes that an unnamed deacon at
the farm Myrká (“Dark River”) in Eyjafjörður had
invited his girlfriend Guðrún, a maid to the priest
at neighbouring farm Bægisá, to a Christmas party
at Myrká. He was to pick her up the day before
Christmas day and escort her to the party. Riding
his horse Faxi home through stormy weather, after
delivering the invitation, the doomed deacon fell
into a river when a bridge broke under the weight
of his horse. His head was bashed on a river rock,
and he drowned.
His cold, cold remains were discovered by
a neighbour the next day, and he was buried the
week before Christmas. However, typical Icelandic
winter weather combined with those dark ages’
lack of proper telecommunications prevented the
deacon’s girlfriend from hearing anything about
his untimely death. She therefore got dressed and
ready for the scheduled time of party-pickup –
which went ahead as scheduled, funnily enough.
Now, Guðrún couldn’t get a straight look at
her beau on their way back to Myrká, as lighting
conditions at that time of year are typically hor-
rible. Somewhere along the way, however, the
deacon’s steed jumped, lifting his hat slightly and
giving Guðrún a glimpse at his bare scull in the
process. Although recently deceased, the deacon
had retained his poetic powers and recited the fol-
lowing improvisation:
Moon glides,
Death rides.
Do you glimpse a white spot in the back
of my neck
Garún, Garún
This of course tipped Guðrún off to the fact that
her beloved deacon was dead – that she was in
fact on her way to party with a zombie. For ghosts
have no love for the name of God (the “Guð” in
“Guðrún”) and prefer not to utter it. So he called
her Garún in his abstract poem, which ultimately
foiled his evil plot.
Guðrún was a smart one, and pretended not
to notice anything about skulls or weird poetry.
She kept quiet, but when they got to Myrká, the
zombie-poet deacon asked her to stay while he
put away his horse. Absently looking around while
she waited, Guðrún spotted an open grave in the
cemetery she was standing by and this freaked
her out for she realised the deacon intended to
take her down with him.
In a state of panic, she started to furiously
ring the church bells, alerting the folks at Myrká to
come help. Deacon wasn’t happy with this turn of
events, as he had wanted a companion for his cold
and lonely grave. He thus tried to grab Guðrún,
but she had luckily failed to put on her coat en-
tirely so the deacon only got half a woman’s coat
as grave-companion.
The good people of Myrká soon came to the
rescue and Guðrún was calmed down and put to
bed. Unfortunately, the dead deacon was oblivious
to her attempts to blow him off and kept coming
back to bother her. Talk about a shitty date. In the
end, they had to get a wizard from Skagafjörður
to get rid of him. He did that using his patented
wizard tricks, which involved rolling a heavy rock
on top of the deacon’s grave. Unfortunately, the
story goes that Guðrún had gone irrevocably in-
sane by the time he got the job done. The moral of
the story is thus: if your stupid ex-boyfriend keeps
stalking you from beyond the grave, call a wizard
(some thugs will do if he’s alive).
the deacon sure is a scary creature
Introducing: Hugleikur and the Monsters!
Vol. 1: 'The Deacon of Dark River'
Bill Clinton eats a hot dog
at Bæjarins Beztu
ARTICLE
It was a bright and sunny day, on August 31, 2004.
People smiled to each other, strolling easily down
the streets of Reykjavik, a light breeze coming off
the sea, no one suspecting that two great national
icons were poised to converge. Bæjarins Beztu,
proud server of the Icelandic national dish since
1937, was operating as usual, providing delicious
hot dogs to young and old. Meanwhile, American
President Bill Clinton and his wife, Hillary, were in
the country on a worldwide mission for UNICEF.
After a visit to the Reykjavik Art Museum, he was
walking back to his car, flanked by bodyguards,
when he heard a little voice calling him to try “The
best hot dogs in town”.
The voice had come from María, an employ-
ee at Bæjarins Beztu Hot Dogs for 33 years. “I rec-
ognised him right away,” says María, “You know
his face from the news and then its right there, and
it was such a nice day, I thought maybe he’d like to
try a hot dog.”
As the story goes, Clinton’s bodyguards
stopped and fiercely looked around “as if they’d
just heard Osama Bin Laden”, but the President
was intrigued. Since there was no line in front of
the stand (a rare thing), he simply walked up to
the window, and said that yes indeed, he would
like to try the best hot dogs in town.
Now, what to put on the president’s hot
dog? No fresh onions, the president had to talk to
important people that day. No crisped onions or
remúlaði, too fattening. And ketchup?
“Well,” said the president “maybe we should
just leave it at just mustard”. And so it went down in
history, the former president of the United States,
ordering “ein pylsa, bara með sinnepi” - one hot
dog, just with mustard.
Mr. Clinton and his bodyguards ate their hot
dogs quietly at the tables outside, wishing well to
María as he left, releasing a gush of excitement
from bystanders as soon as he was out of sight.
When Clinton had his infamous heart attack
three months later, María was often questioned if
she had poisoned him. “I didn’t, of course,” she
said, “He was very nice, I thought he should just
enjoy his hot dog.”
A few months later, Bæjarins Beztu received
a letter signed by the President himself, thanking
them for their hospitality, and their very fine hot
dogs. “He even said he would have to come back
to Iceland for another,” said María. And if he does,
it is sure to be another great moment in Icelandic
history.
Great Moments
in Icelandic
History
By natHaniel flagg — pHoto By gaS
We interviewed master comic
Hugleikur Dagsson a couple of
issues back, focusing on his grow-
ing international success as the
go-to guy for pitch black humour
and his latest published work,
Garðarshólmi, which appears
on the margins of Iceland’s 2008
phonebook. Our interview lament-
ed the fact that Garðarshólmi had
yet to be translated into English,
as it features some of Iceland’s
best-loved mythological creatures
of yore in full action, and is thus
quite educational.
not only iS He one of iceland’S
BeSt known gHoStS, He iS alSo tHe
SuBject of a well-known diSco-
funk Hit ('garún', By Mannakorn).
HiS unfortunate tale HaS Been
told around icelandic caMpfireS
for centurieS, and wHile it iSn’t
exactly Scary, it doeS itS joB By
Being Super eerie