Christmas in Iceland - 15.12.1940, Page 14

The long Jump
Translated from the Icelandic of Porir Bergsson
I remember that evening well, and for
several reasons. It was the first Christmas
that I had spent away from my parent’s
home, for I was studying with Archdeacon
SigurSur at StaSur that winter. I had just
left my bed after a pretty bad go of pneu-
monia, and was still shaky. But that evening
sticks in my memory most because of — well,
I’ll tell you about it.
We were all sitting round the Christmas
table. StaSur village is a good way from the
sea, at the head of the valley, and it is about
twenty miles or so over the hill to the nearest
town. Though it is not much of a hill, it is
often difficult going in winter, being fairly
level, and it is hard to keep one’s bearings
in a snowstorm or mist.
There were lights in every corner; no
shadows anywhere — that's our custom at
Christmas-time. For this was Christmas Eve
itself. It was warm and snug in the biggest
room, and there the whole lot of us were
sitting, about twenty all told. There was only
one missing — Sveinbjorn, the labourer.
Outside, a northerly gale was howling over
the roof. It had come on suddenly in the
evening, or rather just as dusk was beginning
to fall, and had got steadily worse from then
on. We knew that it was only beginning.
We all felt a bit uneasy. We had no doubts
about Sveinbjorn, for he was a very active
man, and well inured to hardships. The rea-
son for his absence was that a peasant had
come in from the country that morning in
mortal fear and asked the Archdeacon if he
could have a man and a horse to fetch a
doctor. The prospects were poor and the roads
were in a bad state. A little more, and it
would be impossible to take a horse anywhere.
And into this Sveinbjorn had been sent with
four horses. Many times before he had
risked his life in snowstorms and other perils.
And now this woman, groaning in her labour
out there in the wilds, was crying out for
the only help it seemed possible to send her,
while we were waiting, waiting to see whether
the attempt would be successful, or would end
in death — for more than one.
That’s why we were uneasy, as we sat
round the festive board that evening.
“They ought to be here by now”, said the
Archdeacon suddenly, “even if they had to
leave their horses when they got up on to
HofSa. And I should think that was probably
what they had to do”.
“I don’t like that new doctor”, said Brand-
ur, one of the farm labourers. “E ain’t got no
spunk. I reckon Sveinbjorn ’ad to carry ’im,
blest if I don’t, parson!”
“He is not very strong”, said the Archdea-
con, “and perhaps he will hardly manage this
dangerous journey. You know him, don’t you,
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CR1STMAS IN ICELAND