65° - 01.07.1968, Blaðsíða 35

“Leave him alone,” Geir said, but the preacher
did not hear.
“Hiding behind tuberculosis, the wasting
sickness. But there are other things that waste a
man. There are other sins more corrosive — killed
his own mother, the one who gave him life ...”
“I sajd, leave him alone!”
The preacher stopped and looked at the hand
clenching his shoulder.
“Hands like those I’ve seen before. Yes, it
comes back,” he went on as though mesmerized,
but addressing Elm now. “I was prison chaplain
for a short time, replacing one of my noble breth-
ren. It was commanded me to go into that — place
and help those damned souls, whether they could
appreciate help or not. Murderers, theives all and
worse . . . And I return to my fatherland and find
it rotten with depravity — yes I heard you creep
by my door and I heard other things because your
walls are thin in this miserable forsaken house,
Miss Bjornsdottir. This town in its ignorant toler-
ance shelters a murderer! At least one.”
Apparently he was not quite sure but he would
be. He would be.
He stood up suddenly and backed from Geir,
eyes piercing.
“Can I not see what course must be followed,
what steps must be taken ?“
He licked his lips.
“It is my Christian duty to wipe out the heath-
enism that still infests this country and prevent
criminals from repeating their crimes.“
“Yes,” he continued to Elm’s glazed eyes and
Geir’s helpless rage, my duty is clear and will be
contained in my sermon for today. The Mercy of
Tolerance. I shall lead the way, and exhort my
congregation to follow the way of tolerance in
looking at these crimes against humanity.”
He escaped from the room before either could
move.
“He mustn’t speak," she cried to Geir, “Not
even about Ingi. And you ...”
“All that I’ve built torn down by one slimy
pious Samaritan. All I’ve built up!”
“He must not speak. Don’t let him,” she cried
again.
“Do you want me to kill him with my bare
hands? I’m no killer, Elm. If I touched him it
would only prove his words . .. What I did I
should not have done, but it’s over. I paid half
my life, and if he has his way, I’ll pay all my life
for it ... That sort of anger has never driven me
since. Maybe because as you grow up you realize
no one is perfect ... What matters is that I know
my own measure now, and what I will do and
what I won’t do, but Ingi .. .”
“Ingi?”
“He knows the preacher knows and he’s never
been able to forget the past. He loved his mother,
you see, as he has told me again and again through
the years, even before we came to this town last
summer. She did everything but breathe for him;
that’s how much his mother loved him. He could
do nothing without her. He was nothing by her,
but when he pushed her away, when he finally got
the courage to want to be himself, and pushed
her away, he was unlucky in that she fell and
died, and he cannot forget it. He has been haunted
all these years. Why should he be hounded now
when he has finally found a place to settle? Whose
sense of righteousness is our preacher bent on
developing. Whose!” he demanded.
Suddenly to their startled ears came the sound
of churchbells ringing. For a long moment they
stared at each other.
“He wouldn’t dare. He mustn’t!”
Geir spun around. “I’ll go plead with him at
least for Ingi, there’s still time.
Alone, Elm sat blankly, then after a while when
the bells stopped she walked over to the church
and into the door.
There seemed to be many people, but that was
as expected. Their faces looked unfamiliar, though
she knew them all. She listened to the small choir
singing raggedly, for Ingi was not with them to
direct them. Alert now she searched for him and
for Geir, too. Neither here. Only the Rev. John-
son, distant at the altar, a glacial presence in robes
she had never seen before. When he turned and
began to speak her heart seemed to stand still. In
almost the same words, he repeated what he had
said in her house earlier of the monstrous sins
and the declaration and the cleansing, and he
named “among our congregation those whose
crimes shame the good Christian and who yet sit
among us, but on whom, nevertheless, the Lord
would presently show his benevolence and mercy.
Your revered music teacher,” he began, and then
Geir came in, banging the door, and the preacher
stopped and the congregation turned.
Geir stood there panting, his clothes dark with
sweat, his body dim against the bright sunlight of
the open door. He stood there, swaying slightly,
saying nothing. Then as he walked forward they
could see the anguish on his face, the incongruity
of sagging shoulders and clenched fists. A murmur
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