65° - 01.07.1968, Blaðsíða 36

of whispers rose and scattered as the Rev. went on
somewhat unevenly, his eyes never leaving Geir’s
face, the words pouring quickly from him though
his face was now shiny.
“I was about to say that your revered music
teacher has full right to be held in your esteem,
for although before seeking refuge in this country,
he committed a most heinous crime, nevertheless
he has paid for it ... in the cruel years of prison
confinement ...”
The crowd was stunned. They didn’t believe
him. He was the preacher, but they didn’t know
him, so why should they believe him.
Ingi they knew, a bit shy and distant, yet ... as
they recalled it was more a frightened look he
had ... could it be true? He seemed such a good
man, but you never knew ... what did anyone
know of him? And what was the crime? And they
had trusted their children to him, day after day
for nearly a year . . .
Their voices came to them in a rush and uncer-
tainly they began to whisper and shush each other
and lean forward in their seats to hear better.
“But you are a tolerant people,” the Rev. inton-
ed, encouraged now by the attention. “You may
not hold the knowledge of this sin against this
poor man. God in his righteousness has shown us
the way to forgive, and through this forgiveness
this poor wretch can now stand among his
brothers ...”
Here he stopped because Geir was walking out,
having signalled another to follow him. The con-
gregation turned as a man and watched. After a
moment the men returned, carrying the limp
weight of the teacher.
All the way up the aisle they carried him and
everyone saw the purpled face and the distended
eyes and the rope that trailed on the floor, its
other end imbedded in the flesh. They laid him
on the step at the preacher’s feet.
“You might say he cleansed himself,” Geir said
quietly.
“My God, my God,” cried the preacher over
and over. And after a while, “Who would have
thought he was so unbalanced ?“
He stared with horrified fascination then cov-
ered his eyes. “I can’t look anymore. I’ve never
seen a dead man like that before!”
“You murdering bastard,” Geir said softly.
“Now declare yourself and be cleansed.”
The preacher look up, terrorized, then cring-
ing from the crowd which began to advance on
him.
“It’s not my fault,” he began hurriedly, then
almost shouting, ‘This all existed before I came!”
He escaped through the side door and the
crowd leaped, shouting now. Geir put his back to
the door. He, who had a friend’s right to seek
vengeance, stood firm.
They pushed to the front door, but old Egill
stood there, his eyes wet but resolute.
“No one is going after him; none of us is,” he
told them.
Raw anger broke out in threats and shouting
and weeping. Elin was caught up in it too. She
could have killed the preacher with pleasure at
that moment, as all of them could. Even she.
Then slowly she looked around for Geir and
saw that he had put a cloth on his friend’s face,
though his hands trembled. She bent and took
those hands in both of hers and felt them steady
and grow firm.
“He couldn’t even say a prayer over the body,”
Egill muttered.
In the silence that fell, they all heard the car
sputter and drive away, but no one moved.
Geography-minded
Let one country Icelander ask directions of another and the answer will be, “One kilometer west and
two kilometers south”. Let a city Icelander ask how to reach a certain street, and the answer will be,
“Two blocks west and three blocks south.” But in a recent school examination, when the question was
asked, “Through which section of the heart is the blood pumped to the arteries?”
The answer, “The northeast” even floored the examiners.
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65 DEGREES