Iceland review - 2019, Page 117

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Iceland Review
There’s a house on fire, right behind where the
mother and son live. The blaze is reflected in neigh-
bouring lawns and casts a warm light on the cold
day. This house is neither the first that will burn nor
the last. The only thing these houses seem to have in
common is that right before the fire, a stocky teen-
ager was seen prowling around the neighbourhood.
*
The mother and son look briefly out the window, but
take no notice of the spectacle—they’re preoccu-
pied. On a hot burner on the stove, there’s a pot filled
with boiling water that the son then pours through
a coffee filter and into a thermos. The old stove is
doing its duty, heating up the little kitchen until it’s
unbearable. They try to open the window, but the
heat from the conflagration in their backyard makes
it impossible to air the room out. The freshly brewed
coffee offers no relief. They try running the tap, just
long enough that the water will be cool, drinkable.
What drips from the faucet is tepid at best.
Standing in the pantry is their best option. The
mother and son go in there periodically to cool
down. They are hot and the air is cold and it smokes
off them like incense. There’s only eighteen years
between them. They are both middle-aged. A single
ray of light shines through the little window at the
back of the pantry. The sun never shines directly
through the window, but the house next door is
white, and the pantry is illuminated by the reflec-
tion. When the clouds shift, beams of light kick off
the wall and in through the little window with so
much force that the window casings are fading in
the glare. The mother and son break eye contact as
she notices an open jar of peanut butter on the shelf
behind her son’s head.
– I think it’d be better if you’d close the jar
when you’re finished with it. Because of the flies,
remember.
– That wasn’t me.
– Who else eats peanut butter?
– I’ll remember to close the jar.
– What, are you making sandwiches in here?
Story & Illustrations by
Lóa Hjálmtýsdóttir
Translation by
Larissa Kyzer
FICTION
By publishing new short stories by Icelandic authors, Iceland Review hopes to bring readers a taste of the vibrant
literary community of Iceland. While the novel has long been the dominant form of fiction among the country’s authors,
the short story has become increasingly popular. For tourists, residents of Iceland, and armchair travellers alike, these
stories can serve as entertainment as well as a bite-sized introduction to the country’s rich literature.
The
Neighbourhood