The Icelandic Canadian - 01.03.1981, Blaðsíða 35

THE ICELANDIC CANADIAN
33
EDEN
by LaDonna Breidfjord Backmeyer
LaDonna’s little son, Kristjan,
Christmas, 1980.
Great-grandson ofEinar mentioned
in the story.
The sun splashed down on the blond hair
of the child as he squatted in the grass and
played with his bones. Leg bones, knuckle
bones, the feet from sheep lay scattered all
about him. They were his play-toys, his
animals. He knew every one of the bones by
sight and he called them by name. In his
play, he was the shepherd of the herds, the
owner of the croft. It was a fantasy he
created, like the creator of a grand piece of
music. It had been summer and he had
carried his stock high into the mountains for
summer pasturing, but now the days were
getting shorter and he knew that winter was
coming on. He joined the other shepherds in
a sorting of the sheep and began to herd his
own flock home for safekeeping.
Thuridur stood stooped within the door-
way of the sod hut for a moment and
watched her first-born son. She watched as
he carried his bones, one by one, down the
tiny hillock of land that he called his moun-
tain. “Einar’s Holl,” is what he called it.
And the other members of the family,
amused by his act of naming the small patch
of ground, called it, “Litla Einar’s Holl.”
Thuridur watched him for a moment, then
she called out to him; ‘‘Einar, Einarminn,”
she called, ‘‘your soup is getting cold. ’’
But the child refused to come. He was
looking for Blessa, a leg bone, one of his
cows. “Blessa is missing,” he answered as
he parted the grass in search of the cow. And
she knew that it would do no good to threaten
the boy, no good at all. Never would the
child come in without one of his animals,
not even if it meant that he must go hungry.
The new babe started to cry, and Thuridur
ducked back through the door of the hut to
nurse litla Thura.
Einar found his Blessa hiding in the long
grass. He wrapped his cattle and sheep and
horses into the old rag that he carried for that
purpose and started back toward the hut.
The long grass swished against his short legs
as he walked. “Swish - swish,” the grass
sang. “Sh - sh.” And the boy started to sing
the song of the grass to himself. “Sh - sh, sh
- sh.” On and on the music sounded, until it
seemed as though it would fill eternity. And
the boy knew by the tone of the music that
the grass was soon to be cut and placed into
stacks at the back of the croft. He knew that
the summer lightness was soon to be over,
and that the darkness of winter was about to
begin. Einar forgot about the soup getting
cold. He spun in one circle with his arms
reaching high toward the brilliant blue
expanse of sky, then he spread himself,
belly down, upon the grass and felt the cool,
damp earth against his cheek. Another
world, a daydream world of snow-filled
winter dark, took hold of him, and the pres-
ent vanished, all except the warmth of the
sun. Of that he was vaguely aware.
He dreamt of a winter’s night. Father was
home from the mountains. The warmth and
the smell of the cattle crept up the stairs, into
the room filled with people above. He felt
the presence of the others in the croft-hut,