The Icelandic Canadian - 01.06.1995, Blaðsíða 35

SPRING /SUMMER 1995
THE ICELANDIC CANADIAN
145
landic youth, must go to the best schools
of this land and get a better education as
soon as possible. M.P. Cato, the Roman,
ended his speeches with these words:
Denique uenseo Carthaginem esse delendam.
But I will say: ‘Whatever happens, the ig-
norance of my nation must be destroyed.’
That was the main message of my lecture
today.”
“You delivered a good speech tonight,”
I said.
“Did you think so?”
“Yes, I have never heard a better speech
on that subject.”
“Thank heaven,” he said. “Thank heaven
that the young people listened to my talk
here tonight. But my business with you is
to ask the way to the so-called ‘crooked
house.’ I am told you live there. I must go
there tomorrow and talk to the woman who
is the landlady.”
I told him where the crooked house was
and which was the best way to get there. I
expected he was going to ask for board and
room for a time, although I had been told
he usually stayed in the most expensive
hotels.
“Thank you kindly for the information,”
he said when I had given him detailed di-
rections. “Tell your landlady that, if noth-
ing prevents it, I will come to her house
tomorrow sometime after midday. I have
visited nearly all of the Icelandic homes
here but hers. The peace of God be with
you.”
He shook my hand, smiled gently and
walked out.
The next day, about two o’clock, when
my cousin had just finished clearing the
tables, this strange man walked into the
house carrying a small suitcase. I had not
gone to work that day, mainly because I
wanted to be home when Mr. Island came.
Who knows? Maybe he was going to discuss
more than board and room with my cousin.
Could it not be possible that he had some-
thing notable and novel to say since he was
said to be a mysterious adventurer? I know
the reader will bear in mind that I was ab-
normally inquisitive during those years.
My cousin greeted this man warmly and
invited him into the dining room, for that
is where she always entertained her guests.
1 was there when he came in. He recog-
nized me, greeted me in a friendly man-
ner and told me I had given him very good
directions to the house. I expected he
would mention his errand right away and
either ask my cousin for board and room
or try to sell me a book. But he did nei-
ther. He talked of many things, asking my
cousin about her family and her place of
birth and wanting to know the names of
the boarders and what part oflceland they
were from. He sat with us in the dining
room a whole hour, drank two cups of good
coffee and ate ponnukokur (Icelandic
crepes). I thought his only errand in the
crooked house was to find out about my
cousin’s roots. But when he was finishing
his coffee, he said to my cousin, “I’m go-
ing to tell you something, my good woman.
I have urgent business with you.”
“Well,” said my cousin, blushing a little.
“I must by all means ask you something,”
said Mr. Island.
“Right!” said my cousin, blushing even
more.
“It is very important for you to give me
a straight-forward answer.”
“Only if I know the answer to your ques-
tion.”
“Of course you know it,” said Mr. Island,
smiling. “And it is this: Did a young man
by the name of Arnor Berg ever live here?”
“Yes,” said my cousin, “a man by that
name lived here for more than a year, but
he moved away about two years ago.”
“I am happy to know he was here,” said
Mr. Island, “but I must know where he is
now.”
“About that, I don’t have the least idea.
He left here early in January, 1884 and it is
said that he went south to the United States.
I have never had a letter from him and have
heard no news of him. I could best believe