The Icelandic Canadian - 01.06.2000, Qupperneq 39

Vol. 55 #4
THE ICELANDIC CANADIAN
337
will know no pain, and love each other per-
fectly, then I think that the time I spend in
Gimli would not be savoured the way it is
now. In David Arnason's short story The
Sunfish, Gusti the fisherman receives a warn-
ing from a talking fish that the world is com-
ing to an end: "All of it, everything. Sun,
moon, stars, trees, birds, animals, men, dogs,
cats, the whole shooting match." The fisher-
man wants to know when this will happen,
and the fish replies, "I don't know. Maybe
tomorrow. Maybe a couple of millenia."
Gusti replies: "This is no great news.
Everyone knows the world will end some day.
What matters is to live a proper life while
you're here."
Gusti was right about his last remark, but
I'm not sure about the first one. I'm not sure
that everyone knows that the world will end
some day. I know that most of us don’t act like
that's true. Do we believe in Heaven?
Maybe we do without acknowledging
that to ourselves. We act as if the people we
love will always be there for us whenever we
need them, that the places which nourish our
souls will never change, that institutions
which carry our values and hopes will stand
forever by themselves.
Maybe our universe recycles itself. That's
what some of the cosmologists say: that the
earth will fall into the sun and the galaxies
will compress back together and everything
will start all over again. The ancient
Icelanders' vision of Heaven ended that way.
I told you before that it had two stages. All the
mighty warriors who had died in battles
would be able to eat and drink in Valhalla,
and fight every day to their hearts content
because their wounds would always heal.
There they would stay until they were all
needed in the great battle of Ragnarok, the
end of the world. Then the gods and the giants
and the monsters would do battle one last
time, until they were all swallowed up in the
fire and water that their war created.
From that fire and water, something new
would rise up, an island, on which would be
situated a great Hall called Gimli; and that
great hall would have 548 doors, and all the
best of giants and gods and creatures would
be gathered there; and from that fire and water
would rise up as well two new human beings
who would start the world all over again; and
then the world itself would be Heaven at last.
It is a stunning vision. Or maybe it has
already happened. The Gimli that I know
sometimes makes me think so. I like to walk
by Lake Winnipeg in the early morning when
the sun still colours it red and purple, and go
up to the observation deck at the hotel where
you have a view of the entire harbour and the
beach for miles around. I like the fresh fish we
eat for dinner, especially when we buy it from
Tip Top meats, and I like the berries we eat
with breakfast, especially when we snitch
them from my Uncle Joey's garden. I like to
listen my uncles tell me fishing stories from
up North. These are sacred moments in a holy
place for me. Maybe there is a Heaven, and
maybe there isn't, but I'd rather be in Gimli.