then turns west in a flash of white, and disappears into the dazzle.
She has never been to sea, but she knows terns are unsafe guides, as they do not always make for land. This must be the sign for which she asked. She does not understand it yet, but the spell is made.
I thought things were going to change that autumn. We were used to Thorgeir the trader coming to Arnarstapi at that time of year on his way to Laugarbrekka. This year his son Einar came instead, as Thorgeir wasn’t as fit as he used to be. I couldn’t remember Einar, although he’d been to Arnarstapi with his father before he went abroad. He didn’t remember me either, and if he had, I don’t think he would have connected an inquisitive little girl with the young woman I was now.
Anyway, once a man sees a woman in a particular way, she has no past or future in his eyes. Einar had been travelling between Iceland and Norway for quite a few years, spending one winter there and one here – in Iceland, I mean. He was another of those Icelanders who grew rich and successful in a generation. Thorgeir was the son of a slave, and a travelling packman to begin with. His son was a shipowner and seagoing trader. Orm would have invited him to stay with us for his father’s sake anyway, but naturally he wasinterested in the man himself. Success is always interesting to us in Iceland.
I knew the trader had arrived, but Halldis kept me busy outside. As a child, I could run in and out as I pleased. Then I was neither man nor woman, so I could work my way into any hearth, like the animals, and be invisible. Now, if men came to the house, she would keep me at the loom or in the dairy, so that I couldn’t even listen to the talk. I can tell you, young man, that it’s hard to be young if you’re a woman. You have to keep to the rules. A child can break them, and an old woman, if she’s like me, will do exactly as she likes, but a young girl is attractive to men and must therefore always be careful. Not that I minded being beautiful. It has its compensations, but it’s a kind of prison all the same.
So there was Einar in the hall displaying his wares from Norway to my father, and there was I, out in the field with my stool and bucket, milking the household cow. It was a grey evening just at the turn of the year, when for the first time there’s a touch of winter in the wind, and the day is no longer than the night. A mizzle of rain came in from the sea with the dusk, and I could feel the chill of it against my bent back. I pressed my head against the warmth of the cow, while the milk squirted down. It gleamed like ice in the half light. I was excited about seeing the trader’s wares. I was still scornful of women like Thurid who cared so much for fine clothes and jewels, but at the same time I admired their courage. Thurid defied the world she lived in. We were starved of colour, but she insisted on it. I realised, as I watched the whiteness frothing in the pail, that I wanted colour. I wanted just to see and feel the colours the trader would have brought. I wanted to buy colours of my own.
That was all I was thinking about as I came back to the house. I passed the door of the hall, and I heard men’s voices, but I didn’t turn my head. I went straight into the dairy and poured the milk, and took down yesterday’s buttermilk. It was my job to make the skyr, but before I could go into the hearth to get the boiled milk, Halldis brought it out to me. As I mixed in the rennet I could hear a murmur of voices from the hall. I remember I was wondering if I would feel different if I wore dyed clothes. I never had. I wondered if the coloursthat people dress themselves in change the way they think? I’d never had the opportunity to find out.
The farmer and the trader sit in the hall. The trader has opened his bales and spread out bolts of dyed cloth, wool and linen, trays of amber beads and bronze brooches, coloured necklaces and ornaments of jet and silver, knives in
She has never been to sea, but she knows terns are unsafe guides, as they do not always make for land. This must be the sign for which she asked. She does not understand it yet, but the spell is made.
I thought things were going to change that autumn. We were used to Thorgeir the trader coming to Arnarstapi at that time of year on his way to Laugarbrekka. This year his son Einar came instead, as Thorgeir wasn’t as fit as he used to be. I couldn’t remember Einar, although he’d been to Arnarstapi with his father before he went abroad. He didn’t remember me either, and if he had, I don’t think he would have connected an inquisitive little girl with the young woman I was now.
Anyway, once a man sees a woman in a particular way, she has no past or future in his eyes. Einar had been travelling between Iceland and Norway for quite a few years, spending one winter there and one here – in Iceland, I mean. He was another of those Icelanders who grew rich and successful in a generation. Thorgeir was the son of a slave, and a travelling packman to begin with. His son was a shipowner and seagoing trader. Orm would have invited him to stay with us for his father’s sake anyway, but naturally he wasinterested in the man himself. Success is always interesting to us in Iceland.
I knew the trader had arrived, but Halldis kept me busy outside. As a child, I could run in and out as I pleased. Then I was neither man nor woman, so I could work my way into any hearth, like the animals, and be invisible. Now, if men came to the house, she would keep me at the loom or in the dairy, so that I couldn’t even listen to the talk. I can tell you, young man, that it’s hard to be young if you’re a woman. You have to keep to the rules. A child can break them, and an old woman, if she’s like me, will do exactly as she likes, but a young girl is attractive to men and must therefore always be careful. Not that I minded being beautiful. It has its compensations, but it’s a kind of prison all the same.
So there was Einar in the hall displaying his wares from Norway to my father, and there was I, out in the field with my stool and bucket, milking the household cow. It was a grey evening just at the turn of the year, when for the first time there’s a touch of winter in the wind, and the day is no longer than the night. A mizzle of rain came in from the sea with the dusk, and I could feel the chill of it against my bent back. I pressed my head against the warmth of the cow, while the milk squirted down. It gleamed like ice in the half light. I was excited about seeing the trader’s wares. I was still scornful of women like Thurid who cared so much for fine clothes and jewels, but at the same time I admired their courage. Thurid defied the world she lived in. We were starved of colour, but she insisted on it. I realised, as I watched the whiteness frothing in the pail, that I wanted colour. I wanted just to see and feel the colours the trader would have brought. I wanted to buy colours of my own.
That was all I was thinking about as I came back to the house. I passed the door of the hall, and I heard men’s voices, but I didn’t turn my head. I went straight into the dairy and poured the milk, and took down yesterday’s buttermilk. It was my job to make the skyr, but before I could go into the hearth to get the boiled milk, Halldis brought it out to me. As I mixed in the rennet I could hear a murmur of voices from the hall. I remember I was wondering if I would feel different if I wore dyed clothes. I never had. I wondered if the coloursthat people dress themselves in change the way they think? I’d never had the opportunity to find out.
The farmer and the trader sit in the hall. The trader has opened his bales and spread out bolts of dyed cloth, wool and linen, trays of amber beads and bronze brooches, coloured necklaces and ornaments of jet and silver, knives in
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