Heaven and Hell by Jón Kalman Stefánsson Page B

discovered this and fears for him shivering there in the cold, defenseless against the arctic wind. This is what poems can do to us. You’re such an idiot, says Einar, and he grins, but Pétur says nothing and even appears to avoid looking at Bárður, who strings together all the curse words life has taught him, and they are many. Curse words are little pieces of coal and can heat things, but words unfortunately do little to keep out the arctic wind, it slips through and into the flesh, a decent windbreaker is many times better and more important than all the poems in the world. The boy and Bárður sit opposite each other astride the thwart, start to slap their palms together, first slowly, then as fast as they can, continuing until a decent heat has been produced in Bárður, while the boy has become sweaty and breathless. The heat, however, quickly leaves Bárður, who tries punching himself to generate heat, now I’ll get sick, he thinks resentfully, will no doubt miss out on the next voyage, miss out on delivering the fish to the shop, miss out on the fish, hell, he curses, it’s bad to miss out on the fish. Fish are not just a group of vertebrates with cold blood, living in water and breathing through gills, fish are much more than that. Most Icelandic settlements were built of cod bones, they are the pillars beneath the arched roof of dreams. Pétur dreams of becoming rich, tearing down the old farm and building a wooden house with windows, that would make Andrea happy and she could certainly use it, in fact it seemed as if something bad had happened between them. Yet Pétur doesn’t know what it could be, he is, to tell the truth, helpless, he hasn’t changed, always works at everything conscientiously, never gives himself a break, but why does he sometimes feel as if he is losing her, is life betraying him? But he can’t put a finger on any particular event, there is nothing that supports this suspicion, except for the feeling that something in the air is working against him and raising a wall between them, creating distance. This suspicion sometimes turns into pure indisposition, depression touches him and takes the power from his arms, makes his head heavier, but rarely here on the sea, here he is happy, here he can overcome everything, and next to him sits Árni, the best deckhand Pétur has ever had. Árni also dreams of wooden houses, dreams of improving his fields, leveling tussocks, buying soft red fabric in Tryggvi’s Shop at the end of the fishing season, along with toys for the children. He who has no dreams is in danger. Gvendur dreams of American boots and often eyes Árni’s. Einar plans to buy a jacket and a checkered cap at the end of the fishing season but the boy dreams of books, of another life, and he sometimes dreams of Guðrún, maybe they could buy a little farm together, no, dammit, he’s no farmer, doesn’t care to be a farmer, not even with her who would possibly make everything good and bright and change everything into a fairy tale, no, he will become an assistant at Leo’s Shop to start with, then he can read in the evenings, then something will happen and his opportunities will increase.
    The wind has grown stronger.
    Bárður punches himself. He curses out loud and silently. He dreams of being free of his father, dreams of getting away, of living with Sigríður, with her laughter and remarks that often shed new light on the things of this world, dreams of learning more than he knows already, dreams of Copenhagen, where there are towers and innumerable streets to get lost in, he dreams of doing something big because why the hell do we live otherwise? That is a question to wrestle with. But here is another even more pressing one: how can he keep the cold at bay? Pétur gives him tobacco, which Bárður takes even though he’s not used to it, scowls at the bitter taste, the tobacco warms him slightly but not for long, they go back to their pat-a-cake, he and the boy, slap their