been in bed for ages by midnight when I abandon my attempts to drop off. I get up, check on Polly—who is fast asleep with her head under her wing—and go into the living room to consult the telephone directory.
Kjartan Arnarson is listed in Akureyri. Profession: high school teacher.
Holy fucking shit.
A jolly little family is waiting for me in the newspaper offices when I arrive there around midday after a sleepless night. As I step across the threshold, I’m greeted with applause and cheerful barking. In the reception area Ásbjörn stands with Karólína, cradling Pal in her arms. All are wreathed in smiles. In the corner, Jóa is smirking.
“It worked!” exclaims Ásbjörn. “A girl brought Pal in just now. Her mother noticed the article in the paper this morning.”
“Where did they find him?” I ask, patting the excited little creature.
“He’d gotten lost down on the docks, and the girl spotted some boys about to throw him in the sea. She just managed to rescue him.” Ásbjörn concludes his account with a melodramatic shudder.
With her free hand, Karólína dries her eyes. “How can such boys have been raised? How could anyone treat such a sweet little doggie that way?”
I seem to remember her subjecting her husband to not-dissimilar treatment only yesterday.
“Sometimes humans are the only beasts that deserve the name,” remarks Ásbjörn as emphatically as before, before continuing more cheerfully: “Anyway. All’s well that ends well.”
Karólína kisses the dog right on the snout. “Mommy and Daddy have got their Pal back.”
“Oh, yes, indeed,” I say, entering my closet. I don’t expect things to be quite so rosy there.
And I’m right. On top of the piles of papers on my desk are three message slips. The first is from a man named Kjartan Arnarson, asking me to call. The second from Hannes, telling me to call. And the third from some woman. I shut my door, open the window with the view of the neighboring wall, and light up. Then I summon up courage and call Kjartan Arnarson.
A youthful male voice answers, “Kjartan.”
“This is Einar, from the
Afternoon News.
I had a message to call you. I think I know why.”
Silence. He takes a deep breath. “You think you know why, do you? You think you know what you’ve done to me?”
“I think I know what harm the comments have done you. And I can hardly express how much I deplore it.”
“Goddamned hypocrite. Fucking duplicity.” He does not raise his voice, in spite of the intemperate language. “Why on earth did you print that nonsense?”
“I know I can hardly expect you to believe me, but the comments were published against my wishes.”
“No, you can’t expect me to believe that. I just thank God that I’m not married and haven’t any children. Can you imagine the damage such an affair would do to a man’s marriage and family?”
“Yes, I can.”
I’ve been debating whether my loyalty to the
Afternoon News
extends as far as Trausti Löve. I’ve reached the conclusion that it doesn’t. Trausti betrayed me. I owe him nothing.
“I told the news editor in Reykjavík what the girl said and made it clear that it wasn’t fit to print. But he decided to publish it anyway.”
Kjartan laughs sarcastically. “You’re all the same, passing the buck. Oh, yes, you’re men of honor.”
“So you’ve already spoken to Trausti Löve?”
“Yes. He told me all the Akureyri content comes from you.”
“That is so. But I don’t decide what is printed and what isn’t.”
He says nothing.
“Will you give me an hour? I must speak to the editor of the paper. The buck stops with him. Can I call you back?” I say.
“Tell him I’m lucky not to lose my job. And tell him Sólrún Bjarkadóttir was suspended for a month. I interceded with the principal on her behalf, and he agreed to withdraw the suspension. She received a reprimand instead, for now.”
“So the principal believed you?”
“Sólrún admitted at
Kjartan Arnarson is listed in Akureyri. Profession: high school teacher.
Holy fucking shit.
A jolly little family is waiting for me in the newspaper offices when I arrive there around midday after a sleepless night. As I step across the threshold, I’m greeted with applause and cheerful barking. In the reception area Ásbjörn stands with Karólína, cradling Pal in her arms. All are wreathed in smiles. In the corner, Jóa is smirking.
“It worked!” exclaims Ásbjörn. “A girl brought Pal in just now. Her mother noticed the article in the paper this morning.”
“Where did they find him?” I ask, patting the excited little creature.
“He’d gotten lost down on the docks, and the girl spotted some boys about to throw him in the sea. She just managed to rescue him.” Ásbjörn concludes his account with a melodramatic shudder.
With her free hand, Karólína dries her eyes. “How can such boys have been raised? How could anyone treat such a sweet little doggie that way?”
I seem to remember her subjecting her husband to not-dissimilar treatment only yesterday.
“Sometimes humans are the only beasts that deserve the name,” remarks Ásbjörn as emphatically as before, before continuing more cheerfully: “Anyway. All’s well that ends well.”
Karólína kisses the dog right on the snout. “Mommy and Daddy have got their Pal back.”
“Oh, yes, indeed,” I say, entering my closet. I don’t expect things to be quite so rosy there.
And I’m right. On top of the piles of papers on my desk are three message slips. The first is from a man named Kjartan Arnarson, asking me to call. The second from Hannes, telling me to call. And the third from some woman. I shut my door, open the window with the view of the neighboring wall, and light up. Then I summon up courage and call Kjartan Arnarson.
A youthful male voice answers, “Kjartan.”
“This is Einar, from the
Afternoon News.
I had a message to call you. I think I know why.”
Silence. He takes a deep breath. “You think you know why, do you? You think you know what you’ve done to me?”
“I think I know what harm the comments have done you. And I can hardly express how much I deplore it.”
“Goddamned hypocrite. Fucking duplicity.” He does not raise his voice, in spite of the intemperate language. “Why on earth did you print that nonsense?”
“I know I can hardly expect you to believe me, but the comments were published against my wishes.”
“No, you can’t expect me to believe that. I just thank God that I’m not married and haven’t any children. Can you imagine the damage such an affair would do to a man’s marriage and family?”
“Yes, I can.”
I’ve been debating whether my loyalty to the
Afternoon News
extends as far as Trausti Löve. I’ve reached the conclusion that it doesn’t. Trausti betrayed me. I owe him nothing.
“I told the news editor in Reykjavík what the girl said and made it clear that it wasn’t fit to print. But he decided to publish it anyway.”
Kjartan laughs sarcastically. “You’re all the same, passing the buck. Oh, yes, you’re men of honor.”
“So you’ve already spoken to Trausti Löve?”
“Yes. He told me all the Akureyri content comes from you.”
“That is so. But I don’t decide what is printed and what isn’t.”
He says nothing.
“Will you give me an hour? I must speak to the editor of the paper. The buck stops with him. Can I call you back?” I say.
“Tell him I’m lucky not to lose my job. And tell him Sólrún Bjarkadóttir was suspended for a month. I interceded with the principal on her behalf, and he agreed to withdraw the suspension. She received a reprimand instead, for now.”
“So the principal believed you?”
“Sólrún admitted at
Similar Books
