notice before he left.”
“Good.”
“And the telephone exchange will open at ten so you can ring your boss, the district magistrate.”
She turned to the girl. “Thanks for your help, Rosa darling. Run along and play now.”
The girl put the can down and skipped away.
Ingibjörg disappeared into the house with the empty washing basket in her hands.
Kjartan sat on an old whale bone that lay by the gable of the house and sipped on his coffee. Visibility was good in the clear weather, and he felt he could see a white painted house on the mainland to the north, although it could also have been the remains of some snow.
The screeching of cliff birds reached him from Hafnarey and fused with the surrounding bleating of sheep. The salted scent of the sea lingered in the breeze.
Ingibjörg came out again and had removed her apron now, put on a tasseled cap, and draped a knitted shawl over her shoulders.
“I’ll walk you down to the telephone exchange now,” she said cheerfully.
They followed the path to the road and headed down toward the village. Ingibjörg walked a lot slower than what he was used to and occasionally halted completely to look at something or chat with the people they bumped into. He waited patiently and responded to the greetings of the people Ingibjörg introduced him to. But he was slightly unnerved by the way people brazenly stared at him as soon as they started nattering with the district officer’s wife.
Finally they reached the co-operative building. There was a space on one of the store’s doors that was obviously regularly used as a notice board. Some rusty old drawing pins were stuck to it, and a notice advertising the Whitsunday mass next week had recently been put up. Beside it was the notice that Kjartan had typed and stuck up with four new drawing pins. Ingibjörg paused to read it and nodded with a smile, as if to confirm it was all in good order.
The telephone exchange was in a one-story building above a stone basement, directly opposite the co-op.
White letters on a blue sign over the door read Post & Telegraph Office , and inside there was a small hall, with coat hangers and a small bench, that led into a small reception room. A few gray radio receivers hung on one wall, while on the other there was a cabinet full of compartments for the sorting of mail. A bulky safe stood on a plinth in one corner.
A small, delicate woman welcomed them with a smile. She was wearing trousers and a sweater, with long hair woven into a thick braid.
“This is Stína; she’s the head of the telephone exchange and the post office,” Ingibjörg said to Kjartan. Then she explained the reason for their visit: “The assistant magistrate needs to phone his superiors. Are you open yet, Stína?”
Ingibjörg sat in front of the desk and signaled Kjartan to join her.
“I’m just opening now. I just have to turn on the generator and switch on the exchange,” Stína answered, slipping on some old work gloves and disappearing behind the door.
“That’s the only electricity we have here,” Ingibjörg explained a bit further, “the energy this generator produces. There’s actually another generator in the fish factory for the fish processing, but it’s rarely used.”
Within a few moments they heard the muffled murmur of an engine and the smiling lady reappeared. She slipped on a bulky set of black headphones with an attached microphone and turned on the contraption by flicking a few switches. She waited a moment for the lamps to warm up and then said loudly and clearly: “Stykkishólmur, Stykkishólmur, Flatey radio calling.” She repeated this several times.
She then put down the headphones and said, “Stykkishólmur will answer in a moment. He sometimes likes to keep you waiting, just to give people the impression that he’s really busy.”
She turned out to be right. A blast of static soon erupted, and a male voice answered through the speaker on the wall: “Flatey radio,
“Good.”
“And the telephone exchange will open at ten so you can ring your boss, the district magistrate.”
She turned to the girl. “Thanks for your help, Rosa darling. Run along and play now.”
The girl put the can down and skipped away.
Ingibjörg disappeared into the house with the empty washing basket in her hands.
Kjartan sat on an old whale bone that lay by the gable of the house and sipped on his coffee. Visibility was good in the clear weather, and he felt he could see a white painted house on the mainland to the north, although it could also have been the remains of some snow.
The screeching of cliff birds reached him from Hafnarey and fused with the surrounding bleating of sheep. The salted scent of the sea lingered in the breeze.
Ingibjörg came out again and had removed her apron now, put on a tasseled cap, and draped a knitted shawl over her shoulders.
“I’ll walk you down to the telephone exchange now,” she said cheerfully.
They followed the path to the road and headed down toward the village. Ingibjörg walked a lot slower than what he was used to and occasionally halted completely to look at something or chat with the people they bumped into. He waited patiently and responded to the greetings of the people Ingibjörg introduced him to. But he was slightly unnerved by the way people brazenly stared at him as soon as they started nattering with the district officer’s wife.
Finally they reached the co-operative building. There was a space on one of the store’s doors that was obviously regularly used as a notice board. Some rusty old drawing pins were stuck to it, and a notice advertising the Whitsunday mass next week had recently been put up. Beside it was the notice that Kjartan had typed and stuck up with four new drawing pins. Ingibjörg paused to read it and nodded with a smile, as if to confirm it was all in good order.
The telephone exchange was in a one-story building above a stone basement, directly opposite the co-op.
White letters on a blue sign over the door read Post & Telegraph Office , and inside there was a small hall, with coat hangers and a small bench, that led into a small reception room. A few gray radio receivers hung on one wall, while on the other there was a cabinet full of compartments for the sorting of mail. A bulky safe stood on a plinth in one corner.
A small, delicate woman welcomed them with a smile. She was wearing trousers and a sweater, with long hair woven into a thick braid.
“This is Stína; she’s the head of the telephone exchange and the post office,” Ingibjörg said to Kjartan. Then she explained the reason for their visit: “The assistant magistrate needs to phone his superiors. Are you open yet, Stína?”
Ingibjörg sat in front of the desk and signaled Kjartan to join her.
“I’m just opening now. I just have to turn on the generator and switch on the exchange,” Stína answered, slipping on some old work gloves and disappearing behind the door.
“That’s the only electricity we have here,” Ingibjörg explained a bit further, “the energy this generator produces. There’s actually another generator in the fish factory for the fish processing, but it’s rarely used.”
Within a few moments they heard the muffled murmur of an engine and the smiling lady reappeared. She slipped on a bulky set of black headphones with an attached microphone and turned on the contraption by flicking a few switches. She waited a moment for the lamps to warm up and then said loudly and clearly: “Stykkishólmur, Stykkishólmur, Flatey radio calling.” She repeated this several times.
She then put down the headphones and said, “Stykkishólmur will answer in a moment. He sometimes likes to keep you waiting, just to give people the impression that he’s really busy.”
She turned out to be right. A blast of static soon erupted, and a male voice answered through the speaker on the wall: “Flatey radio,
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