keeping him inside when it’s really necessary. That Hjalti
who was with you still hasn’t been found. The doctor and
his wife sent some men over to Nes. What a place that’s
supposed to be. The men said that when they got there,
they found no Hjalti, but that everyone was doing well.
People can be so stupid. They might have been standing
upright, but of course they weren’t doing well. Maybe I
should go there and never come back? I wonder if you’ve
recovered? You two didn’t look entirely well when you left.
There was still a chill in you, and particularly in the big
man, Jens. He made it all the way home. His sister was so
terribly happy. She’s considerably better than us, from the
sound of it. You see that I’ve come to the end of this sheet
of paper, there’s no more space. Nor can I spend more time
on it. I know that I can’t write, you don’t need to tell me.
My letters are as ugly and tattered as old hens.”
I THINK ABOUT YOU SOMETIMES. It’s good to walk up
over the Village where the tussocks are soft, you lie down
between them and it’s as if they embrace you. The boy is
lying between them, looking at the sky. I think about you
sometimes. Then it occurred to me to write you a letter.
Which means I’d thought about you. He lies there so long
that the birds have started to become used to him; even the
redshank has calmed down. But I also think sometimes