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there, like a flower, like music, like a dagger, like sleet, an
abyss, healing light. But whatever life is, extraordinary or
commonplace, it was urgent that Andersen’s ship, the St.
Louise, be undocked. Saint Louise. We don’t know why she
was made a saint, this Louise whom the ship is named after,
why she deserved it, what torments she had to suffer, does
a person have to suffer torments to deserve the name of
saint; can’t she be happy, isn’t it difficult enough in this
world, beautiful enough, noble enough? But it was urgent
that Saint Louise be moved from the pier, another ship was
waiting on the Lagoon, heavy with salt, salt is needed to
cure the fish, and Louise needed to be unloaded in haste,
yes, now the men had an opportunity to show what they
were made of, work like devils and never quit; if their hands
dropped off them with fatigue, they should just screw them
back on. The foreman, Kjartan, was in his element, he’s a
great shouter, great at goading men, sometimes they work
at night, even until morning, and if someone grumbles,
wants to go home, it’s very well, do as you please, but you
won’t be needing to return anytime soon. Skúli has written
pointed articles in opposition to this labour-fervency, an
energetic man, that Skúli, not quite an adept in style, his
sentences aren’t daggers, but rather, hefty cudgels. It’s
amusing that Skúli should stand up to these devils, but it’s
not a whit amusing to lose one’s job, to fall out of favour;
then it’s a struggle to survive— are you supposed to watch
your children starve in the summer, drop dead from cold in
the winter; no?, then, unfortunately, it’s better to swallow it
all and work, labour on as you’re ordered. And the St.