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Louise was emptied of everything that foreign countries
have: figs, Aquavit, cotton, planed choice timber, coffee;
there were even crates of apples. Oddur dexterously
managed to open one without being seen, stuck two apples
beneath his coat, and now, as the storm tears apart the June
light, howls over the houses and makes the mountains
rumble, the three of them sit there, Oddur, Rakel, and Lúlli,
at Oddur and Lúlli’s, they’ve sliced the apple and slowly eat
this fruit that has drunk in the sunshine and tenderness of
faraway worlds. Rakel smiles; dear God, how delightful it is
to see her smile in closeup, as the storm shakes this little
house furiously, the world has turned into one continuous
howl. Whence comes this savage power, now, when the
month of June should be plover song over our existence?
Oddur had stopped in to see Rakel towards evening, after
they’d finished unloading Louise; we saw what was in the
offing, the darkening clouds, rising wind, a rumble or two
from the mountains, as if it were too much for them to
restrain their suppressed wrath. Oddur wanted her to join
them, what with a storm in the wings, well, or at least foul
weather, and he also had a little something that he and
Lúlli wanted to share with her; nor is there any need for you
to be alone in such foul weather. But she’s often been alone
in foul weather, malicious winter storms and she’s never
been afraid, the only storm that she fears is the one in
people; to be more precise, in men, which is worse,
infinitely worse, when it’s not enough to dress warmly, take
shelter, it penetrates you and fills you with anxiety, fear,