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breathing had stopped, she wrapped it in the lined shawl on
which she had given birth, bundled it tight, and then sank
her unbaptized daughter in a small pond south of
Fagradalsvatn.
Old Tóvó stroked his great grandson’s hand. He could tell
him one thing: If the men on the island decided to drain
that pond someday, they would find a mass grave of
newborns swaddled in lined shawls. Of course, Pisan would
answer for her action on the Last Day. But so would the
island’s lechers. And the Devil give them what they
deserved!
In Saga Hestoyar, Pastor Viderø writes:
Plenty of tears have
been shed here on Hestoy, but God transforms them to the
most beautiful rainbow.
Pisan was never able to see the minister’s rainbow. Or
rather, one might say that, with a freshly knitted shawl, her
feet encased in leather shoes and clogs, and with a bundle
under her arm, she fled the rainbow over the fjord.
For many years she earned a living on different farms on
Su
ð
urstreymoy. After she moved to a garret in the vicinity
of Sjarpholi
ð
in Tórshavn, she set fish out to dry on
Rundingi and, among other things, helped out in houses
where women were giving birth.