Viktor Ingolfsson - The Flatey Enigma

Arni Sakarias pondered the memory wistfully before continuing with the story: “The following day, on the way to Reykjavik, we went to the Sogsvirkjun power plant, and some silly inauguration ceremony took place there. Then there was a dinner party in the evening at Hotel Borg, and that’s when the real story begins.”

Arni Sakarias leaned over the table toward Dagbjartur and lowered his voice: “I arrived at the hotel early because I had some errand I wanted to discuss with Gaston Lund before the dinner party. I announced my arrival at reception, and a bellboy was sent up to his room with a note from me. I waited patiently because I knew he was preparing for the party and that it could take a while. Foreign guests were gathering in the foyer before going into the hall, and I greeted some of those I knew. Despite the crowd, I couldn’t help but notice a young woman who had planted herself on a chair in reception and was obviously waiting for someone. She was very pretty to look at and nicely dressed without being ostentatious. Standing beside the woman, there was a boy who was probably ten years old. He was also well dressed and all spruced up. No one paid them much heed, and I was probably the only one who was giving them any attention. Even though the woman was considerably younger than I was, I nevertheless allowed myself to feast my eyes on her every now and then. She was the best looking woman in the room, and I can never resist eyeing a pretty woman if I get a chance. Meanwhile, it was quite some time before Gaston Lund appeared. I was standing to one side, talking to one of the king’s retainers, and I didn’t notice straightaway that Gaston had come down the stairs. Then I saw him standing on the bottom step and gaping in horror at the woman and the boy, who were walking toward him across the reception floor. The woman said something to him when they met and offered him her hand. He responded very oddly, by refusing to accept her greeting and slipping his right hand behind his back, as if to avoid her touching it. The woman then slipped her arm around the boy’s shoulder, pushing him forward at the same time and saying out loud in Danish, ‘Gaston Lund. This boy is your son.’ Lund then backed off, moving back up two steps, and glared at him with a gaping jaw, speechless. This was beginning to attract some attention. The woman looked around apologetically on both sides and then at Lund again. She entreated him to speak to them, by all means. Then, it was as if Lund had suddenly snapped out of a trance. He beckoned the doorman over and, pointing at the woman and boy, shouted, ‘Out, out!’ The boy, who up until that moment had been so polite, started to bawl his eyes out, and so did the woman, yes, the woman, too. I’d never seen such a pitiful sight. All the dignity she possessed vanished with that single wave of his hand. Her back stooped and she stared bleary-eyed and blankly at the floor without uttering a sound. ‘Out! Out!’ Lund shouted, horror-stricken, and waving his arms. The doorman took the woman by the arm and the boy by the collar and practically dragged them out of the building. Everyone who had been in the foyer witnessed the scene and now stared at Lund. Then he turned on his heel and ran up the stairs. The woman’s words echoed in the foyer as people repeated them. ‘She said the boy was his son,’ they kept on repeating, both in Icelandic and Danish. Those who knew Gaston Lund better than the others recalled that he had come to Iceland in the summer of 1926. Could he have had a relationship with this woman and fathered that boy? Regardless, his behavior was considered as nothing less than shameful, and he never showed himself again for the rest of trip. The story reached Copenhagen and tarnished his reputation. I’ve never been ashamed to tell this story if I’m asked. I don’t think Gaston Lund came to Iceland again until last autumn.”

Arni Sakarias had finished his speech and now concentrated on his food. “Who was she, this woman?” Dagbjartur asked.

The writer shook his head as he finished chewing and swallowing. “No one knows. No one who saw her at the hotel knew her by sight, and she was never seen there again. I tried to track her down, but without success. No one in town was familiar with the description I gave of the woman. It was assumed she wasn’t from Reykjavik. The Icelanders in Copenhagen tried to recall Gaston Lund’s trip to Iceland in the summer of 1926, but no one had any particular memory of any liaison with a woman. It occurred to no one to mention it to Lund himself, and bit by bit the story was forgotten in Copenhagen.”

Question eighteen: Earl Hakon’s tooth token. First letter. Hakon became so uncontrolled with women that he felt entitled to have his way with all of them, whether they were mothers, sisters, maidens, or married. He also treated his underlings cruelly in many other ways and came to be known as Hakon the Bad. Eventually the yeomen formed an army and took up arms against him. Hakon escaped and hid with his slave, Kark, who had been given to him as a tooth token. Kark then killed the earl in their hideout and delivered his head to Olaf Tryggvason. The king rewarded Kark by having him beheaded as well. The answer is “Kark,” and the first letter is k.

After dinner Kjartan strolled out onto the embankment in front of the district officer’s house. He liked feeling the breeze on his face and decided to go on a walk to the east of the island. The village had sunk into tranquility, and he passed no one but a curious calf roaming between the houses. Walking past the island store, he heard a radio through a window. A short while later he had reached Innstibaer. He felt he was being watched from the window of a house, but he avoided looking back. His mind was busy connecting the few threads linked to the disappearance of Gaston Lund. Even the women in Innstibaer. But right now he wanted to forget, and he walked across the island in a determined stride. The track meandered up to a reef that dropped onto the sea, and he saw some puffins perched on top of the rock. He carried on walking and soon stood on the shore on the innermost part of the island. The village had vanished behind him, but to the east of the strait he could make out the houses of the nearby islands in the evening sun. Far behind them the sky had darkened with clouds of rain.

Kjartan enjoyed the view for a brief moment, but then he turned to walk back along the island’s southern shore. He spotted eider ducks flying from their nests along the trail here and there and then the arctic terns spiraling over him. He snapped an old twig of northern dock and dangled it over his head as he crossed the densest swarm of terns. It was low tide, and mud flats protruded between the small islets to the south of Flatey. Shorebirds he was unfamiliar with were feeding there. A sheep with two lambs used the opportunity to stroll over the shallows to the grassy isle on the other side of a narrow strait. Kjartan wanted to continue walking out to the little isles to the south of the inhabited island but decided to do so later. It was getting late and rainy.

As he walked along the shore right to the south of the church, he saw a faint light glowing in the library window. Intrigued, he decided to peep in to see if there was someone inside. If it was someone he didn’t want to talk to, he could always say that he saw the light and just thought that he’d forgotten to switch it off. Then he could leave.

He walked up the field toward the building and knocked on the door.

“Come in,” a female voice answered from within.

The door creaked as he opened it and stepped inside.

Dr. Johanna sat by the glass case containing the Munksgaard edition of the manuscript open in front of her. An oil lamp glowed on the wall above her. A small gas heater on the floor generated some cozy warmth.