Viktor Ingolfsson - The Flatey Enigma

Kjartan tried to lie down after his return from Ketilsey, but he was unable to sleep. He tossed and turned until he eventually gave up and decided to take a walk to calm his mind. As he walked up the steps toward the church, he saw Thormodur Krakur standing by the flagpole, propping himself up with his walking stick. He was wearing his Sunday suit, which after its repeated use over the past few days was by now beginning to look pretty crumpled and smudgy. An old sea bag lay at his feet.

“Good day to you, Assistant Magistrate,” said Thormodur Krakur when he noticed Kjartan.

“Hello, Krakur,” Kjartan answered. “The weather is clearing up.”

“Yes, good weather for traveling now,” said Thormodur Krakur, and they both fell silent a moment.

“Are you going on a journey then?” Kjartan asked.

“Yes, they want to take me south on the coast guard ship to have more of a chat about my nocturnal escapade with the reporter’s body. They want the doctors at the mental asylum to check out my brain to make sure I’m not mad or something.”

“That’s understandable, I suppose,” said Kjartan.

Thormodur Krakur frowned and then winced. “No, that’s true, I guess it might seem weird to an outsider, but I still believe that everything serves a purpose. We’ll see. Old Jon Ferdinand has to travel south as well. They’re going to be examining him, too.”

Kjartan nodded. “They need to find someplace where they can take good care of him. His son Valdi won’t be able to look after him if he gets any worse.”

Thormodur Krakur grabbed Kjartan’s arm and said, “The worst part of it all is that I got you and my Johanna into all that trouble. I was totally devastated by it all.”

“We’ll get over it,” said Kjartan.

They were quiet for a brief moment.

“I hear you’re not too keen on traveling,” Kjartan said finally.

“That is correct,” Thormodur Krakur answered.

“But I guess there’s no choice now?”

“No, they insist I go.”

“When was the last time you left the island?”

“It’s been a good while now.”

“How long?”

Thormodur Krakur thought a moment before answering: “When I was a youngster, I took several trips out, transporting sheep, and I did some fishing on the islands around here, but that’s about as far as I went. Then, when I was nineteen, they played a nasty trick on me, and I developed a kind of loathing for the sea after that. And from then on, I never went out to sea again. Besides, there was never any shortage of things for me to do at home on the island, so I didn’t need to really. I’m almost seventy now, so it’s been fifty years.”

“So you’ve actually been stuck on Flatey for fifty whole years?”

“Yes, and I can’t complain. I feel good here, and there’s nothing that draws me to the mainland. Besides, where would I go? To Stykkisholmur maybe or Reykjavik and spend money? No, my friend. Life has been good to me.”

Kjartan grew pensive. Fifty years on an island that is about 1.2 miles long and a third of a mile wide. Was that a lot better than being locked up in jail? Maybe, if one didn’t make too many demands.

It was as if Thormodur Krakur could read his thoughts. “I hear you spent a few years inside?”

Kjartan gave a start. Of course, this story was bound to have traveled around the island, but no one had mentioned it until now.

“Yes, that’s right,” he answered.

“That must have been very trying,” said Thormodur Krakur. “Even though I’ve never traveled, I’ve always been my own boss. I’ve worked when I wanted to, eaten and slept whenever I wanted to, drank some schnapps whenever I felt inclined to. I imagine prison life must be pure misery and boredom.”

Kjartan nodded.

“And I’ve been able to enjoy nature and all it has to offer,” Thormodur Krakur continued.

“To me, the environment here reminds me slightly of the prison,” Kjartan answered. “It also happened to be by the sea, so it was the same birds that I hear here that used to wake me up. I’ve yet to recover from that experience.”

Thormodur Krakur was silent, so Kjartan continued: “But have you never longed to see other places than this little island and what you can see from this hillock?”

“No, my boy, and I’ve probably seen more with my sight than many other people who spend their whole lives wandering across the globe. I’ve seen worlds and countries that others can’t even imagine. And that is perhaps precisely because I have planted firmer roots in the earth than the puffs of cotton that drift with the slightest breeze. An oak tree never complains that it can’t leave its land.”

“Are you going to tell the doctors in Reykjavik that you see elves and hidden people?” Kjartan asked.

“Not unless they ask me. Although it remains to be seen whether I’ll spot any down south,” Thormodur Krakur answered.

“Do you see elves now?”

“Yes. I’m kind of saying good-bye to them, my friends.”

“Where are they?”

“They’re south of the hillock and below the rock on the shore. And they pop up here every now and then.”

Kjartan tried to conjure up the vision.

“It must be fun to observe them,” he said.

“Yes. It’s like watching newborn lambs playing in the spring,” said Thormodur Krakur. “Do you long to see them?” he then asked.

“Yes, I can’t deny I do,” Kjartan answered.

Thormodur Krakur lowered his voice: “I’ve sometimes helped people to see if that is their sincere wish.”

Kjartan looked at him skeptically. “How then?”

“Kneel down beside me here and place your head under my armpit. Let’s see what happens.”

Kjartan seemed hesitant.

“Yes, come on then, it won’t last long,” said Thormodur Krakur hastily.

“Well, no harm in trying, I guess,” said Kjartan, kneeling down beside Thormodur Krakur, who took his head under his arm and held him tightly. Kjartan inhaled the smell of the wool of Krakur’s jacket mixed with pungent body odors and was on the point of pulling his head away because he had difficulties breathing. But then, all of a sudden, it was if he had entered another dimension. The air that he was breathing was suddenly sweet and refreshing, and he no longer felt Thormodur Krakur’s arm. On the slope below by the shore he saw little flashes of light that fleetingly took on small human shapes. It perhaps lasted for just a few seconds, but he felt it had been for much longer. Then Thormodur Krakur finally released his grip, breathless and gasping, as if he had been holding his breath while it lasted. The visions dissipated and the oxygen seemed to vanish again. Kjartan sank languidly to the ground.

Thormodur Krakur didn’t ask him if the experiment had yielded any results. He seemed to know that it had. Kjartan sat dazed on the grass and tried to get his head around the experience.

“You will find happiness, my friend,” said Thormodur Krakur at last. “Life has been difficult for you, but that’s all behind you now. I dreamed last night that I discovered a nest of beautiful eggs. That’s always turned out to be a couple close to me. You shall take my Johanna as your own, and it will bring you good luck, my friend.”

“She might have something to say about that,” Kjartan answered.

“Sometimes it’s all determined by fate, my friend, and we shouldn’t fight it. I’ve already asked my Johanna to take care of you, and she took it quite well. Now you just need to treat her like a gentleman and it’ll all happen of its own accord in a few months. I feel a strong connection there between you. I’ve been known to ask young people to open their hearts in a certain way, and it’s always turned out to be for the best.”