Steinunn Sigurdardottir - Place of the Heart

Edda will play no part in the equation. I’ve taken enough care of her. I’m done taking her into account. She ruined my life. Let’s just admit it. I did, however, create her, of course, and had dedicated assistance in doing so. No, it wasn’t like that. It wasn’t assistance; it was nearly rape. I was a polite person, and I felt for this excited boy who breathed uncontrollably into my ear, panting and shedding tears, and who’d torn off my bra, even while I managed to hang on to my panties, but then I simply couldn’t deny him entrance any longer. How grateful he’d acted when it was over, while I was hurting and regretted it all, a pregnant girl after the first time, though I didn’t know it then, of course. But I was devastated. Maybe all women are after their first time. I just haven’t asked. And who should I even ask? What should I read? Oh, what does it matter, after all.

Loftur Pálmason, the child’s father, was not a poetic man. But after the first and fatal time, he called me a fairy-tale princess. It really would make a difference if people could keep quiet, during sex and right afterward.

The haze at the lowest part of the garden takes on a human form, which has come silently through the garden gate.

What should I do if Ingólfur tries to talk to me about Edda? I’m not here to think about her. I’m here to be alone, to fuse with rocks.

Careful not to get a chill, Harpa. Aren’t you ready to drag yourself back inside?

Ingólfur hits the rock with his hammer. A resounding, haunting blow in the garden of fog.

Not quite yet. It’s magnificent to see how well the trees are doing. It feels like the Garden of Eden, I say.

It’s a tremendous bonus in life to have such a garden.

Of course, now I’ve brought a serpent to it.

Oh, the poor creature, Ingólfur says. Don’t you worry, Edda’s no match for us.

Seriously, Ingólfur, God only knows how this is going to go.

Maybe he does, but I have no qualms about the girl.

I’m afraid you don’t know what you’re getting into.

You could say that about anything.

She started acting up right away, back in the house.

It was probably worst while you and your friend were there.

She can’t stand Heiður. And she hates me even more, that’s for sure.

How did the rest of the trip go?

I don’t know where to start. Heiður ran off the road on the sands. We could have died, and it was entirely Edda’s fault.

She won’t be a problem here. Here she’ll start all over again. We’re no part of her previous life, not since after the madness began. It makes a big difference.

Her gang was chasing us, or part of her gang, in a small yellow van, up until today. We last saw them around Höfn. It’s absolutely beyond me what those rabble-rousers want. They spoke to Edda in Kirkjubæjarklaustur yesterday, and she got in their car to go back to Reykjavík, or at least that’s where they said they were going. Then they turned up again saying they weren’t going after all, because the sands were impassable, and they gave her a book. That in itself was funny enough, but I discovered by accident that they’d cut out its middle for drugs.

I’ve never heard of such a vile pack of thugs.

I’m not even sure it’s real drugs. It could be potato flour. I think that Teddi, the crime boss, is too sly to take such a risk. I mean, Heiður and I both saw it when he handed her the book.

He might have felt confident it wouldn’t be discovered.

Maybe. But Teddi’s so paranoid that it borders on mental illness, and I just can’t see him dealing drugs that way. I’m sending the stuff to Reykjavík with Heiður, and then we’ll find out what it is. Whether they’re serious about trying to ruin everything.

I doubt they know what they’re serious about, Ingólfur says. As for Edda, though, you don’t need to be anxious. She’s completely safe from those rogues with us.

But she’ll be going to school in the village.

Which means we’ll have to keep an eye on her, of course.

How am I going to do that? I’ll be working.

I’m sure we can find a way to keep track of one girl. The village isn’t that big, and everyone would notice a stranger, especially in winter. We’ll get the villagers to sound the alarm if she’s seen talking to suspicious characters.

It might require an entire surveillance system.

We’ll keep Edda secure and do everything we can not to screw up.

Are the girls out riding?

Edda’s on Dreki and Guðrún’s on Spói. Edda wanted to go for a ride and the horses were here at home, so it wasn’t complicated.

At least she’s showing a little sign of life.

She always was one for the horses. Just put her on horseback and all the nonsense is dead and buried.

I wish it were that simple.

There’s something to be said for teenagers having work and play that suit their abilities. If they get interested in something, that’s half the battle won. But we’ll have plenty of time to talk about this, Harpa. We won’t be that far from each other this winter, and you shouldn’t work yourself up about it now. You must be completely exhausted.

Even if we manage to get her back on track here, I say, God only knows what kind of person Edda will become. And I can hardly imagine what’ll happen to her soul. You wouldn’t believe how much evil she’s come into contact with in her short lifetime. Someday I may have to tell you all about it.

It’s part of the package, that we learn about some things.

Remember, you must hide all medications from Edda, no matter what they’re called.

It’s already been done, Harpa. It would have been a little too conspicuous to empty the medicine cabinet after she’d arrived.

What an unbelievable situation.

We won’t fix it by whining, dear cousin.

Ingólfur motions with his hammer toward the house.

Wouldn’t you like to go before you grow into the rock?

I extend my hand and Ingólfur tugs. Upsy-daisy.

Don’t forget to bring back some rhubarb, he says.

I pull up three stalks just for show, though I really want none of this abominable plant that gave me stomachaches when I was young. Besides that, it’s deeply unaesthetic to walk while dangling rhubarb stalks.

Take some more, woman. That’s nothing.

I’ll come soon in your mother’s Willys to get the ingredients for real jam.

You can go wherever you want in this country in the jeep. But I should warn you — it makes a hell of a lot of noise.

That doesn’t scare me. I’m used to drawing attention.

You won’t stand out so much here in the east. Every other person’s half-dark, and a lot of them short. This is the perfect place for you, my dear.

It’s true, I always felt more at home here than in Reykjavík. But do you really think I should drive the Willys?

Don’t worry about it. I’ve given it a look — it’s in good condition. I didn’t do much other than change the spark plugs.

How can I thank you for everything you’ve done?

It’ll be more than enough thanks to see you and Edda get things worked out.

Lubbi rubs himself on my boot as he plods past, on his way through the gate.

Aw, you poor old thing, I forgot you, I say.

He’s grown so old. It can’t go on like this much more, says Ingólfur. Not another word about that, though. I don’t believe in talking about such things in front of the animals.

Edda and her cousin come galloping toward us, both wearing helmets and riding boots, like real jockeys.

She rides surprisingly well, I say.

Once you’ve learned, it can’t be forgotten, says Ingólfur. She was always good with horses. Best to let her exert herself. Maybe I’ll have her help me break the horses.

The wild beast would be perfect for it. I hope she can be of some help to you here on the farm.