Songs of Fish II

Before I forget, the last paragraphs of the last chapter:

"Oh, yes, and while I remember, and about time too," he said. "Perhaps you remember that I once took a gold coin off you, a long time ago."

"As if I hadn't forgotten all about that ages ago!" I said.

"Here is your gold coin," said the superintendent. "And may things go well with you. May things go for you accourding to the deserts of all those who have a purpose in life; be it great or small, it doesn't matter, just so long as they are determined not to harm others. And if you ever need a little money, then write to me, because I will soon be having difficulties in getting rid of my monthly pay."

My grandfather opened the door and peeped in to tell me that the boat that was to take me to the ship was on its way.

I kissed my grandmother as she stood there on the quay in her long skirt, with her black shawl over her head and shoulders. I had never embraced this woman before, because embracing was not a habit in our house. I was amazed at how slender and light she was, and wondered if her bones were hollow, like those of a bird. She was like a withered leaf in my embrace for that one brief fraction of a moment that I held her in my arms.

"God be with you, Grímur dear," she said, and added after a second, "And if you should meet a poor old woman like me anywhere in the world, then give her my greetings."

My grandfather Björn of Brekkukot kissed me rather drily and said these words: "I cannot give you any good advice at this stage, my lad. But perhaps I could send you a bundle of dried fish with the midwinter ship. After that, we can see. And now, goodbye."

When the boat had gone a few oar-strokes away from land they were still standing on the beach, gazing after the boy whom an unknown woman had left naked in their arms. They were holding hands, and other people gave way before them, and I could see no one except them. Or were they perhaps so extraordinary that other people melted away and vanished into thin air around them?

When I had clambered up with my bag on to the deck of the mail-boat North Star, I saw them walking back together on their way home: on the way to our turnstile-gate; home to Brekkukot, our house which was to be razed to the ground tomorrow. They were walking hand in hand, like children.

--- Brekkukotsannáll (1957) by Halldór Laxness