Butterflies in November

SIXTY-TWO

It seems that no one knows exactly where the flooding came from, but understandably it’s the only thing people can talk about in the shop. The village is covered in sand and black sludge, basements are full of puddles, most of the Christmas lights have been smashed to smithereens and garden decorations have been destroyed. Everywhere one goes there are men in orange overalls mopping up, clearing the streets and scooping water out of cellars. The water seems to have flowed down the slope on the eastern side and taken the church with it, although the village itself has been mostly spared.

“We were planning on building a new church anyway,” say the men in a positive spirit; “the old one was just a heap of mouldy trash that we’re happy to get rid of.”

The situation is analogous in the two neighbouring villages. Everyone is flabbergasted; nothing is as it should be. It appears that several rivers in the highlands suddenly broke their banks and started to forge new and unpredictable courses in all directions. The area where the locals used to pick blueberries is now completely inundated. The only thing that doesn’t seem to have changed is that rivers still flow into the sea, albeit not in the places where they are expected to. People are totally puzzled by the freakish behaviour of their watercourses, which cannot solely be attributed to the incessant rainfall of the past forty days and nights.

The greatest mystery of all is the whale. The most likely scenario seems to be that it was beached and then somehow carried to the car park in front of the savings bank, although it might look as if it had been carried there by the water over the highlands.

Its giant black mass is visible all the way from the chalet, a fully grown whale, probably fifteen metres long. And pregnant, it would later transpire.

“It doesn’t matter where she came from,” says the man, “we’ll carve her up this afternoon and share the meat around.”

Other sea animals have been thrown up on dry land here and there: cod, catfish and redfish. The main thing is that the people were spared.

I give Mom a call to tell her to have no worries; we’re preparing our return to the city.

“Good job it wasn’t worse and no one was hurt.”

“Well three dogs are still missing.”

“Is it raining?”

“No, Mom, it’s cleared up, just like it has in the city, and the whole country it seems, if the weather forecast on the radio is anything to go by.”

“Have you sorted out your affairs?”

“Yes, we’re clearing things up. We only have the Christmas presents to pack now.”

“How’s it going with the boy, does he eat well?”

“Yes, he eats well.”

“How are you managing to talk to him?”

“Well, it’s a world beyond words.”

“How are you?”

“Fine, we’re going to celebrate Christmas in the city and then I’m going abroad for a few months.”

“What, on a job?”

“I can work from anywhere I want, Tumi is coming with me. I’ve spoken to Auður about it and she approves. She’ll be so busy with the baby twins, she’s afraid he might be neglected.”

“But doesn’t he miss his mommy?”

“Probably, but he also wants to see what the world looks like, he wants to visit ruins.”

“Are you taking the child to some Arabic country?”

“No, he wants to see the ruins of castles and temples and churches, we’re reading some guidebooks at the moment. He wants to see a pear tree, giraffes and golden sand. I can teach him a few things. He’s started to read and he knows how to make Icelandic pancakes.”

“And to embroider and knit?”

“Yeah, that too.”

She sounds happy to hear me and there’s a new softness in her voice. She speaks in a low tone with plenty of gaps between her words as she continues:

“I think that relationship was a bit rash. He’s not a bad man, but he’s not the man for you.” She no longer refers to Thorsteinn by name.

There’s a silence.

“Well then, Mom, I think I’ll say goodbye then.”

Another silence.

“Provided you have no objections, I was thinking of leaving some money to charity when I’m gone. I was reading about a school in Bosnia for women badly affected by the war. Of course, you don’t read the papers?”

“No, I have no objections.”

“No, I didn’t think you would. You’ll survive, never expected anything less of you. Your brother is the same; he says he has enough too. The triplets just started kindergarten the other day.”

“Well then, Mum, we have to tidy up here now. Tumi has just finished knitting socks for his sisters, so we’ve got to deliver them. We should be in town by tomorrow evening, barring any mishaps.”

She suddenly remembers some good news:

“You’ll never believe this, some light green shoots have grown out of that plant of yours that I thought was made of silk.”

“Right then, Mom, we’ll say goodbye for now.”

“I won’t decorate the tree until you’ve arrived then.”