I can’t have been the one who decided to put the glasses in my pocket; someone else must have made the decision.
According to the telephone directory, Armann could almost be considered my neighbor; he lives on Raudararstigur. I am pretty sure I have the right man: Armann Valur Armannsson, Icelandic linguist. His phone rings four times before the answering machine clicks in. I must admit that I am quite surprised that he uses such technical devices, and I’m even more surprised when his message is repeated in English: “This is Armann Valur speaking. I am not in at the moment. Please leave your name and telephone number and I will see what I can do.”
It’s difficult to say if the last phrase is meant to be a joke or not and I hesitate for a moment before leaving a message:
“Hello Armann, this is Emil speaking, you probably remember me from the plane. I hope I haven’t caused you too much inconvenience. I was just coming home a few minutes ago and I spotted that I’ve got your glasses. I am most terribly sorry, of course I didn’t intend to. .” I don’t get any further: a shrill beep informs me that my time has run out. I immediately regret having hoped that “I haven’t caused him too much inconvenience.” Obviously the inconvenience that I caused him was “too much”: I was responsible for him missing the Fly Bus into town and no doubt prevented him from buying some Opals in the duty-free store by depriving him of his sight. I had, at least, not made his day, although I realize that he probably isn’t familiar with the expression. I can’t imagine using the verb “to spot” will improve his opinion of me either. I call the answering machine again and ask Armann to contact me concerning the glasses, I’ll be at home this evening. I rush to give him my telephone number before the beep cuts me off.
I put the heavy glasses down on the table in the living room and start unpacking my suitcases. I line up the wine on the right hand side of the table, place the cigarettes and cigars in front of the bottles, and pile up the books (all eight of them), the video cassettes (of which there are seven), and the CDs (there are thirty six of them, not counting those I bought for Saebjorn and Jaime) at the other end of the table. I have to laugh when I look at Armann’s glasses in the center of the table, and I can’t make up my mind whether this ridiculous mistake, this terrible misfortune, is worse for Armann or me. At least there is no special good fortune involved; I realize that we are about to meet again, the linguist and I.
I light a cigarette, open a warm beer from the duty-free pack, and go into the bedroom to have a look at my emails. Greta comes to mind. I wonder if I’ll ever get to know her well enough to receive emails from her. At this moment she is probably telling her daughter about the double-decker buses in London and how the people drive on the wrong side of the road, but she won’t mention the man she met on the plane on the way home and again on the bus, nor the fact that she intends to meet him this evening once the little one has fallen asleep.
There are about twenty emails waiting for me on the computer: several from Saebjorn and Jaime; one from Jonas, my friend in London, that was written today (no doubt asking, for the sake of politeness, if I’ve arrived home safely); two from Vigdis; a few from some magazines I subscribe to; and all sorts of junk mail.
I feel I need to cheer myself up and decide to make instant coffee with whisky. When I go into the kitchen and feel how heavy the air still is, I push the kitchen window open wider.
18
He was half way across Baronsstigur when he suddenly turned round and went back in the direction of Snorrabraut. He pulled down his hood and stood for a little while by a shop window, in front of a dummy which was dressed like a teenager. He looked at his reflection in the glass, ran his fingers through his thick hair, and spat into the palm of his hand, so that he could flatten his hair a bit on one side. Then he carried on at a quicker pace and went into a clothing shop; the mannequins in the window stood stark naked and were spotlighted in the cold darkness that now enveloped the city. He undid the zip on his anorak, walked straight up to the counter on the right, and asked a neat, dark haired man in his forties if he could keep his plastic bag while he had a look around. The man took the plastic bag without uttering a word and when the bag owner had turned his back to gaze around the spacious shop floor, the dark haired assistant went over to his colleague at one of the cash registers, pointed out the customer to him, and said something that made him smile. They watched him walk into a department on the left, come out again, and look at himself in the full-length mirror on the wall by the entrance, but when he came back in the direction of the counter they looked away and pretended to be busy with some imaginary tasks.
When he had made a complete circuit of the area beyond the counter, and gazed at and fingered several garments on hangers, the dark-haired sales assistant came up to him and asked if he could be of any help. He said possibly, he was looking for a suit, of rather thick material, a proper suit, as he put it, something he could wear on more occasions than just family gatherings. The sales assistant said he understood what he meant, he was talking about a suit he could wear both for funerals and on more relaxed, informal occasions, an everyday suit; he knew just what he meant. He stretched out towards a light grey one and told the man that if he himself was looking for a suit this is the one he would choose. It doesn’t matter where you are, he said, this suit is always appropriate. He took the clothes, examined them from the front and the back, and then asked to see something else slightly darker, maybe even black, but it had to be darker. Let’s look more in this direction then, the sales assistant said, and motioned him to follow.
Before he selected another suit he had a better look at the customer, mumbled something to himself about the size he needed, then showed him a charcoal-colored suit that seemed to fulfill his requirements about utility and thickness. The customer’s reaction was positive; it was just what he was looking for, could he try it on? He was shown into the changing room and when he began to undress he shouted out to the assistant: could he find some fine shirt for him, something that would go well with the clothes? The assistant was standing in front of the changing room with a light grey shirt when he appeared in the suit, shoeless, and with his hands outstretched. You have to put on your shoes, the assistant said, it doesn’t look right with just socks. Apart from that it fits like a glove, I think the size is just right, that is, if you want my opinion. He said he thought so too, took the shirt, put it on, and placed his feet into his shoes. The assistant showed him that he looked first class by forming a zero with his first finger and thumb and told him he would give him the shirt, this very fine shirt, made of the best quality material, for half price with the suit. He could also show him a tie that would go very well with the shirt. He said no thank you, he was not interested in ties or bow-ties, but perhaps he could dispose of the old clothes for him, everything except the anorak and shoes. The assistant said that was no problem, said he would fetch the clothes personally from the changing room later. Then he accepted payment, tapped a simple drum beat on the counter, and said that was fine, now they were quits.
On the way out, the customer paused by the full-length mirror and gazed at himself for a little while, pulling his anorak away from his shoulders to see more of his new suit, but he stopped as he was about to button up the shirt’s top button and walked back to the counter. He had forgotten to take the plastic bag with him. The dark-haired man had disappeared from the counter, but the other assistant passed him the bag and told him with a smile that the outfit he had chosen was cool. The smile remained on the face of the assistant until he had left the shop. It was a cold smile, and he waved at the customer’s back with his index finger, just like a child who hasn’t gained control of all the movements of his body yet. He nearly fell when he stepped out on to the pavement. He swore automatically, stopped for a short while in front of the shop window, pulled up his hood, and zipped up his anorak.