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Ólafur Þór Eiríksson, Vesturbergi 78, 111 Reykjavik
S:6967271
netsaga@netsaga.is

SELECTED

Reference to Ernest Hemmingway
by

Ólafur Thór Eiríksson

The New Doctor

-Hospital-Medicare, good morning. How can I assist you?
For a while there is total silence. Because of his impediment; a very
drawling voice his choice of words is very limited and spoken in a very slow
manner.
-Hospital-Medicare. How might I assist you?

Suddenly he comes around, empties his mouth of saliva and starts his
speech.
-Yes -good -morning-I-have -to -see-a-doctorrr....
-I´ll contact you with the Counter...gersovel (just a minute).
On the double another lovely feminine voice visits his left ear.
-Counter.
-I-have-to-get-an-appointment-with-Thorhildiiii....Can´t-I-see-her-to-day?
-´fraid not, she´s fully booked this week.
-Damned, he thinks in his disappointment, but at the same time some kind of
a skid-talk floats from his speech organ into the phone: -I
havetoseeadoctortoday!!!!
This sentence reaches the lady´s ears in such a critical state, that any
stranger couldn´t have understood what the customer was trying to say, but
fortunately the Counter-girl was quite acquainted with the bloke and
recognised his voice just like half of the villagers, and that his
impediment became worse whenever he was provoked in such a way that his
speech became a lot more puzzling, but knew that she would have to take a
lucky guess on what he was saying:
-You can see Dr. Jón Jónsson at eleven fifteen.
-He is new..., (a little puzzled)
-Yes, he came to this practise a few weeks ago. He´s actually an old
local, and has been practising abroad, but now he´s returned to his
hometown. Identity-number?
-19-06-55-21-09.
-Well, you and the doctor are of the same age,... she says just as she
picks the numbers on the computer´s keyboard. The customer´s name and
address come up on the screen...Loki Fáfnisson...you and my daughter Oddný
used to be in the same class back in elementary school, I recall. You
oughta remember him, Loki.
-No-sorry-but-I-do-not-remember-him..... he informs the friendly
Counter-woman, whom he recognises after numerous telephone calls and having
met her a number of times. Describe-him -a -little -thus -giving -me -a
-hi-nt.
-Yes, well, Jón has dark long hair reaching his shoulders, he´s enormously
candid looking, has a small beautifully shaped nose prominent chin-bones,
green eyes, lips that seem made for kissing, just as Mick Jagger´s, you know
and his height´s approximately the same as yours...what is it 170-80?
-174, he replies a bit absent-minded, (just so the maiden will get it
right, not that it really matters) while he tries to place this description
on someone already kept in his mind, but dissappointingly informs her...
I-just-do-not-remember-hiiiim.
-And he´s slender with a neat behind, she continues with a dreamy voice.
-That- does-not-help-but-I-will-take-hiiiim ...Is-it-11-15nnn...? His
curiosity has been roused. Which of his former school-mates became
doctors? He doesn´t remember any, but he had himself planned on being one,
he recalls, but it wasn´t to be, sorry to say.

Just about when eleven minutes have passed of the twelfth hour our hero
finds a parking space for his VW Vento by the Mánagata (moonstreet), a small
street which is shaped like half a moon infront of the house where the
town´s library used to be for years, but from there you can reach The
Hospital-Medicare in two and a half minutes walking briskly. He steps out
of the car, locks the doors with one turn of the key, strides over the line
that´s surrounding the playground of the town´s elders, where they play
mini-golf on the close-cut lawn, which the caretaker Hólmgeir Guðmundsson
has made a fiest for the eyes to look at with his marvellous caretaking.
Our hero takes a quick look over the playground toward the building where
he´s heading, concluding it to be quite an easy travel and a short distance,
in his mind he threads the way past the loud and merry elders each bending
over their club and ball. In golf just as in any other game the practisers
tend to use a lot of names for various phenomenons non-practisers don´t
understand, e.g. the ball-heading; it slices when it goes to the right, but
hooks when it goes to the other side. You might use the same type of
language when some spastical people are the issue, just as our hero, Loki,
because despite of his optimistic intentions the disabled man was able to
slice his heading so radically that the short trip would surely have been a
disaster, if the patient elders hadn´t taken all his scuffles and pushing
with sheer eveness of mind and temper and assisted him in correcting the
course, thus enabling to cross the lawn, over the string on the other side
and straight over The Skólavegur (schoolstreet) towards the big building.
When he came to the entrance of The Medicare he took a quick look at his
golden Calinda wristwatch, which his wife and sons had presented him on his
fortieth birthday, and sees that still there´s a minute until his
appointment. He sees no reason to remove his clean shoes, despite their
high age, takes a look around over the crowded waiting-room, where the
silent people are sitting, each busy reading their magazine, takes a seat
himself and tries to find something entertaining to read in the pile on the
table. Before his quest takes an end he hears his name called with a
civilised voice, which he´s quite certain of having heard sometime in his
distant past, lifts his eyes, just as everbody else in the waiting-room.
In the wide doorway in the middle of the corridor, where the doctors have
their residence he´s standing splendid and elegant looking in his
snow-white rope just as someone from another dimension, the new doctor and
sex bomb Jón Jónsson. Loki Fáfnisson stands up with some difficulty, limps
towards a man, whom he is certain of having seen before, but can´t in any
way locate in his memory-bank, at the same time as the doctor stands tall
with an outstretched hand and a face shining of happiness, just as he´s
about to reclaim a dear friend. Loki who is silent and hesitating shakes
with his left hand the right hand of the doctor who greets him with some
kind words while he takes the patient into his bosom, which startles the
disabled one.
-Don´t you remember me, Loki dear; Jón Jónsson, your dear old friend and
neighbour in our street Háholt (highhill), the doctor says with his manly
and trustworthy voice which probably melts the patients´ hearts easily.
Come into my room and tell me everything about yourself, Jón concludes at
present and together they walk the corridor; two men of the same height,
both dark-haired; one with short-cut, but the other long hair that billows
down to the shoulders of the white rope which reaches down to the knees of
the violet trousers and he has on black and white Adidas sport-shoes and
white socks. The other one is quite peasant-looking on the other hand using
one employer´s description after one of Loki´s numerous job-interviews, even
though he himself believed, that he was very well dressed,considering his
low income. A clean white, worn-out blouse, a clean blue-checkered worn-out
shirt, clean black khaki-trousers, clean white sport-socks that can be
bought ten at a time low-price in Hagkaup and his shoes were old black shoes
from his father-in-law who was amased seeing his son-in-law´s footwear in
one of his visits. The shoes were the only thing not bought on-sale.
When they´ve reached the white-painted doctor´s room which had prior to Dr.
Jónsson´s been used by Dr. Arnbjörn Ólafsson who became a pensioneer after a
longlasting lucky career, they sit down at the beige desk; the doc in a
black-leathered chair on wheels, but the patient on an worn-out
green-checkered kitchen-chair. For a while they just examine each other
(with their eyes) and realise how much they have in common appearance-wise;
they both are quite good looking: a humble forehead, strong dark eyebrows,
the chin neatly narrow, so as are the cheeks, narrow necks and broad
shoulders, making them more handsome than other men and they were
astonishingly sweet-looking, both had broad breasts and both were
slender-waisted. The doctor was thin from the waist down, but the patient
was not. At first sight one might presume that they were twins, thus making
it difficult to conceive how destiny had treated them. One had become a
wealthy fortunate single doctor, but the other was a spastical unemployed
disabled person who had a synthetic arm and leg, and to make his life even
more difficult his face and body, go on in spastical convulsions in such a
way that he can´t hold still for a second. He and his family has had very
little money for almost all their twenty year marriage, because his only
income is from the social security system a little bit each month. His wife
with her remarkable energy and endurance has made all the difference in
keeping them from going on total wellfare. Love is a funny bitch, for in
spite of all difficulty she hasn´t turned her back on her old puppy love,
since their schoolyears at Laugarvatn two decades ago, despite the fact of
having had to work her heart out earning money for their living.
-Strip your clothes off, dear friend. Let´s look at your mutilation.
The cripple does what the doc tells him with some difficulty until he´s
standing strutting on his knickers with his disagreeable pink synthetics
from his right elbow and left knee.
-And you don´t like the state you´re in, dear friend, Dr. Jón asks.
Loki who has made the best of what he´s got and learned to live with it,
especially since he got new improved hoses from the synthetic factory Össur,
is just about to affirm in a sarcastic way, that one can come used to
anything, when the doctor with closed eyes has allready left his chair and
put his healing hands on the client´s head. The patient is startled, for
he´s not used to this kind of behaviour by his usual doc, Mrs. Thorhildur
and makes a sound that describes both his astonishment and anger, which I as
the lord of the story am able to understand, but don´t think relevant for
the development of the story. So, so,easy does it ,
Loki dear. The doctor´s calming voice hits him just as it were a box in the
ear, successively quitting his angry sound-making. You must calm down and
do not be afraid ´cause I´m just looking inside your head for the reason of
speeding up my diagnosis of what really bothers you, and at the same time
that I´m looking at what´s happened to you since we parted two decades ago,
thus saving us a lot of time, because of your speech-impediment.
Wha.. Loki begins...
No, I´m not any magician, my friend, Dr. Jón answers before Loki´s question
enables to disturb the room´s atmosphere, but I´ve matured this special
talent which anybody could do if they´d put their heart into it and had
enough patients for the training and using the majority of one´s brain-cells
which are normally not in any use.
The doctor moves his long and delicate fingers (his guest has short and
thick ones) about the patient´s small and pretty head. Here and there they
stop, while the fingertips distinguish a little bit stronger currents. I
as the story´s Lord and Loki find the doctor´s gesticulation mighty strange
to say the least, especially his special, stinging and puzzling mumble, as
it booms with gradually growing force on our external acoustic canals, until
the tip of his left hand´s little finger touches the most sensitive spot,
where the spinal cord joins the brain.
-A...ha...just as I expected, Dr. Jón announces with his nice sounding and
trustworthy voice. Dr. Jón points the fingertips of both his hands on the
spot before mentioned, with his eyes closed and the face up towards the
heavenly creatures. Just here I can feel a slight swelling on the brain, by
a little bit more thermal conductivity, which shows me that there are some
cranial wounds and contusion, am I right or am I right my old friend, he
says in his continuing monology. He doesn´t wait for any answer before he
keeps on his monologue- And that corresponds with your memories that I was
able to read behind your right temple in the beginning of my journey through
your bank of experience; the memories that are kept in your brain, (On this
moment I, the author and Loki are both sitting with open mouths, once again
astonished; he under his doctor´s hands, but I the story´s Lord over the
keyboard of my Tulip-computer) there we find the reason for your spastical
movements dear friend; impediment in speech, worse sight and what ever else
that has been bothering you since autumn of 1975.
I´m able to cure the head-injury; clear the contusion away and its
consequences, but it will take me some time ´cause of the long period since
the accident and that bad tissues have spread through-out the brain and
body. Thus said he quickly grabs the patient´s swollen left thigh, at the
same time as he moves the tip of his right hand´s forefinger a little bit
back on the right ventricle of the brain, approximately eight years and nine
months, and makes a heavy sigh: Like this terrible memory that still
dwells here in a corner of your brain.
Here I can see where you´re lying flat face-down on a wet cemented floor
subsequent to a big blow on your rear, but you´re too dazed and confuced in
your hilarious fright to conceive what kind of a monster´s just hit you.
When Dr. Jónsson´s moved his over-sensitive fingertip he carries on with
suspense in his voice, as if he were reading a suspensive novel... and here
the monster has reached all the way up to your left ass-cheek and by then
you´ve obviously submitted to your own destiny, because the panic´s left you
and you´ve calmed down, but all of a sudden this devilish weight is gone...
yes, now I´m able to see what hit you...I see a red fork-lift which must´ve
been the offender, the doctor carries on his description, but his bewitched
patient blicks his eyes continuously in a silent consent.
Suddenly the doctor makes a grasp at Loki´s rosy cheeks looking straight
into his eyes. From the doctor´s sorry eyes the patient is able to read a
plea of an appology and starts moving his head up and down not really
knowing the reason for the doctor´s unusual request.
-Well I see that you find my behavior kinda strange, old friend, but the
reason is that one of the talents I have obtained by years of training and
education is the ability to show or relay my patients their memories...look
Loki, Dr. Jónsson says, while he touches the hollow of his neck with the
tips of both hands, closes his eyes for a while, and then he turns their
heads; first his own to his left side. Then once again to the patient´s
astonishment when the doctor opens his eyes he sees white beams coming out
of his eyes just like they were a motion picture projector. Don´t you
recognise this memory he asks as he turns the patient´s head to his right?
On the white wall, but not really on it, rather like just as it were
hanging in the air Loki´s memory is projected, just as if both the
participants and their environment were for real; on display Loki is
looking at his own kitchen, the pine-table and the bench by the pink-colored
wall. On it opposite to himself his three sons are sitting and by his side
his wife, Gullveig Skjaldardóttir allways as pretty as a picture. On the
table beefy-mince and spaghetti in the largest bowl, but in two smaller
ones, just beefy mince in one for the whimsical descendants, but a delicious
blend of mince, mushrooms, tomatoes and various spices in the other.
That is a memory of the dinner yesterday Loki announces astonishingly.
Unbelievable! But isn´t there any sound he asks just as if a silent movie
weren´t enough of a miracle.
Acting as if he hadn´t heard the patient´s reproof Dr. Jon cocks himself a
little further, thus producing a single red beam which can been seen within
the white one. All of a sudden Loki´s drawling voice breaks the silence in
the doctor´s room and he notices his own voice which he doesn´t like rather
than most people who listen to their own recorded voice.
A hushing voice: Grága, ætiði a ífas (translation: Stop quarreling, boys)
but the boys ignore their father´s reprimand just as ever before.
-Do-I-real-ly-spea-k-this-way, the patient asks his doctor after having
swallowed all saliva?
-Yes perhaps, when you´re unprepaired, dear friend, but now you´re very
clear-spoken, even though you´re extremely slow. But this I´ll cure, just
as any other thing that´s bothering you, Dr. Jón Jónsson says in a very
trustworthy voice.
-Th-at-is-ni-ce-to-he-ar, but-you-will-har-dly-lenght-en-my stumps,
dear-Non-ni, Loki asks astonishingly, which he shouldn´t have done, that is
using a most common nickname for men named Jón! Dr. Jón on the other hand
definately does mind for he becomes absolutely furious to say the least.
The wonderful memoir-projecting comes to an end, when the doctor turns to
his patient with eyes that burn of fury.
-Youknowmynameis Jón and nothing else, Loki!
-I-am-sor-ry Jón. This-is-just-an-old-hab-it, the disabled man tries to
justify himself having become a lot more miserable in speech and appearance
than before. Loki is afraid that the new vision of himself not being
disabled anymore won´t come true. And just as he had feared his cold
hopeless reality lies again open before his eyes, when the furious doctor
informs him his decision.
Farewell, Dr. Jón growls as he opens the door out to the short corridor
that lies across the main corridor.
The disabled person gazes beggingly on the handsome face of the doctor who
stands in the doorway with furious eyes. Slowly and heavily he arises and
limps ahead with a outstretched hand. Before he gets a chance to utter the
sentence the doctor makes an announcement: There might still be some hope
for you. I´ll let you know one of these days. -Thank-you.
I-am-in-the-tele-phone-di-rect-or-y, he mumbles as a last resort and there´s
weeping in his voice, notices the nurse that exits the opposite room at the
the same time.

When alleged Loki has returned home and´s told Gullveig all about his
extraordinary visit to Dr. Jón Jónsson he picks up the phone and calls his
parents, who still are living at Háholt-street. His mum comes to the phone.
-Mamma, do you recall a Jón Jónsson, a boy the same age as I who is
supposed to have lived in our street, when I was growing up? I don´t
remember him, in spite of great strain.
-No...oo his mum answers after quicker thinking than people that wouldn´t
have had any experience in understanding her drawling son, not one of your
age, but there used to be one Jón Jónsson of our generation. But they
didn´t have any children I recall. They got divorced and moved away a long
time ago.
-Yes, I remember him too, but the reason I´m asking you this mamma is a
strange encounter I had this morning with one Dr. Jón Jónsson, when I went
for my annual valuation of my disablement. He´s a new doctor here in
Keflavík, but greeted me as an old friend, although I don´t remember him at
all. And mamma this doctor is something else, quite extraordinary, Loki
kept on jabbering, and told his mother about his unbelievable experience at
the doctor´s, when his mum had told him to slow down and empty his mouth of
saliva, because despite of mothers´ extraordinary ability to understand
their children, there certainly is a limit.

l

Jón is an ordinary teenager in every aspect. Though his looks are
unusually spectacular; he has dark hair and green eyes. His nose
especially sharp, just as his chin, but the cheeks are a little bit round.
You could say that he´s every mother´s dream. His youth until the
surveillance starts has been very ordinaire, just as with other boys living
in Keflavík in the Sixties, full of suspense and drama, when Háholt
(highhill), a short street with 24 houses, one of which is his home and has
the second farthest distance from the ocean. When Faxabraut (ponyavenue)
was the only street closer to the moors above the town, a street of 80
houses, built in a curve that reaches Hafnargata (harbourstreet), which is
closest to the ocean and is where most of the town´s stores are occupied,
and by which one of his friends lives, Gardar , a tall and strong-built lad,
who could´ve been a real women´s man only if...he wasn´t so terribly shy.
The last one in this friends´ party of three is Nonni, nicknamed sick just
at a time he isn´t close enough to hear, for if he did the devil would be on
the loose. He´s quite athletically built, but his nose looks like a big
potato and he has to fight a severe acne-problem. The nickname he got
playing football; he just wasn´t a team´s player; he just had to be the one
who scored the goals, eventhough his shots were like lightning most of them
went far from the target. Nonni lives by Skólavegur (schoolstreet), a
street with 50 houses that lies above Háholt and reaches down to Hafnargata,
just where the old Swimming-palace is on the bank of the Vatnsnes
(waterpoint).
The friends do a lot of shady things, just as other boys did back in the
sixties, before the arrival of pastime-mediums such as the video and
computer-games. The prevalence and posture have altered in such a way, that
children and adolescents don´t bother anymore going outside looking for
adventures as participants. Instead they like to watch others having them.

The adventurous three have with a lot of effort managed to assemble
materials, primarily pieces of wood for their large pigeon-shed which is
almost fully built, when the story begins. The shed is standing on an
empty area that lies between Skólavegur and where Baugholt (ringstreet) will
be in the near future, on a site where Raggi the baker will later on build
his villa.
- Now there´s only one trip left thus enabling us to finish the shed,
Nonni the sick informs his friends with his pleasantly rusty voice at the
time he hammers the last three-inch nail in the roof. And we need more
nails. You´ll make the trip tonight and meet me here at half past ten, he
informs his friends finally. Normally he´s their bravest ;quite active and
a real dare-devil, but...I got the newest Elvis-record today.
Jón and Gardar agree as always, maybe because Nonni the sick is both their
elder and stronger than they are put together. His words being the law.
His dad´s employed on the NATO base, has made a good reliance with some
Americans, who buy for him all kinds of duty-free things, that happen to be
very scarce in Icelandic homes in those days. Often their minds have been
filled with envy, when Nonni has vited them into his room to see and hear
some new equipment or some star´s latest LP, e.g. Creedence Clearwater
Revival or Elvis Presley. In spite of some normal faults Nonni´s quite
eager to give them from his lot of American candy or lending them his LPs so
that they could record the music on their tiny tapes, which they had gotten
at their confirmation-parties.
On the tenth hour pm, when the cloudy sky´s become totally black on this
September-night the two friends come together in a cold and raw weather by
the unmasoned dark and spooky house, which the owner is building for himself
and his family. In the windows there´s only plastic that had been renewed a
number of times because of sabotage.
-Let´s go in at the backside, Gardar. Let´s hurry. They creep around the
corner over the building´s site having the ditch on one side and timber that
hadn´t been cleaned of nails on the other side.
Ah... Jón cries I stepped on a nail. Damned the man, couldn´t he have
cleaned his timber and he sends the owner a bundle of dirty thoughts. Give
me the light, Gardar, Jón begs and carefully takes a seat on a pile of
timber that had obviously been cleaned. Jón removes his rubber-shoe and
the sock and lights up the tiny wound on the sole of his foot. What shall
we do now? Mamma says that you should put spirit on such a wound to prevent
blood-poisoning.
-Squeeze the wound until the blood is clean, Gardar says with a reassuring
voice. My mamma has told me that that will make everything OK.
- I can´t, Jón whimpers, it really hurts.
.- Close your eyes and clench your teeth, I´ll do it for you his friend
comforts him just as he goes down on his knees and takes a hold of his
aching foot.
Shortly afterwards, when they´ve sabotaged the new plastic and elbowed
themselves into the cold dark house a eager search for the nails they so
desperetally needed to be able to finish the neatest pigeon-shed on the
Suðurnes (southpeninsula) begins. Gardar lets the light flow around the
house, until Jón gives a constrained wailing. - Come and see what I´ve
found, Gardar.
- Wow, that would come handy in the shed, the rascal says just as he
lights up the brand-new cassette-radio. But after quite a thorough search
all over the nearly finished house they have just about given up the hope of
finding any nails.
-He must have taken them with him to his home! Well, we did at least get
the radio for our effort. Let´s leave, Jón says just as he returns to the
window with the broken plastic having the radio in one hand.
-I´ve located them, Gardar shouts from where he´s busy with his right hand
while holding the torch in his left one, left handed as he is. -Come to me
Jonni my friend he sings with a happy tone. Hold my torch for a while.
- Gardar, you know my mamma doesn´t like it when i´m called anything else
but the name that I´ve been baptised, Jón reprimands his friend at the same
time as he turns to him taking the torch into the hand that´s free.
- The owner is obviously fed up with us, Gardar moans when he sits himself
on the cold cemented floor and with both hands takes a grip on the top board
that had been nailed on the wall.
The light now reflects an ingeneous fitted store-room just where the
chimney is supposed to be.
-The Man seems to have renewed his collection of tools, they moan with pure
admiration, at the same time they are putting three inch nails in their
pockets.
All of a sudden they get startled, when carlights overflow the room and
the car is parked infront of the house.
- THE OWNER IS HERE, they scream as they run towards the sabotaged window,
WAIT I DROPPED THE RADIO. Jón is feeling his way back in the darkness with
the means of locating their most worthy stolen property, just when a key is
stuck into the padlock on the door.
-Leave the radio Jonni! We´ll just return for it later.
-WHEN WILL YOU GET IT, MY NAME IS JÓN, he yells at his friend who is used
to the using of nicknames among friends, and is just about to fly on him,
when...
-Sorry Jó...n...Gardar quickly says, amplifying the ³n².
The thieves gasp, when the house is suddenly illuminated, and they stick
their heads out of the window, just when the owner´s screams of wonder and
anger rattle around the house. .
With moans and groans they manage to clamber over the unfinished lawn and
then they take to running in the dark heather.
-HE´S FOLLOWING US, Gardar yells with a voice of dismay, just when they´ve
reached an old cemented shed built in the years of WW ll, the so called
Black Shed which the Yankies had built and used back then, but had since
been overtaken by some Icelander who kept a lot of ³junk² inside, e.g.
paint. Of course the right of the owner of all this ³junk² had often been
dishonored by jolly boys who happened to be travelling in the vicinity. The
double-door was opened ajar just like it was wellcoming the boys inside, but
they didn´t give in to the temptation.
They keep on running just as fast as they manage in the total darkness, but
when they reach the horse-shed which is owned by Skúli a owner of a small
store in the the street of Lyngholt (linghill) and is located in the hollow,
where Efstaleiti (tophill) is nowadays, Gardar informs Jón his dicision,
that they should split up and points his partner to turn right up the hill.
He himself turns left and runs toward the Turner-gate.
Before the fence around the Base was moved because of the new-built Airport
of Leif Ericsson the Americans who rented Icelandic flats were allowed to
use the Turner-gate which was guarded by American MPs. The gate was on the
Flugvallarvegur (airportroad) which lies between the town of Keflavík and
the village of Njarðvík and runs from the Hafnargata by a fenced area where
the Americans used to keep their oil, the so-called Nikkel- area. Close to
the gate on the Icelandic side, there were a few old military barracks that
had gotten new tasks; horse-stables used by the Keflavík´s Head of Police
and others. The largest barracks and the only ones that still are standing
today were used as the town´s store-house for much of its apparatus, but
have these last years been housing old cars and auto-parts for a private
company.
Jón takes a turn to his right side towards the Lakes, which then were
relatively far from the inhabited district of Keflavík. Especially far for
young boys, but somehow it became closer when the houses were built closer
and the legs became longer.
One of the Lakes, or ponds is on Keflavík´s side of the fence that
surrounds the NATO-base and is a lot smaller, so small actually that it
disappears sometimes in dry seasons in winter time. The other, so called
Big Lake has a lot more attraction, thus the three friends before mentioned
have in one of their many journeys transported two empty herring-barrels
which they´d ³borrowed² at some fishing factory. In the neighborhood there
happens to be some timber they´d also borrowed. They fastened the barrels
together with the timber and with a saw they made a hole on each one just
big enough for a boy to stand inside.
If necessary Jón is going to step on board the barrel-boat and punt himself
to the middle of the pond, where he´ll wait until the man´s temper has
become better. His heart is raging in his chest, while he´s running and
jumping scared between the grass-covered parts in the moor. He´s thankful
for all the practise in field-running he had last summer in the christian
boys´ vacation camps. When his eyes have become used to seeing in the
dark, at a time when he´s crossed most of the distance he halts just for a
second he dares looking back. When the moon breaks its way through the
heavy skies he gets a glimpse of The Man.
-Bloody energy in that man, Jón thinks angrily, but deep down his respect
is mixed with fear of the man who keeps on chasing him in spite of all the
heavy falls when he steps in numerous deep hollows.
But he shan´t get me Jón says to himself reassuringly just when he having
reached the high fence made of iron net and barbwire elbows himself under it
through the hole they´d made between the two ponds in the heath which
usually are named Little and Big Lake.
Jón runs to the northern side of Big Lake, where he´s spotted a silhouette
of their barrel-boat.
Damned,where is the punt-pole? He goes down on all four and grabbles the
area around the boat, until he finds the narrow pole with his knee.
Jón jumps into the boat and starts rowing for his life with the pole
which he pushes down until it reaches hard-bottom and then he pushes the
barrels forward away from the bank. Thus he has in a short while made it
to the middle of the pond, where he´s going to wait until The Man goes away,
but Jón is at this moment able to see his silhouette on the other side of
the fence. He sees where the silhouette bends itself and suddenly it´s
standing on the bank, where it points with a fist at the silhouette out on
the middle of Big Lake.
-YOU DAMNED WRETCH. NOW YOU CAN THANK THE ALLMIGHTY FOR THE FACT THAT I
DON´T HAVE MY FISHING-BOOTS ON. The Man yells towards the poor boy whose so
frightened that he´s not sure whether it is his heart that has dropped down
into his knickers, anyway he senses something hot and damp down there.
HERE ON THE BANK I´LL WAIT UNTIL YOU´LL RETURN TO LAND OR I´LL BE ABLE TO
RECOGNIZE YOUR FACE. And then I´ll have a talk with your parents, he says
in a lower voice and sits down on the grassy bank.

II

-Do not worry, because you have been Selected! The owner of this
enchanting Voice seems to be located inside of Jón´s own head, where he´s
crumbled in the barrel which almost touches the mud on the bottom. He´s
startled and afraid when he looks around himself, sees no-one but The Man
who dawdles like a bundle on the bank. .
And the Voice carries on: Because you will be our man we shall make The
Man as you call him, but whose name is Halldór and will later on in his life
work for his trade´s union, fall asleep and when he awakens in his bed in
the morning he won´t remember you at all. Just when the Voice stops in his
head Jón sees where The Man´s silhouette dissolves before his eyes.
Before he´s able to wink an eye Jón is located inside some wide room. He
gasps for breath, where he´s now standing infront of three Beings, different
from any he´d ever seen before, but remind him a little of the aliens from
outer space he´d seen in the Japanese Monstermovies in the Nato-base
television, which then could be seen in the few Icelandic homes that had a
television.
Don´t be afraid, Jón again hears from the one inside his head, we´ll do you
good.
-Whaaa... do you want from me, he´s able to stutter in his fright. Who are
you?
-We are from a world which is unknown to you Earthlings. The image of us
that you are able to see is not made of flesh and blood, the way you are.
We only travel on a mental province, but our bodies stay in our world which
is far from your Earth.
Jón takes a step towards the phenomena and tries to touch the Beings. And
to his surprise they happen to be soft as air. His old assurance returns
to him and for a while he makes silly movements in front of the images; puts
his fist into a number of body-parts and finishes his experiments by walking
through them. -Wow..., this is awesome, unbelievable! How is this
possible? He thinks towards the Beings sensing that oral speach is not
necessary.
-This is a technique we have been able to evoluate with
assistance of other Beings whose world is a lot farther from yours than
ours. In the same way we have now selected you in the means of assisting
other Earthlings on their road to a further development, one of us was
selected to assist others in our world, when we were on the same stage as
you are now. Thus it has been from the beginning of time.
-How are you able to speak without moving your lips, he asks with growing
self-assurance.
- In the wake of time Earthlings will ripe their ability to communicate
spiritually, that is send and receive thoughts without the use of mouths and
ears.
-Can you teach me to read other people´s thoughts?
-Of course we can, but it isn´t time yet. Still you are too much a child.
Still you need a lot of maturing until you will be able to handle the power
we will give you when the time is right.
-This statement I must protest , because don´t you know that I was
confirmed last spring, Jón grumbles in weak hope that he might change the
Beings´ decision, but it´s all in vain.
-Keep your shirt on laddie. We have made this decision after deep
consideration. Besides that we think that religions and all the
squandering that is attached to them does only show how shortly the humans
have travelled on their phase of development. But is their something you
do want to know, before we will send you back to the world of humans?
Jón gives the question a thought for a short while and decides to ask
whether he might be the first Earthling who sees and meets them. And why he
of all the great number of Earthlings has been selected. .
-You are certainly not the first to see us, and not the first to be
Selected. You must have heard some folk-stories about elfs, fairies, trolls
and ghosts. All that phenomenon is somehow connected with worlds on other
stars. People tend to fear the unknown, everything they are not used to.
We have been observing many, both men and women. Many of them have already
been Selected and are working at this moment on our objects, thus riping
humanity. Every progress that has been made on Earth is originated from
the Selected ones, who got the ideas from us. But the numerous wars and
hostilities among some Earthlings related to envy and greed have been a real
drag on all progress. Life is a restless battle of miscellanous forces.
Us Beings are not the only ones who are trying to interact with your
develoment. Some guests from outer space use other methods than we do.
-Could you not have made us ripe any faster by eliminiating the undesirable
forces, Jón happens to ask in his most innocent way, where he´s sitting on
some peculiar chair or stool and listens enraptured to his hosts from outer
space.
-No, violence only creates more problems. The species of you humans will
come to grips with that like we ourselves did so many Earth-centuries ago.
-Can you name me a few who have been selected? Ghandi and Kennedy maybe?
-Now this introduction has come to an end and we bid you farewell for the
the time being. Just remember that if you want to be a part of this
project to develop humanity in a positive way as our collaborator, you must
only return to The Lakes or Rósaselstjarnir (the ponds of Rósi´s dairy)
just as Konráð gynecologist and Skúli Magnússon, a historian will remind
people about later on, so that we can make you a Selected assistant.
-Wha..., but there is no Konr ...he begins, but shuts up when he realizes
that he´s sitting on a small rock inside a hollow on top of the knoll by the
north side of Big Lake...Rósaselstjarnir. Jón Jónsson hears the
valedictory-words like they were coming from great distance:

-A Prophet previses the future because he is able to perceive the nature of
phenomenons. The prophet´s perception is neither supported by the
sense-organ´s information nor intellect thinking. It belongs to a profound
abyss of what can not be described. The prophet is able to know the human
and his destiny.
He shakes his head and groans with admiration: Wooow! I sure didn´t get
that.
Jón looks puzzled around himself, but is not able to spot anything that
could verify his story. There are only two things that don´t belong to the
environment; their barrel-boat and an ancient structure of stones, which
must have been a shed for the shepherders who kept an eye on the sheep in
the dairy. Was it just a dream he asks himself when he stands up and walks
towards the sun that rises with marvellous calmness.

III

" The Circuit of Life".

Won´t there be anything after death? Some believe there isn´t, but most
³thinking² Icelanders refuse those negative thoughts wholeheartedly. Our
religious countrymen believe that there are many proofs of eternal life for
true Christians in the blessedness by God´s side in Heaven, wherever it may
be located. Many people believe that there is enough proof in the Holy
Bible, which is a collection of traditions and folk-stories written a long
time after the alleged events.
In the modern era we are no longer dependent on what the church instructs
us to do. The times and habits have gone through dramatic changes since the
church-servants could deter people from wandering off the way of living the
church preached as the right and only one. Those who didn´t obey were
supposed to end down in Hell for eternity, but the others who were righteous
and god-fearing went to Heaven. Alongside with better education, knowledge
and last but not least critical thinking, more and more Christians believe
that everybody goes to Heaven in the Afterlife, another and better
existence, and the all-good God couldn´t treat his children differently,
just because of some small mistakes in life´s roaring sea.

Once again Jón is clambering and scramblering over the moors above the town
aiming for yet another meeting with the Beings, just as he´s been doing
almost every week for nearly six years. The inhabited district has quite
rapidly moved so terribly close to the Meeting-place, that soon the Beings
will have to find another spot for their school, he´s speculating. .
The volcanic eruption on Heimaey (homeisland), the largest of the
Westman-Islands forced the islanders to flee to the mainland in one hurry
back in 1973. Many friendly nations lent a helping hand, and amongst them
were the Norwegians who gave a lot of timber houses which they transported
to the country in units. The Icelandic government created a new fund in the
means of helping out the fugitives. The Norwegian houses were put down in
many towns in new districts. In Keflavík the Eyjabyggðin
(Island-neighbourhood) was created a short distance from the Lakes.
Jón has been unusually anticipated the last days before this coming
meeting, because the Beings had promised him a test or some projects for him
to exercise how much he´d learned in their lessons. His parents do find it
difficult to apprehend what might be so important that one would leave the
warmth of their house on this chilly evening in January. He had on his
father´s corny Icelandic wool-capote because of the biting north-wind. If
the weather hadn´t been so awfully cold he would have used his own which was
an old military capote but it was quite worned out.
All-covered but his face Jón pads up along the unpaved Þverholt
(squarehillstreet), where the black windows in the weather-tight houses
stare on him; past the white, large, cemented water-tank up on the hill;
through the future-big forest which Guðleifur Sigurjónsson, the
Head-gardener of Keflavík; nicknamed respectfully Grass-Leif had in his
optimism begun planting on this rough spot in the moor around 1950, before
he became a civil servant. .
In a few steps he leaves the head-high christmas-trees, but then there´s
only the heath with all its holes. Having the flashlight makes his walking
a lot easier until he reaches the first house in the new Eyja-byggð. The
house is teac-coloured with a black roof and is located some distance from
the other Norwegian timber-houses which make this new precinct on his right
side on his travel. There´s outside-lighting on two walls, thus enabling
him to read the white letters on the blue card: Suðurvellir 12.
-Here I´d sure like to live he´s thinking, when he takes on the last part
of his travel.
In a five minutes clamber he reaches a small hillock on which the building
of a new water-tank on four cemented pillars has begun purposedly supplying
this necessary liquid to the fast growing habitation. Then he´s finally
able to see the silhouette of the fence that´s supposed to keep Icelanders
from the duty-free stuff.
There´s some snow around the Lakes, in spite of the fact that there´s none
downtown. The reason: The difference in altitude.
The difference in weather conditions can be so great in the district of
Keflavik that when children living in the oldest neighbourhoods closer to
the sea enjoy good walking-weather, the ones in Eyja-byggð can´t go outside
because of violence in wind.
Jón reaches Little-Lake, or the little that´s left of it after the long
period of frost and dry weather that´s been bothering the vicinity. He
walks over the dry and cracked clay-bottom and comes to the three meter high
ironnet fence which isn´t very easily overcome because of the barbed-wire
that´s hanging over. To prevent smugglers from digging themselves under
the fence the Yankies dug a canal where the fence was supposed to be, filled
it with heavy gravel from Mt. Stapafell, where the Icelandic Prime
Contractor the leading Icelandic contractors on the NATO base has had their
gravel pit since the early fifties. Riffled steel-posts were cemented into
the gravel and then came the net between them. But prudent young
Icelanders didn´t let the fancy fence stop them because here and there
they´ve made holes at the bottom of it. Large enough for young adventurers
to enter a zone where there´s a lot of cheap candy and stuff to be hath.
But candy-greed doesn´t enter the mind of this high-aiming adolescent who
crawls through one such hole close to Big-Lake which looks quite dead this
time of year. In the summertime the green billowing duckweed covers nearly
the whole pond and a huge quantity of miscellanous migrating birds still
came every spring to this oasis on the moor for annual preservation of
their species in those years. That is before the lack of foresight spilled
the environment. In spring the seagulls, terns, arctic gulls, ducks and
various smaller birds laid their eggs and made use of the short Icelandic
summer for the conservation. Come fall the migrating birds flew to warmer
countries, but the predators, e.g. the gulls that had been in a real feast
of eggs and young birds, moved closer to the inhabited areas, where they had
a better chance of getting something to eat in the winter´s rigorous
struggle.
When Jón finds at lenght the rock in the middle of the ruins just north of
Big Lake he brushes the inch-thick snow off and sits down. Even though he
had listened to reason and put on long johns he really gets the shivers when
his butt touches the cold stone, but the creeps leave shortly as usual.
All of a sudden he´s entered another world. Sitting on a stool in a very
big room and infront of him are his three good acquaintances, the Beings who
don´t have any names for they don´t have any use for them. . A fact the
Earthlings will perceive with further development and when all communication
will be on a mentallic dimension.
-Wellcome friend, the greeting sounds as joyful in Jón´s head as the
farewell a week earlier. Now the biggest moment in your life has arrived.
In our opinion you are fully prepared for your first assignment in the
interest of a better mankind.
Before his eyes appears an article from Velvakandi (readers´opinion) in a
future Morgunblað (morningnews), dated 8. jan. 1988. Once again the Beings
have taken him by surprise with their supernatural abilities. It is easy
for them to foresee events, because as they tell him nothing is new under
any sun; everything has happened before somewhere in the infinity of the
universe. Exactly what is happening on your Earth now has happened before
in another world, and will definately continue.
Your assignment is to approach this young man who will write this article
and get him on our team in the struggle to make the mankind better!

"Marks "

 (karma)

Many believe, that dead people go to miscellanous steps in the life beyond;
thereby the ones who are terribly evil in their earthbound life will begin
their afterlife on the lowest step, where they will have to stay, until they
have reformed as better humans, perhaps after a couple of reincarnations
back on Earth. This kind of marking is the foundation on all the steps
alongside with the appropriate transforms to and fro, thereby bringing
everyone to either side of God, where they will enjoy eternal happiness.
Giving marks for people´s way of living is really the cornerstone of every
religion, which some say are just the tools of the ruling classes having the
purpose of keeping people peaceful, e.g. the oppressed poor people, cf.
³blessed are the poor, because they will inherit God´s Heaven.²
The Hindues in India believe, that people get born to a class before
decided, where they are supposed to be well-behaved hoping for a good karma
(marks) , then they might get reborn into an upper class. Bad behaviour
would have the opposite effect, people were reborne into a lower class or
stayed still.
In that way the ruling classes have been able to keep relative calmness in
these very popular states that form the federation of India, until these
last years and decades with the growing education of the public.
Everywhere religion has had to adjust to lesser ignorance of the common
people. With better education and knowledge more and more people will
realise that really it was the superstitious humans who created the gods
because they wanted some positive explanation on miscellanous phenomena in
nature, but not vice versa. Then people will understand, that everyone of
us is a part of the continuous cirquit of life, and that we have a
responsibility to coming generations, just as I will explain next.²

This is just what the Beings have been telling me, comes to Jón´s mind when
he´s about to carry on with the reading.

"Life´s Foodchain.

Everyone dies sooner or later. Most Icelanders get buried two meters
below the surface of the churchyards after a special cerimony. But have
we thus bid farewell to life? Not at all, because the foodchain of life
carries on definately on this beautiful planet we live on, in spite of the
sad fact that our churchyard-civilization doesn´t speed up the Christians´
returning to this normal chain of life, which the Foodchain undeniably is.
Because of this stupid custom not many Icelanders believe that they have
lived before in somebody elses body, man or woman.
In India on the other hand the Hindues believe in their rebirth as a normal
part of life. So as not to delay the normal circumference of returning the
corpses get cremated outdoors. They believe the reincarnation will be
quicker that way.
Cannibalism is history, at least officially and gets condemned whenever it
comes up. Primitive men (savages) that used to eat humans believed that
the abilities and qualities of the victims were transported in the feast.
The chiefs got the best parts of the body such as the brain.
Inside us there are genes that get transported from one human to another.
They are the reason we can often speak of family characteristics. But once
in a while someone gets born into a family but has none of the normal
characteristics. A simple explanation might be that a gene of a dead man
has thus returned to the end of the Foodchain.
The destinctive feature of religious groups that believe in the
reincarnation of humans being the fact that dead people´s remains return
quickly into Life´s Foodchain. In India it is quite common that young
children tell stories of something they should know nothing about. How
can we explain the special wonderkids who seem to have inherited abilities
in miscellanous branches of arts and science? A good example of how far
we´ve developed from the times of prejudice, ignorance and intolerance must
be the fact that probably this author won´t be burned at the stakes, accused
of heracy.

The NATO Station.

Because this author believes that everyone of us should try to live as long
as one can, thus enabling us to develop our genes for coming generations as
much as possible, he recommends that the NATO station on the moor above
Keflavik will be changed into an international UN peace-keeping station, and
thus becoming a symbol of a new comprehension, that says all Earthlings are
brothers and sisters aiming for the same object: That on our planet there
will someday be perfect peace, equality and confraternity.
Loki Fáfnisson

Jón reads finally. Might the author be the coward living in the same
street as I do; in the blue and white house? If that´s the case he must
have gone through dramatic changes; he who never had any guts for anything
being a real mamma´s boy. I must go check on him, because he might be the
right man to assist me with my experiences.

lV

"I had been an A-student all my compulsery years in school and I was third
from the top of my class on the finaltests, Gréta Páls and Matti Kjartans
were ahead of me. I along with my best friend, Guy decided to attend a
senior-highschool (Menntaskóli) at Laugarvatn, which is a tiny village up in
the country, along with a few of our schoolmates; Svenni, Bói, Biddi,
Mummi, Kristín and Hildur.
The summer had been quite fateful in many ways; I became sixteen, got drunk
for the first time and had somekind of sex with a woman without any one´s
help which was quite a funny experience for me when I look back as an adult.
After I´d finished compulsory school in Keflavík I was employed in a
shrimp-factory by the name of Baldur Ltd., which was owned by two former
fishermen; Hrói and Loki Bjöss who later became a member of the Icelandic
Althingi (parliament). One of my jobs was cleaning the place after other
work had finished. We were two guys, who had all the cleaning on her hands,
myself and another one who was already in his twenties; a fine musician
who´d later become the church´s organist. Two things make me mention my
former work-mate; one is that he drank a lot and the other that he purchased
for me my first bottle, an Icelandic strong wine called Hvannarót relished
with Icelandic herbs and he recommended strongly.
We are four friends of the same age who decide to travel together and share
a tent in the Húsafell-forrest in Borgarfiord, where a festival is to take
place this Tradesmen-weekend, the first weekend in August., 1971 supposed to
be the greatest festival of all times, with all the best bands and other
entertainers. The anticipation and suspence is just about turning us into
madmen, because we´d heard so much about these festivals of orgies, highly
recommended by our older and more experienced acquaintances. But there´s
one drawback; in the ad for the festival we notice that the search for
alcohol will be stricter than ever before, and the guests are encouraged to
have a good time without alcohol.
-There won´t be no problemmo, boys, one of the most experienced informs us.
Just hide them bottles in your sleeping-bags. There´s the most secure
place, my friends.
Having had this counsel we become a little less anxious, because without
the booze there couldn´t have been any fun, us being so awfully shy with the
ladies. We find it quite amazing how people can be transformed into
different persons just with the help of some alcohol; becoming humorous,
funny and last but not least free of the terrible shyness that bothers most
people, including us four friends. of course we are aware of the other side
of drinking; violence, black-outs and the hang-over, but we believe that´s
what happens just to others.
In spite of the acquaintance´s good advise we couldn´t help but feeling
despair, when our local bus stopped in the back of a long line of cars and
buses infront of the gate to the paradice and the suspence didn´t leave us
when we saw how the festival´s staff removed everything from the baggage
compartment of the bus infront of us and then they made a thorough search in
every item reaping a few bottles for their effort.
-I always knew he was a bloody liar, Kiddi moans with sweat beading on his
forehead.
-Ye, you can trust no-one anymore, we agree with our friend´s nervous
statement, the three of us bathing in the same kind of
suspence-perspiration.
The relieve is undescribable when we noticed one of the staff giving our
driver a sign to carry on through the gate without any search in our
luggage. Later we heard that because of the overwhelming attendance the
staff decided to search every other bus.
With dusk and darkness in the evening illegal activities were performed in
every tent. I for one did exactly what more experienced friends of mine
advised me to do. I went to one of the booths and bought me two small cokes
very overprised which the conductors of the festival found very appropriate.
When I´d returned to our tent and located my liquor deep down in my
sleeping-bag I drank the coke down to the bottle´s shoulders, deflower the
Hvannarót-aquavitae, make a funnel with my hand around the neck and fill the
coke-bottle with the liquor. I was going to become drunk and happy in a
short time. The anticipation and the assurance of becoming both amusing
and free of the ghost of shyness which has bothered me for such a long time
keep me from giving up drinking all together when my taste-bulbs protest
strongly to this filth when it enters my mouth. I feel the fire burning
down to my butt, because of how large my first sip was. For a while I´m
just able to sit with an open mouth and tongue hanging out hoping for some
first-aid cooling supposedly preventing severe burning on my delicate and
inexperienced organs.
My friends who have been sitting by my side in the tent watching me the
guinea pig roll around laughing when they see my wry face. They presume
that my liquor was too strong, so they blend theirs accordingly
Myself have learned the hard way and pour coke up to the top of the
bottle.
My further action that evening isn´t worth mentioning, except that I
managed to stumble after some more drinking between the tents towards the
bandstand where people were dancing merrily but I being drunk as a pig kept
on tumbling between and around the other adolescents who some were as drunk
as I or less as it goes. Just before the dancing stops this first night
of three I crawl back to our tent and with much difficulty I imagine I found
my sleeping-bag where I´d laid it down between Biggi´s and Kiddi´s. The
last I remember from the night´s adventures are the angry sounds full of
disgust from either one of them:
-Oy, you´ve puked on my bag!!!!!!"

V

"Just as I´ve discovered later I have the terrible habit of waking up
awfully early after a couple of hours sleep when I´ve been consuming
alcohol. In the first daylight of this morning in August I can see where
my friends lie on both sides of me in all kinds of poses; two are only half
in theirs and Biggi is reverse in his bag. By their puffy eyes and
drooling mouths I conclude, that it wouldn´t be advisable to wake ´em up
for the time being. Probably best to leave them be until they self awaken.
I feel for and find my bottle and discover what a lousy drinker I had been
last night; not much better than a chicken, it´s not even half down,
therefore I can certainly look forward to a promising evening. Like my
three friends I didn´t take my clothes off before I went to sleep and for
that reason I´m very quick getting my ass out of the tent and from there I
run towards the latrine, which isn´t very nice looking to say the least
after the night, but it will have to do, because of the growing pressure
below belt on the backside. After having given birth to two brownies;
first one big one, then another smaller one, just like Hallgrímur
healthfreak told a large part of Icelanders was the only right thing when
you speak of defecation in the Talk-show of Eiríkur Jónsson many years
later, I feel like a new man and become ready for almost anything.
When I had gathered enough appropriate paper here and there in the
necessary-house purposedly finishing what I came to do, I go right away to a
wash-basin outside which had only a single tap with icecold and refreshing
mountain-water. Wash hands thoroughly, stoop and quaff the wholesome
liquid just as I were about to die, because of the terrible need. As I´m
squatting under the gush I see where the girl of my dreams arrives to the
next basin for the same purpose. Furtively I follow her movements through
the broken water; how she turns on the water, reaches for what´s left of the
soap, just as I had done myself before of course, but how she does it is
just beyond description, so feminine and wonderful. And I continue
standing bent and awkwardly under the gush , my brain has turned numb
because of the icecold water, but I don´t give it a thought. The boy´s in
love and is determined to keep on following the goddess´s morning-work,
because the numb brain tells him that it wouldn´t be appropriate if he kept
on staring his eyes out after he´d finished his morning-work.
I watch how the goddess puts her shoulder-long blond hair under her gosh
and just by a tiny movement of my backside to one side I´m able to follow
her onwards hypnotized how she throws her especially feminine
shining hair back with such a dignified swing that the water splashes all
around her and on me.
-Oh, excuse me, she begs so wonderfully. Such a voice I have never heard
before; so kindling and attractively wonderful. When I raise myself to
answer her; become cold and stiff I start by swinging my own hair which is
also shoulder-long in those years. At the same time I´m searching my mind
for the right enchanting words. The lad is willing to do just about
anything to make this princess his forever!
The disappointment is more than great when from his lips comes the mumble
of the words: It´s OK, fore even though normally they would have been a-OK
they weren´t the ones that I´d intended for my speaker. . The youngster
in love was thinking of something enchanting and poetic, such as: Please
don´t give it a thought, my dear and then I would have taken her wonderful,
newly washed and dried hand in mine and perhabs asked her where she had been
all his days; most anything but the silly mumble that he had at last let out
into the clear morning-atmosphere in Borgarfiordur. More disappointed
than you can imagine I follow closely her wagging neat backside in the
black, tight jeans, until it finally disappears along with its owner into a
small ravishing pink tent, which is located opposite to ours on the other
side of the WC-region. I notice how much space there seems to be around
her tent in between the small and scrubby birch wood; ours on the other hand
is close to other tents three ways. Stoop-shouldered and disappointed with
myself I drag myself towards our own tent, where I aim to drown my sorrows
in a sandwich with smoked meat which mum had with her reknown ability made
for her eldest before he left home into the unknown and hopefully adventures
in his first camping without his parents.
Where I munch the delicious sandwich listening to my friends´ snoring on
both sides silently cursing my damn shyness and passivity, but think about
how I might possibly catch the attention and affection of this girl who has
chanted me out of the shoes, which I kick off me at this moment. Lie flat
on my back with hands under my head, looking to my side and seeing the
glittering plug of my bottle where it peaks out of the hiding-place. Then I
decide, that if I´ll be careful not to drink too much, just enough for me to
get the necessary power, I could possibly become so light-hearted and
humorous, but more than anything not afraid of the girl, I might possibly,
perhabs and maybe...
The waiting for the evening, when I believe it´s appropriate to start the
moderate drinking supposedly receiving the necessary power and boldness that
I desire so much, is long and difficult. So difficult even that I´m
feeling quite desperate and afraid of losing the little that´s left of my
wisdom. And it doesn´t help things out that off and on I keep catching a
glimpse of my dream-girl, where I´m strolling around the area, either alone
or with my friends.
-Wake up Loki, Andri yells occasionally touching me or waving a hand before
my dreaming eyes. What is possibly the matter with you today? But he
doesn´t get any answer.
Once I walk so close to her by coincidence that we look in each other´s
eyes. I startle and through me goes some kind of a sensation. Does she
remember me? This question gets more insistent when the ³coincidences²
become more frequent. Is she watching me the same way I´m watching her?
Perhabs she´s as shy and bashful as I am. Naaa... that can´t be right..
Such a beautiful lass wouldn´t have any problem making the lads crawl for
her. I decide to erase any mystery here and now, where we the friends
from Keflavik are dawdling at the stage following Halli and Laddi, the new
entertainers at their best, along with a whole lot of teenagers. The fit
of laughter is so hilarious, that there´s no way of hearing any jokes.
-Boys!!! I yell, thus trying to dominate the racket and they look at me
amazingly. I have to go to the loo, I inform them, like I needed their
permission for executing my primaries.
-OK, you can go now,Loki dear, Biggi allows me with a serious face and then
returns to the entertainment.
-But be quick about it, so we won´t worry about you, Kiddi Hrings adds,
thus creating my three amigos´ hilarious laughter , but I leave them in a
hurry feeling shameful.
That is how boys are.
Looking and searching, but I can´t find her anywhere. Despaired and
disappointed I return to my friends. Just when I´ve located them I see her,
where she´s standing a short distance from the spot where I myself had been
standing before I went supposedly to the loo. I find her a little
sad-looking at this distance, but when I´ve moved closer to her and our eyes
have found each other her face kind of lifts up.
Am I the reason?
There´s so sin in hoping.
Furtively I move closer to her, cautious not to look into those beautiful
blue eyes, the world´s most loveliest eyes, so sparkling that they seem to
shine from a long distance.
All of a sudden I touch something with my left hip thus making me look
carefully to my side. I get startled when I can´t see anyone horizontally.
The eyes look down and there she is.
This angel-like face.
She is so small!
Again I get startled.
Might she be as young as she looks?
-I´m in my sixteenth year, she answers before I find approriate words for
the question obviously because she had seen my wondering face. You´re not
the first one to look at me with this kind of face, but this is how I am and
I can´t do anything about it, she continues with her sexy little voice. She
stretches herself, eventhough I´m not a very tall man; 174 cm. acc. to
latest measures, and smacks a kiss on my inexperienced lips. Hi, my name´s
Kristín, called Little-Stína and you´re Loki. I heard it when the thin one
over there named you just the other minute and she emphasizes by moving her
head a little bit toward Biggi who looks a lot thinner, where he´s standing
between his two friends, Andri and Kiddi Hrings who are built like trolls.
I was just about giving up all hopes of whether you were thinking about
me,Loki.
-Na... Is it true, I ask with a very backward voice, but my shyness
prevents me from admitting my own feelings for her and that I had myself
been giving her an eye or two.
-Ye, sure i have! Since I saw your tight ass, when you were bending over
the basin this morning. I can feel how I´m blushing all over hearing her
using this kind of language but find it really OK how unshy she seems to be
mentioning such a secret body-part, so I´m not unprepared when she carries
on.
-And my affection didn´t fade, when I saw how nice a face you have. You´re
just as handsome as the American filmstars, she informs me with real
affection in her voice staring into my gaping eyes.
-Na... You´re bluffing me, I mumble not feeling as backward as before. My
voice is little bit higher, maybe because I´m feeling more assured with
myself having just heard her opinion about my looks.
-Come on, she says with a determined voice and takes my hand in hers.
Wondering about her conduct my first act is to look down at our combined
hands, where her tiny one almost disappears inside mine, eventhough it being
small and pudgy.
-Where are you going, I manage to ask becoming a little unsure of whether I
would be any man for such a sophisticated woman, as she seems to be in my
horrified eyes. The questions that go through my inexperienced mind:
Where does she want to take me?
Hardly is she going to the booth?
Perhabs she´s taking me inside her tent?
Is she going to fuck me?
While it´s still daylight?
I´m so frightened that I´m just about petrified, where I hold her back
quite easily, because of our difference in size. At the moment I´m just
hoping that my friends who are gaping at some thinned act of some old
revue-singer, notice my situation and trouble us with one of their nasty
remarks. What ever which gives the shy boy an excuse to stop the lusty and
horny Little-Stina, who seems to be quite certain of what she wants which
really is the same as I do. The only thing that´s troubling me is that it
is not the right time yet, t.i. Dark nights!
What if she begins to laugh when she sees me naked? And that before my
little friend reaches full erection. No woman has ever seen HIM like
that, except my mum and perhabs one girlfriend of mine, when we were both
five years of age. One of my friends´ dad used to have an electrical-shop
in the garage by his home. The electrical-stuff he used came to him in big
tree boxes which we playmates of the hood were allowed to use for our
miscellanous activities out on their lawn. Some of the older boys in the
hood used to hang around us smaller ones and sometimes they made us do some
things for them, things that we normally didn´t do. Once one of them had
the idea to ask me whether I´d want to fuck one of the girls. In Icelandic
fuck means ríða, which is the same word we use for riding horces. I being
only five misunderstood my older friend and thought that I was supposed to
ride the girl like a horce, silly little bugger.
-No, don´t you understand Loki what I mean?
-Isn´t she supposed to be my horce in our cowboy-game I asked in my
childish simplicity.
-No, what I mean is that you two are supposed to go inside the box there
and then you are to stick your prick into her pussy.
-When I heard his remark I became a little worried. But if she sees my
willy I thought terrified.
-There´s no need to worry man. You won´t see a thing in the dark box.
I felt a little calmer by the explanation of my friend whom I found awesome
and would almost have done anything just for his appreciation.
-Well then it´s OK on my behalf, I remarked trying to look a little grown
up. But does she want it also?
-Yes, can´t you see that she is mad about you, Loki.
I accepted his answer without thinking any further, eventhough there wasn´t
any sanity it it. When you think about it how can a five year old fall in
love so long before her puberty? It just shows how dumb I was and easily
tamable. Of course there wasn´t more to our intercourse, than there is
reason to expect.
I just remember that once inside the box upside down in total darkness, our
jeans and panties at our heels I did go down on my girlfriend where she was
lying on her back in the grass, and according to our ³friends´² directions
we plodded something with our genitals together, but when my friends lifted
the box thus making the light flow over us just so they could follow our
fucking, I felt affended and drew up my jeans.
-Back allready, I can hear Andri remarking with a wondering voice behind
me, where I´m trying my best stopping this firm girl from dragging me
towards something I´m not ready for. And I´m eternally grateful to my
friend who has just saved me from this sarcastic situation. I draw my hand
out of the dilemma so that I could turn towards my savior.
Are you going to desert us again, Andri asks with a teasing tone. I
reckon that he´s seen our hands glued together the other second.
How old is this one actually, he then adds to his question.
I give an embarassing laughter and turn around toward her purposedly trying
to excuse my friend somehow to Little-Stína, but then she seems to have
evaporated. I´m neither able to see rag nor tatter of the extraordinary
pretty girl who just the other minute seemed willing to eat me alive.
-She is fifteen, in spite of her height I try my best to defend her, or
rather myself. Least of all I´d want to be thought of as a seducer of a
minor.
-Always the lucky one, you clodhopper, despite being a puny dwarf.
-I´m no puny dwarf, I raise my voice in denial thus trying to be heard in
spite of the deafening guitar-wail coming from the stage. And what do you
mean saying I´m lucky, but these last words drown in the noise, besides my
friend has allready turned away.
I´ve been left alone, without a woman, feeling quite awful because of my
own shyness and stupidity. Have I destroyed an obvious chance of making out
with a girl for the first time (or second)? And the day goes by and I
hang around with my male friends following them absent minded. I am only
able to think of one thing. Nothing else comes to mind, but the disgusting
self pity. Now I know what love is and how it´s able to treat you, or is
it the sorrow of lost opportunities.
And the Sun, the Earth´s source of life goes easily down in the west behind
the mountain that hangs over the beautiful Valley of Húsafell, which is
overcrowded and beaten this weekend by thousands of young people who have
come here with the same purpose. Everybody wants IT. But along with the
Sun disappears the last hope of this boy from Keflavík of fulfilling the
natural dream which every boy and girl dreams overtly and covertly. The
dream which comes with puberty, when the whole body starts to scream for IT,
when you can´t see a nice looking person of the opposite sex without having
removed the clothes of him or her, before the old ghost of shyness takes
control and prevents you from doing what your hormones tell you to do. They
weren´t very few the times after dances when you had to use your hand and
fingers to prevent an exploison.
Just as the day comes closer to night I become more derterminded in what I
shall do when and if I find my dreamdoll again. I shan´t do the same
mistakes. Just when I´d have located Little-Stína nothing will come
between us. NOTHING!!!
I do not see her anywhere.
However I look.
However closely I search.
Has she perhabs left?
No, no, what´s the matter with me.
On the other side of the clearing I can still see her small, pretty and
pink tent. Again and again and once again I aim my green eyes over the
clearing and in a very awkward situation and by threading my sight between
the feet of the basin I´m able to see; that her tent is closed.
Behind me, the love-sick youngster the heavy drinking has begun,
preparation for the night, and again and again I get interupted in my
scientific research.
-Don´t just lie there like a skate, Loki, they keep on scolding me where
I´m lying in the tent´s door, whenever the one in question has to go to
empty his bladder.
-What´s the matter with you, aren´t you going to start your drinking?
Don´t be such a nuisance!
At long last I give up on my spying about nine pm., when my hopes of seeing
the small and sweet Stína who´d flirted with sillly me earlier in the day
have just about disappeared from my mind. I use the opportunity when Andri
has reached the stage in this evening´s drinking that he´s forgotten how
much he has left of his own alcohol and passes towards me his half-empty
glass with the words: -Have a drink ol´buddy!
Politely I just wet my lip in his drink, which I really do find a whole lot
more disgusting than my own, shuddering secretly and imply:
-No, thank you, my friend. I think you´ll need all your booze yourself as
I look into his bloodshot and dreamy eyes. I have enough left since last
night, and stretch myself for my Hvannarót-aquavitae still waiting for me
in its own place, where I´d hidden it early morning.
I´d except a coke for my mixture if you´ve got it, so i don´t have to leave
the party?
-Ye,ye, of course my friend. All mine´s yours! Andri gives me a small
coke he´d opened with another one, which is one of the drinking-trixes I´ve
never learned to do myself. The other is whistling loudly with two fingers
between my lips. Before long I´ve put the memory about Little-Stína way
back in my brain´s wrinkles and have started behaving like my friends from
Keflavík. I´m not going to let some stupid girl ruin the weekend that
gives you most chances of fucking. - More experienced stallions have told me
so ³privately². Some stated that a good stallion could easily attend to
three or four a night. The prettier sex actually being quite loose-girthed
around the Commercial-Weekend. I feel angry and offended towards
Little-Stina for disappearing this way, without even saying good-bye.
Light, hot, with the right mood and confidence; feeling quite certain that
no-one was better than us and that all the girls would lie flat on their
backs, when they´d see us the very handsome stallions from Keflavík, we
decide around elleven o´clock to leave our tent just giving people the
chance of admiring us and to see the others. People seem to be partying
allover, they are shaking their arses listening to the stallion-rock the
world famous groups of Iceland are playing for the more or less drunk
youngsters. In spite of our own belief that we four the boys from Keflavik
were the center of anything called the right mood no one seemed to notice us
or distinguish us from all the others who probably have had the same kind of
priggishness as we had at the beginning of our participation in the
festival. Secretly I take a look around the area, trying to find obvious
candidates for love-making.
A few seem inducable, but
some too drunk and
one lying under a bush, but
could check on the others. .
We decide to disperse ourselves; the stallions from Keflavík, where
Icelandic beatle-music originated with the group Hljómar (Sounds), thus
giving more people, especially the girls the opportunity of enjoying our
company, and my first action is to ask a girl who seems OK to dance with me.
When she seems to welcome me I start believing that nothing will stop me
this shy boy who shows her an interest.
-All right one dance, she answers, like being in another world. I take
her hand in mine and drag her into the group of sprawling dancers.
The song finishes and I get higher hopes of it leading to something, when
she doesn´t leave me yet. On the dancing thunders and I begin anticipating
a closer encounter, because I seem to like her better and better.
Chestnut thick hair,
Down to the shoulders,
About 165 cm. high,
Greyblue and sparkling eyes,
Small and neat potatonose,
The stout behind seems to fill out,
The blue straight jeans,
The breasts stand alluring,
Into the pretty wool jumper.
and the expectation doesn´t lessen, when she lays her soft cheek by mine in
the soft song which is the third in our series of dancing, but something
seems to be wrong. I notice that she seems to be abscent-minded and her
eyes wander around again and again. In our fourth dance suddenly she thanks
me. I can see under her heels when she runs straight to one of the
necessary houses standing at a short distance. Behind I stand like some
nerd and follow her how she knocks on the door and waits for awhile, until
it is opened. Out comes a lad about the same age as me. He seems to be
fondling with his belt. .
Lady-Luck certainly isn´t quite on my side, I cry disappointingly alone
with myself, or were my older friends just bragging. I send them some ugly
thoughts, hoping they´ll get uncontrollable hick-ups. Once again I take a
look around the area. When I notice my friends, one after the other
holding hands with all kinds of girls, I decide to do something about it.
If they were able to, so should I QUITE EASILY, or what? .
Am I so ugly?
What is wrong?
I´m determined to destroy the remains of my congenital shyness and take
quite a large drink of the well-strong coke-mixture. Over me comes the
bullet-proof skin of the playboy who desires nothing more than the presence
of the imperishable maidens. I give the area another look.
I get startled!
There she is,
My Little-Stína,
As hypnotized I stand stiff,
Follow her silky soft movements,
The billowing, golden shoulder-long mane,
See where she´s heading, heading, heading,
She sees me,
Aims at me,
She comes closer,
My eyes go up and down,
She is perfect,
My desire is satisfied.
-No, Loki...Where have you been? One in question standing awkwardly
staring his eyes out. Bold enough to take a big one.
Are you dumb, you cute boy. Some thoughts rush through my mind. e.g. ³say
something before she leaves again². I pinch myself and some sensation goes
through me.
-I haven´t gone anywhere, but where have you been, Stína? Being a little
drunk the lad discovers he´s like a new man not shy at all. I can feel that
she´s mine.
-I waited for you in my tent. I waited and I waited, until I fell asleep
and have just awakened, my darling.
I don´t think it´s appropriate devulging that I had been following her tent
from my own tent, but hadn´t had the guts of checking out whether she was in
hers, possibly waiting for me. What an asshole I had been and I curse
myself to pieces, but mutter unconvincingly:
-The boys wouldn´t let me go and I had to hang around with them all day
long.
-Let´s dance, she says with her silky voice and leads me to the
timber-dancefloor. In a minute she crouches herself, this magical creation
to my heart which is running unusually fast compelled by a sexual
super-desire. This author doesn´t remember the soft song´s name, nor the
band playing, but at the moment both seemed quite superb for the youngsters
in love. I feel like being on the top of the world, having reached the top
of my existance.
Where we move along like in a dream, I can feel my erection. I can feel her
firm breasts. Automaticately our mouths come together and the toungs start
great acrobatics. Quite wonderful!
Is my long-desired moment coming true?
Will I lose my virginity?
Within a minute or two we´re lying together in her lovely, pink tent,
everything that was hidden is uncovered, searching and touching each other,
without separating our tops, where before there was rugged cloth now is
naked living softness with a firm roundish thrust and a long hot
coolness, being hot on the inner side but cool on the outer; strong and
elastic touching of concaving bodyshapes, close, strange, beautific, young
and passionate; and now, when everything has become steaming hot softness,
suddenly mixed with a poignant, choking, heartbeating loneliness so eager
that I can´t stand it, but to my terror I sense that my swollen cock which I
had been so proud of had returned to the usual hanging position.
Whatever we try, it won´t behave. I´ve become too drunk and useless.
-This has never happened before, I try to excuse myself... ³

Vl

A little later Jón is fighting the Northwind of January. According to the
Beings´ orders he has at last taken up the habit of dressing according to
each weather-outlook, just as said before. They were getting very tired of
his constant sick-leaves.
- You´ll jeopardise our planning with your behaviour, some tone of anger
is hearable in their otherwise monotonous voice. From now on you´re to
wear warm clothes Jón and you better eat garlic. Your lack of punctuality
has become quite intolerable, because we have to attend to Selected ones all
over your Earth. If you want to stay Selected you must change your
habits. As you well are awear of you´re supposed to have arrived in these
ruins at eight pm each Thursday, local time. If you won´t alter your habits
we´ll have to eliminate you from our list of Selected ones. Then every
knowledge we´ve given you will be erased from your memory.

Jón Jónsson, who´s just turned eighteen and has many interests other than
revelutionizing the Earthlings´ way of thinking, incl. girls, becomes
terrified and promises solemnly a change of habits. He´s rankled by the
Beings´ scolding, don´t they really know that it´s not habitable among
Icelandic teenagers to wear warm clothing in the wintertime. He has no
urge being somekind of a sissy; a mother´s boy, like this Loki whom he´s
about to make inquiries about.
Jón openes the gate and walks toward the newly painted blue and white
house; he´s especially energetic when it comes to the maintenance of their
house, Loki´s father. That won´t be his own father´s obituary notice, he
says to himself, when he reaches out and rings the doorbell. The door gets
opened in quite an usual way by the housewife; named Friðsemd (Peacefulness)
as Jón recalls. He remembers that once his hair was cut by this lady, when
she was working at Hörður´s Barber Shop in the green corrugated-iron shed on
the Skólavegur (School-street). He also remembers seeing her dragging
along the street, often with her eldest at her side in all kinds of weather.
When he´d asked his mother what was bothering Loki´s mum, she´d answered
with undisguised admiration, that she´d lost her health, when a child had
died in her womb.
-Yes, how can I help you, dear?
-Öööö, Jón has forgotten what he was going to say.
-Aren´t you Jón the son of Kolla who lives here in the street?
-Uh...ye.
-You don´t have to be afraid of me, my dear Jón, I´m not used to bite off
people that knock on my door.
-Bite, Jón eats up after her. No look here, I´ve come to inquire about
Loki your son.
-Loki? But he´s not here. How come you´re asking about him, Jón, and
suddenly there´s more rigour in her voice. She now recalls that a few years
ago her Loki came home crying when Jón and his two friends had treated him
badly.
-Where is he, if I may ask?
-He is in the Junior-College at Laugarvatn, where he´s learning with great
ardor, thus making himself and us proud, she says and there´s some pride in
her voice. But I´m afraid that is hardly what can be said about you, you
poor thing. I´ve had the understanding from your mother your only habit is
hanging around doing nothing, a boy your age! The only time you go out is
to wander in the moors.
-Is that what she has to say about me, well I´ll be dog gone, and some
intolerance seems to be bugging him. He should´ve known that his neighbours
in the street had the opinion that he were some no-good idler who neither
bothered attending school nor work. That he only had the mind to lie over
some no-good books or visit the heather.
But to tell you the truth, Friðsemd, because it concerns you, just as the
whole mankind; there´s maybe no more reason for you to believe me rather
than my own parents who believe that I´ve become crazy, the truth is that
I´ve tried something most people only dream about. By sheer coincidence, I
prosume, I was contacted by Beings from outer space..., why don´t you invite
me into your kitchen, before all the heating leaves the house?
This extraordinary visit took place before cheap hot water was found by
drilling in the area, while houses still used expensive oilburning to heat
up. Jón Jónsson; the namesake of his father, grandfather and
greatgrandfather was awear of this and had learned it the hard way; he had
quite often been scolded for leaving the main-door open (Are we living in a
tent? Do you know the price of oil, boy?) . By switching from one subject
to another completely different he was trying to soften his host,
talking about something everybody in town had an opinion on, used something
he´d learned by reading advisory-books written by the American Dale
Carnegie.
-Yes how true you are Jón. I´m afraid my Fáfnir wouldn´t like paying next
month´s bill if he knew, that he´d be paying for the heating of the
neighbourhood.
I beg your pardon, but I must have lost my face in amazement when I saw
that it was you that rang the bell but not my sisters in law, Auja and Dísa
whom I was expecting. Please be my guest and enter my kitchen where I´ll
give you some coffee if you like.
Jón becomes a bit dumbfounded by the reception, ´cause he hadn´t really
meant what he had just proposed. He had no idea how Loki´s mum can be
overwhelmingly polite and hospitable, something else than his own mother who
is exceedingly unsociable.
Having sat down by the green kitchen roundtable he awaits a little while
like any civilized lad is supposed to do, until the pretty housewife sits
down, but she obviously isn´t about to change her habits. Jón isn´t used to
this kind of behaviour, at least not from his mother who´s usually the first
to take a seat like she were a guest. Then everyone had to serve
themselves if they wanted to have some meal. Why should I get cold meals,
after having cooked for you, she usually says when Jón senior tired after a
workday grumbels about his his wife´s inertness.
-Be my guest, son. Have some milk and Danish, she says kindly, when she´s
put a tray with milk, cut Danish and a glass infront of Jón who is quite
astounded.
-This isn´t necessary, Mrs. Friðsemd, announces poor Jón who is feeling a
little awkward.
-Well, what was it you wanted to tell me, my dear Jón, she asks with a
determined, but friendly voice.
-A..a..a..., yes allright, but my purpose was to get your son to assist me
on a project, which will eventually concern the whole mankind, he began
with growing authority in his voice but at the same time his shyness toward
this unusual and elegant lady disappeared.
-Yes, Jón...you were going to tell me about your own close encounter with
beings from outer space. Don´t stop now, because I want to hear the whole
story. I´m all ears, she announces and as to emphasize she pushes her
black, shoulderlenght hair back, thus showing her very small and femine
ears.
-It all started a few years ago, the year I turned fourteen as a matter of
fact, Jón begins feeling a little proud with himself and pleased about
having at last found an audience to hear of his extraordinay experience.
This woman´s going to take him seriously it seems, and won´t think he´s gone
crazy like his own parents do; when I and Guy were running from some
house-owner. Guy ran up to the Turner-gate, but I went for the Lakes,
where I had a supersensual experience. Then he tells her thoroughly how
the Beings had selected him to be a member of their school. Friðsemd shows
his story great interest and asks for more explanation here and there.
-
-The Beings´ aim with their work on Earth, you say, is to help us evaluate
and make us better species, but when did they visit us first?
-Those that I have been communicating with have been here for a longer
time, than our eldest could possibly remember, e.g. every religion relates
to them in one way or another. They´ve taken advantage of this weakness of
us Earthlings, that is having a need for believing in something
*supernatural, for example gods, just to be able to confront life.
Because the Beings can only travel to Earth subjectively as holograms
(images) they have until recently tried to change humans with creeds, but
have given up on that method now. Because of that they´ve decided to
increase the number of Selected people of flesh and blood to take care of
the measures, and I´m one of them. Step by step we´re supposed to change
people by transporting genes from those who are fittest to the lesser ones.
-But that will take you an endless time to change the whole mankind! How
will you make it?
-The Selected ones grow in number, and the Beings also believe that the
growing number of fitter people will unavoidably have good influence on
others. This will of course take a long time in earthly years, but then we
must take into consideration that before God one year is like a thousand
years, and a thousand as a single one, just like it says in the Holy Book.
Probably we won´t be here when God´s wish will be fullfilled. -Last year
the media was full of notices about unidentified flying objects seen allover
our planet. Please inform me Jón, whether these notices were just
hallucinations of the alleged eye-witnesses, she asks holding her breath.
-No, not at all and they really happened, the young learned man informs
her, while moving his behind happily on the hard uncomfortable
kitchen-chair. You´re aware of the fact that all things have miscellanous
phases, e,g. water has three phases, either it´s liquid, ice or steam.
Living beings with more intelligence than us humans, living far from us
in the Universe have found a way to change the phases of all things incl.
their vehicles which they´ve altered to subjective phases which has made
them possible to travel allover, incl. to our Earth.
-But your beings, do they travel this way?
-No, you must consider Friðsemd, that in the infinity of the Universe there
are a lot of worlds and the development of the Beings is different. The
Beings that I´ve been communicating with are quite well developed and have
just about commingled with the Devinity, as we know the Hindoos aim at, and
only travel in a subjective phase, so-called astral. -What about the
concepts, good and evil?
-Actually it differs from one party to another. Everyone has the same
purpose, to make the world a better place, only the presupposition and the
methods are different. It´s the same amongst us humans. Let´s look at
Adolf Hitler as an example. He himself thought he was doing the right
thing, eventhough his opinions and actions provoked against most others´
conviction.
-But tell me Jón, are you able to inform me what happens to us when we die?
-Yes, with sheer pleasure. Have you read the theories of Dr. Helgi
Pjeturs?
-Well, I´ve heard his name, but I haven´t bothered looking him up on the
library. Is he really worth reading? I find it rather unbelievable,
because his writings were published in the 1920s,
Friðsemd asks, astonished.
-I´m afraid so, my dear Friðsemd. His books were among the first the
Beings told me to read. Dr. Helgi they´ve informed me was Selected and
tried his best to free people from the illusions of the religions. He
taught e.g. that people travelled to other stars, when they die. He was
right except for the fact that the only ones who get transported to other
stars are those who have matured enough. The majority gets reincarnated in
another body until they´ve matured enough.
-What about those who die young, asked the listener who´d become quite
excited.
-Yes the people who die young happen to be the ones who have matured enough
for a higher state of existence.
-It´s true then what the proverb says: Those who die young are the ones
that the Gods love. The only difference is that the Gods are superior
beings on other stars, she closes her argument evidently pleased of knowing
she´s been able to say something worth while.
-Nothing in the Universe disappears entirely; it´s all transportation into
another body or to another existence.

Vll

Friðsemd stands up, adjusts her ears and listenes. -Hva... Fáfnir´s home
allready. They hear how the loud roars from the Scout-jeep infront of the
house quiet down.
-I beg your pardon Jón; and then she takes a few light-footed steps towards
the lobby.
Jón pushes the darkbrown chair from the table, obviously aiming to follow
the house-mistress, who stops him with a wink of a hand; No, don´t leave
dear. Give my husband a chance to hear your remarkable story, for I know
he´s quite as interested as I am about exotic beings.
Jón stays still as asked, sits down and awaits quite pleased for the master
of the house, who´ll hopefully be as enthusiastic a listener as the Mrs.
In a way he´s quite relieved over the fact that he´s been able at long last
to tell an adult about his knowledge, which he had kept hidden since his
first encounter with the Beings.
He hears how the door is opened and then the sound of a short kiss;
-Wellcome home honey, you´re unusully early, the clock´s not three yet.
Jón hears a manly voice answering:
-Yes my darling, some kind of rudeness´s been bothering me all day. My
sixth sense has been telling me that something unusuall is happening here in
our home. So I finally gave in to the urge, told the boys in the
aviation-tower that they could reach me at home if they´d need my
assistance. And here I am?
The loving wife removes the coat off the man whom she´d promised to love
till the day she died on Boxing day 1955.
-Ye, ye, the guest whose been visiting me is one you´d never guess in a
millio...
-Well he´s here then, the good-for-nothing neighbour, the son of Jón here
in our street?
-Well, yes, but how could you´ve known?
-The scapegrace came to my mind every time the rudeness came over me at
work. The tone of surrender can be heard in his voice when he walks toward
the white kitchen, where the scapegrace is sitting like he´s been nailed to
the chair not feeling too good after hearing the conversation in the hall.
Fáfnir who is a medium-built man with dark a little thinning hair had always
been a youngish happy-looking man in Jón´s memory, but to his total surprise
the morning´s worries had made him look old and anxious.
-Greetings to you Fáfnir, I truly beg your pardon for visiting your home so
unexpectantly, Jón was able to grumble out choosing his words carefully
alias Dale Carnegie. He sure hadn´t expected this from this quiet and easy
man, who enjoyed great respect in their street, and even outside it he´d
heard. -I just came here to find your son, Loki, but as he´s away your
darling wife asked me to come in from the cold to discuss the reason I´m
here, he grumbled still, but at the same time tries to meet the stinging
eyes that are watching him with disgust...and a little fear it seems.
-That´s what I was most afraid of, that you wouldn´t leave my children
alone, the words seem to tremble coming from the mouth of the husband who
seems to be on the verge of a nervous breakdown, but is able to hold out.
Why did you have to come here? We´re peaceful people who never bother
anybody.
Friðsemd quite astonished after listening to her husband, takes his hands
in hers, turns him to herself, and tells him with a soothing voice, that
it´s going to be all right, that Jón had come with good intensions. She had
actually been listening to his remarkable story about his encounter with
exotic beings, just like the ones they´d often discussed among friends.
-Please give him a chance, my dear. Listen to what he has to say, before
you do something you´ll perhabs regret later; releases his hands and draws
the third chair from under the table.
-Allright. I´ll do it for you listening to this poor wretch, but remember
it when things have gone bad, that I didn´t invite him to my home, he says
with a stern voice and takes the seat opposite to the young man who allready
has regained his confidence and rubs his hands together, getting ready for
the second chapter in his battle for more influence.
After the second story-telling the master of the house stands up and asks
with a harsh voice:
-But why in the name of wonder do you want my Loki, who has allways been a
little backwards and shy. I´d rather thought that my other two children;
Iðbjörg or Thórgnýr suited better for the crusade, that you´re going to
undertake.
Jón´s hands have turned steaming hot of all the rubbing, so he´s obliged to
part them, before he announces that their eldest had been Selected by the
Beings themselves, in continuation of their reading of his article: The
Circuit of Life on the readers´ opinion page of the Morgunblad. Loki´s
parents gape hearing what the lad has to tell them. -Whi...which article
are you babbling about. No this is too much, I won´t believe it till I see
it.
-You just wait until June 8 1988, when you´ll be able to read an article by
your eldest in the Morgunblad with the name before mentioned.
-What kind of bullshit are you blabbering about, Jón. Do you actually
believe that we´ll believe you child, Fáfnir blurts out.
He really isn´t the type who would want to let his light shine and that in
the Morgunblad of all mediums. How are you supposed to have reached this
information...
-from the future, the couple ask like they were a duo in concert.
-From the Beings, Jón tells them at the same time he admires their
coordination in speech and order. I was astounded myself, when I saw this
article. These Beings have supernatural abilities and they´ve been
lending me some of them. Still I´m not able to show you anything from the
future, as they can, but they´ve trained me how to read people´s minds and
have an influence on them and a few other things. Perhabs you´d like me to
get Loki to phone you, just to demonstrate for you that I mean what I´m
saying.
Jón touches his temples with all fingers of both hands. He closes his eyes
and concentrates himself, realising that now he won´t be allowed to fail.
By all means he wants to show his first potential pupils that he´s a man of
his words.
-You won´t have to wait long, he tries to convince them, when he hears
they´ve begun to move their behinds on them chairs. How come my abilities
fail me now, he´s thinking desperately. He´s been trying for an unusually
long period gaining total concentration; perhabs their presence is creating
these difficulties? Until this moment he´d allways been alone or with the
Beings when he´d travelled in the Astral-domain (to travel in the
Astral-domain means travelling outside your own body).
When he opens his eyes he sees how the couple is gaping at him.
-I´m having some difficulty concentrating while you´re watching me. Could
I maybe have a little privacy in one of the bedrooms?
-Look here buster, we aren´t any fools. Don´t you think it´s time for you
to leave us alone. Fáfnir has become really tired listening to this
joker.
-You mustn´t believe that my stories were just lies. I myself do realise
how preposterous they´ve seemed to you, but I can swear by anything that´s
holy to me, that they´re all true.
Fáfnir confers with his wife, who´s ready to give the lad another chance,
because as she says: -My dear man, you know how eager I am to try anything
new as long as it doesn´t hurt anyone. In my opinion we should give him
another chance, if it pleases this poor boy.
-Well boy! You can carry on a little longer and use Loki´s room, Fáfnir
decides and points upstairs. The door in the end of the corridor.
Jón walks the stairs, but in the doorway he stops, turns and states
reassuringly, that now he will prove himself, and closes the door behind
him.

Vlll

"Laugardalur (hotspringvalley) is a rural community just above Grimsnes in
Arnes-county. Laugardalur isn´t a real valley as such, but a garland or an
inlet into the mountain range between Mt. Laugarvatn (602 m.a.s.) and Mt.
Efstidalur (627 m.a.s.). Further away there is Mt. Miðdalur (681 m.a.s.)
The slopes are steep, there are trees far and wide, but many look badly,
because of reckless treatment. On flat country The Laugarvatn ( 2,14
squarekm) is most obvious, mostly shallow, much vegetation on its bottom and
lukewarm far and wide. Its defluent is Hóla -river into Apavatn (Apelake).
Subterranean heat is great far and wide in Laugardalur.
Laugardalur is a popular summer place of residence for people from thickly
populated areas. Many summerhouses and trailers are placed there and in
summer-weekends hundreds of people dwell in tents. "

Sveinn closes Árbók Árnesinga (yearbook) and drops it on the blue linoleum
floor. How can I use this information for my essay? He speculates for a
moment, while lying flat in the built-in bed in his private room in Kös.
The room is white-painted; the couch on one side, but the built-in desk,
drawer and shelf on the other side, with a light beech-film. On the walls
he has taped posters showing his heroes; Neil Young and Rolling Stones;
clippings from English football-magazines honour his walls; mostly of
players from Manchester United.
Sveinn or Svenni attends The Menntaskóli at Laugarvatn (junior college)
as do almost two hundred other youngsters. The pupils come from allover the
country, but understandably mostly from the south of Iceland, but he just
as a few others from Keflavik have chosen to seek the quietness in the
countryside, where there is adequate space for the lively teenagers. In
Svenni´s case the closeness to the Athletic Teacher Training school isn´t
all bad, but he´s a real football fan like most men on Earth. Somekind of
friendship is between him and some of the nation´s most promising
footballers who attended the school and amongst them was Ásgeir Elíasson
who later became Iceland´s national football team´s trainer. The friendship
never became closer, than greetings on a street, in the only store or when
the schools´ football teams dealt with each other. Their principal was
very strict when it came to out-door and sleeping rules for the pupils who
all were about twenty years of age.
Svenni hears someone dealing strongly with the doorknob resultlessly, but
then Hólmi´s high rusty voice presses itself through the door.
-Svenni have you seen the weather? Let´s play fussball, you swot!
-Not now Hólmi. Svenni´s gentle voice usually has a soothing influence on
those who listen... I have to finish an essay for teacher Halli Matt
before morning..., but not on Hólmi who is the only pupil from Thorshöfn in
far north-east Iceland. Medium height, fairly athletic built, blond, happy
and noisy lad.
-Don´t do this to us, Svenni! The boys are waiting for us out on the
field, man.
-I have postponed my essay two times allready and haven´t yet read the book
I build it on.
-What´s the tattered old book´s name, the high rusty one out in the
corridor implies, perhabs I can help you out?
-The Laugarvatn-school thirty years old, replies the room´s owner with his
gentle voice, and I´m sure not going to accept your offer, Hólmi. Hólmi is
noted for being one of those who think he knows everything, until there
comes the moment. - I´ll join you in a little while, when I ´ve looked
into the book, Sveinn concludes their conversation through the door this
time.
-OK then, you bloody swot, Hólmi shouts greetingly when he turns to the
stairs which he takes in two giant steps in his football-shoes.
-Where´s Svenni, six boys yell harmoniously from where they´re waiting in
suspense on the field with the ball between them.
-He´ll join us later. Has to finish some essay for teacher Halli Matt,
Hólmi answers with his high rusty voice and kicks the ball towards the
wester goal. The post rattles loudly when the ball hits it after Hólmi´s
thunder. -Did you see that, boys! But they had not, because they were
thinking about who could be the eight player in their coming game.
-Loki! Couldn´t you get Garðar to join us, just until Svenni arrives.
It´s quite impossible not having at least four players in a team; you used
to be his room-mate, Guðjon says and nails the ball to the post and right
inside the goal, when the ball had returned with high speed from Hólmi´s
thunder.
Loki who has really changed a lot in appearance and behaviour since he was
freed from his parents´ protecting arms in Keflavík, doesn´t think it
feasable trying to get Gardar to join them in a football match, being
aware of Gardar´s low opinion on this silly game, where people run after a
ball on a wide field. He has a whole different opinion on volleyball, which
he practises with good results.
-You are the most able to get him, Loki. You were his roommate three
winters.
-I´ll try, but I can´t promise you a positive result, he replies
reluctantly, before he runs towards Kös, a student´s quarters. At the
Menntaskóli at Laugarvatn there are two student´s quarters for pupils who
live far away. They are in two double-wing buildings a small distance from
the village; in the one that road-travellers see first when they come from
Selfoss or over the cliff from Thingvellir there are only boys except a few
girls in the forth class and are thus privileged with a single room, but in
the other, Nös the ladies´quarters are in one of the two wings.
He runs to the left into the dark corridor on the upper floor, where there
are two-room bedrooms on the left side, but single rooms for fourth class
students on the right.. He knocks on Garðar´s door, but when no-one replies
he enters. Perhabs he´s taken a nap? Loki walks to the bed, lifts the
bed-clothes, but there´s no Garðar there. Where might he be? he´s
thinking; best to ask Svenni he decides when he hears the sound of Neil
Young´s After the Goldrush through the thin white-painted wall. He gets
startled when he turns to the door. Standing in the doorway is nobody else
but Jón his tormenter Jónsson. This can´t be happening, he tries to close
his eyes and reopen them, but... Jón is still there.
-Wha...what are you doing here, Loki asks freightingly maybe because it´s
like his foe´s voice is coming from inside himself. I sure hope he´s not
a new student in my school!
-Don´t be afraid, dear friend. I´m not here to do you any harm, but
instead I have a message for you. Your parents want you to give them a call
immediately!
-Has something happened back home, he groans finding the message a little
peculiar, because he´d spoken to his mum just last evening.
-No, no, there´s nothing the matter. I just wanted to prove something for
them, Jón informs soothingly his freightened victim.
-You´ve hardly travelled all this way, just to prove something to people
who don´t really concern you! Eventhough I´m wet behind the ears, I can´t
believe any such nonsense, please tell me what´s your real purpose, Jón,
son of Jón, son of Jón!!! Loki Fáfnisson speaks like the man in control,
feeling at home. He´s quite certain that his friends and school-chums
would stand by his side if and when his ancient enemy was going to try some
dirty tricks on him.
Having overcome his freight of the wretch Loki´s about to show his
unwellcomed guest who´s the master, primarily because the guest doesn´t
really look like anything at all, so small and thin. When he tries to take
hold of his scruff Loki gets astounded......

lX

Sveinn assumes he´s finally located suitable material for his essay,
which is supposed to describe the village of Laugarvatn as a
school-residence and tourist resort clearly:
One can read in Kristnisaga (Christendom´s History), The Literary
Societie´s version published in 1858, p. 25, that the Icelanders became
Christians in the year 1000 on an assembly (Althingi) by Öxarriver (Axe´s-)
on Thingvellir (assemblyfields). Everyone should get baptised, and thus it
says: ³Every Northlander and Southlander were baptised in Reykjalaugu
(smokepool) in Laugardalur, when they rode from the assembly."
One could point out that these hot springs in question have been named
after the farm Reykir, but it´s quite clear that these hot springs are none
other than those who still belong to the farm Laugarvatn. If that is the
case one might also assume, that the lake Laugarvatn used to be called
Reykjavatn after the old farm. But when a big part of the assembly was
baptised in a hot spring, people must have found it more suitable to name
it Laugarvatn, thus giving both the farm and lake a reminding name about
this extraordinary event, when so many heathens took holy baptism.
This will be a fine first part, the graduating student is thinking quite
pleased with himself.
-But then it´s the continuation, he mumbles to himself at the same time as
he leans back in his chair looking at the beautiful clear sky through the
big rectangled window. Damned, I must carry on, he mutters when he returns
to his authority.
The campus at Laugarvatn is the largest in a countryside in Iceland. The
Regional School at Laugarvatn is the oldest school there, founded in 1928.
The Junior College was founded in 1953, The Housewifes-school in1942 but the
Athletic Teacher Training school in 1932.
Then there´s a school for children which serves the surrounding county with
seven age-classes.
There are beds for about seven hundred pupils in the village.
Belonging to the community there´s quite extensive subterranean
heat which is utilized for warming up houses, steam-baths and the swimming
pool. A lot of greenhouses are also located there in the community. .
History tells us, that when Jón "Bishop of Hólar" Arason and his sons had
been decapitated at Skálholt in the year 1550 their corpses were washed in
Vígðulaug (consecrated-spring) before they were transported to their burial
at Hólar. By the hot spring there are a few stones which have been named
Corpsestones. It also tells us that the bishop´s and his sons´ biers had
been kept on those stones, while the dead bodies were being washed...
Sveinn gets startled up from his copying when he hears a terrible bawl
coming through the door, takes a big step and opens the door with a jerk. He
sees Ólfer Fáfnis down on his knees with his hands over his eyes, obviously
lust with fear.
Sveinn quickly puts on his checkered wool-slipper which had dropped off in
his jump, hurries into the corridor and takes a father-like hold on the
shoulder of the crust teenager, who has become his closest friend over the
period they´d been in this school.

X

Sveinn, who also lives in Keflavík is quite a likable chap, jolly,
everyone´s darling, easy going and well disposed to others. He´s rather
short of stature, thin, good looking with light-red hair down to his
shoulders. A great soccer-fan both as a player and observer. Their lives
have been entangled somewhat through-out school attendance and soccer
participation since they were about seven years of age.
-What happened to you, inquires the little man´s best friend, while his
eyes look around the corridor, but can´t see anything suspicious, because
momentarily Jón Jónsson has paused his ambitious journey on the spiritual
circle.
-You...wouldn´t believe me, even though I´d tell you what actually
happened, Loki sobs with his green eyes wide open.
-Ye, OK, his friend assures him using his consolatory voice. Svenni pats
on his head. Let it flow.
-You must remember Jón Jóns who used to be in our graduating class in
secondary school....
-Yes, of course I recall him. What ever happened to him?
-Do you also remember, that he was always nagging me with his continuous
teasing. Everywhere we came close to each other; in or outside school. It
was almost impossible to keep away from him, because we lived in the same
street. He happens to be one reason I came to Laugarvatn, so far away
from Keflavík, that I wouldn´t have to fear him anymore.
-Are you telling me that he´s now attending this school, Sveinn asks
disbeliefingly. He who didn´t even graduate?
- Svenni, he´s here somewhere, cross my heart and hope to die! I was so
amazed that I screamed, Loki says with cogency.
Svenni assists him on his feet and informs that now he´s able to join them
in the kicking. -I´ve raised enough info to finish my essay tonight. Come
and lets kikk sam bolls, for the weather´s much too gorgeous for worrying
about some old ghosts.
-Well then, agrees the other one obviously having re-assembled most
fractions of his new ego, which he´d been able to create up in the country.
Sveinn takes hold of his neck and together the carefree teenagers jock out
on the field where they´ll join their friends in football´s seriousness.

-Try and stay awake, man, Gudjon whizzes angrily, when the opponents´ ball
lies the fourth time in the net behind Loki, without him trying to lift a
hand in the defence. From the start of the game he´s been standing
abscent-minded between the posts and staring south towards Svínavatn (Lake
of Pigs).
-I´m sorry, lads, but I´m having this peculiar sensation. A strange voice
inside me is telling me continuously that I have to call home right away!
-That´s nonsense, wha...didn´t you ring home yesterday? Gudjon´s patience
has reached its end. He´s not used to this kind of behavour, for when he
participates in a game he doesn´t think of anything else.
Gudjon, who comes from Selfoss as do most of the school´s pupils is quite a
likable chap and a true friend of his friends. He´s red-haired like his
father, thin and long-legged. As a sportsman he´s quite versatile and
always up front whichever the sport he participates in, whether it´s soccer,
basketball or volleyball. After he graduated he´s been out front in the
world of the media.
-I can´t tolerate this any longer, Loki yells and takes hold of his head.
Jón seems to be inside my head and he repeats: Ring home ...Ring
home...Ring...
-Run to the phone, man, Svenni decides for him, but be quick. Day´s
getting short.
Loki does exactly what he advises and runs as fast as he´s just been shot
from a cannon towards Kös, under the stairs, where the telephone´s located,
picks up the phone and listens.

Xl

-Operator Laugarvatn. Good morning, the girl´s sexy voice usually touches
the boys´ sensitivity, but not this time.
-1965, Keflavík.
-So, so, Loki dear, where are the manners. Anna on the Telephone Station
who recognises each voice in her district usually inquires about each and
every one of those who happen to use her service. What´s bothering you
now? Is it the lovelife once again? It´s a common secret that Anna taps
the pupils´ phonecalls. Therefore she was aware of sundry matters. The
pupils know that they can speak to her about their heartburns and get
advise.
-No, no Vala dear. I just have to ring home this minute. I´ll discuss
the reason with you another time.
-921965, you´re contacted Loki dear, informs the curious telephone girl,
who´s about to listen to this unexpected phonecall.
In Keflavík the phone gets picked up by the first ring.
-Hello, his mother´s voice sounds as wonderfully as always in