25.5.2009


ACT 1






ACT 1

http://www.netsaga.is/media/files/jamaicantechnoarabianrock.mp3

    The street Frikirkjuvegur, named after the Frikirkja Church, lies along the eastern side of Tjörn Pond. The church along with a few dignified, but not very large, buildings, form a row of buildings which has often caused artists to pause and write poems or paint pictures.

    This house of God, which is built of wood and covered on the outside with corrugated iron, gives an artistic character to the area around Tjörn Pond where swans and ducks have found permanent refuge.

    It is past noon, and strong sunshine has nearly dried the streets after a long rain. Easter is near. The heavy snow that has lain on the ice has melted. Ice can be seen in some spots on the pond, but in other spots it is submerged.

    Braces of ice stand like spears out of the holes in the ice, and free-floating ice chunks reflect the sunshine. Houses, trees and clouds paint their art in bright colors on the puddled surface of the ice.

    The birds seem well pleased with the change that has occurred in the pond the last few days. The swans are playful and lively, and eider ducks and ducks float about on the water. Sometimes they get going or inch up on the edges of the ice. When they get up on the ice, they stretch their necks up in the air and open their wings. When someone comes along the edge of the pond to throw bread to them, they rush to get there before the swans which are aggressive when it comes to free bread. Two men sit on a bench next to the pond, across from the islet, and are watching the birds.

    "It's fine weather."

    "You can say that again."

    "Although it's been a hard winter."

    "Yes, it's snowed unusually much."

    "It's downright warm now."

    "It was 48 degrees this morning."

    "I think we'll have a good summer."

    "I think we deserve one."

    "Even so, the forecast is for a drop in temperature over the Easter period."

    "That's hardly anything new."

    "You're right about that."

    "Don't you think it'll stay dry today?"

    "Yeah, sure. The wind direction's right."

    "Yep, I expect so."

    On the other side of Tjörn Pond, on Tjarnargata, stand large houses in single file below a steep hill, forming a row of houses just meant to be photographed for a post card. These houses were built at the turn of the century, and wealthy people have always lived there.

    As technology developed and life styles changed, the number of residents in these houses gradually declined, the people moving into concrete shacks that were built in the outlying neighborhoods.

    The old wooden houses next to Tjarnargata lost their soul when the families moved out, and company offices moved in. John, a civil engineer, actually lives in one of the houses along with his wife Violet Sörenson and two children, Paul who is 14 and Steina, aged seven.

    Thorsteinn, John's grandfather, built the house just after the turn of the century. Stein, John's father, took over the house from his father, and now the family's third generation was living there. John moved in shortly after marrying Violet.

    A flock of swans speeds in from the Wetlands, arcs over the Midtown School, disappears for a moment, then flies low over City Hall and alights on webbed skis on the sun-sparkling pond.

    Violet has just gotten out of bed. She stands in the dining room by the east window and looks out over Tjörn Pond through thin curtains.

    She has toweled off after her morning shower and stands in a white silk robe holding a hair dryer. She lets the hot air swirl up through her hair while swaying back and forth.

    The hair dryer whines, and from the kitchen a distant sound is heard from the radio. Her face is flushed and hot after the shower.

    John woke up long ago and has gone to work. He is at the swimming pool by seven, among a lively group of men and women who swim the year round.
 
    In the first years of their marriage he and Violet went swimming together, but gradually Violet lost interest and elected to drowse till late in the morning. Much effort had been made in those first years. Right after waking up, they ran exuberant and noisy out to the kitchen.

    They laughed and chattered about everything and nothing and, then, made coffee and amused themselves. They often ran about like kids playing follow-the-leader, a game that like-as-not ended in lovemaking?on the bed, somewhere on the floor, in the guest bedroom, in the shower, or even down in the laundry. Afterwards, they sat down at the kitchen table or in the living room for morning coffee.