Free Snowblind by Ragnar Jónasson Page A

prospect for a boy who knew no greater pleasure than spending his time in the garage with planks, a hammer and a saw, knowing that he had an older brother who would never break his word.
    But like so much else, these fine intentions came to nothing.
    After leaving school, Leifur had enrolled at the technical college and, after that and having returned to Siglufjördur, he set up a small workshop in his flat. The house was divided into two and Leifur had purchased the upstairs. It was about the right size for a single man and his faithful labrador. He fitted out one room as a workshop and took occasional jobs. His hourly rate was certainly fairly low, but there wasn’t a great deal of demand either. Things were quieter here than in bigger places, and people chose to take the time to do thingsfor themselves instead of employing a proper carpenter. But Leifur didn’t give up, continuing to run the workshop in his spare time. His late brother would have wanted that.
    When it came to a regular income, Leifur had to rely on the filling station where he had worked since leaving college and moving back to Siglufjördur. Settling elsewhere had never been an option, even though his prospects there would have been far brighter; he couldn’t entertain the idea of leaving his parents and it had never even been discussed. It wasn’t as if they had exerted any pressure on him to return, but he felt he couldn’t let them down by leaving.
    They didn’t deserve to lose a second son.
    The small flat in Thormódsgata, was his home and he felt comfortable there. He enjoyed working with wood whenever there was an opportunity, and it was at these times that he felt happiest – in another world, a world of his own, where nothing could trouble him. The theatre was a godsend, providing him with plenty of opportunities to make the most of his talents, even though the work was voluntary. As far as he knew, nobody was paid to take part in the amateur productions, but there was a certain prestige attached to being a part of it.
    Over the years, his fine handiwork had attracted increasing praise, and he was now tasked with building the sets for every production – given carte blanche within the limits set by Hrólfur and Úlfur, a colourful pair of characters who knew what they wanted. Leifur was never one for argument, preferring to let others have their way.
    Alongside the carpentry, he had been given a chance to play a part in every performance in which he had been involved. In a small company everyone had to pull their weight and he was the understudy for the leading role, as well as having a few lines in other parts. He practised endlessly until he knew them inside out. Although Leifur suffered badly from stage fright, he was in his element in the Dramatic Society, even if his biggest part was always behind the scenes.
    He started most days by walking the dog. When he finished atthe filling station he would go to the swimming pool – not for a swim, but to use the gym there to lift some weights. He would often run into a few other regulars, though there weren’t many who kept to a routine as strictly as he did. There were normally lads from the football team working out, younger than him, of course; and his downstairs neighbours, Karl – from the theatre group – and his wife Linda were frequent visitors. It was a good place to forget the rigours of the day, relax and gather his energy for another walk with the dog and some time in the workshop. He spent every evening in there, whether he had a job to work on or not; if nothing else, he would make something for his home, or to give away.
    He felt at home in Siglufjördur. Except on the fifteenth of January. That date would never fade from his memory.
    They say that time heals all wounds, but Leifur wasn’t sure that he believed that. The sorrow was still there. He was still angry with someone: his brother’s killer.
    He, or maybe she, was probably living a good life right now, probably