Free Paradise Reclaimed by Halldór Laxness

always been a hell of a man,” said Björn of Leirur, “and I’ve never thought more highly of you than when you refused to sell me a pony that time—but you were even more of a true Icelander when you turned the sheriff down too. That’s the kind of saga-men we need nowadays! No crawling around on your knees for you! Pay heed to no one lower than the king! Some bits of wood, did you say? Mahogany? I know it’s the choicest wood in the world, and the only wood that is worthy of you. Now it so happens that I was having a Russian shipwreck dismantled down on the shore here the other day, and the whole thing was done up in mahogany. Go ahead and help yourself to whatever there is.”
    “I can hardly manage to buy for more than about 75 or 80 aurar,” said Steinar. “I can give you a note for that amount in my account at the store in Eyrarbakki.”
    “We king’s-men and saga-Icelanders are never such small fellows that we grudge one another a horse-load or two of mahogany,” said Björn of Leirur.
    “I am a poor man,” said Steinar, “and I cannot afford to accept gifts. It is only rich men who can afford to accept gifts.”
    At all events, Björn of Leirur took Steinar out to the field where the mahogany was stacked under cover.
    But even though Björn of Leirur refused to listen to any mention of payment, Steinar of Hlíðar was not the man to accept more than a modest amount of mahogany. Björn and two of his men helped Steinar to load it on to a pony; then he saw him off down the path and kissed him: “Goodbye, and may God be with you for ever and ever, you hell of a man, you.”
    Steinar of Hlíðar mounted and rode off, with the mahogany-laden pony in tow. Björn of Leirur closed the gate of his homefield. He was wearing big topboots, and did not get his feet wet. But just as he was tying up the gate he remembered a little trifle, for Icelanders never remember the main point of their business until after they have said goodbye. He gave Steinar a shout and said:
    “Listen, my dear chap, since you happen to live on the main track, would you not let me graze my colts on your pastures for a night or two if I should happen to be driving them down this summer for shipment to the English?”
    “You will always be welcome at Hlíðar with your colts, night or day, bless you, my old friend,” Steinar called back. “The grass does not care who eats it.”
    “It may well be that I’ll have a few drovers with me,” said Björn of Leirur.
    “You are all welcome at Hlíðar for as long as you can find houseroom there,” said Steinar. “Good friends make the best guests.”

9
    Steinar leaves, with the secret
    She gave food for hungry hound,
She gave bed for sleeping sound.
    Who was the woman who performed such prodigies of hospitality, people asked? Was it the Good Fairy of days gone by, or the Norns who decided men’s fates? Or was it the good housewife of Hlíðar, who never doubted her husband’s superiority in anything and thought it a measure of his integrity that he refused to accept gold? Or was it the blue-clad elf-woman who for a thousand years has been seen wandering alone over the heather moon beside the cliffs on hot summer days? It could hardly be His Royal Majesty of Denmark himself, could it? Or was it just that shallow jade whom some people call Mother Earth? Only one thing was certain: the woman was no more overpraised in this ballad than is the custom in Iceland when the talk is about anything of value.
    As the winter wore on, Steinar of Hlíðar would all the more often shut himself away in his workshed with the door locked from the inside; and whenever he came out, he would lock the door again and put the key in his pocket.
    “Daddy,” said the girl, “when we were small you used to tell us everything. Now you don’t tell us anything, and lock yourself in when we are curious.”
    “We have almost worn out the shoes of our childhood, my little darling,” said Steinar. “Our fairy-tale