Salka Valka by Halldor Laxness

18

Yes, spring had come. The blessed moss campion had begun to smile at the ever-rising course of the sun, but nonetheless, they still hadn't actually spoken to each other about anything, she and he, with the exception of a few impersonal political battle plans. She even often doubted that they really understood each other, despite her having joined his union and cooperative. She often felt as if he were different than he was a year ago; perhaps he was one of those people who change entirely from year to year and are one thing in victory, another in defeat, because the goal is worth more to them than the struggle, and perhaps he now thought that there had been little point to their fight, seeing as only two Bolshies gained seats on the parish council. Last year, his presence had been most like that of dynamite laid in a rock wall. This, coupled with his ample supply of personal whims, caused one to wait in breathless suspense at every step that he took. Now he was much more like Alli of Kóf around the time that he was a clerk in Jóhann Bogesen's store, reticent, as if bearing some hidden pain. Such was the effect that being in a store had on him, even if it was a cooperative, a business that belonged to everyone and that he himself managed in collaboration with the most powerful man in the country, Kristófer Torfdal, and the Association of Icelandic Cooperatives, the most powerful commercial enterprise in the country. The girl was convinced that these strong forces in society, hostile as they were to the power of the merchants, would be only too willing to put his ideals into practice and elevate him to rank and honor, even if he had to contend with indolence, discord, and incapacity here at home.