Salka Valka by Halldor Laxness

Following the disappointment of Kristófer Torfdal's non-visit, a ship arrived from the south. Perhaps it came not only from the south, but from somewhere out in the world where life is eventful, magnificent, and meaningful. It is as if alien winds sweep over the fjord when the ships come and go. Overcoated men from other worlds amble curiously around the village for a little while, along with ladies in fancy dresses of many colors, like the streamers of the Northern Lights. The village children open their eyes wide and stick their fingers in their mouths: "Mister, give me an eyrir; Miss, give me some sweets. I'll drink the dirty water from that puddle there if you give me an eyrir, if you give me some sweets. " Then the ships sail away. Some are seized with regret and restlessness whenever a ship sails out of the fjord. People have such lofty ideas about the world, whence the ships come, whither they go. They have such a hard time understanding that the world is right here, in Óseyri in Axlarfjörà°ur.

That evening, when Salka Valka and a few others returned from the fish washing, a fine gentleman in an overcoat was standing in the village square. Someone suggested that he was a traveler who had missed his ship, which had departed long before. But he seemed quite at home as he stood there conversing with several other men. On closer inspection, they all recognized the elegant cut of his clothing, the contented, bright face, along with the sturdy, lacquered walking stick from Portugal. He often appeared in his father's village in the spring, this strange bird. Perhaps the village was just as much his, or at least would be at some point; he was the prospective owner of boats and buoy lines, bait and hooks, tubs and fish-waste troughs, not to mention the people for whom Jóhann Bogesen had sacrificed his life to rear around this filthy rubbish. Otherwise, Angantà 1/2 r was supposedly responsible for the sale of the fish, because now Jóhann Bogesen's firm sold directly to foreign countries and bought large quantities of fish from various fishing-boat owners in other fjords. Angantà 1/2 r Bogesen was thus the side of Óseyri in Axlarfjörà°ur that faced the world. "Good evening, and welcome," said the men as they passed by, raising their ugly caps to the acme of culture in this village. For once, Angantà 1/2 r Bogesen returned their greetings and inquired about the winter fishing season.