Independent People by Halldor Laxness

GVENDUR of Summerhouses was on everyone's lips that spring, in the first place because he had decided to go to America, in the second place because he had decided not to go to America. In the third place he had bought himself a horse; it was a racehorse and he had bought it from someone living in a distant parish for an enormous sum of money. Many people laughed. The young fool had spent the night chasing Ingolfur Arnarson's only daughter over the moors and had ended up by missing his ship; could anything be more idiotic? Some people said the lad must be a half-wit. Others said his horse was no more than an average horse, even that it was getting on in years. What a dunderhead! Prior to this, no one had noticed that Gvendur of Summerhouses so much as existed; now, with startling suddenness, he was everywhere notorious as an idiot and a dunderhead. If ever a meeting of any description was to be held in the neighbourhood, he was sure to nose out all the particulars so that he could put in an appearance on his horse. Countrymen greeted him with a conservative grin. Townsmen laughed heartily at this clodhopper who ranged the countryside on an expensive horse after chasing the Althingi member's only daughter from dusk till dawn. Horse-dealers stopped him on the main road, poked at the horse's teeth, made a fool of the owner when he had ridden away, and made up their minds to foist an even worse horse on him as soon as they had swindled him out of his present one.

It was one Sunday just before Midsummer Day and an election meeting was to be held at Utirauthsmyri. The minister made use of the opportunity to hold a service beforehand. One or two of the electors drifted on to the scene too early, timing their arrival so badly that they were let in for the service; otherwise the increasing interest in politics appeared to indicate that the public were beginning to believe that their affairs were governed from earth here, and not from heaven. Gvendur arrived at a gallop just as the service was about to begin. A small group of crofters standing outside the entrance to the horse-pen greeted him with a sly grin because he had not gone to America. Some of them looked the racehorse over coldly, with disapproval. He stole a quick glance at the big two-storeyed house with its third floor of gable attics, to see if anyone had noticed him when he rode in on his horse. But in a mansion so famous no one came to the windows to gaze on vanity; all he saw was the poetess's flowery plants spreading their lovely petals in the rays of the sun. He hoped that the Bailiffs family had already gone in to the service. He entered the church and, choosing a seat near the door, sat down and looked around to see if she were anywhere about. After a few moments of anxious search he caught sight of her, sitting in the front row, almost directly below the pulpit. She had a red hat on. There were a number of people between her and him, he could just make out the hat between all the heads. Through him there passed the sort of current that makes the lungs too big and the heart too small and the ear too sensitive for music; he felt as if the hymn would drive him mad; there was a mist before his eyes as well. Time passed and passed, and still the congregation went on braying away at the hymn as if they would never cease. How was he to get near her? What would be the best method of arranging a rendezvous so that the others would not notice? Ought he to wait until the end of the service, nudge her as she was passing him on her way out, and whisper: "Come round the corner with me, there's something I want to say to you? " No, to nudge a girl in church is an imseemly and wholly unpardonable act; especially if it is such a girl; and more especially still if it is to ask her to come round the corner. It would be a different story entirely if he were to invite her out to the horse-pen to take a look at a horse. But presently it occurred to him that probably people were not allowed to mention horses in church, for in all the Scriptures there is not one single reference to a horse, only an ass at the most. As if through a mist he saw the minister approach the altar and utter a loud cry. Then he began singing some long rigmarole, and everyone stood up, and she stood up, and he saw that she was wearing a blue coat. No girl in all the world had such lovely shoulders; anyone could see that they weren't intended for heavy burdens. Her golden curls peeped from under her hat, an expensive hat in keeping with the solemnity of the occasion. She looked proud and upright, as was only natural on a Sunday morning in church; if only she would look around, just for a second or two, so that he could transmit to her the current of his love. But what if she couldn't be bothered to look at other folk's horses, she who had a whole stable at her disposal? Unless he were to offer to make her a present of the horse? It was an expensive horse, pretty near a thousand crowns, and yet if she would accept it he would be ready and willing to return home on foot, yes, crawling on all fours even, if she liked. And this was the very thing he was longing to tell her most; he had been her devoted slave from the first moment he set eyes on her, she could command him to do anything she cared to think of-ride, walk, crawl on all fours. Already he had sacrificed to her the greatest country in the world, the land of infinite opportunity where one could be whatever one pleased and need not just keep on doing something in utter imbecility. Yes, and they had lain on the banks of the lake, and there had been two swans, a he and a she. But what could have happened to them? They had disappeared, surely it hadn't been illusion merely; no, no, no, she had loved him and then had ridden away from him, out into the blue-