The Fish Can Sing Read Online Free

intervals; the meat we salted down ourselves in a barrel to last the whole year. At the other end of the shed lived Gráni and Skjalda; so the smell of oil and the tang of smoke at our place was mixed with the scent not only of grass, but of a horse and cow as well.
    And still this day of high summer continued to pass …
    And now, as I sat there in the vegetable garden playing bymyself on this summer day, with the bluebottle buzzing and the hens clucking and grandfather’s net-hut half open and the sun shining from a sky with as much brightness as a sun can have in this mortal world, I saw a man come walking past the wall of the churchyard, staggering beneath a monstrous load on his back, a cram-full bushel sack. He jostled his way with the sack through our turnstile-gate, which was only about two feet wide, so there was no mistaking that he was on his way to visit us. I really cannot remember whether I knew him then, but I always knew him when I saw him thereafter. He was one of those odd-job-men who lent a hand occasionally; he went out in the boat with grandfather sometimes, or helped him clean the fish. He had a little place in the Skugga district, I think, and a brood of starving children, but that does not concern us here. I think he was called Jói of Steinbær. I am only telling what happened to him at Brekkukot because I have never been able to get it out of my mind, and because my own story would somehow not be complete if I did not record it here. But before I tell this story, I want above all to warn people against thinking that they are about to hear something epic or spectacular.
    The man laid his sack down on the paving at the cottage and seated himself upon it, wiping the sweat from his brow with his sleeve. He addressed himself to me, a mere boy at this time, and said, “Is your grandfather, Björn the skipper, at home?”
    When my grandfather came out of the net-hut and round to the paving where the sun sparkled on the fish-scales, the visitor rose from the sack and fell to his knees beside his burden, took off his cap and began to wring it, lowered his head and said, “I stole these peats from you last night, Björn, from your peat-stack over there next to the wall of the shed.”
    “Is that so?” said my grandfather. “That was a wicked thing to do. And it’s only about a week since I gave you a sack of peats.”
    “Yes, and I’ve scarcely slept a wink all night because of my conscience,” said the thief. “I didn’t even have any appetite for my coffee this morning. I know I’ll never have another day’s happiness until you have forgiven me.”
    “Quite so,” said Björn of Brekkukot. “But at least you can try tostand up straight while we are talking. And put your cap on.”
    “I feel as if I will never be able to stand up straight again all my life,” said the thief, “let alone put my cap on.”
    My grandfather solemnly took a pinch of snuff:
    “Yes, it’s hardly to be expected that you would be feeling light-hearted after a deed like that,” he said. “Can I offer you a pinch of snuff?”
    “Thank you for offering,” said the thief, “but I feel I scarcely deserve it.”
    “Have it your own way,” said my grandfather. “But in a case like this I need to do a little thinking. Won’t you come inside and have a cup of coffee while we discuss this?”
    They left the stolen goods in the middle of the paving and went inside. And the sun shone on the sack of peats.
    They went into the living-room.
    “Have a seat and show us some cheer,” said my grandfather. The thief put his crumpled cap beneath the chair and sat down.
    “Yes, it’s wonderfully fine weather we’re having now,” said my grandfather. “I do believe there has been fishing-weather every single day since April.”
    “Yes,” said the thief, “it’s wonderfully fine weather.”
    “I have seldom set eyes on such spring haddock as this year’s,” said my grandfather. “Rosy-fleshed, and