Season of the Witch Read Online Free PDF

leaving in droves. And now investment capital is pouring in.”
    “But is this really the end of the population drain?” I object, probably more to keep the conversation going than because I actually disagree with her. “Isn’t it simply a question of foreigners coming in to replace the Icelanders who’ve left for the capital?”
    “Have you got something against foreigners?”
    “Not at all,” I hasten to reply, recalling the arguments I had put to Trausti Löve on the phone. “All I mean is that a new regional imbalance takes over from the old one. So do we want a regional imbalance here in Iceland, or a global one?”
    It’s not so very long since I had an encounter with bigots, and it opened my eyes to my own prejudices. My new insight into my own position led me to a better understanding of where other people stand. I’m doing my best to grow up, but I take care not to rush the process.
    Jóa seems to be reading my mind. “Is Gunnsa’s black boyfriend still around?”
    “Raggi? Oh, yes. Thank goodness. He’s a fine young man.”
    “But it was a shock at first, wasn’t it?”
    “Yep, a serial shock,” I admit ruefully. “First that my little Gunnsa was a fourteen-year-old adolescent. Then that she, as an adolescent, had started smoking. Then that she had a boyfriend. And finally that he was black. How much more could I be expected to take?”
    “And then you had a crush on Rúna, his mom?”
    I don’t know what to say. “Yeah…something like that. I don’t know…”
    “So is it over?”
    “Mind your own business! I don’t know. I suppose so. I haven’t spoken to Rúna for a while. I’ve found it hard to settle things in my mind. I’m still growing up.”
    So much for growing up.
    “You can’t have been that into her. When you can’t make up your mind, that’s usually what it’s about.”
    “Maybe that’s it. Perhaps somewhere in my unconscious I had a midlife fantasy of a nice little nuclear family. A bit unconventional and cobbled together, but a nuclear family all the same.”
    We don’t speak for a while. There isn’t much traffic on the mountain road. The landscape through the car windshield grows gradually more monotonous, reminiscent of a velvety black carpet with specks of dust here and there.
    “Are you seeing anyone at the moment?” I ask.
    “Not at this precise moment,” replies Jóa, firmly ending that line of conversation.
    I switch the radio on. On Channel 1 a church service is in progress. The pastor proclaims:
    Today is Palm Sunday. And who was feted with palm leaves on this day, more than two thousand years ago? Jesus rode into Jerusalem as the triumphant Messiah. All around him people waved their palm leaves, giving him a hero’s welcome. But a week later that had all changed, and the crowds encircled him shouting, “Crucify him!”
    He goes on expatiating about Christ’s final days in this life, which we recall now, during the most important week of the church year.
    Holy Week is not a period of self-indulgence and gluttony, but of prayer and penitence. We are called to join Christ on his final journey and share his pain, for suffering is part of human life. And his story assures us that suffering is not pointless—not his, not our own. Jesus said: “Father, forgive them, for they know not what theydo.” And those words have meaning for all of us sinners—not only for those who crucified Christ at Golgotha. And also the words that, if we wish to be disciples of Christ, we too must shoulder his cross and follow every day in his footsteps. The cross of suffering is an indispensable aspect of the life of all Christians. The events of Holy Week serve to help us understand the suffering in our own lives…
    “Thanks for that contribution, Einar.” Jóa reaches out to turn the radio off. “I think that’s enough suffering for now.”
    The first time I went to Reydargerdi, it was the middle of winter; the sun vanished from the sky shortly after midday, as