The Perfect Landscape Read Online Free PDF Page B

department,” Hanna says for want of something to say. “The broken glass, I mean.” She is upset. There’s something rather disconcerting about seeing a work of art treated in this way, especially when it’s designed to honor someone’s memory. It’s like a physical assault with no obvious motive.
    Steinn walks right up to the pillar and peers at the concrete, running his hand over the rough, soiled surface. Something about his touch catches Hanna’s attention, and for a moment they stand in silence while he carefully feels the surface with his fingertips. She feels the slight drizzle on her face, catches the scent of pine needles in the air. She’s not on her guard with Steinn; on the contrary, his presence gives her strength. He is a good man, quite simply a good guy.
    “I know how we can clean this up,” he says slowly but with a smile, as if to reassure her there’s no need to worry. “It’ll take time, but it’s doable. See, the bronze is sealed, the paint won’t seep in. And the concrete on the pillar can be sandblasted and cleaned, with nitromors, for example,” he says more to himself, lowering his voice.
    “The bust can be cleaned with a special preprepared mixture,” he adds, loud enough for Hanna to hear. Pulling the camera out of his pocket, he walks around the statue andphotographs what needs to be cleaned and repaired. Hanna also circles the work of art, examining the spray-painting for something legible. At one point she can make out some initials, but they are unclear and she can’t tell whether or not they are part of the overall graffiti on the statue.
    “What do they hope to achieve?” says Hanna more into thin air than looking for an answer.
    “It’s good to get things fixed,” says Steinn, not responding to her question. “Restores your faith in life. Faith that even though things can go badly, it’s still possible to get them back on track again.”
    Hanna looks at him, his trustworthy expression, broad shoulders, and strong hands. She sits down on a bench nearby, in the shadow of the pines. The dark treetops contrast with the leaden sky. The spruces are taller than the pines; some of the tops are bowed or bent over. There are no birds anywhere to be seen. Not a sound can be heard other than Steinn’s footsteps as he treads on the gravel around the sculpture. Hanna senses the closeness of the wood. Is it really possible to get your life back on track when something unfortunate happens, as Steinn was saying? She looks at the tree trunks and the dusk. There is something timeless about a wood, no trace of human intervention. The tiredness washes over her again; she stops mulling things over and relaxes.
    Five hundred years ago Leonardo da Vinci wrote about the nuances of light in nature, about sunlight dappling on leaves, on the surface of running water. How smoke rising from a bonfire in a forest clearing has a bluish tinge against the dark background. Such as this forest floor. The smoke is bluest if the timber is dry and if the sun’s rays reach it, Leonardo wrote, and his words capture a fleeting moment from long ago.
    Hanna sits there motionless. Suddenly Steinn is standing before her—he has finished taking the photographs. “All done,” he says, and she smiles up at him absentmindedly, because she has managed to forget her troubles for a while. Naturally warmhearted, Steinn smiles back, a smile that lights up his gray eyes. Hanna circles the statue once more, avoiding the broken glass scattered on the ground. They are just about to head back to the gallery when they hear footsteps and a man with a large camera emerges into the clearing. The papers have evidently been informed as well, thinks Hanna as she greets the photographer from the national paper. People don’t just phone the gallery; they also call the press. Hanna and Steinn watch as he photographs the damage.
    “Have you seen anything this bad before?” asks Hanna, assuming that a newspaper photographer will