Saemundur wants us to have a child.
Am I fit? Probably not. My illness could worsen. I could erupt into a full-blown Birdie one of these days. Worse yet, our child could bear these same mood-sick genes.
Or she could be born with teeth cutting through her gums. Or both.
In Havamal, that slender tome of Viking wisdom, it says, A man's fate should be firmly hidden to preserve his peace of mind. My ancestors believed we emerge into this world with a peculiar fate tucked inside like a seed that unfurls itself over the course of our lives. Our deaths are with us from birth. What matters is not our fate but what we make of it. These days, many believe our fate is sealed by our genes, passed down through the generations in endlessly recombining combinations of DNA. Genes unfurling like seeds throughout our lives, diseases blooming in our veins, dooming us sure as any fate bestowed by God or gods.
Leave it to an entrepreneurial Icelander to capitalize on Iceland's obsession with genealogy he's starting a company that will catalog and then rent out to the world's scientists Iceland's uniquely chronicled gene pool. The nation is debating the project hotly at the moment, the potential for abuse-ah, the conspiracy theories Birdie would have fabricated!-the potential for discovering the sources of multitudes of diseases. Even identifying the gene for bipolar disorder.
But none of this helps me now. Saemundur could leave me if I won't have a child. Or I could leave him. Fly back to New York. Don't ask me. I'm no volva, I've got no gift of prophecy.
I live surrounded by my people, the living and the dead.
I still miss them both, every day, my two mothers. The gentle one with her spruce green eyes, the wild one with her moods shifting like lake weather.
And even though you aren't you anymore, not the you I was hoping to find, I wish you nothing but the best. Do you remember how to say goodbye in Icelandic?
Bless bless.
Acknowledgments
I must first thank my mother, Edith Bjornson, for so generously sharing her memories, books, family papers, and many, many hours of conversation.
I am very grateful to my steadfast supporters and early readers of the manuscript: Madeline Sunley, Elizabeth Pollet, Atsuro Riley, Amy Blackstone, Marjory Nelson, Susan Fleming, Vanessa Barrington, Vicky Funari, and Charles Baldwin. Special thanks to Paula Harris and Celia Sack for loaning me a place to write.
In Canada I wish to thank Nelson Gerrard, the local historian and genealogist whose remarkable book Icelandic River Saga put me under the spell of my ancestors. A huge debt is owed to both Nelson and Sigrid Johnson, Head of the Icelandic Collection at the University of Manitoba, for their careful reading and correcting of the manuscript; any remaining errors are my own. Thanks also to Tommi Finnbogason and Stefan Jonsson.
In Iceland I would like to thank Anna Nora Arnadottir, Sveinn horgrims- son, Finnbogi Gu6mundsson, Ingibjorg horsteinsdottir, Agusta Arnadottir, Gunnar Kjartansson, Johanna Stefansdottir, Ottar Kjartansson, Hrefna Robertsdottir, Eirikur Kolbeinn Bjornsson, Halldora Hreggvi'sdottir, Arni Geirsson, Margret Loa Jonsdottir, Stefania Hrafnkelsdottir, Bolivar Kvaran and his wife, Lilla, and the Institute of Gunnar Gunnarsson and its director, Skuli Bjorn Gunnarsson.
I am deeply grateful to my agent, Katherine Cowles, for making it happen, and my editor, George Witte, for his insightful guidance. I would also like to thank my copy editor, Susan M.S. Brown, and the staff of St. Martin's Press.
And especially Oliver Kay, for everything.
The Tricking of Freya Page 38
