CoDex 1962

by Sjón

  — Right, here we go …

  They climbed out of the car and walked round behind it. The prisoner had not made a sound since they raced out of the alley by the slaughterhouse.

  — Is he, do you think he might be…?

  Sighed Leo.

  — I very much doubt it.

  Answered Pushkin, putting a hand on his shoulder.

  — This car is designed especially for this kind of transport. But we’d better proceed with caution, all the same. Either the drug has put him to sleep or he was knocked out when the car bumped out into the road, or …

  Pushkin raised a finger; he was in his element.

  — Or he’s lying there, having squeezed out the sock and freed himself from his bonds, waiting to take us by surprise. After all, this is the one-time Nordic hammer-throwing champion.

  He lowered his voice:

  — But we might have just the thing to deal with that.

  Opening the medical bag of tricks, which seemed to contain yet another chemical weapon, he took out a rubber tube and a gas canister with a tap. He squeezed the tube into the spout and pushed the other end under the lid of the boot. Then he popped an amphetamine pill and turned on the tap. After a lengthy pause:

  — If Mr Karlsson is not in the Land of Nod by now, I must be dreaming that I’m standing in the middle of the night on Öskjuhlíd hill pumping Lysergene gas into the alcoholic twin brother of a convicted murderer, who is, nota bene, in the boot of my car. With me is a giant black man dressed in a Mexican wrestling costume that’s rather on the tight side and the Czechoslovakian Jew, Jón Jónsson, I’m sorry, I mean the Icelander, Leo Loewe, a sorcerer who has in his possession the clay image of a small boy. Later in my dream this little figurine will come to life and perform a variety of miracles. But that is material for another dream.

  As he spoke these words the terrifying sequence of events began. The whole thing was like one of those appallingly violent comics that are banned in Iceland. The dream-character forced his way out of the car boot with the door on his shoulders, quite unlike the man they had originally bundled in there: his jacket and shirt had burst off his body but by great good fortune his hands and feet were still bound – and he still had the sock gag in his mouth.

  That didn’t last long.

  The man turned blue in the face, his eyes popped out on stalks, and his throat rattled with deep sucking sounds as he swallowed the pair of socks. (Leo retched as the bundle of synthetic fibres bulged in the man’s throat before sinking like the moon down his oesophagus, lifting his ribcage on the way.) The stay in the car boot had done him no good at all.

  Már C. flung back his head and howled like a beast. Every single bird on Öskjuhlíd hill flew off whatever perch it had found, whether twig, tussock or rock. And then ghastly things began to happen to the face of the former parliament attendant: the bones of his skull behaved as if they were made of liquid plastic: his forehead sloped back, the root of his nose and lower jaw thrust outwards as if punched from inside by a clenched fist. His eyes changed colour, from sky blue to yellow, his pupils became black slits. And the fangs burst out of his gums, flashing like scimitars.

  — What the hell is going on with these brothers?

  Pushkin glanced round for an escape route. Anthony ducked his head between his shoulders, the instinctive wrestler’s reaction, and retreated a few paces as part of the same tactic. The man continued his metamorphosis, tearing off his fetters; hair sprang out all over his body at the exertion, and, in the blinking of an eye, muscles had begun to ripple where before there had been flab. He opened his jaws wide and licked them with his long wolfish tongue. And then Leo saw what he so desperately needed: there was the gold in the wisdom tooth of Már, who was of course none other than the stamp dealer Hrafn W. Karlsson. Why hadn’t he realised it before? Of course the villain had made his pathetic wretch of a brother take the rap for him. It all made sense.

  Hrafn turned his head towards my father, saliva foaming at the corners of his mouth, his eyes blazing like funeral pyres in a hurricane. He extended his claws, a murderous weapon flashing on every finger, and braced himself to pounce on Leo. But he hesitated. My father drew out a pistol, an ancient weapon that he proceeded to load so nimbly that Pushkin and Brown could hardly believe their eyes.

  The werewolf howled with fury when Leo tore a silver cufflink from his shirt (for this is how mystics are generally attired) and rammed it down the barrel of the firearm. The savage beast gathered itself in a leap and vanished into the night. My father threw the keys to his friends.

  — Meet me at Ingólfsstræti!

  Anthony Brown caught them in the air and my father ran off after the monster. Thunder rumbled over Faxafloi Bay…’

  VII

  (Anniversaries)

  18

  ‘Darkness; birth of Confucius.

  In 413 BC Nicias’ fleet disperses during a lunar eclipse. The Spartans see nothing terrifying in the workings of the heavens and proceed to massacre the Athenians.

  Then 1,958 years later Alessandro Farnese, Duke of Parma, is born. When he is seventeen, the composer Hans Leo Hassler is born. Seven years pass before Pope Pius bestows the title of Grand Duke of Tuscany on none other than Cosimo I de’ Medici. In 1576 the great plague lays low the painter Titian and in 1583 the composer Simon Besler is born. He is exactly two years old when the Duke of Parma captures Antwerp and eighteen when Olivier van Noort completes the first Dutch circumnavigation of the New World.

  Then in 1610 the Polish King Wladyslaw is elected Tsar of Russia, in 1619 Frederick, the Elector Palatine, assumes the crown of Bohemia, and in 1626 the Battle of Lutter am Barenberge breaks out. It ends with the Catholic League trouncing King Christian IV of Denmark. In 1628 the Sultan of Java attacks Batavia, two years before the birth of the flower painter Maria van Oosterwyck, and a whole thirteen years before the composer Johann Samuel Welter first sees the light of day. In 1667 the existence of hurricanes is first recorded in print. This happens in Jamestown, Virginia. So much for the seventeenth century.

  The fires of the Mývatn eruption surround the church at Reykjahlíd and the lava flows into the lake, where it can still be seen today. The lava still feels warm when Johann Georg Hamann is born in 1730; his hobby is playing the lute. Then we have to wait until 1770 for the birth in Germany of Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel, none other than the inventor of dialectic. And he is no more than a six-year-old boy when the English defeat the American rebels in the Battle of Long Island. Then in 1783 the first hydrogen balloon in the history of mankind is launched into the air and reaches an altitude of 2,952 feet. It is unmanned, and only six years later the French National Assembly issues its Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen. In 1798 the Castlebar Races take place in Ireland, in which the French army routs the English.

  Anyway, in 1813 Napoleon defeats the Austrians at Dresden, and in 1816 Lord Exmouth bombards the nest of corsairs at Algiers, while the music critic, composer and music teacher Hermann Kipper is born exactly ten years after that piece of ethnic cleansing. In 1828, meanwhile, Uruguay achieves independence following peace talks between Brazil and Argentina. And four years later Black Hawk, chief of the Sauk Indians, surrenders to the white man. In 1837 yet another composer is born, Heinrich Urban, who is already an accomplished musician (after all, he is twelve) when the Mexican nation gives birth to the poet Manuel Acuña who is to be famous for his nocturne. The Italian mathematician Giuseppe Peano of Cuneo, on the other hand, enters the world a year before Edwin Drake becomes the first man to successfully drill for oil. That is in 1859 and will bring various changes in its wake, both economic and social, in the six years that pass before the birth of Emmuska “Scarlet Pimpernel” Orczy.

  She is two years old when a volcanic eruption breaks out in the Vatnajökull ice-cap in Iceland. That same day Umberto Giordano is added to the tale of the living and of composers. Then the writer Theodore Dreiser is born in 1871. Then the chemist Carl Bosch is born in 1874. Then the au
tomobile manufacturer Charles Stewart Rolls is born in 1877. Then the composer Joseph John Richards is born in 1878. Then it is a sad day in 1879 when Rowland Hill, the man who invented the postage stamp, dies in his eighty-fourth year. His contribution to civilisation cannot be overestimated. In 1882 Jaroslav Křička, composer, and Hubert Marischka, director of the 1941 Viennese comedy Invitation to the Dance, are born. They are only twelve months old when the island of Krakatoa erupts with a force of 1,300 megatons. The tremor is felt over much of the world, including Iceland.

  The astronomer A. Borrelly spots asteroid number 240 and calls it Vanadis. That is in 1884. The year of 1886 is well endowed with composers, for that is when Rebecca Clarke and Eric Coates are born, the latter also known for his skill on the viola. A year later we turn to Stadarhraun in Mýrasýsla county, Iceland, where the boy Jónas Gudlaugsson is born. Now time passes and Man Ray is born in 1890 in Philadelphia, and on his second birthday no one can talk of anything but the fire at the city’s Metropolitan Opera House. In 1896 the English defeat the inhabitants of Zanzibar in the “Thirty-eight-minute War” which lasts from 9.02 to 9.40 a.m.

  In 1897 A. Charlois observes asteroid number 427 and names it Galene. In 1899 Cecil Scott Forester is born; he will write the Horatio Hornblower series. In 1900 the Battle of Bergendal takes place in which General Buller of the British Empire team wipes the floor with the army of the Boers and their leader Botha. Then I think we’ve reached the age of inventions.

  In the first year of the new century, the present century, the Ritz brother Al enters the world. The following year the composer Herbert Menges is born, while in 1903 Xavier Villaurrutia, a Mexican poet who wrote about the nightlife of angels, is born. The next piece of news is that in 1908, at Stonewall in Texas, the Johnsons have a boy whom they christen Lyndon B. Two years earlier Max Wolf observed asteroid number 605 and called it Juvisia. In 1909 the saxophonist Lester “Prez” Young and the cycling champion Sylvère Maes are born. Then in Macedonia the child Anjezë Gonxhe Bojaxhiu enters the world; later the street children of Calcutta will name her both Mother and Teresa.

  In 1912 Edgar Rice Burroughs publishes the novel Tarzan of the Apes. And exactly a year later the philosopher Donald Mackenzie MacKinnon is born. The same day a historic aeronautic event takes place in Kiev when Lieutenant Pyotr Nesterov, of the Imperial Russian Air Service, takes to the air and completes a backward loop in his monoplane. On the second day of the war in 1914 the Germans bomb Usdau in the Battle of Tannenberg, while out on the cold North Sea the trawler Skúli fógeti hits a mine and sinks. On the same day asteroid number 794 appears in the telescope of Mr Palisa. He names it Irenaea. Two years pass and then Romania declares war on the Austro-Hungarian Empire.

  In 1922 the aloof Finnish runner Paavo Nurmi sets a world record in the 3,000 metres of 8:28.6. Three years pass before the birth of the drummer and band leader, Tony Crombie, who is to drive Reykjavík wild in the spring of 1957. The year of 1928 is eventful: sixteen people die in the second worst accident in the history of the New York subway; sixty-two nations sign the Kellogg–Briand Pact, thereby outlawing war from the world, and Mangosuthu Gatsha Buthelezi, the Zulu leader, enters the world. A year later the discus-thrower Elizabeta Bagrintseva is born in the USSR and the writer Ira Levin in the USA.

  The International Peace Convention is inaugurated in Amsterdam in 1932, on the same day as the births take place of the cosmonaut Mikhail Nikolayevich Burdayev and the composer François Glorieux; a strike by 200,000 English textile factory workers also begins. In 1935 P. Shajn hits the jackpot by discovering two asteroids on the same day, number 1369 Ostanina and number 1387 Kama. Then Alice Coltrane and Tommy Sands are born in 1938, when George E.T. Eyston sets a new world land-speed record of 345.49 mph. That year there is a banquet in Paris at which an unfortunate incident occurs when the Chilean artist Oscar Dominguez throws a glass at the Romanian Victor Brauner who loses an eye. Erich Warsitz becomes the first man to fly a jetplane, a Heinkel He 178. The same day, in 1939, his countrymen in the government of Hitler’s Germany demand the right to rule the Polish Corridor and Danzig. Thus begins the Second World War. The following year there is another historic moment for aviation when the Caproni-Campini CC-2 jet makes a successful maiden flight in Milan. In the United States the jazz guitarist Warren Harding “Sonny” Sharrock is born, while G. Strommer is fortunate enough to locate asteroid number 1537, which he names Transylvania.

  In 1941 the cosmonaut Yuri Vasilyevich Malyshev, who will fly both Soyuz T-2 and T-11, is born, while down south in Persia the Shah abdicates in favour of his son Reza Pahlavi. The actress Tuesday Weld is born in 1943 and the following year the composer Barry Cunningham is born. That day 200 Halifax planes attack oil refineries in Hamburg. In 1945 American forces land in Japan following the capitulation of Emperor Hirohito, “son of the Sun”. A year later in Iceland the first car makes it over the Siglufjördur pass after the road has been ploughed and graded for eleven years in a row.

  In 1951 the exhibition galleries of the Icelandic National Gallery are formally opened in the National Museum building. In 1952 Emil Zátopek wins the twelfth Olympic marathon in a time of 2:23:03.2. In 1955 the Guinness Book of Records is published for the first time. In 1957 the Americans conduct an experimental explosion of an atom bomb in the Nevada Desert.

  In 1958 they explode one in the South Atlantic while the Soviet Union launches Sputnik III with two dogs on board. In 1960 Anita Lonsbrough sets a swimming world record in the 200 metres breaststroke of 2:49.5.

  In 1961 “Tiger Trainer” Miss Mabel Stark appears on the American TV show What’s my Line?.’

  * * *

  ‘So what?’

  ‘None of these came close to the miracle that took place in the kitchen of the basement flat at 10a Ingólfsstræti in 1962, on 27 August, at five minutes past eleven:

  When I was born.

  Later that same day the Soviets exploded a 4,000 megaton atom bomb on Novaya Zemlya, while the Americans launched Mariner II which went all the way to Venus.

  I call those pretty good omens.’

  19

  ‘It was nearly eleven in the morning by the time Leo had melted the gold from Hrafn W.’s tooth and the solar cross. He poured it into the mould and waited for it to cool.

  The battle with the philatelic werewolf had ended on top of the water tanks. The cold autumn wind ruffled the monster’s fur as he loomed against the moon, which was shining fitfully through the clouds. My father stayed at a safe distance. Hrafn stood on the brink, rocking menacingly so the moonlight shone on and off in my father’s eyes. Hrafn was obviously planning to push my father over the edge, letting gravity and the rocks crush every bone in his body. He sprang.

  Leo Loewe crouched with lightning speed. The werewolf flew over him, landing on his back with a heavy thud. The brute howled with pain and lay motionless for some time, naturally hoping that his enemy would make the mistake of checking to see whether he was completely done for, at which point he would devour him. When it became clear that this wasn’t going to happen, he rolled over on his stomach and wearily climbed to his feet.

  My father stood with legs braced, holding the pistol straight out in front of him in classic shooting pose, ready to fire at the werewolf which was approaching him with slow steps.

  — Damn …

  Growled Hrafn W. Karlsson indistinctly, his coarse wolf’s tongue better shaped for lapping up blood than forming words. He threw in the towel.

  — I’m far too old for all this …

  My father retreated a step and pulled back the trigger so the monster would see that he was serious about using the weapon. The other barked:

  — Take the bloody thing, then …

  The stamp dealer reached with the long bestial nails of his thumb and forefinger into his mouth and plucked out his wisdom tooth as if there were nothing to it. He flung it at my father who caught it in the air.

  His fist closed over the tooth. The moon disappeared behind a cloud.
<
br />   When it shone out again Hrafn W. Karlsson had vanished.

  Leo broke the mould off the signet ring. He polished it and drew it on to the middle finger of his right hand. His work would soon be complete. He went out into the living room and woke Anthony and Pushkin who were sleeping there in chairs. They hurriedly rose to their feet and followed him into the kitchen where they took up position on either side of the table while Leo went into the pantry and fetched the hatbox.

  He laid it on the table, took off the lid and unfolded one cloth after the other, all of the finest silk, which flowed over the sides like living tissue. He carefully lifted the clay child from the box and laid it on the table. Then he drew the ring from his finger, pronounced a few well-chosen words and pressed the seal into the clay.’

  * * *

  ‘To be born is like climbing out of a forest pool into burning sunlight; one moment you’re boiling, the next you get goose flesh.’

  * * *

  ‘Leo wrapped me, the shivering baby, in the eiderdown he had bought long ago, and stooped over me, crooning. In the eighteen years that had passed since his arrival in Iceland he had amassed all the things necessary for looking after a child. Anthony and Pushkin gaped as romper-suits in every colour of the rainbow emerged from drawers and cupboards, along with nappies and flannels, underwear, rattles and pinwheels, bottles and dummies, jumpers and hats, socks and mittens, teddy bears and dolls that would have sufficed for a whole children’s crusade.

  I was no longer dormant clay but a purple boy who wriggled and grizzled as my father put on my nappy and dressed me in a soft cotton top and sky-blue romper-suit decorated with lilies.

  Anthony nipped out into the passage and returned with a small book that he laid at my feet.