The Fish Can Sing (47 page)

This must have been the first time that the world singer was heard singing in Iceland:

There was dead silence for a moment after Gar
ar Hólm had finished this extraordinary number. Young Gú
múnsen glanced quickly round the table to study the reactions of the guests, and saw at once that no one was even smiling. As if to cover up for this unexpected entertainment he burst into a roar of laughter, shouted “Hurrah! Bravo!” and clapped vigorously. Then he looked round again and suddenly stopped laughing. No one else had clapped. The guests ate and drank in silence for a while. And then soon afterwards the merchant rose from his seat, placed two fingers to his lips, and cleared his throat genteelly; he adopted the attitudes and gestures of a trained orator, although he could not help looking a little like a small boy who was pretending to make a speech. He pushed his chair back carefully, raised his head with affected composure, and blinked a few times while he was searching for the right opening; and then the speech came:

“I am going to permit myself to say a few words to welcome our world-famous friend, who is so famous that if we could for a moment imagine just how overwhelming his fame really is, no one here would dare to talk to him, but only talk about him -yes, and scarcely even that.”

The orator now threw a glance at his wife to see whether she was not feeling rather proud at having a husband who knew how to get up and make a speech.

In the style of some skilled orators or other he had in mind he now conjured up a little text on which to build his thesis; it was from the German Primer:

“As it says in a famous book,” said merchant Gú
múnsen:

“Ein Englander der kein Wort Französisch sprechen konnte reiste nach Paris.”

At this the orator looked hard at his wife. There now followed a long and pregnant silence, and a few beads of sweat appeared on the tip of the orator’s nose.

“Did I say a famous man? Did I say a great man? Ahem. Yes, and I stand by that. Woe unto those who cast doubt on that. Isn’t that true, Herr editor? And yet Gar
ar Hólm is not too big to have been more or less a member of this family at this table for more than ten years, even though his fame is now at its height, not least since he began to earn his living in front of Mohammed ben Ali and the Pope. To put it briefly:
Italia terra est
. Ha-ha-ha! Cheers, my dear compatriots. May I drink your health?

“Now then, to get back to what I was going to say. Ahem.

“For all those years, ever since he was a shop-assistant downstairs in the liquor shop here, Gar
ar Hólm, otherwise known as little Georg from Hríngjarabær, that is to say Georg Hansson, has been my brother and son; and not just my brother and son and my wife’s and my father’s, but also my wife’s and my daughter’s brother and son. As it were –
Sardinia insula est
.

“We live in a new age. In the old days, when my father was in his prime, people contented themselves with a drop of liquor, which only cost them twenty-five
aurar
a quart anyway; and the most that sober fishermen could achieve was to put aside a few sovereigns in their sea-chests for their heirs. But now the only way to run a fishing business is to own a bank; or at least to have connections with money institutions. And indeed, we have not only put machines in our ships and we are not only buying trawlers as fast as we can, but we have also founded a bank in which the populace can hoard money. And we have hired a famous accountant, theologian, and socialist to manage this bank.

“Selling salt-fish to countries in the south isn’t enough any more. One day you go to Copenhagen as a fine gentleman, and what happens? The papers call you a salt-fish baron. Because although salt-fish is one of the most expensive cargoes that can be carried between countries by sea, because it’s so heavy when it’s pressed, salt-fish is nevertheless a laughable commodity in itself.
And what I am trying to say, my dear children, friends, relatives, and worthy compatriots, is this: salt-fish has to have a ribbon and bow. And it isn’t enough that Icelandic fish should have Danish ribbons and bows; it has to have the ribbon of international fame. In a word, we have to prove to the rest of the world that ‘the fish can sing just like a bird’. And that is why we who sell the fish have made great efforts to improve the cultural life of the nation to show and to prove, both internally and externally, that we are the people who not only haul the grey cod out of the depths of the sea but also tie a ribbon and bow round its neck for the delectation of the world, as it says in the book:
er ging in ein Wirtshaus hinein um zu Mittag zu essen
.

“I know that it surprises you, my love, that I am an educated man, because my father made me start working in the Store instead of going to Grammar School when I was a boy. I have had to learn languages at night when you had gone to sleep, my love, so that I could hold my own in refined company out in the world. But there was one thing I learned in the liquor shop downstairs, and that was never to get drunk. My motto, as my father knows, has always been ‘Machinery, not Alcohol’.”

“Yes, Gu
mundur,” old Jón Gu
mundsson said, raising his head from his porridge. “You are right. I have always been a teetotaller. I have always said that people should not have liquor, but should save their money and stay at home when they are stormbound; that’s the best entertainment for the people. And then people are glad to get away from home and out to sea again. People who drink are nothing but damned cookhouse-lubbers and idle louts. I have suffered more losses from drunkenness and idleness than any other ship-owner in Iceland.”

“Quite so, my dear father,” said young Gú
múnsen. “Absolutely. We are involved in progress. Machinery is with us now. And country clergymen like my forefather Pastor Snorri of Húsafell are no good now, even though they knew how to exorcize ghosts. Now we have to have culture. The best-looking girls want to have famous men – all except my wife, she fell in love with me. Good health, my dear, may I have the honour of proposing a toast to you? –
er setzte sich an einen Tisch und nahm die Speisekarte
.