Epilogue of the Raindrops


The novel Eftirmáli regndropanna, translated to English by Bernard Scudder.

About the book:

When Anton doses his barbershop 'for the summer holiday', in order to clean it out, he strips the bikini from his tailor's dummy and leaves it standing out in the interminable rain. When it falls, its cracked head bleeds into the gutter ...
    The Reverend Daniel and his wife Sigrid arrive from a remote village to take up the largest parish in the city. But neither church  nor the suburb it serves have yet been built. Daniel puts on his boilersuit and sets to work with the builders. Inspired by the American Forces Network, and to the dismay of the Bishop, he's soon writing pop songs alongside his hymns. But is he playing the mouth organ in the band?
    Beneath the fox heads and the whale skeleton a story to last as long as the homebrewed ale is being told. A shipload of drowned sailors haunts everyone's dreams – and wreaks havoc among the 'easy and loose women' of the town. Will the elves, whose age-old rock homes are threatened by the cranes and earthmovers, allow the car park to he built?
  The storm rages, intermittently and abruptly subsiding into vertically falling rain. Floods are commonplace, disruption endemic.
(from the publisher)

Excerpt from Epilogue of the Raindrops:

The Dwarfs' Pledge and a Dream Aflame

There are white spectres stepping out of dreams, dead birds flying out of eyes

Angels appear hovering on jet-black wings and archetypal birds of ill omen with ogres’ heads visit the children who are innocently asleep in their beds in the apartment blocks.

Furious dwarfs appear to them, too, and elves with clenched fists aloft who pledge to continue building their shacks and defend their mysterious boulders at least until the foreman goes off his chump.

Then the children laugh.

Their malicious laughter fills the flats and floats out through the windows and into the darkness.

Of course their parents find this strange.

Anxiously they wonder why their children have suddenly started laughing in their sleep instead of talking.

While not far from the large blocks which in reality are many times larger than any bird of ill omen in a dream could ever be...

Inside a house...

Inside a little, white-painted house approached by a paved path over a field of clover.

Behind closed doors, walls, curtains and lit windows.

Yes, beneath the emblazoned parlour light burn both red and fiery yellow tongues of flame.

Burn, race to burn; yet not out of the walls, parlour, paintings, organ, sofa or carpets.


Behind closed doors, walls, curtains and lit windows, beneath the emblazoned parlour light, a woman is asleep with a sewing needle between her fingers.

She sleeps in a dream and dreams in her sleep, dreams with erupting fires in her soul.

Dreams, unaware that she will soon wake.