do, but a person is constantly in a frenzy in their household, if you aren’t constantly in a frenzy the appliances send you an accusing glance so you are always guilty of not being in a frenzy with the appliances, and when you’re in a frenzy over these domestic devices, you’re guilty of not doing your literature and science, of not using the time to gain knowledge instead of being this damned slave to domestic appliances, for modern man is a slave to technology, to nothing else, everything intended to relieve human activity has made it heavier: as well as needing to know everything, you need to do everything yourself, in the past there were many people in a home and each had their role, now everyone is alone at home and has the task of doing everything; in fact, no one is at home any longer because all of us are out serving the State. Where formerly one cooked dinner, another tidied, one raised the kids, the shepherd herded the sheep, things were clear, now everything is so unclear, now everyone feels insulted, particularly women if reminded of a domestic role, there cannot be any division of labor, everyone has to do everything, know everything, and no one can be at home during the day because that would be State inequality, though no one does anything and no one can be anything but a domestic slave and nothing sensible comes from nothing … it will be nice to meet Sigurður from Tvísker, I want to tell him I’ve been a subscriber to his magazine Skaftfellingur from the beginning, although my wife was against it, because we aren’t from Skaftafell district but rather Rangárvalla district, so couldn’t I subscribe to Rangvellingur? But there is no magazine called Rangvellingur, there is the magazine Árnesingur from Árnes district but I don’t care to read it, then there’s the magazine Goðasteinn which Þórður published out in Skógar, a regional magazine for Rangvellings which bridges the gap between Rangárvalla district and Skaftafell district, a truly wonderful magazine in every way, especially the old issues, as always, I was a subscriber for a bit, kept it a secret from my wife, who thought it too extravagant to subscribe to both journals, even though she buys tons of magazines, ones that are for the sake of the household, she said, useful magazines everyone could enjoy, magazines one could look at but not just ones for me alone, my magazines were magazines for eccentrics and oddbirds, my wife said, and there was little point saying I got neither pleasure nor use out of her Life, Modern Living, The Week, Betrayal & Treachery, House & Dwellings, Massage & Home Living, Drink & Luxury, Seen and Heard, Scent & Smell, Domesticity, Improvability, The Ball of Yarn & Its Fate and so on and so forth, this bloody woman’s garbage, what’s more, she wanted to subscribe to Channel 2, that’s where I had to draw a line! What about subscribing to National Geographic? I asked, isn’t it fascinating? but she indicated that it isn’t … I want to tell Sigurður from Tvísker that Skaftfellingur is an outstanding magazine and I found his articles the most interesting, most informative and best written, I would like to tell him without any posturing, without buttering him up or getting caught up in affectations, I want to tell him this sincerely because I feel this is so profound, always, one is always playing some role, no matter what one does, no matter what one says; I will absolutely be putting on a pose, to my own inconvenience, when I tell Sigurður how much his writing affects me; I need to make sure I’m understood, to get the truth across I need to play a certain role. Strangely, when I’m castrating and killing I need to be in a role, identity is nothing but a role, I’m not the same at work as when I’m home with my family, sometimes you take the embers of your work-self home, which doesn’t sit well with those playing their home roles—it’s like a character caught between plays, but these are always our roles, oh, how exhausting they are, each role altering with each repetition, becoming a distortion of itself: something existed once but repetition has distorted it. I gear myself up for the role of speaking with the Minister of Agriculture and the Minister of Agriculture gears himself up for the role of talking to me, this preparation takes place backstage. Being yourself is definitely a role. I can only castrate and kill when I’m in my work role, a government service role, a domestic service role, talking to my mother, or making love, I can only castrate and kill if I am in my work role, and believe me, I am quite trained in this, one role takes over from another, you don’t like yourself in every role, in my home I’m barely a person, my wife sucks so much energy that I can’t wait to leave home for work, the worst thing is that I’m my best self in the role of the veterinarian, castrating and killing, in those moments I’m so strong, straightforward and purposeful, no nonsense, all the world in its right order, things working logically by themselves, the universe stable … of course the world is not at all in safe order and nothing is logical and nothing stable, I do what I need to, though deep down I despise my veterinarian role above all, perhaps that’s how it is with everything, that what you most love you hate in your heart, a subject authors understand, don’t they have a love-hate relationship with their fictions? So I’ve heard, and I thought it strange at first but now I understand it, for that’s how I am these days, my friend, a person in a role, empty inside from having devoted her life to castrating and killing, all as part of her own dream … I’m not a veterinarian, I’m an executioner …
It was Hrolllaugur from Mæri, the Interpreter interrupted, Hrolllaugur from Mæri settled Skaftafell district.
What’s that!? … Hrolllaugur! Wait there, I’ll write it down immediately, said Dr. Lassi, I knew that, surely, it had just been taken from me … Hrolllaugur … with three l-s? really? Meaning “shivering-in-a-pool”? Where’s the pen and notepad, it’s sopping, covered with the tourist’s blood … Hrolllaugur from Mæri … my friend … the hot spring must have been cold in Mæri so the little guy got chills … the dick … his dick shrank, ha ha ha, that’s why he called Hrolllaugur, I’m going to put this theory in the report, but how fares the patient and where are the sandwiches? Seems like he’s doing fine, the buttery butyric acid has helped him settle his own new land … and Sigurður? … did you hear, he’s shivering, fetch a blanket! The right thing would be to fill Flosalaug full of chlorine and alcohol and throw him in the deep end with a barrel and a life preserver, as I speak his leg and buttock are being incinerated so the pool should be warm and cozy, that would take the chilll out of the settlller … might we not say that the penis is addicted to colonization? … well, what’s the deal with that … no dicks in my life, fortunately, when they come my way I tend to cut them off and throw them in the trash, interpreter, you queen of language, are there many words in Icelandic, or any other languages, with three l-s in a row? I can think of one: loyalty points, no no no, there’s only one l at a time, where did that come from? I don’t even know what loyalty points are or how they’re relevant, I’m falling into a trance … it is best to have a pen and notepad handy, yes, I know that loyalty points are what people get when they leave the country by plane, which makes them doubly contrary to Hrolllaugur from Mæri, since Hrolllaugur reached land by ship … with his three ellls …
Ballless, said the Interpreter.
What about being ballless? Dr. Lassi asked, is the patient saying something about being ballless? Maybe he wants to know where his balls are?
There are three ells in ballless, said the Interpreter, like in Hrolllaugur from Mæri. Though I think it’s spelled with just two ells, Hrollaugur …
Shiver-eyes! cried Dr. Lassi, by which I infer that his eyes experienced tremoring, perhaps from light-sensitivity or suffering from chronic myoclonic twitches? …Anyway, you were saying?
I was just going to say that Hrollaugur was the brother of Hrólf, Duke of Normandy, the one known as Hrólf the Expeditionary, the subject of many stories in the ancient Nordic legendary sagas.
Oh yes, they’re so entertaining! You have them here?
This fellow Göngu-Hrólf, or Rolf the Walker, the brother of the Hrollaugur who settled in the Skaftafell district, Dr. Lassi’s report explained, is one of France’s national heroes, known as Rollon—he was called Hrólf and he spoke Icelandic but the French could not say Hrólf in a normal fashion, and called him Rollon, likely because he always smelled clean and fresh. Hrólf the Expeditionary was a great viking and outlaw; with his army he gained control of part of Russia, as told in Heimskringla by Snorri Sturluson and the Sagas, and he toured various lands, accruing gold,
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