His attention was drawn to the chandelier again. Now all the bulbs shone as one light that dimmed and brightened and then dimmed again. In his mind’s eye it changed into a globe that came closer and closer.
Outside it had begun to snow. The snowflakes were large and wet, and fell quickly to the ground in the still, dark night, as if the city was pulling a thick, white blanket over itself as it fell to sleep.
Diary I
June 30, 1910. While the visitors were staying with us, my father planted some birch trees along the boundary of the lot, and named the house Birkihlíd. There are fifteen of us graduating from high school this time, the first ones under the new rules. Eight were external students…
July 1, 1910. The second day of this diary. I am still not sure how to proceed with making this record. It is probably best to let the mind decide, and write whatever is uppermost in my heart each time. I met with my fellow students and friends; we decided to take a trip north by boat to Akureyri, returning south by land…
July 2, 1910. Am getting used to the diary. It is probably best to write it while waiting for supper to be served. If something important happens after that, it can be added before retiring to bed. I cycled to Hafnarfjördur today…
July 4, 1910. I discussed my forthcoming studies with my father. He has not come to terms with my intention to become an engineer. I, on the other hand, am convinced that this is the right decision and am greatly looking forward to beginning my studies in Copenhagen this fall. I begin by reading propaedeutic at Copenhagen University while attending lessons in mathematics and physics at Polyteknisk Læreanstalt, and then start the engineering course the following fall, God willing…
July 5, 1910. Vestri set sail for Akureyri from the harbor at nine o’clock this morning with us companions on board. This is a decent boat, length 160 feet, beam 26 feet, and height 17 feet to the top deck. The first class has 40 passenger cabins, the second class 32. There is a lounge for ladies and a smoking salon for men on the top deck. 24 people can dine at the same time in the dining room. There are bathing cubicles and other amenities. Helgi is seasick…
Jóhann Pálsson was woken at half past five in the morning by sounds of movement from the apartment above. He heard someone urinating, then flushing the toilet; a door closed, and whoever it was moved back across the creaky old timber floor. Then peace descended once more.
He lay still and tried to go back to sleep but his apartment was in a noisy old tenement in Hringbraut, where all sorts of sounds carried easily between floors and through walls. Jóhann began to turn things over in his mind, and this disturbed him. The task waiting for his attention at work had come into his thoughts and he tried without success to fix his mind on something else. It was no use; he was wide awake.
Jóhann sat up and switched on his bedside light. His double bed was in one corner of the bedroom, while an old desk occupied the rest of the available floor space. There was a large microscope in the center of the desk, which was otherwise covered in books, papers, and pieces of clothing.
It took him a while to get up, not because he was sleepy, but rather because his mind was elsewhere. Anyway, there was no hurry, he thought to himself. He washed his face with cold water and regarded himself in the mirror. His eyes were gray, his skin rather coarse following an adolescent spotty phase. He had a wide, slightly upturned nose and thick, unruly, mousy-colored hair. He stroked his cheek and decided to put off shaving. He planned to go to the baths at lunchtime anyway, where he liked getting into the hottest pool, submerging his head to soften the skin of his face, and then enjoying a good shave afterward.
Jóhann was in his early thirties, and worked in the detective division of the City Police in Reykjavik. By the time he was twenty-three years old, he had completed an intermediate degree in chemistry at the University of Iceland; the following fall he had traveled to America for graduate studies.
He settled down at the George Washington University campus in the center of Washington, DC, and started to prepare for his courses. While perusing the books at the university bookshop, he came across a thick book titled simply Crime Investigation. A textbook on scientific methods of police investigation, more than five hundred pages long, with innumerable pictures and drawings, Crime Investigation immediately captured Jóhann’s interest. The description of how a burglar had been caught through the examination of traces left on the plastic shoehorn he had used to loosen a bolt from a door hinge absorbed Jóhann. Three hours later he stood up, walked to the counter, and bought the book, despite its high price. Then he went straight to the university office and asked where this subject was taught. He was directed to the Forensic Science Department, where he found a professor who was amused by this eager foreigner. Jóhann was given permission to take a look at the research laboratories and the various projects the students were working on.