Chapter 50 49

【Island City】 The plane landed at Keflavik Airport, thirty miles from the Icelandic capital.I looked out the window and saw the plane taxiing slowly on the tarmac runway.The runway was slippery from the rain, and the grass was a vivid green. The terminal lobby is very quiet.The wilderness beyond can be seen through a large ring of glass.I took my backpack from the luggage carousel and exited through an empty customs.I took almost all the money I had left at the ATM, and it was in a currency I had never seen before. I step out of the automatic door and step into the outdoor air.very cold.In one day, I went from autumn to almost winter.I caught the express bus to the city center, but halfway through, the driver pulled over on the shoulder of the road without any explanation.

Passengers disembarked and stood on the deserted road, some smoking and others talking in low voices.The black asphalt road, flanked by cracked lava, was covered with moss and lichen.I stepped out of the shelter of the bus and was immediately hit by strong winds, flapping my coat and nearly being pushed over.The driver leaned against the car behind me and lit a cigarette.He waved his hand forward, beckoning me to keep going. I step off the pavement and step onto the jagged lava, balancing carefully, jumping from one rock to the next.The fragments were shiny black, and the lichens were green, coffee, and orange.I walked twenty yards, fifty yards, then turned around.The lava and lichen just kept going, no matter what direction it was.

Reykjavik is a strange and lonely place.It doesn't seem like a city at all, just some colorful houses around the bay, with corrugated roofs to protect against strong wind and rain.The dark and wild hills looming high above hinted at the primordial scene beyond. Just a trip to the windswept port made me know I needed a warmer jacket.I scoured an indoor flea market and settled on an olive green German army overcoat.The old street vendor took my money and looked at me knowingly through thick glasses, as if we shared some big secret. It's very warm.She revealed it to me. But as soon as I stepped out, I found that this coat could not help me resist the biting cold wind at all.

I stayed in a new youth hostel on a hill and it was spotless.Sitting at a table in the glass-enclosed kitchen, I wrote down a list of where the investigation might go.There are twenty-three items in the list.There are still eleven days until October 7th. I talked to jewelers and antique dealers, and even a curator at the National Museum of Iceland.They are to Isleville.Semensen knows little, other than a few anecdotes that appear in auction catalogs and surveys of Icelandic craftsmanship.These sources state that Islawell was born in 1872 and died in 1936.The elegant jewelry he produced was heavily influenced by the late Urnes style, but his production was not numerous and did not seem to be sufficient to support him as a jeweler.He was born in a village called Seydisfjordur, on the other side of the country in the Eastfjords, with many remote inlets, but there is no record of where he died, nor where he made his craft.

You guys aren't even sure where he lives? The curator sighed.He's just a little jeweler.Maybe he's been in the Eastfjords all his life.At that time, there were only small fishing villages there.no one cares where he comes from But that was not so long ago. The curator shook his head. We are lucky enough to know something about him. I went to the National Registry and checked the birth and death records.I spoke to people from the Swedish, Danish, and British embassies, and I went to Reykjavik City Hall and all relevant departments of the Icelandic government.As a result, nothing was found.It is now September 29th: I only have eight days left, and although I have a strange feeling that Yin Mozhen must have been here, I also know that there will be no real evidence.If I'm leaving Iceland I need to hurry up.

I entered a large cemetery next to the university and weaved among broken headstones, many of them centuries old, with illegible inscriptions and chiseled lettering worn smooth or covered with moss.According to the Icelandic naming tradition, many names are repeated with great solemnity: Eriksson, Eiriksdottir, Stefansson, Stefansdottir.I took a few pictures, then walked to the more recent part of the cemetery, looking for the name Soames|Anderson, but knowing it would be useless. The next morning I took the bus to the Genealogical Society of Iceland, where I had a long chat with a nice old man who had lived in New York.He seemed to find my investigation difficult.

Don't you know where this woman lives in Iceland? have no idea.Maybe east. You don't know when she came? I don't even know if she ever came So you only have her name. She may have also changed her name. The old man looked at me sympathetically. You may never be able to prove that she was here, and you may not be able to find out whether she was here.There are too many records.Assuming you know the woman's name, the town she lives in, and when she was there, you can of course search birth, death, and marriage records.But also census, church records, courts, tax and property records, newspapers, medical, passenger lists

Passenger list? Passengers on old ships.That's the scariest thing.There is no index, just a few thousand names by ship.In your example, if the woman came before the war, she must have been on a boat.But it doesn't make sense unless you know the name and date of the ship Where? where is what Passenger manifest.I want to see it. It took me several minutes to convince the old man.Finally he took out a scrap of photocopied paper and wrote the address in pencil. If you insist, go to the National Library, near the university. He picked up the paper and dangled it in mid-air. Still, if I had the chance to be young again, I'd find a better way to waste an afternoon

I took another bus to the National Library, where I rummaged through the hardcover Merchant Shipping List for passenger ships bound for Iceland from Europe.I found out that the Icelandic Steamship Company has sailings from the UK to Iceland: two ships from Leith to Copenhagen via Reykjavik, and two from Hull to Reykjavik.Bad luck for these ships.Three of the four were sunk during the war: Gullfoss was intercepted by the Germans off Copenhagen in 1940, and Gods was torpedoed by the U︱300 submarine off the coast of Iceland in 1944 , Detti was torpedoed and sunk by submarine U︱1064 off the Firth of Clyde in 1945.I requested microfilm at the reference counter of the passenger manifests of these ships in the 1920s and 1930s.

Do you know of any ships that sail from Germany to Iceland? The librarian examines my application with a frown. American Airlines in Hamburg probably has it.But we have no record of them here.There are also Danish and Norwegian ships coming here, I can give you their list It didn't take me long to discover that the old man was right.The microfilm is almost endless, and it is only sorted by the place where each ship enters the port.I scroll quickly, barely looking at the names of the passengers, just the names of the ships and shipping companies.I don't know when Yin Mozhen came or where she came from, but I keep checking.I found out that a Danish company called the Primrose sailed from Copenhagen to Reykjavik.The lists are all handwritten, in English, Danish or Icelandic, and write down the passenger's name, age, gender, embarkation and disembarkation ports, and sometimes even the occupation of the passenger.

Some names look familiar.Ganna.Anderson, thirty-eight, Husavik, fisherman.I found another ship that also called in the East Fjords, the Nova Star, belonging to the Norwegian steamship company Bergen.The route sails from Bergen to the Faroe Islands, stopping at Eskifjordur in eastern Iceland on the way to Reykjavik.The list of new asterisks dates back only to the mid-1930s.As I pulled out another box of microfilm to change, I spotted a name from the bottom of the screen. Charlotte.derby.eighteen years old.Southampton, UK.Eskifjordur. It doesn't mean anything.I know it doesn't make any sense.An English girl with the same name as my grandmother traveled to East Iceland in July 1936.It just happened to be the same age, and my grandmother was also born in 1917.But why did she come to Iceland?I lean back on the back of the swivel chair and look up at the ceiling.I imagined Charlotte coming of age in England, boarding a ship, first to Norway, then to Iceland, to visit the woman she called Auntie, while Emmogene prepared for her visit and commissioned Isleville Made the brooch with initials engraved on the back This is ridiculous.There was no reason Charlotte should travel under a false name, and if she had, she could have changed her first name instead of just her last name.It's also obvious: Charlotte is a very common name, and these lists are common names that show up, as do English names.I scan the list, looking for familiar names.There was nothing else on the Nova Asterisk list, but forty minutes later I found an Eleanor. M．Curt, forty-eight, boarded the Gods from Hull to Reykjavik in 1934.An hour later, I found a Charles.Bell, nineteen years old, was aboard the Brewer Falls from Leith to Reykjavik in 1929. I turn off the machine.I was wasting my time trying to figure out names, dates, ports just out of thin air.There must have been dozens of Eleanors, Charles, or Charlottes on these lists, and if I searched long enough, I might find an Inmogene as well.I no longer believe in my theories.I took the microfilm back to the counter. After returning to the hostel, I checked my e-mail, but Mi Rui hadn't replied yet.The only message came from Kahn. □□□ James and I are delighted to learn of the information you have found; we would be interested to see the documents relating to our contact in 1924.However, he also expresses concern that the leads you follow will not lead you to the evidence you need to obtain your inheritance.James asked me to remind you of the time limit, and advised you to reassess before proceeding, especially as far away as Iceland. With October just around the corner, I thought it would be helpful for you to arrange an early call with James.Please let me know your convenient time? Yours sincerely Jeffrey.Kahn I wrote to Kahn to tell him that I was in Iceland, but I would call the office as soon as possible.Then I log into my bank account.I had only three hundred dollars left, and I hadn't bought a ticket to leave the island.My credit card shows an outstanding balance of 612 yuan, with 88 yuan left in the available balance.I cannot ask my family for money to continue this ridiculous investigation.I can't get anything out of Pitcherd until I have some solid evidence, and he doesn't seem to approve of my coming to Iceland either. I know I have to be frugal, have to investigate efficiently to handle it all.But I have lost confidence.The next morning, I found out that none of the archives were open for the weekend.So I went back to bed and lay there for an hour feeling like I was about to collapse.When I finally got out of bed and spent the day at the hostel, searching the Internet or flipping through my photocopies, my mood became more and more confused as time went on. At dusk, I arrived at a public swimming pool near the hostel.It was a cool night, but windy.An attendant took my coins and handed me a stiff white towel emblazoned with the city's logo.I wash my body according to the chart below the shower head, then put on a pair of cropped slacks.I entered the unmanned indoor pool and swam a few laps in breaststroke.Through the window, I can see the hot tub outside is steaming in the wind. I left Mi Rui for this matter.I even lied to my dad before I left California.I only listen to lawyers, and now I don't even listen to them. I climbed out of the pool, soaking wet, pushed open the glass door, and rushed barefoot to a hot tub.The air is very cold.I plunged into the churning water and floated in it, watching the vapor rise toward the stars.After a few minutes, the nozzle automatically stopped.Above the coiled water vapor, there is an ever-changing curtain of blue and green light. northern lights. The water splashed around me, half of me feeling cold and half hot.I don't know if those lights are pointing in any direction. A little later, I walked to the downtown area and sipped my own gin and tonic that I made from a soda bottle.I went to the shopping street, walked among the crowd of young people, and turned into a side street with a group of well-dressed people.They entered a shabby-looking pub, decorated with Christmas lights and painted palm trees.The electronic billboard reads Circus (SIRKUS).I followed them in. It was past eleven o'clock, and there were only a few people inside.Everyone served punch by the glass from a large bowl on the bar.I filled myself a glass and found a place to sit.A girl who looked like a doll passed by me and suddenly looked back as if she recognized me.She was holding someone's hand and was struggling to keep her balance.The girl stared at me, then said something in Icelandic.I told her I don't speak the language. You are drinking my wine.she says. I'm very sorry.I have no idea. It's my party, but I don't know you. I am really sorry. The girl shook her head slowly, then leaned towards me and said softly: Today is my birthday.She said: drink as much as you can. The girl continued to walk forward with her companion.They opened an unmarked door and disappeared behind.I took a sip of the punch.It was strong, must have had a lot of rum added, but it tasted great. I have a strange thick feeling in my throat and I'm starting to feel nauseous.Must have been drinking too fast.I went into the toilet, but as I was walking towards the stall, I caught a glimpse of an intruder in the mirror.Turns out I was the intruder.I leaned against the mirror, touched my face with one hand, and couldn't believe it was me.The eyes seemed wider than I thought, and the nose was thinner and more pointed.I turned my back on the mirror, walked into the booth, and sat for a few minutes.But it just made me sick even more.I ended up bending over the toilet and throwing up everything in my stomach.I flushed the toilet and sat back against the cool metal wall of the cubicle.I closed my eyes, and my mind was full of chaotic and blurred images. In 1917, in a dank cellar near Polregon Woods, where there was no fire, soldiers hung their wet socks over their necks to dry; in Picardy's room with dark purple wallpaper, Miri lay in the dark, Gray eyes open, listening to my footsteps up and down the corridor; a candle lantern dangling in a tent on Mount Everest, gloved fingers barely writing on lap paper, pencil Swipe across the page; the blood-red house in Leksand, the letter wrapped in the box, although the address is in the UK, but never sent; Near the black water, there was a shuttered window. Someone knocked on the compartment door.I got up slowly, wiped my face with toilet paper, and opened the door.The toilets are now full of young people.Someone called me in Icelandic.Another person tapped me on the shoulder, but I ignored them and walked out. The bar is very crowded now, and the air is hot and humid.I looked at my watch: fourteen past two.I have slept for two hours.I walked upstairs slowly and found the last available seat, a couch with a young couple next to it.They smiled at me, took off their coats and let me sit.I lit a cigar.After a while, the boy tapped me on the shoulder and spoke Icelandic to me at first, then English. How are you? Um. are you sleeping. Probably drank too much. it does not matter.He said: Everyone is the same. The cigar was still lit.I took another breath.Although my eyes were closed again, I sat up straight and tried to stay awake.I thought about Mi Rui's words, and thought about what I would lose if I continued to do this.Other than her, I couldn't imagine what it would be like to go back to my old life in California.But I'm also tired of this life now. I don't want to travel anymore.I don't want to investigate any more, I don't want to ask questions I can't answer, I don't want to disappoint Miri, I don't want to disappoint Pichard, I don't want to eat the bread and cheese in my backpack, I don't want to fill up water bottles in public toilets, I don't want to count Foreign coins, no more thinking about wars, dead loved ones, and the countless atrocities of the past that can never be undone, even if a thousand me run around Europe for a thousand years. I picked up my coat and stepped outside into the cold air.Still have to walk a long way to get back to the hostel.