“Grímur sat on a wooden crate and had spread a canvas bag over his knees. He had placed the seal fur over it and was scraping the layer of fat off it with a sharp knife. A large basin of red soapy water lay by his feet, and another fur was soaking inside it. The third had been nailed to the gable of the hut, freshly scraped and washed. Högni was on the edge of the shore sorting the seal parts into barrels, although he occasionally chucked pieces of fat at a flock of seagulls that had gathered on... the rim of the shore. He put down his machete and walked toward them when he saw Kjartan had arrived. “So what kind of sermon did you get from the priest this morning?” Högni asked eagerly, sitting on a rusty wheelbarrow and stretching out for the coffee flask and tin of cookies. Kjartan started telling them about his conversation with Reverend Hannes, while Grímur listened in silence, scraping the fur. “No wonder the priest’s in a state of shock to find out that his guest never made it home,”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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