My Soul to Take: A Novel of Iceland Read Free

the front door. I can't move the slot any higher—I told you that." The man and his wife exchanged triumphant looks.
    "A front door would cost less than any court case, that's for certain." Thora handed over the last document from the pile she had made before the couple had arrived. "Here's a letter I've written on your behalf." Both of them reached for the letter, but the husband got there first. "The post office, or the postman, made a procedural error. You, that is both of you, should have been se nt a formal notification by reg istered mail that the height of your letterbox was unlawful, and you should have been given a grace period to rectify it. Postal deliveries should not have been stopped until after that deadline."
    "Registered mail?" the woman snapped. "How could we have received that if they're not allowed to deliver it to us?" She turned to her husband, looking pleased with herself, but she didn't get the response she wanted and her scowl returned.
    "Oh, come on, don't be so pedantic," he snarled. "Registered mail doesn't come through the letterbox—you have to sign for it." He turned to Thora. "Go on."
    "This letter insists that the postal service follow the correct procedures, send a registered letter requiring rectification, and grant you a reasonable deadline. We'll ask for two months." She indicated the letter, which the man had read and handed to his wife. "After that time there's not much we can do, but I suggest that you move the letterbox to the right height. If that can't be changed and you choose to keep the front door, you can get a mailbox. The hole in it must be within the same height range as for doors. If you opt for that, I advise you to use a tape measure when you put it up, to prevent any further disputes." She smiled thinly at them.
    The man glowered at her as he thought it over. Suddenly he grinned nastily. "Okay, I get it. We send the letter, get the registered letter back, and have two months when the postman has to deliver our letters irrespective of the height of the letterbox. Right?" Thora nodded. The man stood up, victorious. "He who laughs last laughs loudest. I'll go and post the letter now, and as soon as I'm given a deadline, I'll lower the letterbox right down to the threshold. When the deadline runs out, I'll get a mailbox. Come on, Gerda."
    Thora accompanied them to the door, where they thanked her and took their leave, the man eager to send off the letter and start phase two of his little war with the postman. Walking back to her desk, Thora shook her head, astonished at human nature. The things people worried about ... She hoped postmen were well paid, but had serious doubts that they were.
    No sooner had Thora sat down than Bragi, her partner in the small legal practice, put his head around the door. He was an older man and specialized in divorce; Thora couldn't face handling those cases. Her own divorce had been quite enough for her. Bragi, on the other hand, was in his element and was particularly adept at untangling the most convoluted disputes and getting warring couples to talk without killing each other.
    "Well, how did the letterbox go? Do you see it as a test case before the Supreme Court?"
    Thora smiled. "No, they're going to think things over, but we must remember to send them the bill by courier. I wouldn't bet on them getting much mail delivered in the future."
    "I hope they get divorced," said Bragi, rubbing his hands. "That would be a battle and a half." He took out a Post-it note and handed it to Thora. "This man phoned while the letterboxers were with you. He asked you to call when you were free."
    Thora looked at the note and sighed when she saw the name: Jonas Juliusson. "Oh, great," she said, looking up at Bragi. "What did he want?"
    Just over a year before, Thora had helped a wealthy middle-aged businessman draw up a contract for his investment in some land and two farmhouses on the Snaefellsnes peninsula. Jonas had made a quick fortune outside Iceland by