Season of the Witch
wheel. “Now everything is allowed, always.”
    She has already started on her egg. I make it clear to her that I can’t drive and open the chocolate egg at the same time. She breaks it open and passes me the slip of paper with the proverb.
    “What does it say?” she inquires.
    “
What goes around comes around
.”
    Jóa chuckles, inadvertently blowing bits of chocolate out of her mouth. “Gotcha!”
    I grunt and chuck the proverb out the window. “What does yours say?”
    “
You must be strong to endure the good times
.”
    “Remember that, Jóa honey,” I say with a smile. “Remember that your days of wine and roses with Ásbjörn and me in the north start today, but they won’t last forever. You must be strong. Oh, yes, indeed.”
    She shakes her head gleefully. “At least I don’t have a phobia about everywhere outside the city—not like some people.”
    “Do you mean me?” I ask, pretending to be offended. “I don’t even know what that means. All I know is I’m a town mouse at heart.”
    And I also know in my heart of hearts, although I’m not about to say so to Jóa, that being exiled might do me good. I didn’t say so to Hannes either, when he informed me of what had been decided. Yep,
informed
. I argued for the sake of arguing, without even knowing why. Hannes leaned over his scratched,carved wooden desk at the
Afternoon News
, holding a thick cigar between the index and middle fingers of his right hand, knocked the ash off into the ashtray, turned his steady blue gaze upon me, stuck out his jaw, and said:
    “My dear Einar.”
    When he addresses me like that, I know I’ve gotten to the point where I have no choice but to do what Hannes has decided for me.
    “My dear Einar. I want you to do this…”
    And that was that. I was to abandon my old beat, crime reporting in the capital area, to be transferred for an indefinite period up north to Akureyri, where Ásbjörn and I would be in charge of “strengthening the newspaper’s position in the north and east of the country, during the period of rapid change and development that is now taking place there,” as Hannes had put it in his editorial in the paper. I was to be responsible for the news side, while Ásbjörn would run the office, along with sales and distribution. Jóa would be assigned to us for the time being as our photographer.
    Hannes is well aware that Ásbjörn and I don’t get along. Ásbjörn is submissive and hesitant when he should be bold and decisive, stubborn and rigid where he should be open-minded and flexible. And he gets his panties in a twist if you tell him so. We’re not a good combination.
    “The Odd Couple?” Hannes had commented. “Yes, admittedly. But Ásbjörn was born and brought up in the east, and he went to Akureyri High School. He’s familiar with the area. And you’re our best newshound…”
    Goddamn it.
    “…and the one I trust best for real news content. And you’ve been sorting out your, how shall I put it, sir? Your lifestyle?”
    Son of a bitch.
    “And you will have plenty to keep you busy, which will be helpful to you in your battle with your demons. That is how I dealt with my own similar problems, sometime in the last century.”
    Fucking shit.
    “Hermann and I are in agreement.”
    Oh my God. I thought of the new CEO of the
Afternoon News
and vice-chair of the board, Hermann Gudfinnsson. He attained that position after Hannes had cleverly maneuvered a merger with the Icelandic Media Company—the group owned by the wealthy ölver Margrétarson Steinsson—to form the Icelandic Media Corporation. Hermann was a rich and respected economist when he was convicted, twenty years ago, of killing his wife, and now he’s a reformed worker in the vineyard of the Lord. What I still don’t get is what particular god Hermann is toiling for, in deed rather than word. But I suppose that’s not my business.
    Hannes went on, puffing at his cigar: “There is no way, at this time, when the pillars

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