Mondays in Iceland - #77
We had spent a couple of hours talking over coffee and pastries. It was now late afternoon and she had to pick up her children from daycare. When we left the café the sky was already turning to dusk.
“Walk with me,” she said, taking my arm, always a good idea on the slippery cobbles.
“Did I tell you about my friend, the one whose husband committed suicide?“
She had mentioned it before, the last time we met, so I nodded in reply. She had been concerned about my welfare, I had been a little emotional during the coffee, nothing to do with her, of course, just an unresolved issue from my personal life.
“They had been going through a rough patch in their marriage, but she thought things had turned the corner,” she said, “Turn left here.”
We walked on, but now it was her turn to show emotion. With a slight tremor in her voice, she began to speak:
“My friend was out with the children one day and when she returned there were police cars out side her building—the neighbors had heard a shot. She was devastated. All of us—friends, relations, people he worked with, we were all destroyed. It was unfair to us, what he did. If there had been an incident, some real reason, we could have dealt with it better. But there was nothing.”
“I can’t even begin to imagine, I said, I’ve be fortunate, no one close to me has killed them self.”
“That‘s why I asked if you were alright,” she said, “We have to watch out for each other.”
We walked on, when we reached the child care, we exchanged farewells. Kristín did call me later, just to make sure, one more time, that I was still “alright.”