Bairn of Trolls - Icelandic and English

Guðrún Kristín Magnúsdóttir:

Tröllabarn The Bairn of Trolls

verðlaunasaga (verð-launa-saga; an award-winning story) mjög íslensk saga um átök þjóðtrúar og tækni nútímans; afi og strákur rölta og rabba um vættirnar okkar meðan stórvirkar vinnuvélar nálgast.......

Knappur still. : Icelandic needs not may words to express the meaning.

or:

Note: this is not a word by word translation -- see how able thou art -(the translator, obviously, got carried away in the excitement of the story !! some things here need an explanation, being not so obvious for non-Icelanders ??)

(ís-lend+sk; á-tök; þjóð-trú; nú-tími; stór-virkar vinnu-vélar nálga+st/sig) A very Icelandic story on the clash of folklore and modern technology; grandpa and the boy take a walk together, and grandpa shares his knowledge on our wights in Nature not knowing that the efficient modern machines are on their way. myndskreyting höfundar illustrations by the author Tröllabarn available on Amazon in Icelandic ISBN 978-9979-895-01-5 and in English: ISBN 978-9935-467-45-4 The Bairn of Trolls

Amazon search (Freyju-kettir)

The story is built on folklore, belief in wights and energy in Nature, of which we are a living part.

A very Icelandic saga (/story).

In brief: Conflict arises between grandfather´s respect for wights in Nature, and, on the other hand, the claims of today to have good roads.

Grandfather tells the boy old stories.

At the same time, bulldozers, and TNT are about to blow up and remove the ´troll-boy´ tröllabarn - bairn of trolls who turned into stone long ago.

Folklore claims trolls to must reach their home in the mountain before sun-rise, or else they turn into stone.

Trölladrangar is the name of the farm (trölla-drangar) always shortened to Drangar tröllin/Tröllin

refers to the huge rocks The Trolls

This farm is in a remote part of Iceland.

Tröllabarn

Ungi bóndinn er með lánstætara aftan í traktornum í góða veðrinu. Hann er að tæta spildu langa og mjóa í móanum neðan við bæinn.

Kannski tekst honum að fá skaðabætur fyrir ræktað land.

Hann ætlar að sá í þennan óræktarmóa í snatri. Það ríkir friður undir fjallinu. Aðeins korrið í dráttarvélinni og skellirnir í tætaranum, eins og risastór köttur sé að mala í sólinni, yfirgnæfa mófuglatístið.

(láns-tætari; traktor=dráttarvél (dráttar-vél); kann-ski; skaða-bætur; ó-ræktar-mói) The young farmer has borrowed a plough, and he ploughs an infertile barren moor, not far from the farmhouse. He looks relaxed sitting on his tractor.

The weather is beautiful. But he is thinking about money.

He is ploughing this piece of land and he is going to sow grass here. He is in a hurry.

The reason for all this till and toil is that a road is planned here, and the young farmer is going to claim compensation for the land, as it is (will be) a cultivated piece of land, - his land.

Private property.

If a road is constructed on a valuable land, the owner gets compensation.

Perhaps he will have success and get paid. (að-eins; risa-stór; yfir-gnæfa mó-fugla-tíst) Here, close to the mountain, all is peaceful and quiet.

The tractor roars soothingly. It is as if a huge cat is purring in the sunshine. Tractors and cats do not care if the small birds are making their nests and laying there eggs in the moorland as now is spring.

Neither does the young farmer.

Ungi bóndinn notar heyrnarhlífar.

Kannski honum takist að láta þá borga skaðabætur fyrir ræktað land sem tekið er undir veg.

Sól, logn, friður. Jafnvel sjórinn er lygn, aðeins undiralda. Það er alltaf undiralda þarna við Trölladranga.

Afi og strákur rölta niður með Dröngunum.

-Afi, eigum við að rölta? segir strákur, -- og þá fara afi og strákur út.

(heyrnar-hlífar; skaða-bætur) The young farmer wears some protection on his ears, to shut out the noise.

Perhaps he will be able to have them (/the government) pay comopensation as claim for damages done on a cultivated land, when taken under a road. (jafn-vel; undir-alda; Trölla-drangar) Sunshine, calmness, peace.

Even the sea is calm. Well, it looks calm on the surface, but there are, of course, the heavy undercurrents in sea moving in heavy waves.

The sea is always heavy at Trölladrangar. the fjord that always keep the When the boy says: -Grandpa, shall we saunter a little, then grandpa and the boy go out for a walk.

Grandfather and the boy saunter from the farmhouse, Drangar, towards the sea, passing the Trolls.

Actually, the name of the cliffs is Trölladrangar, and the name of the farm is Trölladrangar, but the farm is always called Drangar, and the cliffs are always called Tröllin (/the Trolls).

-Afi, eigum við að gá hvort vegurinn er í sjónum? segir strákur, -- og þá rölta þeir nafnarnir ofan í fjöru.

Þegar fellur að fer vegurinn á kaf; á útfiri er ökufært fyrir Dranga á útflæðinu. Þannig hefur þetta verið frá ómunatíð.

Trölladrangar er efsti bær. Öld fram af öld hefur enginn átt þangað erindi nema heimilisfólkið og gestir þess.

Vegurinn er í sjónum þegar flóð er, fær þegar fjarar út ef brimið er ekki of mikið. Þannig hefur þetta alltaf verið.

(út-firi; öku-fært; út-flæðið; ó-muna-tíð) -Grandpa, shall we find out if the road is submerged now or not? the boy suggests.

So they walk towards the sea-shore.

When the huge tide comes in, then the road is submerged.

But when the tide goes out, there is a way to get past the Trolls, on the shore.

This is how it has always been, and no man remembers any other way to get to the farm on a horse, or using a vehicle.

Grandpa does not stride fast, as he is getting old, and he calls this slow way of walking “to saunter”.

The boy finds it amusing.

Grandpa uses a lot of awkward words that the kids in the school in the village find laughable and do not understand.

The boy avoids these words when he talks to the kids in the village.

But here nobody can hear them. Only the birds and the domestic animals and the sea and the mountains -- and perhaps the Trolls.

(Trölla-drangar; heimilis-fólk) The farm Drangar is very very out-of-the-way in every sense of the expression. This is how things have been since nobody knows when.

Nobody ever had a reason to visit this place.

No-one ever seemed to have errands here, apart from those who live here, and their guests.

The so-called road gets submerged on high-tide, can be used when the tide is low - that is to say, if the surf is not battering the cliffs too heavily.

Sometimes the surf and huge ocean waves are so fierce that it is better to wait than to take the chance of travelling on the sea side of the Trolls to get to the farm or from it.

This is how it has always been -- and still is.

So it has been since the first people settled here many centuries ago.

When the tide comes in, then there is no road, if the breakers are not too huge, the shore is used as a road.

Þeir rölta nafnarnir.

-Afi, segir strákur.-Þegar veiðibjallan hlær svona er eins og einhver maður sé að hlæja.

-Já, drengur. Veiðibjallan.

Hafaldan lemur ströndina í sífellu, þótt sjórinn virðist lygn.

Krían gargar.

Nafnarnir rölta þögulir í morgunkyrrðinni.

Hann veit ekki, gamli maðurinn, hvers vegna sonur hans er að tæta. Hann er tekinn við búinu, sonurinn.

Gamli maðurinn heyrir ekki í dráttarvélinni.

(nafnar: both two have the same name; veiði-bjalla; ein-hver) -Grandpa, says the boy, -when the big black-backed seagull laughs like this, it sounds as if a man is laughing!

--Aye, lad. The gull, the old man says tardy. (haf-alda; sí-fellt; morgun-kyrrð; dráttar-vél) The huge waves batter the coast unceasingly, even if the sea does not look rough at all to-day.

The roaring sound of the ocean waves, when they collapse on the shore, contrasts the screech of the hovering sea birds that glide in the air unceasingly in search for food.

The arctic tern screeches.

The old man and the young boy walk on in the serene silence of morning.

The old man does not know why his son is on the tractor ploughing a piece of the moor.

His son is the framer now. The old man cannot even hear the tractor from here.

-Afi, segir strákur. -Það eru vinnuvélar og vörubílar undir Skriðum. Þeir eru að gera stóran veg. Þeir leggja púkk. Þeir sögðu mér það. Ég rölti þangað einu sinni þegar þú fékkst þér blund, afi. Þeir eru búnir að merkja nýja veginn undir Skriðum.

En gamli maður virðist ekki vera að hlusta.

Þorpið er að stækka. Byggðin teygir sig innar og innar.

Undir Skriðum er ekki óhætt að byggja vegna hættu á snjóflóðum ofan úr fjalli og aurskriðum og grjóthruni niður gilin.

(vinnu-vélar; vöru-bílar; Skriður:”Land-Slides”) -Grandpa, the boy says. -There are earth movers and trucks and loaders under The Gravel Slip on the other side of the Trolls.

I saw them when I took a walk while you were having your nap, grandpa. They are making a good road, a highway, they told me, grandpa. . They use the gravel from the mountain slopes to build it.They have marked out the new road.

But the old man seems not to be listening.

What is of the other side of the Trolls is of no concern of his. He has had the responsibility for his farm, his family, his boat. And he has toiled and laboured. He has always been a reliable man. But what other men are doing in other places is none of his business at all. That is the reason for the old man not reacting to what the boy is telling him.

Here, on this side of the huge cliffs, Trölladrangar, is his world. The mountains and the sea and the huge glacier up there in the vast wilderness enclose this farm and it is a world of its own.

It has been so since nobody knows when.

The old man had to go to the little village for provisions. It still is so. (ó-hætt; snjó-flóð; aur-skriður; grjót-hrun) Now, the village is getting bigger, as they are building houses there, ever closer to the Tröll.

But not too close, as there is the danger of snowand gravel avalanches close to the Tröll.

Gamli maðurinn veit ekki að fyrirhugað er að leggja nýjan veg. Það er búið að setja stikur útfrá, utan við Dranga.

-Falleg er eyjan okkar í morgunbirtunni, segir gamli maðurinn.

-Afi, segðu mér söguna þegar huldukonan var með ljósið úti í Klettey undir Dimmuklettum.

-Þú hefur heyrt hana svo oft, strákur.

-Þú fórst í róður, ha, afi, og svo gerði ofsaveður, afi....

(fyrir-hugað; út frá) The old man does not know about the new road they are planning, from the village. (fal+leg; morgun-birta) -Beautiful our isle is at this early hour of the day, the old man mutters. (huldu-kona; Klett-ey : “Cliff-Isle”; Dimmu-klettar:”Dark-cliffs”) -Tell me, grandpa, the story about the fairy maid.

You know, when she lit her lights under Black Rock on Cliffs' Isle.

You have heard that story often, my lad, haven't you. (ofsa-veður) -You rowed your boat, grandpa, far out, and then, all of a sudden, the weather changed to the worse, to a violent storm ..... eh?, grandpa ....

-Já, ég var í róðri. Reri langt. Þekkti miðin eins og fingurna á mér. Reri á Bankann. Þar er gjábrún á hafsbotni. Ég tók mið: Tröllin skyldi bera í Háa-Hnúk. Úteyna í Kjölinn miðjan. Þar var sá stóri, sá stóri guli, og lúðan, drengur.

Fór á skakið um óttubil, notaði lognið fyrir dagmál.

Já, það held ég nú.

-Og þá kom vonda veðrið, afi....

(gjá-brún; hafs-botn; Hái hnúkur: “high-peak”; Út-ey; ,,sá guli” (the yellow one) is: cod; óttu-bil; dag-mál (eyktir))

-Oh, aye. I did row my boat far out.

I knew the best fishing grounds as well as the palms of my own two hands. There is a cleft out there on the bottom of the sea.

I knew how to find it: Seen from that very poing, the Trolls should bear onto the tallest peak of mount Horn.

The furthermost isle, Útey, should bear onto the glacier's head.

There, the big yellow cod used to swim.

And the halibut, lad, gliding along the bottom of the ocean. There I sank my angle.

There the food waited for me, to bring home to my good blessed wife, and our bairns.

-In the autumn, I used to get up long before sunrise.

The wind was often calmer during the night and in the early morning.

Oh, aye, my boy.

I was back to the shore before the morning winds began to blow.

-......Then the weather changed all of a sudden to the worse, to a violent storm, grandpa ....

-One can never know when the weather changes without a warning here, in the twinkle of an eye, the old man mutters.

-We live right by the huge open ocean, boy.

That we know.

The weather is not always as it is to-day.

That we know, my lad.

-Það getur nú verið allra veðra von hér fyrir opnu hafi, drengur minn. Það er ekki alltaf lognið eins og núna. Nei, góði minn, tuldrar gamli maðurinn.

-Og svo, afi.....

-Það gerði verður. Með hafátt og þoku.

-... Og brimi, ha, afi?

-Já, drengur minn, -- og brimi.

Skall á um dagmál fyrir birtingu. Rótaði upp skýjabólstrum. Ég hætti auðvitað á skakinu strax og ég sá hvað verða vildi og reri af stað til lands. Hvassar hviður ruku yfir hafflötinn. Báturinn sentist til og frá; ekkert sást til lands. Þung gerðist aldan.

Reri skáhallt undan vindi. Já. Það held ég nú.

-Og þá sástu ljósið úti í sortanum, afi, ha, þegar þér varð litið við.

(haf-átt (wind blowing from the ocean, as opposed to landátt (land-átt, wind from highlands)) -...... And then, grandpa, all of a sudden the storm came, and the dark rain clouds started to pile up on the sky. The ocean-waves battered our Tröll.

Then the shore could no longer be seen due to foggy rain, eh, grandpa….. (dag-mál; skýja-bólstrar; auð-vitað; haf-flötur; ská-hallt) -Eh, my lad. And the battering surf.

I pulled in my line, of course, and took to the oars.

I rowed towards land, and the waves got heavier and heavier.

The swamping tossed the boat to and fro.

I had to change the course, if the boat was not to go down.

Oh, aye, my lad. So it was.

-And when not seeing land, grandpa, and hardly knowing where the boat was heading, then, on looking back to the stem of the boat, to see if one of the isles could be seen through the rainstorm, then there was the light, grandpa!

-Ljós úti í sortanum, drengur minn.

Tek stefnu á ljósið. Sé móta fyrir eynni, ræ með hnykk, varð að rikka í öldukambinn; sé móta fyrir Dimmuklettum úti í þokunni. Í fjöruborðinu í víkinni undir Dimmuklettum stendur kona með kyndil.

Sem snöggvast lygnir í víkinni og ég fæ lag til að lenda. Þegar ég lít upp er hún horfin, konan með kyndilinn.

Það verður þögn og þeir rölta. Það verður alltaf þögn eftir þessa sögu.

(öldu-kambur; Dimmu-klettar; fjöru-borð) -Light, in the dark rainstorm, my lad.

I headed towards it, rowing as vigorously as I could -- I was strong and sturdy then, -- and it was as if the boat was carried on the surf of the grand waves, as if Njörður himself was pushing it on.

(Njörður is a heathen ocean deity) Black Rock on the isle was darker than ever, now in the night and the rain.

Then I saw the light on the shore of the isle: A maid holding a lit torch.

For a brief moment, the sea as if calmed down as I passed the skerries and got into the inlet.

There I could land and pull my boat ashore.

When I looked up again, the woman with the torch was no longer to be seen.

The boy and the old man are silent and saunter on. There is always silence when this story has been told.

Vorsólin er heit, þótt skaflar séu enn uppi í fjallinu.

Ég sá einu sinni konu undir klettunum í fjallinu, segir strákur.

-Hún var í bláum kjól. Ég hélt hún væri að sópa grasið. Ég var svo lítill þá. Bara fjögra.

Svo sagði ég: -Sjáiði bláu konuna sem er að sópa grasið.

-Hvaða konu? -Hvar? spurði fólkið. Svo sá ég hana ekki meir. Var það huldukona, afi?

-Huldufólkið, drengur minn. Já, huldufólkið. Hún hefur verið að raka.

(vor-sól) The sun feels warm, because the boy and the old man know, that spring will come soon.

Still there is snow in the mountains.

These thick snow heaps in the mountain gullies sometimes do not thaw away at all during summer-time. That does not matter, if the grass on lowland grows. What we, Icelanders, call summer. (fjögra : fjögurra ára gamall; sjáið þið; huldu-fólk; huldu-kona) -Once I saw a maid under the cliffs in our mountain, grandpa, said the boy.

-She wore a blue gown.

I thought she was sweeping the grass with a broom. I was very small then. Only four.

Then I said: -Look at the woman in blue sweeping the grass!

-What woman? Where, the people asked.

I never saw the maid again.

Mom told me that probably I had seen a fairy damsel that was gathering her hay, not with a broom but with a rake. Do you think it was as fairy maid, grandpa?

-The fairies, oh aye, lad. She was most likely gathering her hay with her rake.

-Afi, skyldi vegurinn vera í sjónum núna?

-Við skulum rölta oneftir, svarar gamli maðurinn, -- Bara gá að því.

Við höfum nú ekkert annað þarfara að gera, strákur.

Svo röltum við til baka, og þá verður mamma þín búin að hafa til hádegisverð. Við röltum oneftir, góur. Það er að falla að.

-Grandpa, do you think the road is submerged in the sea now.

Do we have ebb or flood now.

Shall we go and see if the tide is in or out, grandpa? (ofan eftir; há-degis-verður; góur = góður, góði (addressing)) -We can just as well saunter to the sea shore, lad.

Is there anything more important, we have to do right now?

The boy laughs. He knows that grandpa cannot do any hard work any longer. And he knows that grandpa is not happy with that.

Grandpa has worked hard since he was a little boy.

It is not a good feeling to be too feeble to be of any help to anyone.

-Then we saunter back home. Your mom will then have prepared a meal.

Let us saunter down to the shore, my boy.

The tide is coming in.

-Einu sinni, heldur gamli maðurinn áfram, -var hafaldan nærri búin að ná vagninum og hestinum, drengur, þegar ég var að koma heim úr kaupstaðnum.

Hafaldan, já. Það fellur hratt að hér undir Trölladröngum.

Já, góurinn. Það held ég nú. Það var eins og blessaður klárinn skildi að við urðum að hafa hraðann á.

Og hlassið var þungt.

Blessuð skepnan.

-Afi. Segðu mér þegar tröllin voru lifandi í alvörunni og svo dagaði þau uppi.

-Þú ert búinn að heyra þetta svo oft áður, strákur.

-Voru þau lifandi í alvörunni, afi? Ég meina sko þegar þú varst lítill? Voru þau þá alvörutröll?

(á-fram; haf-alda; kaup-staður; góurinn (= góðurinn /góði); -Once - that was long ago -, the old man continues, -a huge wave almost caught the horse and the carriage.

I was on my way home from the village.

Oh, aye. The waves, my lad. The tide comes in fast here under the Trolls, you know, lad.

So is that.

-It was just as if the horse knew that we had to be hasty. The carriage was heavy with goods from the village, and the blessed animal used all his strength to get home. (al-vara) -Tell me, grandpa, when the trolls were alive, -- when they really were alive, eh, grandpa.

And when they were not quick enough to get back home and the sun rose before they reached their mountain cave.

-You have heard that story many a time, lad. (al-vöru-tröll) -Were they alive, grandpa, when you were a little boy? Were they then real trolls?

-Víst voru þau lifandi. En það er langt langt síðan. Það var fyrir löngu löngu síðan. Þau dagaði uppi.

-Já....

-Já, bara dagaði uppi, greyin.

-Já, afi, þau fóru út í Klettey um nóttina ... ha?

-Já, drengur minn. Þau voru lengi í Eynni að veiða fugl og tína egg.

-- Ég er búinn að segja þér þetta svo oft áður, strákur.

-Já, afi, og svo sagði tröllapabbi....

-Já, segir afi, -hvað sagði tröllapabbi?

-ÞÁ HÖLDUM VIÐ HEIM Í HELLINN OKKAR, segir strákur ábúðarmikill, -BRÁTT MUN NÓTT Á ENDA. -Jáh, segir gamli maðurinn. -Og þá sagði skessan: HVAR ER TRÖLLASTRÁKUR? FARÐU, STELPA, OG FINNDU STRÁK.

--Of course they were alive, grandpa said.

-But that was long ago.

Eh. - Turned into stones, poor creatures.

-Yes, grandpa, the boy said.

They went out to Cliffs' Isle, eh, grandpa,.....

You have heard this story over and over again, boy, grandpa uttered as if he was not going to tell the story once more.

But of course the old man was going to tell it once more. The boy knew he would. (trölla-pabbi; á-búðar-mikill) Yes, grandpa, and the troll-papa said….

Yes, grandpa says, -what did troll-papa say?

The boy continues: -And then, grandpa, troll papa said to troll mamma and troll girl…

(--the boy lowers his voice to the deepest bass tone he can reach and looks trollishly determined--) -NOW WE LEAVE AND GET BACK HOME TO OUR MOUNTAIN CAVE. NIGHT WILL NOT LAST MUCH LONGER. (trölla-strákur) Right, says the old man. -And then troll mamma said to the troll-girl: -WHERE IS TROLL LAD? GO, LASSIE, AND FIND LAD. -

-Þá var Tröllastrákurinn bara að tína skeljar og þau vissu ekkert hvar hann var, segir drengurinn og hlær.

-Tröllastelpa fór að leita að tröllastrák, segir afinn…

-..... og svo sá hún líka fallegar skeljar og fór líka að tína skeljar. Drengurinn skellihlær.

-Þá, segir afinn, -þá fór skessan að leita að þeim.....

-The troll boy was picking shells on the other side of the isle, not concerned about break of day, the boy says laughingly, -and they did not have any idea about where he was. (trölla-stelpa) So the troll girl went to look for her brother, grandpa says… . (fal-legar; skelli-hlæja) -Troll-daughter, the old man says, -found trollson.

But she also saw all the pretty shells on the sea shore.

She started to pick shells too, and forgot to tell him what troll papa and troll mamma had said!

The boy laughs, as he always finds this part of grandpa's troll story ticklingly funny.

-Then, grandpa continues, -troll-mamma had to go and look for them, both of them.

-...og Tröllapabbi varð öskureiður og öskraði: DÖGUN ! DÖGUN ! og þau stukku út í sjóinn og óðu í land og flýttu sér ofsamikið til að komast heim í hellinn sinn áður en sólin kæmi upp.

Gamli maðurinn segir hægt: -Sólin kom upp og þá voru þau hér við túnfótinn hjá okkur.

Og þá öskraði þursinn stóri: LEGG ÉG Á OG MÆLI ÉG UM: GERI EINHVER OKKUR MEIN LÆT ÉG HRYNJA ÚR FJALLI STEIN STÓRAN STEIN OG ANNAN STEIN OG GRANDA ÞEIM SEM GERIR MEIN.

-Og svo varð hann bara að steini, bætir drengurinn við.

(ösku-reiður; ofsa-mikið) But troll papa was getting terribley annoyed (/angry) and shouted: COME! SOON THERE WILL BE THE BREAK OF DAY! I CAN SEE THE TWILIGHT ON THE EASTERN SKY. They all heard him. They ran into the sea and ran towards land. It is not easy to run in water.

They hurried as they possibly could.

When they reached the shore, here right in front of our farm, my lad, there was the break of day.

The trolls only had a few more steps to go, but it was too late. (við tún-fótinn) The old man adds slowly and firmly: -The sun rose. Then they were here, close to our farm, Drangar.

-The big troll papa shouted his spell loud enough for it to be heard over the whole of Iceland: IF ANY MAN EVER HARMS US, THE STONES OF THE TALL MOUNTAIN SHALL FALL AND CRUSH. -And then he turned into stone, the boy says,

-Þess vegna liggur vegurinn okkar bara ofan í fjöru, út í sjó.

-Já, góurinn. Enginn kemst yfir Tröllin okkar nema fuglinn fljúgandi.

-......og flugvélar, afi.

-Þær koma okkur ekkert við, hnussar í gamla manninum.

-Það er hægt að klifra milli þeirra, afi.

Tröllanna okkar.

-Já, en enginn fer þar með með hest og vagn, strákur. Það verður að fara niður á útflæðið.

-and ever since the trolls have been here on our farm.

-That is, grandpa, why the road goes into the sea and we can only use it when the tide is low.

It is our ebb-way, grandpa. Isn't it?

-Oh, aye, my lad, says the old man.

-Only the birds have wings to fly above our Trolls.

-The aeroplanes can too, grandpa.

-They are of no concern of ours, the old man answers snappy.

-We can climb up and in between the trolls, grandpa, to get over to the other side. (út-flæði) -Aye, but no man can take his horse and carriage that way, lad.

We have to go to the sea shore when tide is low.

Það má ekki hrófla við Dröngunum. Það fylgir því ógæfa.

Mundu það, afastrákur, þegar þú tekur við jörðinni: Aldrei má skerða hár á höfði þeirra, tröllanna okkar, drengurinn minn. Það fylgir því ógæfa.

Mundu hvað tröllapabbi lagði á og mælti um. Þeir rölta til baka, gamli maðurinn og strákurinn.

Vegurinn er auðvitað í sjónum. Það er árdegisflóð.

Krummi á sér laup uppi í Tröllastrák. Þar hefur krummi alltaf átt laup. Hann fer langt í ætisleit. Það er erfitt að seðja gráðuga ungana uppi í Tröllastrák.

(ó-gæfa, afa-strákur; trölla-pabbi; leggja á og mæla um = put a spell on) -Remember, that we must not harm the trolls.

It will bring bad luck. Remember that, my lad, when you become the farmer to take over our Drangar.

Remember what troll papa said in his spell. (auð-vitað; ár-degis-flóð) They saunter back home after having looked at the tide come in and cover the road and turn it into a sea bottom for a few hours.

That is how it has always been here at Trölla-drangar.

(Trölla-strákur; allt-af; ætis-leit) The raven has a nest in the troll boy.

The raven has always had his nest there.

The raven flies a long way to gather food for his young.

He is the first bird to lay eggs every spring.

The night frosts sometimes spoil his eggs.

We can hardly say that spring has yet come when the raven has to find something to eat for his terribly hungry youngs.

-Það bomsar ekki í honum í góða veðrinu.

Spáir ekki góðu áfram.

Hann veit nú lengra en nef hans nær hann krummi, tautar gamli maðurinn, þegar hrafninn flýgur yfir.

-Eitthvað er hann annarlegur, hrafninn, heldur hann áfram.

-Órólegur. Undarlega órólegur. Það er eins og hann sé að reyna að segja okkur eitthvað, drengur. Einhver tíðindi, eitthvert slæmt atvik, sem...

Illur atburður í aðsigi.

Ef til vill mannskaðaveður í aðsigi.

(á-fram; annar+legur; ó-ró+legur; undar+lega; eitt-hvað, eitt-hvert, ein-hver; tíð+indi; at-vik; at-burður; í að-sigi; mann-skaða-veður)

-The ravens do not make a happy sound, the old man murmurs. -They should, you know, on this beautiful day.

They, maybe, foresee an end to this good weather.

Perhaps they foresee some rainstorm comming.

-We might think that the raven does not know further than his beak extends from his head, my lad, but that is not the whole story. The raven is a bird of prophecy. We should trust his sounds and behaviour.

(The boy is used to the old man's way of putting things. To "know further than one's nose extends" means that the person (the nose-owner) has intuition.)

The old man continues: -Something is troubling the raven today. Uneasy he is.

Awkwardly uneasy he is, the raven, today.

It is as if he is trying to tell us something, my lad. He makes circles over our heads.

Some event.... some unwanted event not yet come .... as if ..... maybe some terrible blizzard coming to us soon ... something is troubling him.

I wonder what he might be trying to tell us.....

-Afi, segðu mér söguna þegar vondu byssukallarnir ætluðu að skjóta krummana okkar, segir strákurinn, -- og um litlu telpuna. Ha? Afi. Afi.

Gamli maðurinn horfir upp í loftið. Brúnir hans síga, augu hans horfa; og það er eins og hann horfi í gegnum allt og sjái eitthvað sem ekki er.

-Afi, segðu mér söguna þegar vondu byssukallarnir ætluðu að skjóta krummana okkar - og um litlu telpuna.

-Bæjarhrafnana okkar? tuldrar gamli maðurinn annars hugar.

-Já, afi ....

(byssu-karlar (-/kallar)) -Grandpa. Tell me the story when the bad lads with the guns were going to shoot our ravens, the boy says, -and about the little lassie, eh, grandpa.

The old man gazes up towards the sky. His face shows his heavy thoughts, his eyebrows sink.

His eyes do not seem to be actually seeing anything in spite of their fixed gaze on something.

His sight penetrates the air as if he looks at something that is not to be seen at all.

-Grandpa, the boy repeats. -Tell me when the bad lads were going to shoot our ravens.

And tell me about the little lass. (bæjar-hrafnar) -Our ravens, the old man utters, without seeming aware of that he is talking.

-Aye, grandpa ......

-Ótætis piltarnir. Það á ekki að láta svona óvita fara með byssu. Þóttust vera á tóu, og fengu auðvitað enga tóuna. Þeir komu ofan úr fjalli hér ofan við bærinn, sáu þá hrafnana svífa í löngum sveig ofan úr Dröngum, Tröllastráknum, og stefna á Lághól.

-Litla telpan var búin að gefa þeim og hæna þá að sér, bætir strákurinn við, -og þeir þekktu hana og þeir vildu fá ruðurnar sínar, ha?

-Já, svarar gamli maðurinn. -Hún fékk matarruður handa hröfnunum á veturna, telputetrið, og gaf þeim úti á Lágól.

(ó-tætis; ó-vitar; þóttu-st; auð-vitað; Lág-hóll) (matar-ruður; telpu-tetur)

The old man seems to come into contact with the surroundings again, and says: -These blasted lads. Such callow and irresponsible chaps should not be allowed to handle weapons.

There is a little pause.

Then he continues, as he feels the impatient waiting in the boys mind: -They thought they were going to get a fox.

Of course they did not catch a fox.

They descended from the mountain, here, right above the farmhouse. Then they spotted the ravens that glided on their wings in a long graceful flight from the Trolls. From the troll boy. The ravens headed for the Lowbourgh by the brook.

As there was another pause, the boy impatiently added: -The little lassie fed them, the ravens.

They got used to her and always arrived when they saw her approach the Lowbourgh.

They recognised her and trusted her and demanded the leftovers with which she fed them. Right?

--Eh, aye, said the old man. -During winter she got the leftovers to feed the ravens, wee lassie.

Brought the leftovers onto the Lowbourgh.

Þeir þekktu hana. Hoppuðu svona til og frá á hólnum, svona eins og hrafnar gera.

Fyrst í stað komu þeir þegar hún var farin, sú litla, og átu.

En smátt og smátt fóru þeir að koma þegar þeir sáu telpuna koma með ruðurnar, krummatetrin.

-Og svo komu byssukallarnir, afi, og sáu krummana og þá var litla telpan að koma út með ruðurnar, ha? Og þeir sáu krummana svífa ofan úr Dröngum og setjast á Lághól...

(þekkja einhvern : know, recognize, to trust someone : treysta einhverjum; krumma-tetur; setja-st)

They trusted her. Just jumped to and fro on the ground - as ravens do.

To begin with they only sat down after she had gone back from the Lowbourgh. But gradually they got so used to her that they arrived as they saw her coming! Clever little ravens. They knew what she had in store for them: The leftovers.

-And then the silly dudes arrived, grandpa, and saw the ravens, and then the wee lass was bringing the leftovers up to the Lowbourgh.

Right, grandpa?

They saw the ravens glide on their wings in a long graceful flight from the Trolls.........

The boy was getting impatient as the old man never was in a hurry when he was telling him old tales.

But at this point in the story grandpa would get angry and talk fast and show his temperament:

-Þeir komu ofan úr fjalli hér ofan við bæinn, komu ofan hlíðina, strákahimpigimpin, sáu þá hrafna svífa ofan úr Dröngum og setjast á Lághól. Þeir steyttu byssurnar, -- það á ekki að láta svona óvita fara með byssur -- og miðuðu, ótætis piltarnir.

-Litla teplan sem var að koma út úr bænum, segir strákurinn ákafur, -kallaði: EKKI SKJÓTA, EKKI SKJÓTA. ÞETTA ERU KRUMMARNIR MÍNIR !

En þeir heyrðu ekki, byssukallarnir. Og þá hljóp hún út á Lághól og baðaði út höndunum og reyndi að fæla krummana upp: FLJÚGÐU, KRUMMI, FLJÚGÐU ! kallaði hún og hljóp út á Lághól.

-Telpan sem var venjulega svo prúð og hljóð, segir gamli maðurinn, -kom hlaupandi og reyndi að bjarga hröfnunum sínum. Hrafnarnir hoppuðu eitt hopp til hliðar, svona eins og hrafnar gera. Þá reið skotið af og fór í höndina á blessuðu barninu. (stráka-himpi-gimpi; ó-vitar, ó-tætis) (á-kafur)

-They descended from the mountain, here, right above the farmhouse, these immature dudes.

They saw the ravens glide on their wings in a long graceful flight from the Trolls. They lifted their guns.

Such callow and irresponsible lads should not be allowed to handle weapons.

They took the aim on the ravens that sat down on the Lowbourgh…..

-...... and the wee lassie, the boy continued exited, -saw what the chaps were up to and shouted: -DON'T SHOOT! DON'T SHOOT! THESE ARE MY RAVENS! They did not hear her shouting and they did not see her either. She ran towards the ravens, flapping her arms in dismay, and shouted: -FLY! FLY, RAVENS! FLY AWAY! The old man takes over and slowly adds: -The little lassie, that usually was quiet and calm, ran and shouted, and tried all she could to scare the ravens up.

The ravens jumped one little jump to the side, jumped on the ground - as ravens do.

Then the shot was fired, and hit the poor wee lassie's hand.

-Og svo voru byssukallarnir skammaðir ofsa mikið, segir strákur æstur, -og læknirinn kom og læknaði handlegginn á stelpunni og krummi hélt bara áfram að eiga laupinn sinn í Tröllabarninu.

Krummarnir okkar, afi? (hand-leggur; á-fram) -Já, bæjarhrafnarnir, karl minn.

Þeir rölta yfir móana, nafnarnir.

Einn og einn fugl flýgur upp.

Firðildi flögra í logninu. Þeir taka stefnu á dráttarvélina með tætaranum aftan í.

Svo hlýtur að fara að koma matur.

-Then the dudes were scolded terribly much, the boy happily ended the story, -and the doctor came and cured the little lassie's arm, and the ravens just got the leftovers, as usually, during winter.

They always have their nest in the troll boy.

They are our ravens, grandpa. Right?

-Oh, aye, my lad. They are our ravens.

They saunter, the old man and the boy, on their way back to the farmhouse.

They change the course a little, as they have ample time, and head towards the tractor.

They slowly walk on over the moor, boy and grandpa who bear the same name.

Butterflies flying in the calm air.

They head to the site where the tractor and the earth-mover are.

The old man and the boy just saunter as they are waiting for lunch to be ready.

They saunter over the moor, the old man and the boy. Small birds fly up when they approach.

The birds are probably laying eggs or makings nests as now is spring and nature is about to wake up in this cold country, Iceland, where winter is long and dark as the sun hardly rises above the horizon in December. But summer is warm and bright as the midnight sun shines from North during the night in June.

Ungi bóndinn er að ljúka við að tæta spilduna. Hún er löng og mjó. Hún afmarkast nokkurn veginn af fyrirhuguðu vegarstæði. Kannski tekst honum að fá skaðabætur.

Hann hoppar niður úr dráttarvélinni og teygir úr bakinu.

Hann sér þá rölta, pabba gamla og strákinn sinn. Það er nú veðrið til þess.

Hvernig skyldi hann taka þessu með veginn, sá gamli?

-Hvað varstu að tæta hérna, maður, spyr gamli maðurinn.

(af-markast; fyrir-hugað vegar-stæði; skaða-bætur; dráttar-vél = tractor) The young farmer is about to finish ploughing the piece of land he is going to sow into. The piece of land is a long and narrow stretch.

He is ploughing exactly the piece of land where the road is being planned.

Perhaps he gets some compensation.

He has not told anyone. Not even his wife.

He jumps down from the tractor's seat, stretches his back, quite contented with the task he has accomplished this very morning.

He sees his father and his son as they saunter towards him. They walk very slowly as the weather is good and they have ample time.

-I wonder, the young framer thinks as he sees the old man approach, -how he will react to all this, that old-fashioned old father of mine.

When the old man and the boy get all the way to the tractor and the young farmer, the old man asks: -What is it that you were ploughing here? (varst þú)

-Ég?, segir sá ungi.

-Já, þú, segir sá gamli.

-Ég var að tæta hérna spildu.

-Já, ég sé það nú, segir sá gamli. -Þú varst að tæta hérna spildu.

-Vegurinn á að liggja hér, svarar sá ungi.

-Hvaða vegur? Hvaða andskotans vegur?

-Þeir þurfa að komast í grjótnám hér framfrá. Þá vantar veg.

-Við höfum veg, segir gamli maðurinn.

-Höfum við veg? segir ungi bóndinn.

-Jáh. Víst höfum við veg, svarar sá gamli.

-Me? asks the young farmer.

-Aye, you, says the old man.

-I was ploughing a piece of the moor.

-You were ploughing a piece of the moor, eh?

I can see that, the old man spits out. -I can see that you were ploughing a piece of the moor, son.

--The road is planned right here, the young farmer says.

-What blasted new road? the old man asks. (grjót-nám; fram frá) -They need to get the trucks and loaders to get the gravel from Steep-Slant Valley.

Then they need a road.

-We have a road, the old man says.

-Do we? the young farmer says, dryly.

-Aye, sure we do.

-Nei, við höfum sko ekki veg hér í Trölladröngum.

Hvar í veröldinni heldurðu að annað eins fyrirbæri sé að finna og þetta sem þú kallar veg? Við búum hér rétt hjá þéttbýliskjarna og erum svo til sambandslaus, rétt eins og hvert annað afdalakot.

Nei við höfum sko ekki veg hér.

Svo á að koma skíðaaðstaða fyrir bæinn hér frammi í dal. Þá þarf veg.

Gamli maðurinn er lengi að átta sig á því sem hann heyrir.

-Það á að sprengja bráðum, segir ungi bóndinn. Strákinn, pabbi, Tröllastrákinn. Vegurinn kemur þarna í gegn.

Ungi bóndinn bendir. En gamli maðurinn horfir ekki þangað sem hann bendir. Hann starir á son sinn, gamli maðurinn, starir á son sinn.

Hann áttar sig ekki á því sem hann heyrir.

ver-öld; heldur þú; fyrir-bæri; þétt-býlis-kjarni; sam-bands-laus; af-dala-kot)

-No, dad. We do not have a road here at Drangar.

Where on earth do you think there is to be found anything like this pathless track in the sea as we have here at Drangar - and you call a road?

-We live close to the civilisation, the young farmer continues, but Trölladrangar are as remote as can be because there is no road. (skíða-að-staða) They plan a skiing resort for the town-people in Steep-slant Valley too. They need a road.

It takes the old man some time to let these words penetrate and make sense. (bráð-um = brátt) -They are going to blow up the boy soon, dad.

The troll boy.

The road is planned to get through there.

The young farmer points towards the Trolls, the huge stone-trölladrangar.

But the old man does not look in the direction in which his son is pointing. He looks right into his son's face. He gazes at his son.

He is not sure if he heard what he heard - if he understands.

-Dínamít, segir ungi bóndinn. -Það er komið dínamít í Tröllastrákinn, pabbi. Vegurinn kemur þarna í gegn.

Drengurinn galopnar augun: -Krummarnir okkar eiga laupinn sinn í Tröllastráknum, segir hann, -og ungana sína. Það má ekki skemma Tröllastrákinn. Tröllapabbi verður reiður, ofsalega reiður.

Hann lagði á og mælti um.

Gamli maðurinn fer að titra.

Bræðin nær tökum á honum: -Ég tala við hreppstjórann, æpir hann, og röddin er hás.

-Það er búið að tala við hreppstjórann, pabbi.

-TNT, dad. Dynamite, the young farmer repeats. They have already placed it in the troll boy, dad.

The road will be going through there. (gal-opna; ofsa+lega) The little boy did not realise, no better than the old man, that the road, about which he did know, was planned to be where the troll boy is.

He always thought of the road on the shore where the sea-tides reveals it and swallows it rhythmically the whole year round, year after year, century after century.

But now he realises what is about to happen and exclaims: -But dad! Our raven has his nest in the troll-boy!

And his youngs!

They must not explode the troll boy.

Troll papa will be angry. Terribly, terribly angry! He laid a spell. (hrepp-stjóri) The old man starts to shiver. He is gradually overcome by anger: -I, -- I shall talk to the authorities!

His voice is harsh and shows the strain and ire.

-The authorities have already decided on all this, dad.

-Sýslumanninn !

-Hann leggur blessun sína yfir framkvæmdirnar.

-Það skal aldrei verða! segir gamli maðurinn, titrandi af geðshræringu.

-Ég fæ þá friðlýsta. Það eru til náttúru-..... náttúruverndar-.... það eru til einhver..... ÞAÐ ERU ÁLÖG !

-Æ, góði pabbi, segir ungi bóndinn. -Þetta er frágengið. Það verður sprengt bráðum. Þeir eru að koma þarna, sýnist mér. Þeir ætluðu að koma núna einhvern daginn. Það er komið púkk að Skriðum.

Vinnutækin eru þar.

Drangurinn er fyrir, skilurðu? Skilurðu?

(sýslu-maður) The sheriff ! (fram-kvæmdir) He agrees. (geðs-hræring; frið-lýsa; náttúru-vernd; á-lög) -This is never going to be! the old man continues.

-I shall get the Trolls preserved. There must be a nature preservance -- preservation -something.

There must be some authorities that can do something!

THERE IS A SPELL! (frá gengið; ein-hvern; vinnu-tæki; skilur þú) -Oh, dad, the young farmer says.

-Come on. It is all decided upon.

They are going to remove the troll boy.

It will be sooner than later. Just one of these days. Perhaps today.

Maybe they are at it right now.

The new road is almost ready at the other side of the Trolls.

The earth mowers are right here. The troll boy is in their way, man. Don't you understand?

Don't you understand, man?

Hrafnarnir í Trölladröngum láta ófriðlega.

Mannaferðir rétt undir laupnum þeirra. Þeir fælast upp, krunka ákaft, fljúga lágt yfir mennina sem voru að koma og eru að vinna neðst í drangnum. Það á að sprengja Tröllastrák í dag.

-- Núna.

-Það skal aldrei verða! ÞAÐ SKAL ALDREI VERÐA !

Gamli maðurinn hefur misst stjórn á sér: -ÞAÐ SKAL ALDREI VERÐA !

Hann tekur á rás að Dröngunum, en kemst lítið áfram.

(ó-frið+lega; manna-ferðir; fæla-st; á-kaft)

The ravens in the Trolls fly in the air above them.

Their fright and worries can be seen by their behaviour.

This tells the old man that some intruders are close to the troll boy where the ravens have their nest.

Oh-aye. They have spotted some ravaging intruders, the ravens.

That is obvious.

-I have the feeling, dad, the young farmer says, that they are just about to blow the troll boy.

Today. Now, dad.

-It is never going to be!

IT IS NEVER GOING TO BE !!!

The old man has lost self-control: IT IS NEVER GOING TO BE !!!

He starts to run towards the Trolls, but he cannot run. He is an old man now. He is running but does not get anywhere.

Pabbi, kallar ungi bóndinn, -pabbi. Farðu ekki, þeir ætla að fara að sprengja. PABBI ! ÞAÐ ER HÆTTULEGT AÐ FARA NÆR.

Mennirnir haska sér brott frá Drangnum. Það heyrast drunur. Þeir eru að sprengja.

Tröllastrákurinn hrynur saman í hrúgu.

Grjót þeytist út frá honum.

Gamli maðurinn steytir hnefann: -Vitiði hvað þið hafið gert?

VITIÐI HVAÐ ÞIÐ HAFIÐ GERT?

-Dad! the young farmer yells. -Dad, stay!

Don't go any closer to the Trolls!

They are igniting the dynamite, man!

IT IS DANGEROUS TO GO ANY CLOSER! (vitið þið)

The workers in the troll boy hastily run away from it.

The old man keeps running, but it does not get him anywhere. He breaths heavily.

A roaring noise follows the explosion. The troll boy collapses.

Stones tumble, dust fills the air around the troll boy for a spell of time.

The old man stops.

He threatens the explosion by his twisted fist: -DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU HAVE DONE? he shouts towards the exploded troll boy.

-DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU HAVE DONE?

Litli drengurinn stendur hjá dráttarvélinni og starir á Tröllastrákinn hrynja; starir á hrafnana hrædda og ævareiða í senn; starir á afa sinn sem er viti sínu fjær af bræði; pabba sinn, svipbrigðalausan, rólegan, eins og alltaf.

Pabbi hafði þá vitað... pabbi hafði ekki sagt þeim....

Drengurinn hafði ekki hugsað út í það hvernig vegurinn átti að halda áfram frá Skriðunum.

Stutta stund verður kyrrð. En svo heyrast drunur á ný. Það heyrast drunur ofan úr fjalli.

(æva-reiðir; svip-brigða-laus; ró+legur; allt-af)

The little boy just stands there as doomed.

Enormous thundering noise. They are blowing up the troll-boy.

The young farmer just stands there and waits.

Expressionless. His equanimity as always.

The little boy stands there and stares at the heap that was the troll boy a minute ago.

He stares at the ravens that are both scared and angry at the same time.

He stares at his grandfather that is out of his mind from rage and ire.

He stares at his father that does not show the slightest sign of emotions, calm and quiet as always.

Dad knew it all the time, the boy vaguely thinks.

He didn´t tell.

The boy didn't foresee the possibility of the road going were the troll boy was.

Of course he knew that the road was going to be continuing from where it was already, that is, on the other side of the Trolls.

Only, he did not think of this possibility.

In a way, he accuses himself of not realizing it .....

All is quiet for a moment.

The dust seems to the only thing alive here.

All of a sudden some roaring noise is heard again.

Ungi bóndinn horfir upp í fjallið og yfir að Skriðum.

Gamli maðurinn hefur látið hnefann síga.

Hann horfir líka upp í fjall og yfir að Skriðum. Það heyrast greinilegar drunur.

Strákurinn litli horfir á pabba sinn og svo á afa sinn. Hávaðinn eykst. Það er að falla skriða ofan úr fjalli. Hún stefnir á vinnuvélarnar þar sem verið er að leggja púkk í nýja veginn.

Felmtri slegnir hrópa menn þar og kalla, vara við og hlaupa, yfirgefa vinnuvélar í snatri, forða sér, hver sem betur getur. Ógurlegur grjótruðningur ryðst ofan úr fjallinu og stefnir á vinnuvélarnar.

Gamli maðurinn réttir úr bakinu. Hann stendur eins og klettur. Hann veit að nú eru Tröllin reið. (greini+legar; há-vaði; eyk-st (aukast); vinnu-vélar; felmtur (here tækisfall/instrumentalis: felmtri) yfir-gefa; ógur+legur; grjót-ruðn+ingur; ryð(ur)-st)

The young farmer looks up towards the mountain.

So does the old man, who now stops threatening with his twisted fist.

Roaring noise is to be heard.

The little boy looks at his father, then at his grandfather.

The noise becomes louder and clearer: There is an avalanche, and an enormous gravelslide, coming from the mountain, heading towards the new road, the earth movers, and the men who are working there.

They run, each one of them, run as fast as they can away from the equipment. Run for their lives.

The old man straightens his back.

It is as if he becomes decades younger than he is. He stands still and straight and watches the frightened labourers run away from the mountain and away from the avalanche.

He knows that the trolls are angry.

Nasavængir hans þenjast. Hann bítur saman jöxlum, augum skjóta gneistum; eina andrá er eins og sigurglampi leiftri í þeim.

Drunurnar í fjallinu eru honum mjög að skapi: -SAGÐI ÉG EKKI....

SAGÐI ÉG EKKI....

-- oo 00 O 00 oo --

(nasa-vængir; þenja-st; and-rá; sigur-glampi) His nostrils widen, he bites on his teeth, his haggard jaws show his temperament, his eyes are on fire, and a triumphant smile lingers on his old lips.

These roars in the mountain above that planned new road, give him great pleasure: -I TOLD YOU, he whispers to himself out of his grinding teeth and stiff mouth.

-I TOLD YOU.

-- oo 00 O 00 oo --