![]() ![]() “No, to Cape Town,” I reply, still in disbelief at my own words despite the time I’ve had to adjust to the idea. The grizzled taxi driver, hoisting my suitcase into the trunk with a smooth manoeuvre, asks me where I’m going. The taxi picks me up at a quarter to five and takes me to the bus station, where I’m booked on the fly-bus. You tell me.Īfter eight years of analysing the violent past and its consequences in a written correspondence, Thordis and Tom decide to meet up in the middle, between their home countries of Iceland and Australia, looking to face their past once and for all. ![]() Whatever I can do or offer you, I am more than willing. I’ve tried to suppress it.īut this is not about me. They flash past me, vividly accurate, and then, shortly after the denial and positive character reinforcement, comes the question: “Who am I?” It is a dark part of my memory. ![]() Without looking for a scratch of sympathy, I want to tell you that the events and emotions I was party to in Iceland have replayed in my head many times, usually when I am by myself for any length of time. I want to thank you for not hating me, although I’d like you to. I want to call myself sick (but I know I am not), I want to say that you are so strong, so strong to be able to write to me and recall the events and my actions. Please believe me when I say I have not forgotten what I did, and how wary I have to be of myself. When I saw your name in my inbox, my spine went cold. ![]()
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