Sometimes conversations become significant a long time after you've had them

A few years ago, EPI and I were on holiday in Portugal. We were on the beach in the late afternoon, hanging out on sun loungers, talking away in Icelandic in the frequently mistaken belief that no one could understand us.

Just then, two men approached us. They were an odd pair – one was older, perhaps in his sixties, somewhat emaciated with age, with tattoos on his arms and hair dyed blonde; the other was much younger and slightly overweight, with a somewhat absent air. The older man addressed us in Icelandic and soon we found ourselves engaged in conversation – about the beach, the town, what hotel we were staying in... general, trivial - but pleasant. He was a character, to be sure – definitely gay, though not especially effeminate, and had clearly had his share of life’s trials. We liked him immediately. There was something so likeable about him – he was easy to talk to, not pushy in the least, had a gentle and refined sense of humour and seemed very kind.

We learned a few things about him in those 15-20 minutes in which we talked. He loved to travel and had been to Portugal several times before. Mostly he went to the Canary Islands, though – he’d been there earlier that winter. He’d also been at sea in his youth [like so many Icelanders] and he mentioned having a daughter. We also learned that his companion, who was also Icelandic, was deaf-mute.

After that brief conversation, we said goodbye and the two of them wandered off down the beach. We saw them a couple of times before we left for home on that particular trip and exchanged a few words, but no more.

On returning to Iceland, we would occasionally run into the two of them and have a brief chat. Each time these talks were characterized by an amiable ease – nothing forced, just very pleasant interaction. Each time, I thought what a unique human being our friend was – someone who had obviously been battered around by life, but who had not a hint of bitterness or resentment in him. Just that same gentle kindness and grace.

The last time we saw him was a few weeks ago. We were in a clothing store looking for stuff for EPI and there was our friend. He looked different. At first I thought it was because he was alone – I was not accustomed to seeing him without his friend – but it wasn’t just that. Though he smiled as usual, he seemed decidedly downcast.

At first he averted his eyes as though he wasn’t going to say hello, but when EPI greeted him he came around. We talked for a little bit and EPI asked him if he’d been travelling at all. At that his mood seemed to lift slightly; he said no, not much recently, but he was leaving in a couple of days for the Canaries. “It’s my last trip there,” he said and gave us a vague little smile.

“Oh?” I said, “the last time?”

“Yes,” he replied, “it’s time to stop. I need to go one more time – there’s just something I need to take care of.”

“Ah,” I said, knowingly, and thought to myself: ‘Some kind of closure.’

The picture staring out at me from the Morgunblaðið obituaries yesterday was vaguely familiar. I’d seen it before, a couple of times over the past few weeks, as there had been several obituaries, or minningargreinar,* about the man in the photo. However, I’d idly flipped past it – until last night when something made me read the short paragraph next to it. “… died of accidental causes in the Canary Islands.” I looked closer, and there was no mistake: It was a picture of our friend, younger and more handsome, virtually unrecognizable at first, but on closer inspection unmistakable.

Since then, I’ve replayed that last conversation we had with him over and over in my mind. “… It’s my last trip there… there something I need to take care of.” Uttered so lightly, but in hindsight with such sadness. I don’t think there was an accident. When an Icelander dies of accidental causes in another country it is always in the news. There was no such news report back then. I would have remembered.

Strange, but I feel quite sad. I barely knew him – our interactions were limited to what I just described – but somehow I feel it’s unfair. I also can’t help but feel like the world is poorer for having lost him. May he rest in peace.

* Iceland’s daily Morgunblaðið has for decades published death notices and minningargreinar free of charge. Whenever someone dies in Iceland, anyone can write about him or her, send it in to Morgunblaðið, and it will be published on the day of the funeral. In some cases there are so many memorials about someone that they have to be spread over several days [not necessarily consecutive days]. Alternatively, people write about someone after the funeral has passed, in which case it is published whenever there is free space in the paper.

TODAY’S WEATHER: Started off beautiful – brilliant sunshine, calm, wonderful, if a bit cool. About an hour ago it suddenly clouded over and we had snow; at the moment half the sky is dark grey, the other half is clear blue, and predictably it is half-sunny. Temps are 3°C and the sun came up at 05.21 and will set at 21.32.