Arctic Chill by Arnaldur Indridason Page B

to pieces and mutilated the owner. They were caught in the act but the whole gang were released after questioning! What kind of bollocks is that anyway?'
    'I—'
    Erlendur could not get his answer in.
    'They ought to take those men and throw them straight into jail,' Egill continued. 'When they're caught or confess, they ought to be sentenced immediately. They shouldn't see the light of day until they've spent at least ten years inside. But you let them go as if nothing had happened. Is it surprising that everything here's going to hell? Why do repeat offenders always get such ridiculously light sentences? What is it in our society that produces such a submissive attitude towards criminal scum?'
    'It's the law,' Erlendur said. 'It always operates in that lot's favour.'
    'Change it then,' Egill said, agitated.
    'I understand you're against immigrants too,' Erlendur said, accustomed to hearing tirades against Iceland's lenient sentencing and peculiarly soft treatment of criminals.
    'Who says I'm against immigrants?' Egill asked in a surprised voice.
    'No one in particular,' Erlendur said.
    'Is it because of the meeting the other day?'
    'What meeting?'
    'I took the liberty of siding with Jónas Hallgrímsson. At a parents' meeting for one of the years here someone proposed singing a few lines of his poem "Iceland, Prosperous Land" with the children. They'd been learning about the poet. Sometimes they teach a bit of sense in this school. A couple of parents started finding fault with the idea, saying that the school was a multicultural society. Like it was racist to sing Icelandic songs. There was a bit of a debate and I spoke up to ask if these people were soft in the head. I think I might have used those very words. Of course, some of them complained to the principal about me. Felt I was being rude. The poor old sod was shaking in his shoes when he talked to me about it. I told him to go ahead and fire me. I've taught here for more than a quarter of a century and I'd welcome it if someone would be kind enough to kick me out. I don't have the balls to get myself out of here.'
    Another cigarette appeared in Egill's huge hand and when Erlendur darted a glance at the lump on his bald head it seemed to be turning red. He took it as a sign that Egill was becoming angry at the very thought of the parents' meeting. Or perhaps it was the quarter century that he felt he had wasted teaching woodwork at the school.
    'I've got nothing against immigrants,' Egill said, lighting his cigarette. 'But I'm against changing everything that's traditional and Icelandic just to pander to something called multiculturalism, when I don't even know what it means. I'm against the conservatives too. I'm also against having to sit out here in this wreck of a car to smoke. But what say do I have?'
    'It was more than just poetry, I'm led to believe,' Erlendur said. 'You made remarks about Asian women that upset people. If I understand correctly you expressed strong antipathy against these women coming to Iceland.'
    The bell rang to signal the end of break and the children started to file back into the school. Instead of making a move, Egill sat tight, inhaling the toxic fumes of his cigarette.
    'Strong antipathy!' he mimicked Erlendur. 'I've got nothing against immigrants! Those buggers started arguing with me and I told them what I thought. We're still allowed to have opinions at least. I said I thought it was terrible, the circumstances under which many of those women come to Iceland. They generally appear to be fleeing appalling poverty and think they can find a better life here. I said something along those lines. I didn't criticise those women. I respect self-reliance in any form and I think they've got on very well in Iceland.'
    Clearing his throat, Egill reached forward to the ashtray with difficulty and stubbed out his cigarette.
    'I think that applies to all these races who come to settle in Iceland,' he went on. 'But that doesn't mean we shouldn't