The Perfect Landscape (3 page)

Eventually Baldur opens a door at ground level leading to a large office with enormous windows along the full length of one wall. In the middle of the room is a large partitioned workstation, where Hanna spots Agusta and Edda at their computers. Under the window wall is a long table covered in papers, cans, and containers, with a computer at the far end. This office space has a modern feel to it—as with the Annexe, the idea is that natural daylight should flood unhindered into the room; even the concrete floor has a trendy clear varnish. Outside, dawn hasn’t yet broken, and fluorescent bulbs light up the space.

“Kristin and I have offices on the second floor, where the education department and management, marketing, and publicity sections are,” says Baldur. “The rest of the staff is here, but Steinn also has a workshop in the basement. This is Bjorn’s desk,” he adds, stopping at a desk in the middle of the cluster of cubicles and looking at Hanna, who stares at him blankly.

Who is Bjorn? Then it registers. She is taking over from Bjorn and this is her desk. Hanna assumed she would have her own office and two assistants. That was how the job description read. This is not quite what she’d envisaged, and for a second she feels like a fool. She’d forgotten how Iceland operates on a small scale. Obviously the gallery has no money. The Annexe exists more in theory than in reality when there’s no funding. She concentrates on hiding her thoughts. The job doesn’t revolve around having your own office. The work doesn’t get done by sitting alone within four walls. This can only work out better. In a flash, as if she’s back on the fencing piste, she turns the situation to her advantage. In her head she moves into the en garde position, running her fingers lightly along the grip. Then she smiles her most winning smile at Baldur.

“Excellent!” she says. “This is great—I really like it.”

Carefully maintaining the gleam in her eyes, Hanna observes Baldur closely. He fiddles nervously with the ring on his finger. That worked, she thinks to herself. He knew this would take me by surprise. He was watching me. But I knocked him off guard.

Hanna smiles at Edda and Agusta, who are sitting on either side of Bjorn’s desk,
her
desk. Thoughts flash across her mind. Baldur’s role is not what she had thought. Now an unexpected divide has formed between them. A whole floor, in fact. She
thought she was taking on a more responsible role than his but was probably mistaken, at least if the structure of the office space is anything to go by.

“Maybe you’d rather not sit here? Right in the middle of the chaos?” Baldur asks as if he’s read her thoughts. “Of course, it’s often hectic here, not exactly peaceful. I could maybe find you a quiet corner if you’d prefer?”

But Hanna has no intention of being stuck in a corner somewhere. In her head she holds her position on the piste, her foil raised and maintaining priority of attack. She doesn’t shift her gaze from the desk and replies without hesitation, “No, this is absolutely ideal. I much prefer to be at the hub. That’s how I’ve always envisaged the Annexe. I like to be around people, where it’s all happening.” Hanna smiles inwardly because nothing could be further from the truth when it comes to her work style. She has always needed peace and quiet, and she struggles with the hustle and bustle of people coming and going around her. Now she is being put to the test and she is in battle mode.

Hanna looks over at Agusta, who flashes her a quick smile as she clicks on her e-mails and answers the phone. She is young. Maybe twenty-five, Hanna guesses. The roots of her dyed blonde hair show through her asymmetrical bob, and she’s wearing dark eye makeup. She looks as if she makes an effort to dress fashionably. Hanna recognizes the dress label and the brand of shoe; her clothes are a tasteful mix of secondhand and new, of the flea market and designer labels. Agusta is evidently at pains to show how capable and how busy she is in her job. Hanna recognizes the type. This is the diligent student. The girl who is so bright and together. Very alert, always willing and
able, finishes all her assignments before the deadline and is not afraid to tell someone else that something could be done better.

Recognizing a little of herself in Agusta, both in the conscientious student and her underlying ambition, Hanna tries to contain her irrational hostility. It’s unlikely Agusta knows that Hanna has an ally in Baldur, an old acquaintance who might come in handy. And Agusta is young. I know better, Hanna thinks to herself. Ought to know better. She simply smiles politely to Agusta while Baldur carries on talking. Hanna realizes that he likes the sound of his own voice and it’s best to let him go on.

“Agusta has taken on the task of keeping track of the reports about the state of artworks in public places,” he says, patting a pile of reports on her desk. “It had become a pressing task, so it’s good that you’re here to oversee it. This has been on the back burner since Bjorn left, and the Annexe deals with this, as you know.”

Hanna doesn’t reply immediately. Silence is going to be her main weapon on her first day. Best not to let anything get to you and to show no reaction. Yes, she’s truly back home again—dealing with what’s thrown at you is all part of the game. Having charge of outdoor artworks owned by the city is obviously a large part of the job. In all probability the largest part, so it’s not surprising that no one mentioned it when she was asked to come on board. She can see plainly that this aspect of the work will be time-consuming, complex, and a drain on resources. How many artworks in public spaces does the city own? And what sort of a state are they likely to be in, given the broken pane and graffiti she saw on the Annexe on her way in? Maybe it’s no wonder that her predecessor, Bjorn, escaped to Denmark.

“Yes, of course I’m aware of this,” says Hanna. She gives it no further thought for the moment because Baldur is introducing her to her colleagues on the other side of the partition.

“This is Margret, she deals with the accounts. Vala looks after the archives and registry, and over there is Steinn’s desk,” he says, pointing to a long table under the window. Hanna shakes hands with the two women and is relieved when Baldur finally goes to get on with his own work.

Sitting down at Bjorn’s desk, now hers, she sighs with relief and opens her briefcase—a large, soft leather case of indeterminate color that has been her companion for years and was a present from Frederico, her Italian husband of nearly twenty years. In it is a box of assorted chocolates that she’s brought from Amsterdam to offer around on her first day in her new job. The lid has a picture from one of the most famous illuminated manuscripts in the history of Europe from the Middle Ages,
Les Tres Riches Heures du Duc de Berry
. In the Middle Ages it was the custom to have a book of hours, handwritten with prayers for each hour of the day and a calendar showing the hours of the day and the months of the year. The month of January adorns the chocolate box and shows the Duke of Berry dressed in rich blue robes patterned like a peacock’s tail. He is sitting at a table piled high with food, surrounded by his courtiers and precious possessions.

Holding the box in her hands, Hanna hesitates for a moment, then opens it and hands it to Edda. It’s difficult to determine how old Edda is; she’s cheerful but looks careworn, and her voice is slightly gruff. Maybe she’s a smoker or drinks too much. Or maybe it’s just weariness? Icelandic winters, lots of children, low salary, and high inflation? For a second Hanna
becomes aware of her own appearance, smooth brown hair brushed neatly in a ponytail, a high-quality designer sweater in unassuming lilac-gray tones, a well-tailored skirt, and Italian leather boots. She’s had a good life.

“We must have some coffee with this,” says Edda instead of taking a chocolate from the box. Shortly after, all six of them, Hanna, Agusta, Edda, Vala, Margret, and Steinn, who has just come back in, are sitting in the corner drinking coffee.

“This is the Duke of Berry,” explains Hanna, taking off the lid and handing the box around. “He was a powerful, wealthy man at the turn of the fifteenth century. And an art connoisseur. He employed the Limbourg brothers to illuminate a book of hours and an almanac. This is January, the month for giving New Year’s gifts. A long time ago in Europe, New Year’s gifts were really just like Christmas presents.”

Steinn gently runs his finger over the shiny paper on the lid as if to get the feel of its quality. His touch is light. Hanna momentarily watches his fingertips gliding over the surface of the picture, over the duke’s blue robe, before looking away as though she’d witnessed something she shouldn’t have. “The duke had seventeen castles and stately homes in France,” she says.

“Look, there are some animals on the table as well,” Agusta points out. “I know these pictures. We talked about them in art history, but I’ve never examined them in such detail.”

“He also collected exotic animals,” replies Hanna. “Peacocks, camels, and dromedaries, to name but a few. The dogs you see on the table are a special breed of dog that can be traced back to the Arctic hounds used for pulling sleds. I once wrote an essay on this illuminated manuscript,” she adds as if defending
her specialist knowledge about the breed of dog depicted on the banquet table of a five-hundred-year-old picture. “Animals were part of his collection, and they had special keepers to look after them. He owned jewels as well and had a large collection of rubies. And books, illuminated vellum manuscripts in expensive colors, like lapis lazuli imported from the East.”

Steinn looks at her a moment, like he knows what she is talking about. “The rich and powerful of today cannot display such treasures,” he says, and his voice is reminiscent of his eyes, firm and resolute.

“And when he died there wasn’t any money to pay for the funeral,” Hanna says in response. “He’d spent it all on costly items.”

“He was dead anyway by then,” says Steinn. “You can’t take your money with you.” He gives a wry smile, as if the thought that we’re all equal on our deathbeds pleases him.

“He’s a communist and antimaterialist,” says Agusta by way of explanation or maybe to tease Steinn, but he doesn’t rise to it or even deign to look her way.

“Kids might just do something other than deface walls if this society had some gumption,” he says, gazing out of the window as if he were alone. Hanna knows she will get on well with him. He doesn’t seem the sort to make a mountain out of a molehill. “Well, I’ve got plenty to do,” says Steinn a moment later, and they all get up from the table. Sitting back down at Bjorn’s desk, Hanna looks through some papers and turns on the computer.

Agusta suddenly glances over at Hanna. “I’m printing this out for you,” she says and then starts talking. And can she talk, more than Baldur. She has a gently chirping voice with a pushy
undertone; she talks without pausing, the words just streaming out of her effortlessly and yet concisely.

She’s a pro, Hanna thinks, trying to contain her tiredness. It takes all her energy to follow Agusta without losing the thread. Agusta’s youthfulness and the way she blinks remind Hanna of Heba. Agusta is telling Hanna about her work with Bjorn, Hanna’s predecessor. She talks about a small international group of independent curators who she works with. She tells her how she and Bjorn liked to work, and finally Hanna understands why Agusta appears unenthusiastic about having a new boss. Bjorn’s approach had evidently been very hands-off and he’d let Agusta have free rein, but now those days are over.

“I envision this as a joint project,” Hanna says when Agusta asks her about her plans, at the same time apologizing for asking Hanna at the wrong moment. She says she realizes Hanna obviously needs to familiarize herself with the details. But she still asks. She can’t help herself. Hanna tries to say as little as possible. She mentions the idea of landscape paintings and art in public spaces, a combined exhibition in the spring. Agusta is interested. It probably wouldn’t matter what she said; Agusta would find any idea interesting. You could easily extend this concept, run with it in any number of ways. The joy of making something happen is so tangible, something you believe in so passionately that the desire to make a difference is so strong. Agusta is just beginning. Hanna has stopped listening and is watching her speak, watching her nostrils flare, and it occurs to Hanna that Agusta will undoubtedly go far and could be pushy if she needed to be. In her mind’s eye she sees a column of steam rising from her nose like on the folkloristic painting
by Jon Stefansson in which the ghost bull, Thorgeirsboli, dominates the center of the scene. Unwittingly she gives a smile, and Agusta looks at her, perplexed.

“Yes, absolutely,” says Hanna without having a clue what Agusta has just been talking about. She promptly feels bad because Agusta is probably lovely—she doesn’t appear quick to take offense, and even though she babbles on, she knows when to shut up because she quickly finishes her monologue and leaves to make a call, scribbling as she speaks. Hanna is about to turn back to her computer when Steinn appears with a pile of papers. He clears his throat, and Hanna waits to hear what’s on his mind.

“I, er, I’ve got some more reports on the state of the outdoor artworks,” he says. “We’ll have to make a start repairing many of them in the spring. And then there’s a lot of vandalism. That’s on the increase. Since the city banned graffiti about a year ago it’s gone crazy, and we can’t keep up with it. These youngsters have no respect for art. Agusta has started to log some of the reports, and here’s the rest. It would be good if you could have a look at these as soon as possible,” he says. “I’m going to have a look at a vandalized sculpture in the woods by Oskjuhlid, which we heard about this morning,” he says, referring to the hill on the southern outskirts of the city. “Do you think you could come with me? Then you’ll have a better idea of what’s going on.”

“Delighted to,” Hanna agrees without a moment’s hesitation. She’d enjoy going out in the car with Steinn. Then she glances at the reports. The title page reads, “A Report on the Condition of Artworks Owned by the City.” There is a photo of a sculpture covered in graffiti with a detailed description and
an assessment of what needs to be done to bring it back to its original condition. Hanna rests her hand on the pile. In the background Agusta’s voice chirps in a familiar fashion, and out of the corner of her eye she’s aware of Edda briskly coming and going. She looks at Steinn’s back as he pores over something on the long table. He has made space for a desk lamp with a strong bulb, which floodlights the table and is reflected in the windowpane above.