
She listened to him rambling away until she lost her patience.
“How long has he been in there?” she asked.
“Difficult to say,” the geologist said in his deep voice, assuming an academic pose. “It needn’t be long.”
“How long is that, geologically speaking?” Elinborg asked. “A thousand years? Ten?”
The geologist looked at her.
“Difficult to say,” he repeated.
“How accurate an answer can you give?” Elinborg asked. “Measured in years.”
“Difficult to say.”
“In other words, it’s difficult to say anything?”
The geologist looked at Elinborg and smiled.
“Sorry, I was thinking. What do you want to know?”
“How long?”
“What?”
“He’s been lying here,” Elinborg groaned.
“I’d guess somewhere between 50 and 70 years. I still have to do some more detailed tests, but that’s what I’d imagine. From the density of the soil, it’s out of the question that it’s a Viking or a heathen burial mound.”
“We know that,” Elinborg said, “there are shreds of clothing…”
“This green line here,” the geologist said and pointed to a stratum in the lowest part of the wall. “This is ice-age clay. These lines at regular intervals here,” he continued, pointing further up, “these are volcanic tuff. The uppermost one is from the end of the fifteenth century. It’s the thickest layer of tuff in the Reykjavik area since the country was settled. These are older layers from eruptions in Hekla and Katla. Now we’re thousands of years back in time. It’s not far down to the bedrock as you can see here,” he pointed to a large layer in the foundation. “This is the Reykjavik dolerite that covers the whole area around the city.”
