Jón Gnarr - The Indian

The mother is heavy-set and lumbering; she often sighs sadly and has difficulty explaining why she is so tired, or in fully discussing her depressive condition. Her skin has sallowed, especially visible in the dark circles under her eyes. She has a limited vocabulary, speaks in short sentences, and often seems like she doesn’t know how to match words and things, which made it especially tricky to get the story of their daily lives or indeed to get her to list specific aspects or symptoms of the boy’s behavior. She asked in each interview about the outcome of the study, and then seemed wholly concerned about her own anxiety and impatience.

(National Hospital, Psychiatric Ward,

Children’s Hospital Trust, 08/02/1972)

Mom gives the women beer in brown bottles. She makes it herself. It has a very strange smell to it, sweet and bitter at the same time. They smoke.

— Have Olla and Stebbi moved? asks Mom.

— Yes, they moved over the weekend, answers Salla.

— It’s a really great apartment, says Mom. I hope it goes well for them, she adds.

— He’s a very hard-working man, says Salla.

— Shame about her, adds Gunna.

— She’s not a bad person, says Mom.

Gunna shakes her head, and takes a big drag of her cigarette.

— I don’t give a toss whether she’s good or bad; she’s a drunkard!

— She’s always been delicate, Salla says.

— An emotional person, adds Mom.

— I think she’s just a waste of space, Gunna declares.

— Don’t say that, Gunna, says Salla.

— I’ll say it if I want to! She’s a drunken wretch.

— That’s true, Mom says. She does drink a lot, often. But she’s never been addicted to pills.

Salla agrees, wholeheartedly. Gunna tuts, and moves the conversation on Mom closes the curtain over the kitchen window. The sisters head over to the oven; they’re only wearing their bras. They wash their hair in the kitchen sink. Then they sit back down at the kitchen table, comb each other’s hair and put rollers in.

After that, they move to the living room to dry their hair. They sit next to one another on the couch, each with their own hairdryer. The hairdryers are white and called Rowenta. Coming out of each hairdryer is a little pipe with a colorful plastic cap they put over their hair. When they turn on the hairdryer, hot air flows through the pipe and into the plastic cap, which expands. The caps have small holes so they don’t explode. Mom has a yellow cap with flowers on it. Gunna has a monochrome brown cap, and Salla’s is pink, decorated with pink flowers. The sound of the hair dryers is like the sound of the vacuum cleaner.

I watch them with affection and respect. These women are the most perfect and intriguing people I know. They know everything, and have all the answers.

I go back to my room. I feel good. It’s nice to see my mom so happy.

Inside the living room, the sisters are sitting side by side on the couch with their colorful air-helmets on their heads, smoking and drinking coffee, yelling to each other so they’re not drowned out by the noisy roar.

My school is called Foxvox School. I don’t really enjoy school and I find it hard to sit still. I can sit for a while but then I have to move or change position. I also find it difficult when I can’t talk the way I want to.

But I like homeroom. Each class goes to their own room. We sit on a soft rug while the teacher talks to us and asks us questions. I get to talk a lot. I like talking and telling funny stories. Sometimes I can’t control myself and simply have to talk. Those times, I interrupt. I also like to repeat words someone else has said. But I’ll say them a bit different. I think it’s fun to rhyme words, too. If someone says a strange word then I’ll rhyme it with another word. For example, if someone says “stapler,” I’ll say “mapler.”

Most rhyming words are nonsense, but not all. If someone says “tree” then perhaps I’ll say “knee.”

Some words I also just like saying over and over again and hearing how they sound. I like “toddler,” for example, a really good word. I never tire of saying it. “Toddler.”

My teacher calls this chat. She doesn’t like it when I rhyme or repeat words. She doesn’t think it’s fun and she thinks I’m teasing people. But I’m not. I don’t know why I do it. The words repeat over and over inside my head; I get them in my brain and cannot get them out except by saying them out loud. But it’s stupid and that’s why I make like I’m kidding intentionally.

I also love words that don’t exist and don’t mean anything. “Jarrydust” is one of these words. “Splunderer” is another. I say them sometimes when I don’t know what to say. I love to say these words. They’re funny words.

— Jón, what’s a subjunctive?

— Err, a splunderer?

— Stop being silly.

— Jarrydust?

— Jón, who wrote the story of The Ugly Duckling ?

— Donald Duck?

Everyone laughs. It’s better to be a comic than a moron.

Sometimes the teacher asks the class questions nobody knows the answer to but me. I like that a lot.

— Children, do you know what the offspring of bears are called?

A few put their hands up. Me too.

— Puppies?

The teacher shakes her head.

— Little bears?

— No.

Finally I’m the only one left. The teacher looks at me and nods.

— Cubbyholes!

Everyone laughs. That was funny. But it’s also true. They’re called cubs. I like to mix words together to create nonsense.

The teacher smiles and nods. She’s called Svandís and is very strict. Sometimes she pinches my neck with her nails when I’m naughty. I try to be careful about needling her.

Some teachers are fun to tease. I enjoy messing with them. But some teachers are annoying.

One time, I was telling a story about a little kid who peed before he reached the bathroom.

— Did he pee over himself? asked the teacher.

I told her that it’s wrong to say that someone has peed over themselves. It’s not possible to pee over yourself. You should just say that someone peed themselves. She got very annoyed and said I was being impertinent. But I wasn’t. I know that one shouldn’t bullshit adults.

When I was a kid I would sometimes hide from teachers. I liked doing that a lot but I’ve grown out of it now. I’m not as naughty as I used to be. I also don’t feel as bad as I felt then. Back then, I had no friends and I was afraid of the other kids.

When I first started school, I thought I was going to die. Mom had to go with me every morning because I didn’t want to go. I was terrified. Gradually, however, I began to feel better. I got to know the kids and discovered that most of them are okay. Though there are some older kids who are annoying and who pick on me during recess. They follow me home and also sometimes call me Coppertop Brennivínsson.

When I know they’re planning to follow me home, I prepare. Sometimes I put big stones in my pockets. When they arrive and begin to tease me, I try to throw stones at their heads. Then they get frightened and run away, yelling:

— He’s crazy, he’s a lunatic!

I’ve still never hit anyone. I just want to scare them.

Sometimes I do have to fight. But I’ve not hit any one, not properly. They’re just scuffles. I don’t want to hurt anyone, except when I am very angry.