Jón Gnarr - The Indian

Once when it was lumpfish for dinner, I pretended to be ill. I had to drink warm sugar water. That’s the most disgusting drink I’ve ever tasted, sick-making and too sweet.

I once had to eat soured lamb sausage, which is the most disgusting food I’ve ever set eyes on. It’s basically fat. I cut it into small pieces to put in my mouth and swallow without chewing or tasting them at all. When I was almost done, I threw it all up again.

We sometimes get sweets sent from home. But they’re taken from us and kept inside the pantry. The farmer’s wife puts tiny pieces in a tub and we can have a single piece at night if we finish dinner. At the weekend, we get chewing gum, but never at any other time. I ask Ingvi what happens to the treats when we children go back home.

— I eat them at Christmas, he said.

Once a week, we take a bath. There’s no hot water on the farm. When we have a bath, the water is heated in a pan and poured into the bathtub.

We bathe two by two, foot to foot. The water is so shallow that it does not reach your thighs. The first time I got a bath, I was in with Ingvi. I turned my back to him, pulled apart my butt cheeks and stuck my asshole in his face.

— Want a chocolate?

I was immediately taken out of the bath and made to stay in my room.

— I was just kidding!

— Rudeness is never a joke. You can sit here and think about it. Ask God to forgive you and teach you not to be naughty.

I don’t ask God for anything. I have repeatedly asked him to change my hair, to stop me being a redhead, or at least make my hair a bit lighter. He never does anything about it. He doesn’t listen to me. I think God is being very nice to everyone else instead of me. I think he never listens to me at all. And I think he also doesn’t give a fuck whether it’s raining in the country or not.

When the farmer’s wife closes the door I swear under my breath, so she can’t hear.

— Shit, crap, fuck.

I’m always getting shut in the knitting room. The only thing in there is a big knitting machine, some bobbins with yarn on them, and all kinds of different weights.

Once, we all had to go with them to their church for some ceremony or other. The farmer’s wife dressed us all in half-sleeves and collars. When we got into our jackets, it felt like we were all wearing new sweaters.

The ceremony was colossally boring. We had to sit absolutely still. I’d been to church before, for funerals. They’re boring. This was different, though. Some guy spoke loudly. He used strange words. People joined in and called out in response, even stood up and groped their hands in the air.

— Hallelujah!

— Glory to the Lord!

— Blessed be His holy name!

One woman who was sitting right beside us started weeping. I’ve never seen a grown woman weeping, except Grandma Anna, but she was senile and confused.

I thought it was really stupid. The farmer’s wife sat next to me and watched me carefully. She’s like my teacher Svandís. I wanted to say something witty or call out something but I didn’t dare.

Finally Ingvi went up to the guy and he submerged him in a pool. It was a little strange. After, there was a party and then we went home.

I asked Ingvi about the dunking. He told me that the guy had submerged him in the water, down in the pool, and told him to come up from the water when he saw white doves.

— Did you see any? I asked.

— No, but I said I had, or I would have drowned.

Right by the farm is a ravine. All the trash is thrown in there and burned. That’s also where all the old stuff is thrown away. We can’t go down there. It is highly forbidden. I still sneak off there when no one can see. The trash dump is a temptation I can’t resist. I enjoy rooting around in the stuff and examining it. There are nonstop flames from a fire in a large iron barrel. I made myself a little fort and a house out of glass stuff on the far side of the ravine. Then I went to the other side and did an air raid with stones and dry clods of earth that burst when they explode. Sometimes, I make fires.

Among the stuff there’s a dead ewe. There is a hole in her stomach and she’s full of bustling worms. I shovel the worms into cans and put them on the fire. Then they bubble and boil in the can; the worms all split and burst.

Perhaps I’d gotten annoying. Maybe everyone else was tired of me. I don’t know. I never realize it until others have gotten angry. Then I know I’ve probably done something. If someone is annoyed or angry then I get a heavy heart because I am afraid it’s my fault.

In the rubbish dump was a large pile of tires. They were tires from cars and tractors.

I was just playing. I took the tires and made them roll down the slope into the lagoon below.

First I took a little tire and then a big one.

It was incredibly exciting to see them roll. The slope was long and steep and the tires zinged forward with great speed and jumped and skipped. They rolled a long way out on the reservoir so that water gushed in all directions.

Then I took the big tractor tires. They were the hardest. But it was also the most fun to see them roll.

The farmer got so angry that I thought he would hit me. I was so scared I started crying in front of everyone.

I wasn’t trying to ruin anything. I was just playing. I had always planned to help him get his tires back. If I had really wanted to damage them, I would have burned them before I rolled them.

A few days later, they told me I had to go home. That really sucked.

Finally, we reach Reykjavík.

I find Reykjavík has changed a lot since I left. It’s a different color. The smell is new, strange, mysterious. There’re houses I’ve never noticed before. I think I’ve been gone a long time, for many years.

Dad picks me up at the bus station. He has a new car. Dad has just bought a Mazda.

— Welcome, he says, dryly.

— Hi.

I’m shy around him. I feel like I won’t be ready to meet him for many years yet. Also, he is really angry.

— Speak in Icelandic. Don’t say “hi,” he says.

I sit down. The car has a new smell. The plastic is still on the seats. My dad never takes it off, just lets it come off little by little.

The windows in the back are round.

We’re silent. I fiddle the plastic with my finger and look out the window. When my neighborhood appears, everything still feels strange. It’s like I’ve never been here before and have only seen pictures of this house. It’s like I’ve gone abroad. Everything is new. When I left, it was spring. Now it’s fall. The trees have grown many feet and you can’t see for leaves. A new field has sprouted. The previously frozen soil has given way to thriving flowerbeds. There are new poles and traffic signs.

Time passes here without me. It’s odd.

At home, I feel like I’m an unfamiliar visitor. I feel like I have to sit in the living room. I feel like I have to ask for permission to get something from the fridge or go to the bathroom. I don’t belong here.

Mom’s not mad at me, but she’s also not all that happy. She smiles weakly and kisses me.

— Welcome home, son.

I give my mom the package. She thanks me. But it doesn’t make her as happy as I had expected. Maybe I should have bought a different kind of twine, some other color.

My room is different. It’s been cleaned and tidied up.

I sit on my bed.

I find it hard to breathe.