Jón Gnarr - The Indian

Runa is seething. She has a shoebox in her hand.

— What did you do to my dolls?

— Nothing, I mumble.

— Fuck, you’re unbearable!

— What?

I know what she’s talking about. Her dolls have vanished.

— What’s going on? asks Mom.

— He’s been snooping in my stuff. He’s taken my dolls. I came by to get them.

Mom has a weary expression on her face. She wears that expression when she is completely sick and tired of my doings.

— You just have to keep an eye on your stuff. He roots through everything.

Runa turns back to me.

— Can’t you just leave my stuff alone?

— Yes, sure, I say.

— Why do you always have to fiddle with it?

— I don’t know.

— Oh, you’re such an imbecile!

I don’t mean to break things. But I get a nice feeling when I look through stuff. Runa left behind so many exciting things; they’re kept in a closet. When I’m home alone, I go sightseeing through the house. I try to find out who these people are. Where are they coming from and how do they live? Who are my siblings? I have a brother I know nothing about. His name is Ómar. Stebbi has a big brother who lives in his home. Gummi also has a big brother who sometimes visits him. He’s an agent; he works for Customs. Anton has two brothers.

I don’t really know Anton very well. I only play with him because he’s so often on his own and has no one else to play with. I think he finds me annoying and stupid. He plays with me only because he doesn’t know how to say no to me, or because he needs someone to kick about with. He’s older than me. If we didn’t live in the same neighborhood, we probably wouldn’t speak.

Anton’s odd. He’s not like the others. But he is, too. He wears terylene pants. He has a skin disease called eximenenen. I can’t say it. Sometimes Anton asks me the name of his disease.

— Eximenenen?

— What did you say?

— Eximenenen?

He thinks it’s strange that I can’t say it right.

The girls tease Anton by calling him Tony Terylene. This makes him really mad; he runs off to his house.

— Is Tony Terylene going home to his Mommy? they call after him.

He’s very bright. He knows so much. Sometimes I’m completely confused by listening to him. Once, he told me that it would one day be the year 2000. I found that astonishing. I don’t even know what year it is now.

Anton thinks I’m an idiot. He’s not said so directly, but I know anyway. I can tell by the way he looks at me sometimes. His father can’t stand me. He can’t stand kids, but especially not me.

Once when I was asking for Anton, his father came to the door.

— Is Anton at home? I asked.

— What’s it to you? he said, and shut the door.

Anton’s mom is tiny and fat and definitely older than my mom; his dad is very tall and thin. Anton is often with his mom and even walks with her to the store. Sometimes they are even hand-in-hand. All the kids stop playing and start giggling when they see them walking together. There is something freaking hilarious about seeing them.

— Is that Tony Terylene out walking his dwarf?

You’re a dork if you’re out with your mom. I’d rather drink a bottle full of piss and eat blowflies than go to the store with my mom.

Generally, I’m not allowed over to Anton’s. Everything in his room is so nice that he doesn’t want me to touch anything. There’s also a strange smell in his home. When I ask for him, we go out to play; I’m only allowed into the living room.

Still, I know his brothers better than my brother.

I also have a sister named Kristín. She lives in Norway. I don’t know what she looks like. When she calls, Dad speaks tremendously loudly on the phone. He asks her what the weather is like in Trondheim and tells her about the weather in Iceland. When Mom talks to her, she asks what’s happening and how everyone is.

Dad isn’t bothered about how people are, just whether it’s good weather in Trondheim, and making sure everyone there knows the weather here. When guests come to visit, he tells them about it loudly, like it’s something everyone has been waiting for:

— It was cold in Trondheim last weekend!

Dad thinks Norway is the most remarkable country in the world. If someone comes to visit who has just returned from overseas and is trying to tell stories about the trip, Dad tops all their stories with some fact or other about Norway and starts telling stories about his trip to Norway. Nowhere has such good weather, such interesting buildings, or such spectacular scenery as Norway. If people try to talk about other countries, Dad drowns it out with Norway. He thinks it’s pointless to travel to other countries. He doesn’t think much of people who head off to Denmark.

— Did you have a good time? asks Mom.

— It was awesome.

— What was so special about it? asks Dad.

— How was the weather?

— At least twenty the whole time.

— The temperature reached twenty-five in Trondheim yesterday, Dad announces.

— Did you meet the Queen? Mom asks jokingly.

— It will never be as hot in Copenhagen as Oslo, Dad interjects.

— How hot was it when we were there? he asks Mom.

— I don’t remember, she replies, brusquely.

— We went on a tour of Kronborg Castle. It was spectacular.

— But have you ever been to the cathedral in Trondheim? Dad asks loudly.

— Er, no.

Dad shakes his head. He thinks the cathedral is the most striking building in the world. Neither the pyramids in Egypt nor the Eiffel Tower in Paris are half as good as the cathedral in Trondheim. Anyone who has not been there has not seen anything.

He begins to tell the story of when he was in Norway. Mom sighs. We’ve all heard this story many times. Our guests fall silent and smile awkwardly.

I rummage through Grandma Anna’s stuff very carefully. The only material evidence I had found of her existence were some pictures of an obese old woman with messy white hair. That was until I found a tape in Runa’s stuff. It’s the recording of a party. Runa and her girlfriends are drunk. They are listening to music and talking. You can’t hear anything they’re saying until, suddenly, one of the girls says loudly:

— Are you always alone?

— Huh? asks a sick, old woman.

She repeats the question, even more loudly.

— Are you always alone?!

— Yes, says the old lady.

Then the girl shouts back:

— Is everyone always mean to you?!

The old lady agrees.

— And you never get anything to eat?!

— No, says the old lady.

They all start laughing.

That’s Grandma Anna they’re teasing. I don’t understand why Runa had her at a party.

Judging by her things, Grandma Anna was super infirm. There’re all kinds of rubber hoses and medical junk and assorted syringes with plastic needles. I took one of the syringes. I use it as a water gun or a fire extinguisher for Action Man.

I’m looking for information about these people. I get my information from their possessions. I paw through stuff and examine their drawers, studying pictures and reading postcards. No one tells me anything. If I ask Mom, she has amnesia.

— How did you meet Dad?

— I don’t remember; it was so long ago.

— Where was our first home?

— I already told you.

— Where was it again?

— On Skipholt.

— Where’s that?

— Oh, stop pestering me.

It’s like the past is hidden in a haze. It’s like nobody wants to remember what happened. If I ask my dad, he usually just replies with total nonsense. It really depends on what sort of mood he’s in. Sometimes he talks to me like I’m handicapped, or the way you talk to a toddler. I’m not a baby. Sometimes he just talks about something other than what I asked about. Often I’ve heard it before.