Jón Gnarr - The Indian

— Big kids aren’t allowed!

One of the brothers answers immediately.

— Kristján Þór is on your team.

That’s right. Technically speaking, he should be on their team. He’s also so tall that he is as big as the big kids.

They have similar weapons to us. Some have cool swords and shields but others have bits of wood. No one has an iron weapon.

The rules of the game are made by shouting them loud over the battlefield, to make sure everyone can hear.

— No hitting on the head!

— No throwing stones!

— No being CMO!

— No being CMO? Why not?

There’s some discussion about this item. CMO is short for Count Me Out, which is when you take a timeout. What happens is that kids who are struggling in the battle shout Count Me Out! as soon as someone moves to kill them. That means they can rest for a bit and re-join the battle, refreshed, as if nothing has happened. Some kids do this over and over again so the game is both frustrating and unfair.

After some bickering, the warring camps accept that we’re excluding Count Me Out entirely. If you get frightened, surrender. But that means you’re out of the game and can’t return.

When all the rules are agreed, battle can commence.

We start slowly. We each choose our opponent. I run straight at Bjöggi, hollering madly as I charge and preparing to hit him with all my might with my plank. As I expect, he falls instantly before my military might. He collapses to the ground before I can strike, holding his sword above his head.

— I give up, I give up! he shouts.

He goes and sits down. I look for another adversary. I see Kristján Þór fighting with the big kids and run over to him. Before I get there I get a whack in the back so hard that I get tears in my eyes. I turn around. One of the brothers is standing there, grinning his teeth and with a flat tree branch in his hands. My back smarts all over. He beat me really hard with the flat sword. According to the rules, you’re not allowed to hit that hard, but since the girls are watching, you can’t complain. I’m not going to make a scene.

We fence for a good while, parrying each other’s swords, identifying strengths and weaknesses. He’s strong and nimble. But he hurt me, so I’m allowed to hurt him. He knows it and proceeds cautiously. He won’t stop grinning. I have to think fast.

Lightning quick, I strike at his fingers with my plank. He yelps and drops his sword. I raise my plank for another blow.

— Give up?

— What’s wrong with you?

He’s holding on to his fingers. I again make as if to thump him.

— Give up?

— You hit my fingers!

— Give up? I shout again.

He’s about to lose. He should give up. I could simply hit him if I wanted. But I won’t do it.

Suddenly the other brother comes up behind me and hits me on the arm with his sword; I drop mine. I run away and up the hill. He doesn’t chase me, but tends to his brother. Then he picks up my sword. He looks at me. I look back. He takes both ends of my sword and breaks it across his knee. I gasp for breath, I’m so angry. That was out of order. These brothers are mental. I was just about to vanquish him. I could have hit him if I’d wanted.

I look across the battlefield.

Gummi is walking home. He’s crying. Someone has broken his shield, probably the big boys. He’s got a hardwood sword, made from the same material as the shaft of a sledgehammer. Stebbi is cautiously fencing with one of the boys, but Alli is running down the slope to stand on his own on the soccer pitch.

Kristján Þór comes running over to me.

— Are you all right?

— Yes, that asshole broke my sword. I got hit in the back.

— They’re cuckoo, says Kristján Þór.

The brothers have got to their feet. They look angrily in my direction.

— Run away, I whisper.

I flee. Kristján Þór follows. We head at a sprint away from Hörðaland and up towards Bústaðavegur.

I have an idea. Across Bústaðavegur, where trucks are often parked, I remember seeing an old Christmas tree.

We hide ourselves behind a truck and peer around the side. No one is chasing us.

— Let’s teach these nutters a lesson!

I make it to the Christmas tree and pull off some branches. Kristján Þór does the same. After a while we’ve got two large and fearsome branch clubs.

We lie in a bush and look over the battlefield.

Stebbi’s gone. Alli Jens is still down on the soccer field. Of our enemies, just the big boys and the brothers are left. They’re sitting on the hill and talking.

— Shall we go get them? asks Kristján Þór.

The anger seethes inside me. Those dickface brothers! Jerks who sneak up on someone and hit him and break his sword!

— Yes, I reply.

— One, two, and…

We jump up with loud screams and swing our clubs threateningly. The girls jump up and yell out. Then they start laughing.

The enemy don’t know which way the wind’s blowing. They spring to their feet. I run towards them swinging my club really hard in their direction. They flee, running into Hulduland and disappearing into a garden. We scream victory. We can occupy the hill. Alli Jens cheers and comes hurrying over.

We have to decide whether to give chase to the enemy. We don’t follow them directly; instead, we go along another street and come from the other side of Hulduland. We crawl through the flowerbeds and gardens and sneak along the walls.

We’re past the front lines, deep into enemy territory. Alli Jens is pissed, too. The big kid hit him and that’s why he fled. He shows me where the sword hit his hand.

— He thrashed me!

— They’re all insane, mutters Kristján Þór.

After some waiting and hanging around in the gardens, we finally see one of the brothers walking along. He’s obviously coming from the convenience store in Grímsbær shopping center because he’s got candy in a bag. In the other hand, he holds a sword.

We lie in wait behind a car. We jump on him and push him face down. Kristján Þór grabs the back of his neck and forces his face into the dirt. We take the treats. There are three bottles of Coke and three Liquorice shoelaces.

I lift his sword up off the ground. It’s a carved sword with a tip. It’s cool. He has spent a lot of time creating it. The hilt is a single piece, with a hole that passes through the handle. I take it and smack it against the sidewalk several times until it breaks apart. He doesn’t say anything, but it’s clear he’s unhappy. He almost starts to cry.

I feel a little bad. That wasn’t nice. It’s bad to spoil the sword. But I still feel my back and there was no need to hit me so hard — or to find it funny, on top of everything else. He could have just surrendered.

And I think of Gummi. His shield is useless. Gummi started crying. His father made that shield for him. Anger flares up in me again and extinguishes any remorse right away. He deserves this.

We tie his hands behind his back with the plastic bag. Then we take the treats and run away.

We run away from Hulduland, the same way we came, onto Geitland. We go into the Grímsbær playground and sit there in the house, catching our breath and drinking the spoils. It’s been one of the most daring street fights in living memory.

— He began to cry, did you see? asks Alli.

— Yes. Loser.

— You completely shattered his sword.

— I did.

— We should have held him down and peed on him.

We laugh. Kristján Þór is quiet.

— They’re crazy. They’ll come and beat us up, he mumbles.

He’s afraid. I understand that. I know Kristján Þór better than anyone else. We have done so much together. We’re best friends. We’ve stayed over at each other’s. We’ve never really had an argument. It’s not possible to argue with Kristján Þór because if he gets angry then he just shuts up even more than usual.