Sometimes I go over to where the women are. They sit and smoke. They wipe my nose and give me sugar cubes.
My sister Runa comes to fetch me. My mittens have got wet. They have a strange smell when they get wet; you can drink water from them by sucking them. She undresses me out of my rain pants and boots. The boots are stuck to the rain pants with elastic. She holds them and makes them walk. That’s funny.
Drawn by Jón in the hospital at age 5 on 02/04/1972, with notes from the doctor: “Was supposed to be a horse in a meadow, changed into a horse and a man — face!!!! what!!!”
~ ~ ~
[…] This nearly 3-year-old boy was admitted because of
hernia inguinalis
; it had lasted for the past 2 months. He has always been plucky but also extremely rowdy, perhaps as a result of a hyperkinetic disorder; he is never calm around objects, but gets agitated and rages at everything.
(St. Joseph’s Hospital,
Landakoti, 10/02/1969)
…In the summer of 1969, Jón Gunnar was in preschool; he was considered unruly and rowdy but not especially problematic; he truly enjoyed school. This was, however, only for the summer. In the fall of 1970, he was a kindergartener in a little residential area, but the women employed there gave up on him. He did everything “madly.”
(National Hospital, Psychiatric Ward,
Children’s Hospital Trust, 02/04/1972)
~ ~ ~
I give my mother the slip. She calls and I don’t answer. She’s annoying and I don’t want to be around her. I run as fast as I can. I’m going to hide so I look for a hiding place. Mom calls for me again. But there’s nowhere to hide, just big streets and cars.
I run out into the road. A large car honks at me and I startle. I didn’t notice it. It just came out of nowhere. I jump onto a traffic island. Cars rush past on either side of me. I can’t run back across the street. The cars come towards and away from me no matter which way I turn. I’m stuck. I’m afraid, too.
The whole time I’m looking this way and that. Cars hurtle past at tremendous speeds, making deafening sounds. I’m never ever going to get out of here. Mom won’t be able to reach me. I burst into tears. Nobody does anything. Cars don’t care about boys like me. Instead of stopping, they just increase their speed and make more noise. My head is spinning. I shut my eyes and let myself fall to the grass. Grass has a good smell. Yet I can also smell something oily. Far away, I hear my mother calling.
— Lie down right there and don’t move!
I sink slowly and calmly into the grass, into the soil, deep down into the earth, towards the worms. I hum and the sounds around me fall silent.
Someone takes my shoulder. A man.
— Are you alright, little fella?
I don’t say anything. I won’t say anything. I want to be left alone to recover. I’m scared.
But the man is tough. He lifts me up and takes me in his arms. I feel okay with him. I am safe, secure. He walks across the street with me. The cars are afraid of him and slow down. He owns all the cars and is in charge of them.
Across the street, Mom is waiting. She’s different than usual. She isn’t tired; instead, she seems upset and she has tears in her eyes. It reassures me to see that.
— God, Jesus, child!
[…] The mother is often tired; she is stout, neatly dressed, pleasant in appearance, has a pessimistic outlook, finds it a little hard to express herself, yet has a fairly good insight into the boy’s difficulties and the extent to which he differs from his peers […] it is clear that the mother finds it too much dealing with her challenging son […] the parents, especially the mother, seems to truly realize the boy has problems so have sought assistance here; both seem well-motivated, though mainly the mother.
(National Hospital, Psychiatric Ward,
Children’s Hospital Trust, 02/04/72)
~ ~ ~
I’m in my best clothes. Mom dressed me in them. I’m wearing my jacket, too. We’re sitting in a waiting room. I’m reading my newspaper. The smell is overwhelming, deep and alien, sweet and clean. I don’t know what makes a smell like this. Maybe a swimming pool?
— Jón, it’s your turn, says a woman.
Mom indicates I should go. I stand up and pad down the hall but find no one there. Only the smell. I walk back and go into another corridor.
I try to open a door but it’s locked. I look around me and see that the doctor is following me. He doesn’t say anything. I don’t say anything either; I simply walk in and sit in a chair. He closes the door and sits opposite me.
I sink back into my newspaper. It’s a cowboys-and-Indians comic. I don’t know how to read it but I look at the pictures. I look at them really well. The Indians are spying on the cowboys. Indians are good and cowboys are evil.
— Don’t you want to take off your jacket? he asks.
I am hot. I take off my jacket without looking up from the paper and throw it on the floor.
The doctor is called Einar. He’s fun but weird. Whenever I say something he thinks about it and writes in his book. I don’t know what he is writing. Maybe he’s writing a story. Maybe it’s a story about a boy like me who disobeys his mother. Maybe he understands me; maybe he understands that I’m not bad. But maybe I am bad. Sometimes I pull other kids’ hair and I’m mean to Mom. Sometimes I damage my toys when I’m playing with them. Sometimes people are angry at me and scold me, but I usually don’t know why. There are bad guys who come and take rude boys.
There’s a crane up on the shelf.
— What’s that? I ask, and point to the crane.
— It’s a crane.
— It’s strange.
— It is made from Bilofix.
I look at the crane. Bilofix is a toy like Lego. It has pieces of wood with holes and colorful plastic screws that fix them together. There are also tires. I’ve played with Bilofix before.
— I want it, I say.
He stands up, fetches the crane, and gives it to me. It’s really cool. It has a band in it that can be pulled up by turning a wheel. Some of the screws are loose. I undo them completely and put them in different places. I’m going to take the crane apart and put it back together again. Sometimes I build things from Lego bricks, like houses, then throw them against the floor so that they smash. It’s okay to break Legos because you can always build it again. Bilofix is like that. Meccano too. Meccano’s just the same, only made of iron.
The crane falls apart. I can’t put it together again. The band has gotten all tangled. But it’s okay. I haven’t damaged anything. I know I haven’t because Einar isn’t angry. He just looks curiously at me then writes in his book.
I wind the band around the sticks and throw it all on the floor. Then I pick up the paper that comes with Bilofix. It’s got instructions and pictures but it’s all too difficult.
— I don’t get it.
Einar stands up, takes the Bilofix, and puts it in a box. Then he sits back down, and writes in the book.
— Your mother tells me you don’t enjoy playing with other kids?