Chapter 1 (Lítið Fólk)

Background information.

I was born on 10 July 1974 in the small town of Eplibænum, Iceland, under the name Marel Knoerrsson. At the time, there were only around 900 people living there, and out of those, only 3 were of the Jewish faith. I was one of them.

In fact, there were few Jews residing in Iceland at all. I’ve looked through many records over the years, and could hardly piece together a single Jewish family.

I haven’t faced any sort of obvious antisemitism yet, although sometimes I can feel a bit isolated - it is difficult growing up without anyone aside from your own family who shares the same experiences and beliefs.

When I was 5 years old, in January 1980, my oldest little brother was born. My parents called him Magnus. It was a bit easier handling the world after that. At this point in my life, my parents were both still working. My mother, Elina, as a schoolteacher in the school I would begin attending later that year, and my father, Knoerr, taking odd jobs for friends and acquaintances. Of course, my father did end up bringing in more money at the end of the day. But my parents seemed content, and we lived comfortably.

At 8, my second brother, Lárus, was born in August 1982. I was still a bit too young to fully understand or appreciate the meaning of a new human being as a part of my little family. Soon after Lárus was born, my mother decided she was not going to work anymore. My father wholeheartedly supported her decision, and we got on fine from then on with only my father’s wages; any struggle we faced was easily sorted.

My last brother, Stefan, was born in February 1985, when I was 10 years old. I’m not certain if it’s because I was a bit older, or if Stefan was simply a unique case, but since that day, over 5 years ago, I have felt overly protective and extremely emotional when it came to him, and as though I would do anything for him. He has always been a simple boy, a bit strange, and a bit quiet - but he’s sweet and empathetic - something I’m very proud of and which I love dearly about him. This was when my mother told me she didn’t plan to have any more children; she had always wanted a daughter, but had been cursed with 4 sons.

When Stefan was born, things began going downhill for our family. My mother and my father had a falling out, and, for whatever reason, my father decided he would rather abandon us than resolve the issue. I never truly understood why, and no one ever cared to enlighten me.

My mother tried to get her old job back, but she had, of course, already been replaced by then. She tried for us, but when she couldn’t find any job openings, she gave up. At first she would just lie all day in bed, neglecting Lárus and Stefan; whenever Magnus and I would return home, they would most likely have not eaten or been changed all day. Lárus was pale as a ghost with bags under his eyes, and Stefan would knock himself out from screaming for hours on end.

Eventually I couldn’t stand seeing them in such a state, so I saw no other option but to stop attending school and stay home with them. My mother, of course, took this as an excuse to start getting out of bed and leaving the house, going G-d knows where, for days, and even weeks, at a time.

Still, I took it in stride. Magnus was still attending school, and my brothers were well fed and well looked after. Once the summer began, the boys were easier to manage with the help of Magnus. However, the struggle did not cease. I knew it was not ideal for an 11 year old and a 6 year old to take care of a 3 year old and a 1 year old, but it had to be done.

I never told anyone, aside from my best friend Annette. And I knew she wouldn’t tell anyone - she was the same age as I was, and no smarter. Or, at least, not where it mattered. And we both knew how it felt to feel estranged within our communities - I was the only Jew in our town, and she was one out of three black girls that attended her school. Our experiences may not have been exactly the same, but it was nice having someone around who understood what it felt like to be different.

My mother left for good when I was 15 years old; last December. I woke one day to a note on the kitchen table for me. She wrote all about how no matter how much she loved me and my brothers, she had things she felt like she needed to do before it was too late. She wrote about how proud she was of me, how responsible I was, how she knew I could handle it. I knew I could - but I didn’t want to. I wanted to be a child. I wanted to join Annette at the movies, attend school, get into trouble for forgetting my gym kit. Everything that the rest of my peers could do. Instead I was stuck indoors, watching from the outside with 3 children in the background crying because they hadn’t eaten in two days.

I used up every bit of money I could from selling furniture, clothes, and other household items on food and other necessities, so, naturally, I one day came home to an eviction notice on the door, effective immediately.

Annette, the wonderful girl that she is, let us stay in her spare room and sleep while her parents were at work, and before they returned, we would leave, usually with a small bag of whatever food she could manage to send us off with. We were all eternally grateful for her. From then, I was able to save up the money I happened by, and Annette took care of keeping my brothers fed. It wasn’t ideal, but I appreciated it nonetheless.

I was even able to start attending school again, but when I realized that I would have to start where I had left it 5 years ago, I decided against it. So I spent the day sleeping, eating, writing, and cleaning. I figured it was fair compensation.

This is how my life went until the next year. The summer went by much easier for me and my brothers. Annette’s mother found out we had been sleeping there, and offered to keep quiet with her husband, who would most likely not take it as well as she had.

Author's Note

If you think there is a better way I could establish the speaker's name and gender, please tell me. I only recently added them, and I don't particularly like how forced it sounds. I'd prefer to just imply his gender, and wait until the 2nd chapter to mention his name within dialogue. Let me know if you have any ideas, or if you think it sounds alright on its own. Thanks!