by Joe Meno
The family goes so far as to invite me to visit the Belizean port with them the following afternoon. I accept all of this without thought. By the end of the night, Jess, the younger sister, suggests we play a game of flashlight tag, using the lower decks, but her father cautiously intercedes, pointing at his silver watch with a slight frown. I realize then that it is already past midnight and that tomorrow when I see this delightful family, when I am alone with Alexandria, I will have to act like none of us have ever met. If they wave to me as I am sitting beside the pool, I will not be able to wave back. If the father calls my name from across the buffet line, asking me to join them, I will turn, my face red with shame, looking over at my younger sister with her two dishes of chocolate pudding, before escorting her to the most deserted, most remote dining room table.
At the end of that most lovely evening, I make my way back to the elevator, feeling more glum than glum, more lonely than lonely. I see one of Sabine’s messages in black ink scribbled on the wood paneling, then another in the hallway on the second deck, then a third along the upper deck’s railing. I search my pants pockets for the black pen and hold it in my hand, and for some reason I do not discard it on a stack of room service plates. I examine it and think of the way the girl might have looked with her timid eyes closed, what secrets she might have confided in me some days later. I stand beneath the opaque lighting with the stars gaping down at me, the sound of the great vessel’s engines rumbling like an unanswered argument, the noise ringing through the porthole window as I continue peering down at my feet for many, many, many minutes.
I do not know what to tell my sister. All I am able to think of are extravagant lies in which her poor self-image has been properly saved. When I return to the cabin, many hours later, the lights are out and Alexandria is lying in bed. She immediately sits up and switches on the bedside lamp, her face delicately aglow, her silver smile perfectly brilliant. I turn to her, unable to look, before she asks me to please tell her everything.
illustration by
Rachell Sumpter
Iceland is located just south of the Arctic Circle, in the North Atlantic Ocean. It is an incredibly attractive and thoroughly exciting island nation. What is most unique about this small republic is that it was one of the last islands uninhabited by humans until it was discovered by immigrants from Scandinavia in the ninth and tenth centuries. The people who live in Iceland are beautifully pale, as if they too are made of ice. Their eyes lack guile and also pigmentation. When they are displeased or unhappy about something, their corneas become as transparent as glass, so that it is possible to actually see what they are feeling. Though their spoken language only contains fifty-two actual words (as the cold prevents them from being more verbally communicative), the Icelandic people are quite proud of their prosperous island country.
Historical Background:
Before its independence, Iceland was, at one time, under the rule of Norway and then Denmark. In the year 928, the revolutionary battle between the people of Iceland and their Danish rulers, known as the Quietest War, was begun. Iceland was then mostly a series of small, unknown fishing villages, many of which had never been mapped. When the Danes returned in the winter of 928 to collect taxes from their conquered Icelandic subjects, they demanded a young Icelander named Magnus Ragnheiðr draw a map of his country to expedite their conquest. In an uncanny act of courageous revolt, Magnus Ragnheiðr sketched a false atlas instead, in the hopes of deceiving the bloodthirsty Danish army. As the Danish Vikings trudged through the wintry landscape, searching for rich villages to plunder, they found themselves unprepared for the brutal weather they encountered. One by one, the Danes began to perish. Along the route of this deadly march, Magnus Ragnheiðr had built a number of miniature villages—constructed entirely out of ice, twigs, and snow. Due to the shifting perspective of the voluminous flurries and the rugged winter terrain, the effect of these dioramas was quite convincing. When the Danes drew closer to the minute, false towns, they realized, all too late, the Icelanders’ ruse. Following imaginary paths to invented ice villages, the conquering Danes finally discovered that they were lost. The remaining Danish Vikings then turned on one another, before wholly disappearing beneath the silent veil of a truly vicious snowstorm. Today, the celebration of Magnus Ragnheiðr’s ingenuity and the noiseless war which he singularly waged is re-enacted each December 1, in a national holiday known only as Ice, Twig, and Snow Day.
Soon thereafter, in the year 930, the Icelandic people created the world’s oldest functioning legislative assembly, the Althing. Magnus Ragnheiðr was its first laplig or secretary. Magnus Ragnheiðr is likewise commemorated on the most valuable Icelandic coin, the Fjordragnheiðr, which is roughly equivalent to a United States quarter.
Iceland has since then enjoyed quiet prosperity throughout most of its existence, with the exception of a number of volcanic eruptions, the first occurring in Askja in 1875. Askja had been previously thought to be dormant until an avalanche of ice buried the nation’s former capital, Olafur. Remarkably, most citizens of the capital were unharmed by the eruption, though their city had been hidden beneath a translucent barrier of impenetrable glacial snow and ice. For nearly eight years, the people of Olafur survived as an independent colony, living quite happily within their glassy fortress. A number of interesting inventions were borne out of this terrific event: Industrious though very tiny horses were bred to navigate the narrow passageways which had been tunneled through the ice. These miniature horses would later be matched with a line of British fox-trotting ponies to create the world’s smallest adult horse, the Icelandic fox-trotting breed. Of equal importance was the underground city’s social customs. Citizens of Olafur often found themselves stooping to pass one another in the cramped passageways and it is now suggested that this was the first place in the world where people had formally begun to bow to one another as a sign of respect and welcoming.
In the year 1900, a subsequent eruption of Askja devastated the entire nation of Iceland. The subterranean capital of Olafur was buried once again in a tremendous wave of killing sleet and ice; this time, unfortunately, there were no survivors. The city of Olafur’s population was immediately frozen in place. Ice mixed with volcanic ash combined to create a permanent tableau of horror. The ice city of Olafur is now visited by hundreds of thousands of tourists each year. It is possible to see the remarkably human activities that each of these frozen citizens, at the moment of their deaths, were performing—everything from sweeping to sewing to praying to gutting petrified fish.
After the second eruption of Askja, nearly two-thirds of the island nation of Iceland found itself buried in volcanic debris. In the spring of 1901, as the snow and ice began to recede, the still-frozen bodies of several thousand people and animals were discovered in a number of unlikely places—high atop trees, in haylofts, wedged into neighbors’ chimneys. One such corpse, a full-grown horse, had been left atop the narrow steeple of St. James Cathedral in Halsuk. The horse, now fondly referred to as Goldie, was later cast in gold and is, to this day, a Halsuk landmark.
It is also a little known fact that the world’s first spiral staircase was built sometime during the late nineteenth century in Reykjavík, Iceland’s current capital; forensic architects believe the year of origination to be 1865 or 1866. In the city of Reykjavík, all staircases are now required to be spiral. Over the years of their wonderful history, the people of the capital city discovered that spiral staircases make the most lovely entrances and the most enchanting exits, and in 1903 a city law was passed officially mandating their use.
During the next century, there was a large emigration from Iceland to Canada and the United States, equaling nearly twenty percent of the island’s population. Fear of future volcanic eruptions, famine, and economic depression were all common causes of emigration. Intrepid Icelanders, desperate to escape cruel conditions, were known to build small sailing vessels out of suitcases and trunks, with masts assembled from abandoned furniture and other de
bris. Oftentimes, these tiny makeshift ships, called Fluevðrs, would safely reach their destinations, with mainsails expertly crafted out of heavy quilts and winter blankets.
Today, Iceland’s literacy rate is among the highest in the world. Icelandic literature is often concerned with topics most other Western Europeans can hardly imagine. Tales of ice fairies and ice princesses abound. Unlike most contemporary works of literature, it is part of the Icelandic tradition that the hero or heroine of the novel—at the end of the work—usually dies by drowning. The most famous and longest Icelandic novel ever written is Magnus by Kurt Vullholing, a seventeen-volume historical retelling of founding father Magnus Ragnheiðr’s life story. It includes a detailed appendix of each of Magnus Ragnheiðr’s descendents and a thrilling account of his daily health and diet regime, which involved the consumption of an almost unbelievable amount of whale blood.
Iceland’s current economy is supported by a prosperous fishing industry, by abounding tourism, and by a thriving, state-subsidized mannequin industry. Icelandic mannequins are some of the most detailed and provocative mannequins in the world. Icelandic mannequins are almost immediately recognizable by their nine fingers instead of ten. The final digit on the left hand is always left missing as part of an old Icelandic superstition that prevents these statues from coming to life.
Today, most Icelanders enjoy a relatively safe middle-class existence with all the same trappings of capitalism, commercialism, and consumerism that their mainland European neighbors take pleasure in, though the threat of both earthquakes and volcanic eruptions is a constant.
Location:
Iceland is located in the arctic region, both north and west of the United
Kingdom.
Geographic Coordinates:
65°00 N, 18°00 W
Area—Comparative:
Iceland is about the size of any large United States airport.
Climatology:
Iceland’s weather is generally frigid. It is so cold so often that most Icelandic women tend to wear their hair cut short for fear that their tresses will break off at the root, leaving blond braids in their lovers’ large, gloved hands. Most winter months, the freezing temperatures force the Icelandic people to sleep for extended periods of time, closing down schools and businesses for the entire winter season. An Icelandic adult may sleep up to five months per annum, while Icelandic children enjoy up to ten months of rest each year.
Wildlife:
The only native Icelandic mammal is the arctic fox. Today, this animal is usually hunted for its soft fur, while its teeth are ground up and mixed with licorice liqueur to create an aphrodisiac.
Other forms of wildlife are the snowy egret, whose numbers have begun to dwindle due to the expansion of a voracious Icelandic salt industry, and the arctic trumpet-billed wood duck, the national bird of Iceland featured in many folk songs and nursery rhymes.
Capital:
The capital of Iceland is Reykjavík. Its longitude and latitude are: 64°08 N, 21°56
W. It is a city made almost entirely out of glass. Each staircase in Reykjavík is spiral in design.
The tallest building in Reykjavík is called the Gísladóttir. Its brilliant crystal antennae turn bright blue each evening at precisely the same time, which signals the end of the Reykjavík work day.
The arrival of the new year is the most important event for the people of Reykjavík. They spend large sums of money on fireworks, most of which are set off as midnight approaches. Every year there are a number of unfortunate deaths associated with these enormous firework displays, which adversely affect Reykjavík’s typically low crime rate.
Terrain:
The geography of Iceland is mostly plateau interspersed with volcanoes, mountain peaks, and expansive ice fields. Iceland’s coast is shaped by a number of bays and fjords. A fjord is a narrow inlet, which due to the season and weather patterns may vary greatly in size and depth. Fjords are most useful to Icelanders as a source of minerals like salt and sulfur. At one time, entire mining towns were built along these fjords, and each spring as the snow melted and the ice thawed, the fjords would grow, rising steeply along the banks. In summer, these tiny mining towns would vanish beneath the surface of the water, and would then reappear in the fall. Several buildings and houses were built with two entrances, an elevated entrance for the summer months when the fjords would rise, and one for the winter months at the base of the building, when the fjords would be low. The five most important fjords of Iceland are:
Hvalfjörður
Skagafjörður
Ísafjarðardjúp
Eyjafjörður
Húnaflói
Elevation Extremes:
Lowest point: Atlantic Ocean, 0 meters Highest point: Hvannadalshnukur, 2,110 meters (at Vatnajokull Glacier)
Natural Resources:
Iceland’s greatest natural resource is its abundance of fish—chiefly cod and whitefish. Fishing is both the nation’s oldest industry and the most financially lucrative, even today. Fish are used for much more than just food. Fish eyes are essential to the Icelandic medical industry in the treatment of skin lesions, while fish oils are used to lubricate intricate machinery. Iceland’s other natural resources include a profusion of sea salt, which is deposited along its coasts in enormous drifts, and volcanic gases, which, when properly excavated, are used in the creation of a famous Icelandic soft drink.
Natural Hazards:
As Iceland is fraught with innumerable fault lines and over ten thousand volcanoes, its most dangerous natural hazards are both earthquakes and tumultuous volcanic activity. Iceland’s last earthquake was in 1989 and registered a .60 on the Richter scale. After the initial shockwaves, which forced a number of buildings in the capital of Reykjavík to shift dangerously from their foundations, a second earthquake called a “twin” or “echo” of equal, opposing vibrations, immediately returned the same buildings to their original, intact positions.
The most recent volcanic eruption in Iceland took place in 2002, when the three volcanoes at Laskard exploded without any forewarning. As the volcanoes were thought to be safely inactive—each crater filled with a vibrant blue lake— their subsequent, coordinated eruptions caused a widespread national disaster. A cloud of bright green smoke hung above the island for a full year afterwards, raining down bits of debris and sulfur on an unsuspecting public. The Icelandic government issued protective safety suits, ingeniously designed with matching helmets, oxygen tanks, and gloves, for all of its citizens’ use, young and old alike. As late as 2005, many Icelanders continued to wear the plastic safety clothing, until a formal announcement issued by the government informed them of the Icelandic atmosphere’s apparent safety.
Population:
299,388 (July 2008 estimate)
Culture and Customs:
One of the most striking features of Icelandic culture is that men often wear their facial hair in elaborately fashioned mustaches and beards. Each year, in March, a national contest is held for the most original beard in Iceland. Afterwards, the winner is considered a national celebrity and is featured in a number of tourist advertisements for their island country. The women in Iceland usually wear their winter gloves year round and, because of this, their skin is unimaginably supple. When an Icelandic woman removes her gloves in public, male observers will sometimes cry out, “Dus!” an Icelandic expression which relays the beautiful shock one experiences from the unfamiliar sight of such loveliness.
Most Icelandic cultural events and customs are based on the terribly quiet joy one feels moments before or after an earthquake or volcanic eruption. Though it may be hard for us to understand, Icelandic people love the complex and often destructive nature of their small island nation. In popular songs, Iceland is usually referred to as “the mistress you wish you never met, but certainly can never forget.” Why do these Icelanders love their imperfect little country when it has so often been the source of unending misery? Why choose to live among volcanoes, in desolation,
with weather that is almost impossible to endure? Why be forced to contemplate the terror of being buried alive by an earthquake that will certainly destroy everything you hold dear before too long? Why love anything?
illustration by
kozyndan
One sad story: Paul and his girlfriend Elizabeth are in their compact car arguing when it first happens. When it first happens, they are arguing about who is singing the pop song now playing on the radio. Elizabeth knows she is wrong but hates to admit it because of that stupid look Paul gets on his face, and at the end of the song, when the deejay announces the title and the name of the artist, he nods once and cocks an eyebrow in such a way that makes her roll her eyes and laugh at what a total retard he is. “I was right!” he shouts, grinning. “I am the master! I rule you and the world and everything.” Elizabeth stares at him for a moment; his face is not as thin as it used to be, his cheeks are covered in a few days’ growth of blond whiskers, and his jacket has a tear along the elbow. She looks at him as if she is meeting him for the fist time. She decides she is still really in love with him. She turns and stares out the passenger’s side window at the city moving past. Suddenly she becomes aware that something is very wrong. She is no longer breathing properly. Her heart has stopped beating. The corpuscles in her veins are somehow failing. Her body tenses, her limbs becoming loose and nearly lifeless, her eyes open wide as she struggles to take in another breath. Paul has not noticed yet. He is still celebrating his small victory. By the time he glances over and turns down the radio, pulling out of traffic, a strange thing has begun to happen. White light—small white lights—have begun to glow in the absolute center of Elizabeth’s chest, and her screams, rising from her open mouth, sound far away, like she is falling through clouds.
