Jakobsdottir
(b. 1930) 382
Iceland
B orn in eastern Iceland, Svava Jakobsdoitir also spent part of her childhood in
Saskatchewan, Canada, -where her father "held a position as minister of the Ice-
landic Lutheran Church. She lived in Reykjavik, the capital of Iceland, for part of high
school and college, but returned to North America to study English literature at Smith
College (Massachusetts). Continuing her literary Studies at Somerville College, Ox-
ford, and at Uppsala University in Sweden, she concentrated on Old Icelandic and
modern Swedish literatures.
From the study of literature, Jakobsdottir turned to its creation, publishing her first
collection of stones, Twelve Women, in 1965. She has also published a now! and
several other collections o/short stories, as well as three plays and several radio scripts.
In her writing, Jakobsddttir frequently focuses on women's roles and expectations in
contemporary society.
Jakobsddttir has also sewed in several capacities within the political and diplomat-
ic profession: first in Iceland's Foreign Ministry and later as an elected member of the
Icelandic Parliament, a delegate to the United Nations, and a member of the Nordic
Committee whose goal was the promotion of gender equality. After serving several
terms in office, she gave up her political career to be a /nil-time writer. She is married
to a/olklorist, Jon Hnefil! Adalsteinsson, and has one son.
• gave little or no help at such moments, though she tried to call them to mind. They
A STORY FOR CHILDREN
For as long as she could remember she had resolved to be true to her nature and de-
vote all her energies to her home and her children. There were several children now
and from morning till night she was swamped with work, doing the household chores
and caring for the children. She was now preparing supper and waiting for the pota-
toes to boil. A Danish women's magazine lay on the kitchen bench as if it had been
tossed there accidentally; in fact, she kept it there on purpose and sneaked a look at
it whenever she got a chance. Without letting the pot of potatoes out of her mind she
picked up the magazine and skimmed over Fru Ensom's1 advice column. This was by
no means the column that seemed most interesting to her, but it was usually short.
It was possible that it would last just long enough so that the potatoes would be boil-
ing when, she finished reading it. The first letter in the column was short: Dear Fru
Ensom, I have never lived for anything other than my children and have done every-
thing for them. Now 1 am left alone and they never visit me. What should I do? Fru
Ensom answered: Do more for them.
'Fru Ensom Danish: Mrs. Lonesome.
381
SVAVA JAKOBSDOTTIR
This was the logical answer, of course. It was perfectly clear that nothing else was
possible. She hoped that she wouldn't start writing to the magazines about such ob-
vious things when the time came. No, these columns where people moaned and
groaned were not to her liking. The columns which discussed childreating.and the
role of the mother—or rather, the column, since both subjects were discussed in one
and the same column—were much more positive. The fundamental aspects of child-
rearing had of course been familiar to her for quite some time now, but it did happen
that she felt weak and fatigued at times. At that point she would leaf through the
columns on child-rearing seeking courage and confirmation that she was on the right
track in life. She only regretted having less and less time to read.
The uncleaned fish awaited her in the sink and she withstood the temptation to
read the child-rearing column this time. She closed the magazine and stood up. She
limped a little bit ever since the children had cut off the big toe on her right foot. They
had wanted to find out what happened if someone had only nine toes. Within her-
self she was proud of her limp and of her children's eagerness to learn, and sometimes
she limped even more than was necessary. She now turned the heat down under the
potatoes and began cleaning the fish. The kitchen door opened and her litrle son, who
was six years old and had blue eyes and light curly hair, came up to her.
"Mama," he said, and stuck a pin in her arm. She started and almost cut hetself
with the knife.
"Yes, dear," she said, and reached out her other arm so the child could stick it, too.
"Mama, tell me a story."
She put the knife down, dried her hands and sat down with the child in her lap
to tell him a story. She was just about halfway through the story when it occurred to
her that one of the other children might suffer psychological harm from not getting
supper on time. In the boy's face she tried to see how he would take it if she stopped
telling the story. She felt the old indecisiveness taking hold of her and. she became
distracted from the stoty. This inability of hers to make decisions had increased with
the number of children and the ever-increasing chores. She had begun to fear those
moments which interrupted her usual rush from morning to night. More and more
often she lost her poise if she stopped to make a decision. The child-rearing columns
only discussed one problem and one child at a time. Other problems always had to
wait until next week.
This time she was spared making a decision. The door opened and all the children
crowded into the kitchen. Stjani, the oldest, was in the lead. At an early age he had
shown an admirable interest in both human and animal biology. The boy who had
been listening to the story now slid out of her lap and took up a position among his
brothers and sisters. They formed a semicircle around her and she looked over each
of them one after the other.
"Mama, we want to see what a person's brain looks like."
She looked at the clock.
"Right now?" she asked.
Stjani didn't answer his mother's question. With a nod of his head and a sharp
glance he gave his younger brother a sign, and the younger brother went and got a
rope, while Stjani fastened the saw blade to the handle. The rope was then wrapped
around the mother. She felt how the little hands fumbled at her back while the knot
was tied. The rope was loose and it wouldn't take much effort to get free. But she was
careful not to let it be noticed. He had always been sensitive about how clumsy he
 A Story for Children
383
was with his hands. Just as Stjani raised the saw up to her head the image of the
childten's father came into her mind. She saw him in front of her just as he would
appear in a little while: on the threshold of the front door with his briefcase in one
hand and his hat in the other. She never saw him except in the front doorway, ei-
ther on his way out or on his way in. She had once been able to imagine him out-
side the house among other people or at the office, but now, after the children had
been born, they had moved into a new house and he into a new office, and she had
lost her bearings. He would come home soon and she still hadn't started frying the
fish. The blood had now begun to flow down her head. Stjani had gotten through
with the saw. It seemed to be going well, and fairly quickly. Now and then he stopped
as if he were measuring with his eyes just how big the hole had to be. Blood spurt-
ed into his face and a curse crossed his lips. He nodded his head and the young
brother went immediately and got the mop bucket. They placed it under the hole
and soon it was half full. The procedure was over at the exact moment the father ap-
peared in the doorway. He stood motionless for a while and pondered the sight which
presented its.elf to him: his wife tied up, with a hole in her head, the eldest son hold-
ing a gray brain in his hand, the curious group of children huddled together, and
only one pot on the stove.
"Kids! How can you think of doing this when it's already suppertime?"
He picked up the piece of his wife's skull.and snapped it back in just as she was
about to bleed to death. Then he took over and soon the children were busy tidying
up after themselves. He wiped most of the blood stains off the walls himself before he
checked on the pot on the stove. There was a suspicious sound coming from it. The
water had boiled away and he took the pot off the stove and set it on the metal counter
next to the sink. When he saw the half-cleaned fish in the sink he realized that his wife
had still not gotten up from the chair. Puzzled, he knit his brow. It wasn't usual for her
to be sitting down when there was so much to do. He went over to her and looked at
her attentively. He noticed then that they had forgotten to untie her.
When he had freed her they looked into each other's eyes and smiled. Never was
their harmony more deeply felt than when their eyes met in mutual pride over the
children.
"Silly urchins," he said, and his voice was filled with the concern and affection that
he felt for his family.
Soon afterward they sat down at the table. Everyone except Stjani. He was in his
room studying the brain under a microscope. Meanwhile, his mother kept his supper
warm for him in the kitchen. They were all hungry and took to. their food briskly; this
was an unusually late supper. There was no change to be seen in the mother. She
had washed her hair and combed it over the cut before she sat down. Her mild ex-
pression displayed the patience and self-denial usual at mealtimes. This expression had
first appeared during those years when she served her children first and kept only the
smallest and most meager piece for herself. Now the children were big enough so
that they could take the best pieces themselves and the expression was actually un-
necessary, but it had become an inseparable part of the meal. Before the meal was over
Stjani came in and sat down. The mother went 10 get his supper. In the kitchen she
boned the fish thoroughly before putting it on the plate. When she picked up the
garbage pail to throw the bones away she let out a scream. The brain was right on top
of the pail.
The rest of the family rushed out as soon as her scream reached the dining room.
The father was in the lead and was quick to discover what was wrong when he saw "
384 SVAVA JAKOBSDOTTIR
his wife staring down into the garbage pail. Her scream had died out, but it could
still be seen in the contours of her face.
"You think it's a shame to throw it out, don't you, dear?" he asked.
"I don't know," she said and looked at him apologetically. "I didn't think."
"Mama didn't think, mama didn't think, mama didn't think," chanted one of the
children who had an especially keen sense of humor.
They all burst out laughing and the laughter seemed to solve the problem. The fa-
ther said he had an idea; they didn't have to throw the brain out, they could keep it
in alcohol.
With that, he put the brain into a clear jar and poured alcohol over it. They
brought the jar'into the living room and found a place for it on a shelf of knick-
knacks. They all agreed it fit well there. Then they finished eating.
There were no noticeable changes in the household routine due to the brain loss.
At first a lot of people came to visit. They came to see the brain, and those who had
prided themselves on their grandmother's old spinning wheel in the corner of their
living room now looked with envy upon the brain upon the shelf. She felt no changes
in herself either at first. It hadn't become a bit more difficult for her to do housework
or to understand the Danish magazines. Many things even turned out to be easier
than before, and situations that earlier had caused her to rack her brain no longer did
so. But gradually she began to feel a heaviness in her chest. It seemed as if her lungs
no longer had room enough to function and after a year had passed she went to the
doctor. A thorough examination revealed that her heart had grown larger usus in-
naturalis et adsidui causa.1 She asked the doctor to excuse her for having forgotten all
the Lalin she had learned in school, and patiently he explained to her how the loss
of one organ could result in changes in another. Just as a man who loses his sight will
acquire a more acute sense of hearing, her heart had increased its activity a good deal
when her brain was no longer available. This was a natural development, lex. woe,3
if one may say so—and at that, the doctor laughed—there was no need to fear that
such a law could be anything but just. Therefore she didn't have to be afraid. She was
in the best of health.
She felt relieved at these words. Lately she had even been afraid that she had only
a short time to live, and this fear had become an increasingly loud voice within her
breast which said: What will become of them if I die? But now she realized that this
voice, whose strength and clarity grew steadily, was no prophecy, but rather the voice
of her heart. This knowledge made her happy because the voice of one's heart could
be trusted.
The years passed and her heart's voice showed her the way: from the children's
rooms and her husband's study to the kitchen and the bedroom. This route was dear
to her, and no gust of wind that blew through the front door was ever strong enough
to sweep away her tracks. Only one thing aroused fear in her: unexpected changes in
the world. The year they changed counter girls at the milk store five times she was
never quite all right. But the children grew up. She awoke with a bad dream when
her oldest child, Stjani, began to pack his suitcase to go out into the world. With
uncontrollable vehemence she threw herself over the threshold to block his exit. A
sucking sound could be heard as the boy stepped on her on his way out. He thought
usus mnaturalis et adsidui causa Latin: a case involving unnatural and persistent use.
3 lex
vime Latin: law of life.
j\ fa Children 335
386 SVAVA JAKOBSDGTTIR
^e vvas moaning and. parsed a moment and said that she herself was to blame No and it was impossible to tell when they would return. Furthermore, they never stayed
O ne had asked her to lie down there. She smiled as she got up because what he had
in home port long enough for there to be time for anything other than begetting
said wasn't quite right. Her heart had told her to lie there. She had heard the voice
children. She withdrew from the bitterness of her daughters-in-law and went to see
clearly and now, as she watched ham. walk down the street, the voice spoke to her again her oldest daughter, who opened the door herself. A look of astonishment and re-
and said that she could still be glad that she had softened his first steps out into the vulsion came over her face when she saw the slimy, red heart pulsating in her moth-
world. Later on they all left one after the other and she was left alone. She no longer er's palm, and in her consternation, she slammed the door. This was of course an
had anything to do in the children's rooms and she would often sit in the easy chair involuntary reaction and she quickly opened the door again, but she made it clear to
in the living room now. If she looked up, the jar on the shelf came into view, where her mother that she didn't care at all about her heart; and she wasn't sure it would
the brain had stood all these years and, in fact, was almost completely forgotten. Cus- go with the new furniture in the living room. The mother then realized that it was
tom had made it commonplace. Sometimes she pondered over it. As far as she could pointless to continue the march, because her younger daughters had even newer fur-
see, it had kept well. But she got less and less pleasure out of looking at it. It reminded niture. So she went home. There she filled a jar with alcohol and dropped the heart
her of her children. And gradually she felt that a change was again taking place with- into it. A deep sucking sound, like a gasp within a human breast, could be heard as
in herself, but she couldn't bring herself to mention it to her husband. She saw him the heart sank to the bottom. And now they each stood on the shelf in their own jars,
so seldom lately, and whenever he appeared at home she got up from the chair in a her brain and her heart. But no one came to view them. And the children never
hurry, as if a guest had arrived. One day he brought up the question himself of whether came to visit. Their excuse always was that they were too busy. But the truth was
she wasn't feeling well. Pleased, she looked up, but when she saw that he was figur- that they didn't like the sterile smell that clung to everything in the house.
ing the accounts at the same time, she became confused in answering (she had never [1975]
been particularly good in figuring). In her confusion she said she didn't have enough Translated by
to do. He looked at her amazed and said there were enough things to be done if peo- DENNIS AUBURN HILL
ple only used their brain. Of course he said this without thinking. He knew very well
that she didn't have a hrain, but she nevertheless took him literally. She took the jar
down from the shelf, brought it to the doctor and asked if he thought the brain was
still useable. The doctor didn't exclude the possibility of its being of some use, but on
the other hand, all organs atrophied after being preserved in alcohol for a long time.
Therefore it would be debatable whether it would pay to move it at all; in addition,
the nervi cerebrates4 had been left in rather poor shape, and the doctor asked whether
some clumsy dolt had actually done the surgery.
"He was so little then, the poot thing," the woman said.
"By the way," said the doctor, ''I recall that you had a highly developed heart."
The woman avoided the doctor's inquiring look and a faint pang of conscience
gripped her. And she whispered to the doctor what she hadn't dared hint of to-
her husband:
"My heart's voice has fallen silent."
As she said this she realized why she had come. She unbuttoned her blouse, took
it off and laid it neatly on the back of the chair. Her bra went the same way. Then
she stood ready in front of the doctor, naked from the waist up. He picked up a
scalpel and cut, and a moment later he handed her the gleaming, red heart. Care-
fully he placed it in her palm and her hands closed around it. Its hesitant beat re-
sembled the fluttering of a bird in a cage. She offered to pay the doctor, but he shook
his head and, seeing that she was having difficulty, helped her get dressed. He then
offered to call her a taxi since she had so much to carry. She refused, stuffed the
brain jar into her shopping bag and slipped the bag over her arm. Then she left with
the heart in her hands.
Now began the long march from one child to the next. She first went to see her
sons, but found none of them at home. They had all gotten a berth on the ship of state

4 nervicerebrates Latin: cerebral nerves.