A Man Out of Time

It’s been about a month now. I don’t belong here, I just don’t know how to leave. Where I am… when I am... whatever. It’s wrong.

It’s been fading away since I arrived, but the memory still remains. I was a fisherman. I had a family. A beautiful wife and three children… or maybe four… Jesus, I can’t remember any of their names. I worked on a wooden ship. I remember the boat’s name. We called it Bjarni Herjofsson. Or maybe that was just the kind of boat it was.

I lived in a small town called the Smoky Bay or Reykjavík or something. The memories are coming in and out and the language is wrong… not wrong… just different. Houses were mostly made out of stone and we used turf to roof them... Now that I think about it, it doesn’t make any sense.

If my memory serves me correctly, and I think I’ve established it is hazy at best, I encountered a storm and went overboard into the frigid Arctic waters. I don’t remember anything after, but the initial shock still seems pretty clear.

The next thing I remember was waking up in a room. A room painted so brilliantly white and lit so well it almost threw me into shock again. I thrashed around in my weird metal bed they made for me. I was tied to it. Why?

The doctor gave me a shot. I was calmed. I was very calm. I could barely breathe, let alone move. Another doctor came in and they talked about me as if I wasn’t there in a language that should’ve been foreign to me. No ID, no fingerprint record, he washed up on Fort Tilden. I tried to speak. I tried to say, “My name is Helgi. Helgí Baldursson.” I could only mumble gibberish. The doctors looked at me briefly and then at each other. “Well.” One of them said, “Give him the night, I guess. Tomorrow cut him loose and give this bed to someone with money.” I fell asleep shortly after that. Not entirely sure what they gave me, but it certainly made this whole weird situation quite a bit more bearable.

The next day I woke up and they cut me loose. I walked through the hospital in complete awe. It was brighter than anything I’d seen in my life, and I’d lived in a place where the sun didn’t set for days on end.

I walked outside of the hospital and was completely blown away. The streets were filled with what I now know are cars. They were constantly honking and zipping around faster than any horse carriage I’d ever seen. I saw more people in my first hour here than I’d seen in my entire life. And different kinds of people than I even knew existed. People with hair that’s not red or blonde, but brown, black, and even blue or green sometimes. People with skin darker than any shade of suntan I’ve ever even imagined.

I stumbled through this new experience awestruck and almost got hit by at least two cars in the process. Every person I encountered looked at me like I was crazy and when I tried to speak, nothing but nonsense came out. I walked to the ocean beach and stared out at the sea. Where the hell am I? Why can’t I speak clearly? I can understand people, but they can’t understand me.

A couple of people walked by me as I sat there and put some paper in my hand, which I now know is money. I know it sounds crazy, but I feel like before I only used wool and fish as currency… that can’t be right, can it? Either way, a lovely young woman put a 20 in my hand and told me to get something to eat. I wasn’t hungry, but that was how I learned about this whole concept of trading currency for food.

I went to the market and saw that they had a place that sold food. Next to it was a better market. This one sold alcohol. I tried to ask the clerk for ale. He stared at me blankly. I gestured drinking an ale. He gestured that they sold things that I could drink. I asked for red wine and he responded by presenting a bottle of Brennevín. “That works for me!” I thought. I put the 20 dollar bill in the little slot and he put the bottle in a bag and passed it through a little door.

I left the store and returned to the beach. I drank from my bottle and fell asleep. I woke up to two scary men standing over me with a light as bright as the hospital shining in my face. “You can’t sleep here!” One of them said. I pleaded, “Please, I have nowhere else to go!” “Speak English, or don’t speak at all!” He responded. “Fuck!” I thought, “Why can’t anyone understand me when I speak?” The first man kicked me and I stood up. The second man stopped him from whatever he was about to do next and asked me, “Ertu Íslenskur?” “Já!” I replied. He explained to me that I couldn’t sleep on this beach. I just had to go to a different spot about a twenty minute walk away and then they’d leave me alone. The first man seemed a little irritated by the whole transaction. I think he wanted to beat me up just for fun.

I walked the night until I got to the area and slept in a cozy little area out of sight of any other bullies that might want to wake me up. The next few days I spent my time sitting on the beach and just trying to figure out what to do next. I started to get into a rhythm. Wake up, sit on the beach and stare at the ocean, and at night return to my little camp that I share with a bunch of rats. People gave me money for whatever reason, so I’m able to keep myself fed and drunk. I discovered dollar cheeseburgers and vodka. I also learned that nobody but that one guy that one time can understand me, unless I want beer, Brennevín or vodka, but I can gesture well enough. Most people here don’t seem nearly as agitated that they can’t understand me as that one guy. I’ve also learned to smile. When I smile, people are nicer to me. I don’t remember ever smiling before… but maybe I’m just mistaking.

So yeah. It’s been a month. Why this matters now is something I’ve been staring at all day. It looks like my boat. It’s way on the deep horizon. It has a red and white striped sail and that’s all I can see at the moment. But it has to be mine. I haven’t seen any water vessels that look anything like that. Have they come to rescue me? Have they come to take me back to my country? My time? As of writing this, all I can say is, I absolutely hope so. I don’t belong here. I don’t want to be here. And if this is my way back, I can’t wait to see the curled wooden ends and the men on board in their whale skin fishing suits.

It’s all coming back to me now! I can’t wait to see my lovely wife Melkorka and my three kids, Dagur, Nökkví, and Hekla! My ship is approaching! Skip mitt nálgast, nú held ég heim!