Iceland—Útburður [Eugenic policies, 1938-1975]
It was an advice every person Iceland considered wise gave him, and he, of course, followed it. Who, human or not, doesn't want to be healthy? Who prefers decadence to fitness? Everyone said it, everywhere. There were mountains of books, conferences, associations, on how to apply all the hygiene and health policies to nations. So many people couldn't be wrong. So Iceland let his doctors do what they had to do, and enjoyed the benefits. He didn't look older than sixteen, he was healthy and vigorous and happy.
...And since he enjoyed the benefits, it was just fair that he dealt with the consequences as well, didn't he?
More often than he wished, they woke him up at night. Their howls made Mr. Puffin flap his wings nervously and Iceland would embrace him and tell him there was nothing to be afraid of. They were only children..., they were only ghosts..., they couldn't harm him...
Not physically, but they still could, in different ways. Iceland didn't notice it immediately, but after years, and years, and years of seeing eyes in the shadows, of hearing them cry outdoors, feeling their tiny hands reaching for his ankles as he walked, he felt a burden in his mind, like a fog, like he had those children on his back all the time, wailing into his ears, biting his skull with their toothless mouths.
Children with contorted spines, children with askew faces, dark skinned children, skinny children, drooling children, children with one too many chromosomes, blind children...Screaming all the time, desperate for someone to hold them, for the first milk their mothers never gave them, or the name their fathers never bestowed..., a grave, instead of merely being put into a bag and thrown with the waste.
Could the others see them? Did this happen to them too? Iceland needed to know. He needed someone to tell him it wasn't just him, and there was a way to make them leave. But nobody ever gave them a glance. Not even Norway, who saw all kinds of things nobody else sees.
But they had to! He saw them on their backs as well, screaming into their ears! They just had to know they were there! How could they ignore them? Or was he going insane?
I can't help you, I can't help you!, Iceland would shout.
Couldn't he really? Could he look at those children to the face and tell them he ignored the meaning of the words 'sterilization', 'abortion', 'selection' when he gave green light?
They were repulsive. Iceland had to admit it. He couldn't stand them touching him, getting their fists into his mouth, their abhorrent voices breaking his eardrums, like rats screeching, the silhouette of their deformed bodies.
Look at you! Look at your silky hair, your milky skin, your bright violet eyes, your healthy, round cheeks! Now look at them, clung to your back, biting your shoulder and themselves in agony, desperately calling your attention to their ugliness!