Excerpt from Shyness and Dignity

What he had in mind was that other conversation, the running conversation, which had always meant so much to Elias Rukla. It is possible that some men have such a relationship with their wife, or the woman in their life, that the running conversation can be had with her, but for Elias Rukla that had never seemed natural; his connection with her who was his wife was quite different and did not at all correspond to Elias Rukla’s need for a running conversation, nor, on second thoughts, could he see that the married couples he knew behaved in any other way than he and Eva in this matter, though he had to admit that he was possibly making this judgment all too superficially. To Elias Rukla, participating in a conversation had always seemed animating. There were few things that could rouse him more than to have been present at a conversation or discussion, both as it occurred and afterwards when he went home, or had come home and was reflecting on what had been said, sort of developing the argument further and, not least, improving his own remarks, which were usually few and not always equally good when they were uttered. But this polishing of one’s own remarks afterwards was part of it—yes, indeed, it was part of a rich life, Elias Rukla thought, his reflective voice laced with fervor. But, first and foremost, it was the conversation itself that was animating, whether it was carried on as a conversation between two friends, say, at some late hour of the night, or around a table with several participants, some of whom naturally dominated the discussion, while the others stayed more in the background, such as Elias Rukla, but always took a lively interest in what was being said, all but stirred to their depths. Even if you would sit all evening without saying a word, you had been ardently involved, waiting eagerly for the next argument from one of the dominant participants and repeating the words to yourself once they had been spoken, appraisingly, uh-huh, or hmm, or I’ll be damned, and without getting an inferiority complex because you had a tendency to agree with the last speaker, the last honorable speaker, and then changed your opinion when the next person said something, for that’s the way it is, Elias Rukla thought, fired up as he recalled these conversations he had so often been part of. But now and then it happened that Elias Rukla, too, had arrived at a clear idea, or at any rate something that could become a clear idea, which he was itching to bring up, while at the same time wondering if he dared to because it could well happen that what seemed so clear to his mind would appear rather stupid when he gave vent to his opinions in the form of a sentence or a remark, as had often happened and could easily happen again, except that, before Elias Rukla made up his mind, the conversation had taken a new turn and Elias Rukla’s idea was no longer of any interest because it would have had the effect of a straggler in the ongoing conversation—it’s important to take the floor at the right moment, Elias Rukla had often concluded when he came home, or was on his way home. Oh, how he longed for evenings like that, evenings he had so often experienced before and that stood out so luminously in his memory. It was one of the privileges of freedom to have been permitted to be part of this. But Elias Rukla no longer carried on such conversations, either with one individual, like a staunch friend, or around a table with several others. He no longer had anything to say, nor did it look as though anyone else in his circle of acquaintance, or cultural stratum, had anything to say. They did not seem interested in carrying on a conversation anymore. In having real talk, stretching oneself toward an understanding together, whether personal or social, if only for the sake of a brief flash of momentary insight. For his part, Elias Rukla had to admit that he was no longer capable of it, he could simply no longer talk. He did not even know how to start a conversation of the sort he had often taken part in before, but yearned to bring it about once more.

From Shyness and Dignity by Dag Solstad. English language translation copyright 2006 by Sverre Lyngstad. All rights reserved.