Two men may talk enthusiastically for an hour or so about shared experiences, and yet not have a true conversation. A lonely man who wants to indulge his nostalgic mood feels the need of someone with whom to share it. When he finds such a companion, he starts to pour out his monologue as though recounting a dream. And so the talk goes on between them, their monologues alternating, but after a time they suddenly become aware that they have nothing to say to each other. They are like two men standing at either side of a chasm, the bridge across which has been destroyed.
Then at last, since they cannot bear to remain silent, their conversation turns again to the past.
Runaway Horses, p.57 (Vintage, 2000 [1970])
No comments:
Post a Comment