Hvað getur maður sagt? For the first time this country inspires no rush of words, not in any language. The tongue is grown thick again, but that does not go very far to explain the strange sensation of having little to report, lítið að frétta. It may be a simple case of contagion. The locals, as always, segist ekki hafa neitt að frétta, svo sem. Það venjulega, bara. Sama gamla. The same people do the same things at the same times and nothing changes.
This is nonsense, however, as always. Parents are sick. The University is in upheaval. The economy is in spasm. Polish words now ring out over the everyday noise of the downtown. Car chases, of all things, are more frequent. All this is new and therefore potential news, but here news is fréttir not nyheter. Someone has to coax events into speech, ask and tell---frage, fretta, fritte---for anything to be news, and this is catching: You've crossed thousands of miles of surging sea, gone finally native, and segir ekkert að frétta heldur. But the natives have always been this way---það eru engar fréttir---no news of itself.
Go out to the headland to where the birds are and let them dive at your head. Maybe they will whisper something in your ear as they zoom by. Maybe you will find that you have something to say in return.
Gerast áskrifandi að:
Birta ummæli (Atom)
Engin ummæli:
Skrifa ummæli