FICTION

He Never Speaks

Excerpt from The novel The Love We Had. A reader’s feedback: “Bravo! love this. Nothing is as nice as a good story to escape the world for a bit!”

He never speaks. That’s the problem. When I talk to him, he rests silent.

Can’t remember the last time he said he wanted me!

“Lars, say something!”

I talk to him. And I meet the silence.

“Lars, I need to know.”

Still no reaction. He’s like stone. I think I’m going crazy.

I ask: “What does it take for you to change?”

“I’m lonely, Lars. Why can’t you understand?”

“I want you. And do you want me, or don’t you want me? Do you want someone else? Is that the reason why you reject me?”

It’s a conversation I’ve tried to start so many times. Sometimes he answers with a word or two.

“No,” he says. “It’s not that.”

Then he stops. He’s just as dumb as ever.

“What do you want? Answer me! — What do you want? Is it so difficult to say something? Is it so difficult to say what the problem is?”

Sometimes I give up. It’s useless. But that is no option, really. So, then I go back to him. I refuse to give up.

“You must understand,” I say, “ — we need to talk together.”

“About what?” he replies.

Or: “Why?” he says.

“Can’t you just be a little attentive, Lars?”

“Can you be a little different — as you are now — this cannot go on!”

“Can’t you surprise me a little? Please, do me a favor!”

“Who do you want to be, Lars? — Who are you? Tell me! Are you someone other than who you say you are?”

I was trying to talk to him. I have tried so many times, but he does not hear what I say. I have tried so many times that I hardly know. Words, sentences. All the time new sentences, new questions I ask him.

Most of the time he’s silent. He doesn’t play back to me. So, it’s an eternal circle. I talk. I say things. Sometimes I say too much, I know. And I meet the silence.

I feel like shouting, but I know from experience that it doesn’t work. So, I let go.

I say to myself: “How long it will take before he will begin to understand what I need? How long will it take for him to understand that I am a different person? I am not the one he thinks I am.”

I sometimes also get angry: “Who do you really think I am? — I beg you, answer me! I’m not going to stop until you answer.”

Endless questions that he never answers. Which he never shows he takes seriously.

In the end, it was as if I had used up all the gunpowder. I most wanted to give up everything.

“You’re not interested,” I tell him. “I know it! Yes, right, you have since long ago showed me that. Now, just tell me, just say it if you are tired of me. You have to say it if you want to end it all.”

But seriously, he showed little interest. Did he listen? Did he get it?

When I was down in such deep waves, everything felt hopeless. I was close to giving up everything. But then I thought: “It just can’t be like that. We just have to get along. We must get along. It’s not worth it like this. It’s not viable. If we give up, we are doomed. Everything is lost. We are lost — more or less.”

Øivind H. Solheim is a novel author and a nature photographer from Norway who loves writing fiction, poetry, essays, and articles helping others understand life, other humans, and themselves. He has published six novels, two non-fiction books, and a poetry book.20

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