At that time [1]
Hans Magnus Enzensberger [2]
Translated by xia23
The nineteen-fifties were a bit boring in Germany. No, very boring. Screamingly boring. But I don’t want to scream all day long. So I packed my things and moved to Norway.
It was quiet here, but not boring. The Norwegians were as quiet as fish. When I arrived, they hardly spoke anything. They are famous for that in the world. Only after a couple of weeks they sometimes murmured to me “Morn”, when they saw me. That sounds much like “Good Morning”, but Norwegians say “Morn” also at noon, evening and night. If they are particularly sincere, they say “Morn da”.
After the first two months had passed, one evening I sat in the only café in the village. It was a bit dirty, but quite cozy. Unfortunately there was no table free. So I sat down with the mailman. The mailman was my best acquaintance because he had to bring me so many letters.
We chatted, quietly as fish, and drank bear, because there is no schnapps in a Norwegian Café.
“When were you actually born?” The mailman suddenly asked. (In our village we all talk in informal form of “you”).
Strange question!
The Norwegians are, I believe, curious. But they almost always hide their curiosity. It is indecent to be curious, and there is no indecent Norwegians.
The whole village seemed eager to wait for my answer.
“I was born in 1929”, I said.
“Oh, I see”, the mailman said.
The whole village seemed so pleased that I was born in 1929. Then we had a few more glasses. The café was closed at 9:30. Yes, it was indeed a very decent village.
“Morn da!” we said as the waitress placed the chairs on the table.
A couple of months later, as the tourists were lying on the beach like stones, without moving, I sat once more in our decent, dirty, cozy café.
Now the mailman spoke fluent Norwegian with me.
The door opened and two gentlemen came in with relatively red faces.
“May I”, both gentlemen spoke in fluent German, because as always there was no free table in our café.
We nodded each other.
“Yes”, one gentleman said, “Norway is marvelous. Do you perhaps know Norway beforehand?
“No”, the other gentleman said, “unfortunately not”.
“It was the most beautiful time of my life”, the first one said. “at that time, in 1941!”
“Yes, at that time!”, said the other.
“Were you also an officer?” asked the first.
“Yes, but unfortunately only in Belgium.”
That can’t be true, I thought.
“Since then I love Norway”, said the first gentleman. “The nature, you know, and the people! So decent, and always so silent!”
The whole village listened and remained silent.
No one asked the two gentlemen, when they were born.
“Is there no beer?” Shout the second gentleman.
We remained silent as fish.
“You don’t know Norway”, said the first gentleman. “Beer is called oil here. Well, oil! You are surprised, aren’t you? Oil! Oil!” he shouted. No one listened to him. First the mailman stood up, then me, and we left, without saying “Morn da”. The waitress came and placed our chairs on the table in front of the two gentlemen, and although it was only 5 o’clock in the afternoon, the café suddenly seemed infinitely empty.
[1]. p. 11. Damals. Kontakt mit der Zeit. Dieter Stöpfgeshoff. Max Hueber Verlag. Germany, 1995.
[2]. Hans Magnus Enzensberger. 11/11/1929 - 11/24/2022. German author. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hans_Magnus_Enzensberger
