Elling Page #3

Dammit, Elling!

- Workshop!

- Library!

- I've always wanted a library!

- Bullshit! We need a workshop!

Frank told you not to constantly read that

book about Gro Harlem Brundtland.

That isn't Frank. Let's just

pretend we're not here.

Hi, could you help me with...

- Sure. I'll tell him.

- Thanks for your help.

31, 32, 33, 34...

I had to carry some firewood

up from the basement for her.

Sh*t! She invited us to dinner.

Tonight!

Before you knock yourself out...

Did she invite us to dinner?

She said I could bring you.

Thank you, but I don't like

being brought anywhere.

Why would I want to listen to you two talk

about drinking and gaskets?

- Anyway, I'm busy.

- Busy?

- I have a meeting.

- Expect me to believe that?

- Believe whatever you want.

- What kind of meeting?

That's none of your business.

Just like it's none of my business that you

let pregnant drunks use you.

How about a game of Parcheesi to get

you in a better mood?

Poetry reading?

Those are my sunglasses.

You can't wear sunglasses

at dinner with Reidun.

- Where are you going?

- To a poetry meeting.

A very important meeting about modern

Norwegian lyrical poetry.

You really are nuts.

Nuts because I'm going to a meeting?

Everyone goes to meetings.

Are you telling me I can't go...

Elling!

Have you really thought this through?

I can skip the dinner,

if you want me to go with you.

You go to that dinner, Kjell Bjarne.

Go ahead.

Please come with me, Elling.

I don't know what to

talk to her about.

How stupid can you be?

Oh God. Now he's here.

Five sharp.

Stick to your plan...

Are you waiting for me, Elling?

I was heading somewhere,

but now I don't know.

- And Kjell Bjarne...?

- Kjell Bjarne went to the movies.

- I was heading to a meeting, but...

- A meeting?

What kind of meeting?

- A poetry meeting.

- Really?

- But I don't know where it is.

- That's easy to find. Come here.

It's right here. But you're early.

I like to have plenty of time.

I'm not the type that strolls in

at the last second.

But it's only... five o'clock.

These things start around ten.

- But it says that it starts at eight.

- It starts a lot later, Elling.

They wrote eight, so they

must mean eight.

- Fine. Have a beer while you wait.

- I don't drink beer.

I think you should go to that meeting.

It's a good initiative.

I'll just walk the streets for a few hours.

Be a walking target

for random violence.

My old enemies dizziness and anxiety

did not join me this time.

Strange.

It's perfectly natural that we

poets go to meetings!

- Hi.

- An orange soda, please.

She probably assumes I've

been around so long -

- that my liver can't take any more.

It's soda or death for me now.

I wrote these poems while sick

with malaria in Cambodia.

The teak stump Over-filled dams

The breath of a bird

Through the cavity and out

My next poem is called "Cobweb".

Cobweb I lie and stare at the cobweb

Every time something guilty gets caught

You tear it asunder again

Strange, huh? The worse it is,

the more they clap.

How's it going out there?

Let's do it.

A blonde elfin from Patmos

He didn't have a chance

Do you suck cock I screamed into

a pale Aurorean ear

But as we wrinkled sheets, in bed

He got a sun-tanned underarm shoved

up where the sun never shines!

Is anyone out there? Let go!

Stop!

It is clear to me now. I must seek my

audience through other fora.

I shall become the mysterious

underground poet "E".

Mommy's boy, maybe, but a

new, dangerous version.

So that made you sick, too?

The worse it is, the more they clap.

Want to go somewhere for a drink?

Throw dirt on contemporary poetry?

I'm going home.

Why didn't I just say yes?

Two hot dogs with mustard, please.

- To tell you the truth...

- Hi there.

I'm allergic to alcohol. It can make

me do things I'll regret.

I drank some liquor once, with

some other boys.

Mother came home, and I did

something I still regret.

I tore off her wedding ring and tried

to sell her body to these "friends".

Lousy friends.

- Want one?

- Thank you.

Do you go to book shows often?

I've lived a sedate life until now.

I rarely go anywhere.

Me neither.

And I had never been able to

speak to strangers before!

Mostly we just talked poetry.

It's totally pathetic. It's sick!

- Cecilie Kornes needs psychiatric help!

- That's where you're wrong.

Madness is poetry's most important source.

I almost showed him my

poem then and there.

But as an underground poet I

had to remain anonymous.

This is where I live.

Thank you for wasting your time on an old man.

- My name is Alfons Jrgensen.

- Elling.

This was fun. Some people just pretend,

but you really are crazy.

I was under the distinct impression that

this man needed cheering up.

I'm going to give you my phone number.

Had I really made a friend -

- without any help from the

Norwegian government?

- How did dinner go?

- Fine. How was your meeting?

- Fine.

- What kind of a meeting was it?

Just a basic poetry meeting.

She served hen up there.

- Chicken.

- Hen.

- Is that your hot dog?

- Help yourself.

That damn Spanisher! If that bastard

shows up here, he's in deep sh*t!

Imagine knocking her up and then taking off!

Are you going to marry Reidun, now?

- You know nothing about her!

- I know she works at a Laundromat.

Have you told her about your loving family,

your stepfather, the pigs?

What did you get for dessert?

Some sort of homemade pudding.

- It was the best damn...

- Dessert you've ever tasted.

- She said that she liked me.

- Really? Great.

- What did you say?

- Should I have said something?

- I'm no good at talking.

- That's probably why she likes you.

You're the silent type. You're... mysterious.

- Mysterious?

- I don't know. Talk to her!

I don't know how to.

I'm actually doing better.

Now that Alfons has taught me that

my angst is the price I have to pay.

Now I simply have to find the

right forum for my poem.

Do we have any more sauerkraut?

Gunn told us that we have to get

better at expressing our emotions.

- You want sauerkraut?

- Yes. 18 packs.

I'll get some stewed prunes, too.

Have had trouble crapping lately.

Maybe it's best he doesn't say too much.

No...

- Are you Elling?

- My name is Elling.

- Can I ask you something?

- Kjell Bjarne is at the store.

I know. I saw him leave.

Oh my God. I'm stuck in the middle

of a mnage trois!

Reidun has simply used Kjell Bjarne

to get closer to me!

I have to talk to you about Kjell Bjarne.

- You only want to talk about him?

- You know him better than anyone.

I can't tell you just anything about Kjell Bjarne.

Why not?

A friendship between two men

requires a level of confidentiality.

I just think he's so weird.

I prefer the English expression "rare".

- Huh?

- Rare. As in uncommon.

That was beautifully put.

I don't know, it's just that he never says anything.

- Kjell Bjarne tends to ruminate.

- About what?

Good point.

- Has he had many women?

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