I met an Australian man

in his 80's when I was in Tarquinia, the ancient Etruscan city north of Rome. I was visiting some of the Etruscan necropolises, the tombs that have wall paintings. It was a fascinating experience, and I was put in a peculiar mood when an elderly man started talking to me.

At first he commented on some of the paintings, and we exchanged information on ancient rock paintings in our own parts of the world. He about the Aborigins and their painting, and I about what we have in Norway. The he started talking about the experience of getting old; that so much belongs to the past and so little to the future. He talked about being somewhere and doing something for the last time in his life and losing the spontaneous joy and laughter he used to have. There was so little to look forward to, according to him now.

He said that he forced himself to talk to other people, even if he didn't know them, in order to avoid being too silent and locked up in himself. He said his wife complained about that, and I just stood listening and let him talk among these old tombs. It was like being in a graveyard with somebody who was planning to remain there, and it reminded me of my father in his last years. He stopped talking altogether and just sat staring into empty air. It comes with old age, they say.

After about half an hour we parted, and I joined my own group and went to the museum of Tarquinia to learn more about the Etruscans.