The Unconsoled (9 page)

The young man paused and looked at Miss Collins. For a moment she seemed far away, leaning her head to one side as though she too might catch a few notes from a distant piano. Then a gentle smile returned to her face and she looked again at Stephan.

'What I've heard,' she said, 'is that your father sits him up in that hotel drawing room, sits him up in front of the piano like he's some manikin, and Leo stays there for hours gently swaying on the stool without touching a note.'

'Miss Collins, that's quite unfair! Perhaps there were occasions like that in the early days, but it's a very different story now. In any case, even if he does sit there silently sometimes, surely you must remember this, it hardly means nothing's going on. Silence is just as likely to indicate the most profound ideas forming, the deepest energies being summoned. In fact, the other day, after a particularly long silence, Father actually went into the drawing room and there was Mr Brodsky staring down at the piano keys. After a while he looked up at Father and said: "The violins need to be harsh. They must sound harsh." That's what he said. There may have been silence, but inside his head, there'd been a whole universe of music. What he'll show us all on Thursday night, it's thrilling to think about. Just so long as he doesn't falter now.'

'But you said, Stephan, you wanted me to help in some way.'

The young man, who had become increasingly animated, now collected himself.

'Well yes,' he said. 'That's what I've come here tonight to speak to you about. As I say, Mr Brodsky's been rapidly regaining all his old powers. And, well, naturally, along with his great talents, various other things are now re-emerging. To those of us who never knew him very well before, it's been something of a revelation. These days he's often so articulate, so urbane. Anyway, the point is, along with everything else, he's started to remember. Well, to put it bluntly, he talks about you. Thinks and talks about you all the time. Last night, just to give you an example - this is embarrassing but I'll tell you - last night he started to weep and couldn't stop. He just kept weeping, pouring out all his feelings for you. It's the third or fourth time it's happened, though last night's was the most extreme instance. It was almost midnight, Mr Brodsky hadn't emerged from the drawing room, so Father went to listen at the door and heard him sobbing. So he went in and found the place in complete darkness, and Mr Brodsky bowed over the piano, weeping. Well, there was a suite vacant upstairs, so Father took him up there and had the kitchen bring up all Mr Brodsky's favourite soups - he tends only to eat soups -and plied him with orange juice and soft drinks, but frankly, last night, it was touch and go. Apparently he was attacking the cartons of juice feverishly. If Father hadn't been there, it's very possible he would have cracked, even at this late stage. And all the time he continued to talk about you. Well, the point I'm getting at - oh dear, I shouldn't stay too long, I've got people waiting in the car - my point is, with so much of the future of our city depending on him, we have to do everything to ensure he'll pull through this last bit. Dr Kaufmann agrees with Father, we're close to the last hurdle now. So you see how much hangs in the balance.'

Miss Collins continued to look at Stephan with the same distant half-smile, but still said nothing. After a moment, the young man went on:

'Miss Collins, I realise what I'm saying might well be opening up old wounds. And I appreciate you and Mr Brodsky haven't spoken to each other now for many years…'

'Oh, that's not quite accurate. Only earlier this year, he shouted obscenities at me as I was strolling across the Volksgarten.'

Stephan laughed awkwardly, unsure how to handle Miss Collins's tone. Then he went on with some earnestness: 'Miss Collins, no one's suggesting you have any sort of extended contact with him. Good lord, no. You wish to put the past behind you. Father, everyone, they appreciate that. All we're asking, just one small thing, it might make such a difference, it would so encourage him and mean so much to him. We hoped you wouldn't mind us at least putting it to you.'

'I've already agreed to attend the banquet.' 'Yes, yes, of course. Father told me, we're so grateful…' 'On the strict understanding there'll be no direct contact…' "That's completely understood, absolutely. The banquet, yes. But actually, Miss Collins, it was something further we wanted to ask of you, if you could just bear to think about it. You see, a group of gentlemen - Mr von Winterstein among them - will be taking Mr Brodsky to the zoo tomorrow. Apparently in all the years, he's never visited it. His dog can't be admitted, naturally, but Mr Brodsky has finally consented to leave it in good hands for just a couple of hours. It was felt that an outing of this sort would help calm him. The giraffes in particular we thought might be relaxing. Well, I'll come to the point. The gentlemen wondered if you might possibly care to join the group at the zoo.

Even say just a word or two to him. You wouldn't need to travel out with the party, you could just join them there, just for a few minutes, exchange a pleasant remark with him, perhaps say a few uplifting things, it could make all the difference. A few minutes, then you could be on your way. Please, Miss Collins, if you'd give this some consideration. So much might hang on it.'

While Stephan had been speaking, Miss Collins had risen from her seat and moved slowly over to her fireplace. She now remained standing quite still for several seconds, one hand resting on the mantelpiece as though to steady herself. When eventually she turned to Stephan again, I saw that her eyes had become moist.

'You see my problem, Stephan,' she said. 'I may have been married to him once. But for many years now, the only times I've encountered him, he's been shouting abuse at me. So you see, it's hard for me to guess what sort of conversation he'd best enjoy.'

'Miss Collins, I swear to you he's a different man now. These days he's so polite and urbane and… but surely, you'd remember. If you could even just think about it. There's so much at stake.'

Miss Collins sipped her sherry thoughtfully. She seemed about to reply, but just at this point I heard Boris shift behind me in the back of the car. Turning, I saw that the little boy must have been awake for some time. He was gazing through his window out across the still and empty street, and I sensed a sadness about him. I was about to say something, but he must have realised my attention was on him, for he asked quietly without moving:

'Can you do bathrooms?'

'Can I do bathrooms?'

Boris sighed heavily and went on gazing out into the darkness. Then he said: 'I'd never done tiles before. That's why I made all those mistakes. If someone had shown me, I could have done them.'

'Yes, I'm sure you could have done. This is the bathroom in your new apartment?'

'If someone had shown me, I could have done them all right. Then Mother would have been happy with the bathroom. She'd have liked the bathroom then.'

'Ah. So she's not happy with it at the moment?'

Boris looked at me as though I had said something immensely stupid. Then, with heavy irony, he said: 'Why would she cry about the bathroom if she liked it?'

'Why indeed? So she cries about the bathroom. I wonder why she does that.'

Boris turned back to his window and I could now see by the mixed light coming into the car that he was struggling not to burst into tears. At the last moment he managed to disguise his upset as a yawn and rubbed his face with his fists.

'We'll sort all these things out eventually,' I said. 'You'll see.'

'I could have done it all right if someone had shown me. Then Mother wouldn't have cried.'

'Yes, I'm sure you'd have made a very good job of it. But we'll sort everything out soon.'

I straightened in my seat and gazed through the windscreen. There was hardly a lit window anywhere down the street. After a while I said: 'Boris, we have to have a good think now. Are you listening?'

There was silence from the back of the car.

'Boris,' I went on, 'we've got to make a decision. I know earlier we were on our way to join Mother. But now it's got very late. Boris, are you listening?'

I threw a glance over my shoulder and saw he was still staring vacantly out into the darkness. We went on sitting silently for several more moments. Then I said:

'The fact is, it's very late now. If we went back to the hotel we could see your grandfather. He'd be delighted to see you. You could have a room of your own or, if you preferred, we could have them set up another bed for you in my room. We could have them bring up something good to eat, then you could get off to sleep. Then tomorrow morning we'll get up for breakfast and decide what we'll do.'

There was silence behind me.

'I should have organised things better,' I said. 'I'm sorry. I… I just wasn't thinking clearly tonight. It was so busy earlier on. But look, I promise we'll make it up tomorrow. We can do all kinds of things tomorrow. If you like, we could go back to the old apartment and get Number Nine. What do you say?'

Boris still said nothing.

'We've both had tiring days. Boris, what do you say?'

'We'd better go to the hotel.'

'I think that's the best idea. So that's settled then. When the gentleman comes back, we'll tell him our new plan.'

6

Just at this point a movement caught my eye and, glancing back to the apartment building, I saw that the front door was open. Miss Collins was in the process of showing Stephan out, and though they were parting amicably, something in both their manners suggested their meeting had concluded on an uneasy note. Soon the door closed and Stephan came hurrying back to the car.

'I'm sorry to have been so long,' he said, climbing into his seat. 'I hope Boris has been all right.' Placing his hands on the wheel, he let out a troubled sigh. Then he forced a smile and said: 'Well, let's get going.'

'Actually,' I said, 'Boris and I had a good talk while you were gone. We think we'll return to the hotel after all.'

'If I may say so, Mr Ryder, that's probably a good decision. So it's back to the hotel. Jolly good.' He glanced at his watch. 'We'll be there in no time. The journalists will have no real cause for complaint. No cause at all.'

Stephan started the engine and we set off again. As we drove through the deserted streets, the rain started once more and Stephan turned on the windscreen wipers. After a while, he said:

'Mr Ryder, I wonder if I could be cheeky enough to remind you of the conversation we were having earlier. You know, when I met you in the atrium this afternoon.'

'Ah yes,' I said. 'Yes, we were discussing your recital on Thursday night.'

'You were very kind and said you might be able to find a few minutes for me. To listen to me run through the La Roche. Of course, this is probably completely impossible, but, well, I thought you wouldn't mind my asking. It's just that I was going to get in a little more practice tonight, once we got back to the hotel. I was wondering if, when you'd finished with these journalists, I know it's a great nuisance, but if you could come and listen for even a few minutes and tell me what you thought…' He trailed off with a laugh.

I could see this was a matter of considerable importance for the young man and felt tempted to comply with his request. Nevertheless, after some consideration, I said:

'I'm sorry, tonight I'm so tired, it's imperative I get off to sleep as soon as possible. But don't worry, there's bound to be an opportunity in the near future. Look, why don't we leave it like this? I'm not sure precisely when I'll next have a few minutes to spare, but as soon as I do I'll phone the desk and get them to go and find you. If you're not in the hotel, I'll simply try again the next time I'm free and so on. That way we're bound to find a mutually convenient time before long. But tonight, really, if you don't mind, I really must get a good night's sleep.'

'Of course, Mr Ryder, I quite understand. By all means, let's do as you suggest. It's extremely kind of you. I'll wait to hear from you then.'

Stephan had spoken politely, but he seemed unduly disappointed, perhaps even mistaking my reply for some subtle refusal. Evidently he was in a state of such anxiety over his forthcoming performance that any setback, however minor, was apt to send him off into a cold panic. I felt some sympathy for him and said again reassuringly:

'Don't worry, we're bound to find an opportunity very soon.'

The rain continued to fall steadily as we travelled through the night-time streets. The young man remained silent for a long time and I wondered if he had become angry with me. But then I caught sight of his profile in the changing light and realised he was turning over in his mind a particular incident from several years ago. It was an episode he had pondered many times before - often when lying awake at night or when driving alone - and now his fear that I would prove unable to help him had caused him once more to bring it to the front of his mind.

It had been the occasion of his mother's birthday. As he had parked his car in the familiar driveway that night - those were his college days when he had been living in Germany - he had braced himself for a painful few hours. But his father had opened the door to him, whispering excitedly: 'She's in a good mood. A very good mood.' His father had then turned and shouted into the house: 'Stephan is here, my dear. A little late, but he's here nevertheless.' Then in a whisper again: 'A very good mood. The best for a long time.'

The young man had gone through into the lounge to discover his mother reclining on a sofa, a cocktail glass in her hand. She was wearing a new dress and Stephan had been struck afresh at just how elegant a woman his mother was. She had not risen to greet him, obliging him to stoop down to kiss her cheek, but nevertheless the warmth of her manner as she invited him to take the armchair opposite had quite taken him aback. Behind him, his father, greatly pleased by this start to the evening, had emitted a small chuckle, then, indicating the apron he was wearing, had gone hurrying back towards the kitchen.

Left alone with his mother, Stephan's first feeling had been one of sheer terror - that something he said or did would shatter her good mood, thus undoing hours, perhaps days, of painstaking effort on his father's part. He had thus begun by giving brief, stilted replies to her queries about his college life, but when her attitude had remained consistently appreciative, found himself answering at greater and greater length. At one point he had referred to a college professor as resembling 'a mentally balanced version of our foreign minister' - a phrase he had been particularly proud of and had used numerous times to his fellow students with considerable success. Had the early exchanges with his mother not gone so well, he would not have risked repeating it to her. But he had done so and with a leap of his heart had seen amusement momentarily light up her face. For all that, it had still come as a relief when his father had returned to announce dinner.