The Concert (37 page)

This is the end, groaned Minister D—. He'd never have dreamed it could all finish so suddenly. The columns that had hitherto seemed to be leaning towards him now appeared to be falling on top of him. Between the blows the voice of Enver Hoxha came to him, at once distant and deafening.

“I can't say for certain that it was done with evil intent. I'd prefer not to have to believe such a thing. But that's not the point…The point is that the order was not carried out, and such orders never will be carried out in Albania, no matter who issues them. And that's what's so marvellous, comrades! It is not through decrees and orders, but if necessary
against
them, that our great popular mechanism, acting of its own accord, without being commanded by anyone, defends our glorious Party!”

Popular mechanism! moaned Minister D—. Acting of its own accord…He couldn't imagine anything more frightful

But could he himself escape its tentacles? Was all hope lost? “I can't say for certain that it was done with evil intention. I'd prefer not to have to believe such a thing…” He felt like yelling out, “That's right, comrade Enver! I didn't mean any harm!” But he was buried beneath all those columns, his mind was reeling, neither his breath nor his voice would obey him,

“The Chinese have recently shown signs of desiring a rapprochement,” Enver Hoxha continued. “They've even expressed regret for some of their attitudes. For our part, we have no wish to add fuel to the flames. If anyone holds out the hand of friendship to us, we hold out our own hand in return. But time will tell if these gestures are sincere or not. At all events,
we
are prepared for anything either way,”

The plenum ended late in the afternoon. As the members of the Central Committee drifted out of the room in groups, Minister D— muttered to one of his pale-faced aides:

“Should we free the tank officers right away?''

“Isn't it a bit late for that?” said the other faintly,

“Let ‘em out at once!” said the minister through clenched teeth,

Ekrera Fortuzi stood on the edge of the pavement watching a convoy of cars drive up the central boulevard. He concluded there must have been a meeting of the highest importance somewhere. A plenum, perhaps, he thought, patting his briefcase as if to check how nice and full it was.

When the traffic thinned out he crossed over. They could have as many plenums and congresses as they liked, so long as his case had plenty in it! He stroked it as he might have stroked his stomach after a good meal.

He was in a very good humour. After a month and a half without any requests for translations from Chinese, he'd suddenly been given four different jobs at once — all urgent, too! He was hurrying home to give his wife the good news.

“Oo-ooh!” he called from the hall. But he could tell from the sound of running water that his wife was in the bathroom. “I've got good news for you, darling!”

She didn't hear, so after hanging up his coat and hat he went to the bathroom door. But before letting her know he was there, he bent down and had a look through the keyhole. H'mra, pretty well-stacked, especially from this angle …He waited until a chance movement showed him her pubic hair, looking darker and more bushy than it was in reality.

Then, as she emerged from the bathroom with a towel round her head:

“Good news!” he told her.

“Some translations?”

“Yes!”

“Good! That means they're patching things up?”

“It looks like it.”

While she was plucking her eyebrows in front of the mirror, he paced up and down telling her about his successful tour of the various offices.

“Is the work you've got worth twenty thousand leks?” she asked.

“Well, I couldn't really say. I think …”

“Don't try to pell the wool over my eyes, Ekrera!”

“Pull the wool over your eyes! For heaven's sake!”

“I repeat - is it worth twenty thousand?”

“How should I know? Perhaps,”

“My astrakhan coat is completely wore out,”

“Hmph!”-

“Never mind about ‘hraph'! I'm sick of wearing that horrible old thing!''

“Just as you say, my dear.”

“I don't want to look like one of those floozies at the National Theatre playing some aristocratic dame from the past …I want a nice new fur coat…”

“As you wish, my love. And in return, what about letting me have this little fleece, eh? The more you use it the sweeter it is…”

She was glad he'd said “The more you use it” rather than “The older it gets …” For some reason he couldn't explain, Ekrem found the word “use” arousing. As arousing as the image of her sex being penetrated by another had been a few years ago, when he'd been sure she was deceiving him.

He leaned 0ver and whispered something in her ear, at the same time breathing in the perfume from her neck.

“All right, all right!” she said. “There's no need to grant like a pig. God, -when will you manage to be a bit more elegant?”

He prowled round her chair in delight.

“And don't whisper rude words in Chinese at the critical moment, either! I don't like it!”

“But Chinese works me up, my pet!”

She pulled a face.

“You've got a positive gift for sullying everything!”

He opened his satchel to take out the papers that had to be translated.

“Keep those horrible hieroglyphics out of my sight!” she shouted. “And don't go getting undressed - we're going to see the Kryekurts. We haven't congratulated them yet on Mark's engagement.”

“Whatever you say, my owe.”

Half an hour later they were going through the Kryekurts' gate, bearing a large cake. As usual, Hava Fortuzi glanced at the outside staircase leading up to the first floor of the villa. The vines that twined all over it looked pretty lifeless at this time of year.

Inside the house, in addition to Hava Preza, Musabelli, and several other of the Kryekurts” usual guests come to offer their congratulations, there was an elderly couple the Fortezis hadn't met before. The newcomers got the impression they were interrupting a very pleasant conversation,

“Forgive us for being so late,” said Hava Fortuzi. “We couldn't help it. Ekrem's up to his eyes in work as usual, and I had a headache…Still, we're here now! All our best wishes to Mark!…But isn't he here?”

“Thank you, thank you!” said Emilie. “Mark's in the other room with his fiancée. He won't be a moment…”

“Don't disturb them on our account,” laughed Hava Fortuzi, with a wink.

“He's teaching her French.”

“Oh, French! I think I can speak that kind of French myself!” Hava Fortuzi gurgled, “Ekrem, do you remember the French lessons you used to give me when we were engaged?”

The elderly couple looked shocked. Emilie pursed her lips.

“And to think it's Chinese that you're trying to teach me now!” Hava Fortuzi's mirth had suddenly turned to tears.

“There, there, Hava, my dear…” whispered Ekrem, who knew his wife was subject to these mood swings.

It wasn't the first time she'd lost control of herself, But her host and hostess and their guests were taken aback. Only Musabelli wore his inevitable smile,

“Please forgive me!” said Hava Fortuzi, taking a handkerchief and pocket mirror out of her bag.

“It doesn't matter in the least, my dear,” said Hava Preza, “It can happen to anyone.“

“It's so sad to see how fast time Hies.”

“Yes, indeed.”

“She's hypersensitive,” Ekrem explained to the elderly couple. “She may react like this to anything, good or bad. She's always been like this."

Hava Fortuzi was peering into her compact and trying to repair the damage her tears had done to her mascara. When she had made herself presentable again, she cheered up.

“We're so glad about Mark's engagement,” she said, shutting her compact with a snap, “Ekrem and I often wondered what he was waiting for…”

“His poor grandmother used to worry too, when she was alive …”

Ekrem looked at a large photograph hanging on the wall

“Poor Nurihan, how happy she would have been if she were here today!”

Now it was Emilie's turn to burst into tears.

“And what about you? How's the work going?” asked Hava Preza to change the subject. “From what Hava says, I gather you're very busy.”

“Well…I did have a slack period, bet now, yes, I am pretty occupied.”

“In other words," said Hava Preza, “relations with China are set fair again. Let's hope we shall be the better for it! We were talking about it just before you came. And I thought to myself that you, Ekrem, were the person best placed to tell us what's what.”

As soon as the conversation turned back to China, the elderly couple seemed to perk up. Gradually everyone joined in, including Musabelli, and all agreed on one point: the improvement in relations with China was welcome^ and they only hoped nothing would happen to spoil it. Occasionally, as they spoke, they would turn to the portrait of old Nurihan, as if asking her for her opinion. She was made for this kind of debate! Each of them thought how surprised she would have been if she could have heard what they were saying! It had all been so different the last time, when Albania broke with the Soviets: for days on end they'd whispered together here in this room, hoping the crisis would get worse and the two governments scratch one another's eyes out as soon as possible,, shaking with fright at the least sign of a rapprochement and breathing sighs of relief when such signs turned out to be wrong. Now it was quite the opposite: they trembled at the smallest hint of a rapture, and wished with all their hearts that Albania's friendship with China would last for ever.

As if to get old Nurihan on their side, bet also to reassure them-selves, they listed all the advantages they could expect to enjoy from such a relationship. How stupid they'd been to be so hostile to the Chinese at first! How sarcastic they'd been about the customs, dress and language of the Chinese, when in fact these same Chinese were really their salvation! It wasn't jest a matter of their rapprochement with the Americans, which had come about only recently and served to open their eyes. Long before that there had been other, incredible scraps of information. At first they'd rejected them as absurd inventions, dreams or slanders. But after going into them further and seeking evidence from people who'd been there, they'd come to the conclusion that the Chinese were treating former capitalists very well: some had been made assistant heads of factories, and even, as a signal favour, given a percentage of the profits. This had produced many sighs among the old guard in Tirana: some former factory owners, their hands shaking with age or illness, even started to work out their possible future gains. But they soon had to yield to the facts: however delightful the effects of Sino-Albanian friendship, it was highly unlikely that such a state of affairs would exist here, at least for another couple of generations. After that, who could tell? Their morale then plunged to a very low ebb, until a fresh crop of rumours came to pep them up. Forget about your percentages and other such foolishness, they were told, All that's over and done with. Consider instead the real advantages we can get out of the Chinese. Haven't you heard what's going on there? A storm has been unleashed, sweeping all before it. And recently they've turned on the Party, and they're trampling it underfoot. Imagine, a communist country smashing its own Party! It's a miracle, and that's putting it mildly! That's what you want to watch in China, never mind about the rest. The Party's the key to everything. When you attack the Party you attack the very foundations. And after that, there's nothing left standing. All is disintegration and chaos. It's only people like us, in our little corner, who are left in peace. And you dare to complain? Hush! Keep quiet! Not a word! We're in the front seats, watching the show. In Shanghai and Peking the communists cut one another's throats. The class struggle, the war between the schools of thought and the party lines or whatever the hell they call them now — all this has been transposed to within the Party itself. Their hatred is directed against one another now. And who performed this miracle? The Chinese themselves! And you have the cheek to criticize them? You don't realize what it means to have the communists tearing one another to pieces? Perhaps you'd rather they turned against us? So stop ranting on about the Chinese - just bow your heads and say a prayer for them! They're a godsend to us, the instrument through which divine Providence has chosen to help us!

Such were the arguments that had been bandied about before and that they now adapted to the present situation. That was the truth, and time had confirmed it even beyond their expectations. But now, as then^ enthusiasm was punctuated by doubt: would the Chinese continue in the same vein? Mightn't it be a false spring, one of those shows they're so good at? When they'd finished settling scores amongst themselves, mightn't they round more furiously than before on the ex-bourgeois? “You rejoiced too soon! You thought we'd forgotten you, did you? Well, now we're going to hit and club and decapitate any of you we can lay our hands on.”

“I'll never forget when they launched the slogan,
Let a hundred flowers bloom, let a hundred schools compete among
themselves,”
said Hava Preza. “That gave us all a flicker of hope again. At last they're loosening their grip a bit, we told ourselves. But what happened? It was only a monstrous trap, one of the most extraordinary ever. The unfortunate butterflies flocked to the meadow covered with daisies, but instead of nectar they found only poison.”

“Alas!” sighed Musabelli.

“That was the whole object of the exercise,” said Hava Preza. “To attract the butterflies to their doom.”