The Concert (59 page)

The new arrivals split their sides with laughter. They themselves had been delighted to break off their deadly boring studies, In the-general euphoria, some of them got engaged within a fortnight of their return to girls they used to know before, but who seemed prettier and more desirable after their own stay in China. Others took up with Albanian girls who were so fascinated by these new-style Lotharios that they promptly ditched their previous boyfriends.

These goings-on lent a humorous touch to a situation mainly determined by the deterioration of Sino-Albaeian relations after Mao's death and the arrest of his widow. But this time the Albanians bade an ‘old friendship farewell with a smile, as one foreign correspondent noted, with an allusion to Marx. Bet he who laughs last laughs longest, he added. And who was going to have the last laugh here?

* * *

Silva opened her eyes for a few seconds, but, reassured by the sight of her husband's head on the pillow next to her, went back to sleep again. It had been light for some time, but she went oe waking up and dozing off again as if to savour the joy of Gjergj's return as often as possible.

I think I'll lie in for a bit, she thought when she finally awoke properly. She tried to remember a dream: it was about some frozen snakes emerging from the snow… But no, it wasn't part of a nightmare - it arose from something Gjergj had said in the pauses between their caresses. The frozen snakes had come to the surface just before the big earthquake. And now all China hinted that the tremor was a harbinger of Mao's death, and Jiang Qing's arrest in the middle of the night.

Silva looked at Gjergj's brow: she thought it showed signs of fatigue. As a child she had believed_ people's thoughts were concentrated there. She kissed him on the forehead - lightly, so as not to wake him — then got out of bed.

Their daughter had already gone to school Silva made tea for the two of them, but as Gjergj was still asleep she decided not to disturb him. She left him a note: “Tea on the stove. See you at lunch-time. Love.”

It was eleven o'clock by the time she left the house. Her boss had told her not to come in that day until she felt like it, but she didn't dawdle. All the government offices were working overtime because of the problems caused by the Chinese.

She thought of Gjergj's hair on the pillow and of how glad she'd be to find him there again at lunch-time. And she was filled with happiness.

When she got to the office, Linda and the boss looked unusually serious. She'd have preferred even the teasing they subjected her to the last time she saw them, about Gjergj's homecoming.

She soon learned the reason for their glumness. A meeting was due to be held in the minister's office at any moment, and as usual the boss, resenting it, was taking his annoyance out on Linda.

He came back after about half an hour, looking downcast. It was at short meetings like this that the severest criticisms were usually meted out. But today's gathering had been different.

“Well,” he said, sitting down at his desk, “you already suspected that the economic situation was very serious. But it's much worse than you thought.”

In a low, weary voice he told them what the minister had said, When all the data were taken into account, it emerged that the defection of the Chinese had done much more damage than expected. It was no passing misunderstandings causing only minor problems, as some officials and economists had thought, but a coldly premeditated rupture, calculated to do as much harm as possible. Whole sectors of activity that were dependent on one another were grinding irrevocably to a halt, in a chain reaction that eventually affected institutions which appeared to have no connection with China — for example, the State lank. There was no end to the complications, Because the big dam in the north was near the frontier, and the Chinese had warned that it might burst if there was an earthquake, Yugoslavia was showing signs of alarm. And it was no accident that acts of sabotage had been perpetrated in the oil-fields. According to a report received by the Politbureau, some wells looked as if they had been bombed. Dozens of them had been abandoned, with machinery and pipelines left lying around to rust in the middle of the muddy plain,

“They're sending teams out to all the places where the Chinese have been or still are working,' the boss went on. “The minister himself is leaving at any moment,'' Then, turning to Silva: “I know you haven't had much time with your husband since he got back, but I'm afraid there's nothing to be done - you and I both have to go to the steel complex.”

Silva shrugged, as if to agree that there was nothing they could do about it.

“When?” she said faintly.

“Tomorrow. We might be able to put it off till the day after tomorrow at the latest, Linda — you'll have to hold the fort while we're away,”

The two women exchanged a wan smile. Silva was thinking already about what she'd have to do this afternoon so that Gjergj and Brikena weren't too much put out by her absence. She must go and collect a suit of Gjergj's from the cleaner's. She must call in to collect a coat for herself and a dress for Brikena from the dressmaker. Oh, but that meant getting four hundred new leks out of the savings bank to pay the dressmaker what she still owed her for work done over the last few months. Perhaps she was spending too much money on clothes? This worry was soon replaced by another: what should she cook for Gjergj and Brikena that would last them for a couple of days? The best solution would be for them to eat out while she was away. It was more expensive, but as Gjergj was no good in the kitchen and Brikena had her homework to do …Sika still had no end of other things to do, but by now she realized that thinking about them was almost as tiring as doing then, so she tried to dismiss them from her mind…Oh yes, and she mustn't forget to remind Gjergj about the texts Skënder Bermema had left for him. There couldn't be a more appropriate moment than now for him to read them.

Her second cup of coffee in the workers' canteen did nothing to relieve the hollow she felt inside her. It had something to do with the dell day, and the way the smoke from the blast furnace seemed to pervade the whole complex. The same tension spread from one person to another by a kind of osmosis. Apparently the furnace had become partially blocked with slag almost as soon as it first came on stream. There were even more ominous rumours, though no one knew who had started them, or why. Some people said there was a danger that the furnace might go out altogether, and all the molten metal solidify. If that happened, the whole plant, built with such effort and expense, would be virtually useless, The only thing to do then would be to blow it up. Trying to melt its contents down again would be like trying to resuscitate a corpse. The fire of the furnace is its soul, said one of the workers. If it goes out, all you can do is go into mourning,

“The Chinese,” said the boss to Silva, nodding towards the window in some awe, “Apparently they're getting ready to go.”

She followed his glance. A group of Chinamen were picking their way across the clinker-strewn yard. They looked different from usual Distant as ever, but with the peculiar self-satisfaction of those who, if they are leaving, are taking a valuable secret with them.

As a matter of fact it was widely said that they knew very well how the furnace could be unblocked, but they refused to reveal the method. But, to her own surprise, Silva felt eo resentment against them, Perhaps because she couldn't help feeling grateful to them for going. They'd seemed fated to stay for ever. So long as they really do go, she thought, everything will sort itself out…

Coming out of the canteen she ran into Victor Hila.

“Victor!” she cried. “I've inquired after you several times. How are you?”

“Quite well,” he said.

But his eyes were red with fatigue.

“I saw your famous Chinaman one day at the airport. He was catching a plane.”

“Really?” he answered indifferently. Silva realized that he didn't feel like laughing any more about the business of the squashed foot. Nor did she, for that matter, even though it was she who'd broached the subject.

“What are you working on?” she asked.

“I'm in a mixed team trying to unblock the furnace.”

“Is it true it might go out?”

Victor smiled,

“That's what everyone asks. They all talk about the accumulation of slag and the furnace going out as if one had to follow from the other. But never mind that. The fact is that the furnace really is in a bad way.”

Silva noted his sunken eyes.

“Anyhow,” he said, “we're going to do all we can to get it unblocked. Even if…”

Even if what? she wanted to ask. But he was already holding out his hand.

“I must go, Silva. See you soon.”

“So long, Victor.”

Hurrying to catch up with her colleagues, Silva noticed that the hollow feeling which had haunted her for the last few days was suddenly worse now she'd met Victor Hila. She soon realized why. Neither of them had laughed when the subject of the Chinaman with the squashed foot had come up. And this was connected with what was going on, and going wrong, in the world at large.

The hollow feeling was still there when Silva got back to her hotel room late that afternoon. She sat for some time with her hands clasped in her lap. Her thoughts moved slowly. Then it struck her that Gjergj's hotel bedroom in China must have been much like this one. Ugh! In her present mood, anything to do with China depressed her. What was she doing here? What were the Chinese to her, or she to them?…And suddenly, as if she'd been on the other side of the world instead of just a short journey away, a wave of homesickness swept over her, for her apartment, for the street she walked along every day, and even for her office at the ministry.

The first morning Linda entered the office after Silva and the boss went away, she shivered. She went over and felt the radiator, but it was quite warm. And she herself felt even colder as the morning wore on, as well as distinctly agitated inside. As soon as the phone started to ring her heart missed a beat, and she realized she was all worked up, Her state of mind was reflected in her voice: “Hallo …No, the boss isn't here …Yes, away on a mission. He'll be back in a few days' time.”

She couldn't wait to get rid of the caller, and when she'd put the receiver down she checked that she'd done so properly. That was what she always did, she reflected, when she was expecting a call Stop it! she told herself. She was behaving like a little girl, expecting “him” to telephone. Even if he did, what difference would it make?

Linda hadn't seen Besnik Struga again since Silva had introduced her to him. She hadn't even spoken to him, except once or twice, briefly, when he'd rung up and asked to speak to Silva. But she couldn't hide it from herself that she liked him; she liked him very much. So she hadn't been surprised to find herself thinking about him; her thoughts were only light and fleeting, easily conjured up and easily dismissed. She'd told herself everything would remain as airy as a watercolour, tranquilly pleasing as a fantasy of happiness. They lived in the same city — they were bound to meet again some time… And that was as far as her thoughts went, drifting back and forth without casting anchor. Still free.

But now, one fine morning, when she opened the door on an empty office, things had changed.

She'd had a premonition the day before, when she realized she was going to be alone in the office while her colleagues were away. That evening she'd imagined herself pulling the legs of people who rang up to speak to the boss: “Comrade Defrin? Yes, I'm comrade De-freeze… What can I do for you?” and so on. Yes, the phone would ring — but what if were “him”, asking for Silva? So what? she'd thought, trying to kid herself. But in vain.

And now, this morning, she thought she actually heard the phone ring. And even though she soon had to conclude that it was a trick of her imagination, the shock was enough to turn dream into potential reality. Her feminine intuition told her he liked her. If he rang to talk to Silva and was told she was away, mightn't he go on talking to Linda herself ? Mightn't he even ask, in passing, what she did with herself in the afternoon?

She shivered again. Now she realized it was because “he” hadn't rang up.

She went over to the window, and looked out at Government Square, humming sadly and tunelessly to herself.

It was still too soon to talk of suffering in connection with this new mood of hers. The feeling wasn't yet fully formed. It was still malleable, like the bones of an infant. But before long it would find its permanent shape.

There was a knock at the door. Linda didn't need to look round: she knew it was Simon Dersha.

“Telephone still not working?” she said, with her back still to him.

He looked at her for a while without answering. He was still wearing his navy-blue suit, and normally Linda would have teased him about it. Perhaps because she hadn't done so, Simon, as she now saw, went on gazing at her. She suddenly realized how worried he looked. Why hadn't she noticed before?

“What's wrong, Simon?” she asked guiltily.

He shook his head wearily, as if he'd been waiting for her to ask that.

“I'm not at all well,” he mumbled.

Linda moved away from the window and came towards him,

“What is it? What's the matter?” She was about to add, “Do tell me if there's anything I can do for you,” but as if trying to anticipate and avoid her question, he shook his head twice and went out, closing the door behind him.

How odd, Linda thought. She felt ashamed of using the word suffering, even in thought, about her own frame of mind, which she was now inclined to put down to caprice. She walked briskly back to her desk, her lethargy gone, and got down to work at once, so as not to relapse. At the same moment Simon Dersha was sitting down at his desk in the next room, muttering, “Oh, what a mess I'm in, what an awful mess!” Then he bent over a mass of pages covered with his slanting scrawl