The Unconsoled (39 page)

Somewhat nervously, I opened the newspaper and was confronted by a spread of six or seven smaller pictures, each a variation on the one on the front. My belligerent demeanour was evident in all but two of them. In these latter, I appeared to be presenting proudly the white building behind me, displaying as I did so a strange smile that revealed extensively my lower teeth but none of the upper. Scanning the columns beneath, my eye caught repeated references to someone named Max Sattler.

I would have examined the newspaper further but, suspecting as I did that the maid's hostility had to do with these very photographs, I began to feel distinctly uncomfortable. I put the paper down and came away from the table, resolving to study the report carefully at a later opportunity.

'It's time we went in,' I said to Sophie and Boris, who had been hovering in the middle of the hall. I had spoken loudly enough for the maid to hear and fully expected her to lead us through to the reception. But she made no movement and, after an awkward few seconds, I smiled at her saying: 'Of course, I can remember from last night.' With that I led the way into the house.

In fact the building was not at all as I remembered it, and we quickly found ourselves in a long panelled corridor quite unfamiliar to me. This proved not to matter, however, for a hubbub could be heard as soon as we had gone a little way down, and before long we were standing at the doorway of a narrow room packed with people in evening dress holding cocktail glasses.

At first glance the room appeared to be of a much smaller scale than the grand ballroom in which guests had gathered the night before. In fact on closer inspection I saw that originally it had probably not been a room at all, but a corridor, or at best a long curving vestibule. Its curve was such as to suggest it might eventually describe a semi-circle, though it was impossible to ascertain this glancing in from the doorway. I could see on its outer side the huge windows, now covered by curtains, going on round the curve, while the inner wall appeared to be lined by doors. The floor was marble, chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and here and there around the room were art objects displayed on pedestals or in elegant glass cabinets.

We paused at the threshold, taking in this scene. I looked about for someone to come and usher us in, perhaps even announce our arrival, but though we stood and watched for some time no one came to us. Occasionally some person would come striding hurriedly in our direction, but then at the last moment turn out to have been making for some other guest.

I glanced at Sophie. She had an arm around Boris and both were staring apprehensively at the crowd.

'Come on, let's go in,' I said nonchalantly. We all took a few steps into the room, but then came to a halt again a little way inside.

I looked around for Hoffman or Miss Stratmann or anyone else I recognised, but could see no one. Then, as I continued to stand there looking from face to face, the thought came to me that a great many of these same people might well have attended the event at which Sophie had been so appallingly treated. Suddenly I could see all the more vividly what Sophie had had to endure and felt a dangerous anger rising in me. Indeed, as I continued to look around the room, I could spot at least one group of guests -standing together almost where the room curved out of our view - who almost certainly had been among the major culprits. I studied them through the crowd: the men with their self-satisfied smiles, the pompous way they took their hands in and out of their trouser pockets as though to demonstrate to one and all how at ease they were in a gathering of this sort; and the women, with their ridiculous costumes, and their way of shaking their heads helplessly when they laughed. It was unbelievable - utterly preposterous - that such people should presume to sneer or look down on anyone, let alone on someone like Sophie. In fact I saw no reason not to go immediately up to this group to give them a firm dressing down under the full gaze of their peers. Murmuring a quick word of reassurance in Sophie's ear, I set off across the floor.

As I made my way through the crowd, I saw that the room did indeed turn a slow semi-circle. I could now see also the waiters standing like sentries all along the inner wall, holding their trays of drinks and canapes. Sometimes people would jog me and apologise pleasantly, or I would exchange smiles with someone trying to push through in the opposite direction, but curiously no one appeared actually to recognise me. At one stage I found myself squeezing past three middle-aged men who were shaking their heads despondently at something, and I noticed that one was holding under his arm a copy of the evening newspaper. I saw my windswept face peeking from behind his elbow and wondered vaguely if the appearance of the photographs could in some way account for the odd way our arrival had thus far been ignored. But I was now virtually next to the people I had been making for and gave this idea no further thought.

Noticing my approach, two of the group stepped aside as though to welcome me into their circle. They were, I realised, discussing the art objects surrounding us, and as I came into their midst they were all nodding over something the last speaker had said. Then one of the women said:

'Yes, it's so clear you could draw a line across this room, just after that Van Thillo.' She pointed to a white statuette on a stand not far from us. 'Young Oskar never had the eye. And to be fair, he knew it, but he felt a duty, a duty to his family.'

'I'm sorry, but I have to agree with Andreas,' one of the men said. 'Oskar was too proud. He should have delegated. To people who knew better.'

Then one of the other men said to me, smiling pleasantly: 'And what is your feeling on this, sir? About Oskar's contribution to the collection?'

I was momentarily taken aback by this enquiry, but I was not in a mood to be deflected.

'It's all very well you ladies and gentlemen standing here discussing Oskar's inadequacy,' I began. 'But more important and to the point…'

'It would be going too far,' a woman interrupted, 'to call young Oskar inadequate. His taste was very different to his brother's, and yes, he did make the odd mistake, but all in all I think he's brought a welcome dimension to the collection. It breaks up the austerity. Without it, well, this collection would be like a good dinner without the sweet course. That caterpillar vase over there' - she pointed through the crowd - 'it really is rather delightful.'

'It's all very well…' I began again heatedly, but before I could get further, a man said firmly:

"The caterpillar vase is the
only
one, the only one of his choices that earns its place here. His problem was that he had no sense of the collection as a whole, the balance of the thing.'

I could feel my patience running out.

'Look,' I shouted, 'just stop this! Just for one second stop this, this inane chatter! Just stop it for one second and let someone else say something, someone else from outside, outside this closed little world you all seem so happy to inhabit!'

I paused and glared at them. My assertiveness had paid off for they were all of them - four men and three women - staring at me in astonishment. Having at last gained their attention, my anger now felt deliciously under control, like some weapon I could wield with deliberation. I lowered my voice - I had shouted a little more loudly than I had intended - and continued:

'Is it any wonder, is it any wonder at all that in this little town of yours, you have all these problems, this
crisis
as some of you choose to term it? That so many of you are so miserable and frustrated? Does it puzzle anyone, anyone from outside? Is it a surprise? Do we, we observers from a bigger, broader world, do we scratch our heads in bewilderment? Do we say to ourselves, how can it possibly be that a town such as this' - I could feel someone tugging at my arm, but I was now determined to have my say - 'that a town, a community like
this
should have such a crisis on its hands? Are we puzzled and amazed? No! Not for a moment! One arrives and immediately what does one see all around? Exemplified, ladies and gentlemen, by people like you, yes, you here! You
typify
- I'm sorry if I'm being unfair, if there are examples yet more gross and monstrous to be found under the rocks and paving stones of this city - but to my eyes, you, sir, and you, madam, yes, as much as I regret to break it to you, yes, you
exemplify
everything that's so wrong here!' The hand tugging at my sleeve, I realised, belonged to one of the women I was addressing, who for some reason was reaching behind the man standing next to me. I glanced a second in her direction, then went on: 'For one thing, you lack basic manners. Look at the way you treat each other. Look at the way you treat my family. Even myself, a distinguished figure, your guest, look at you, far too concerned about Oskar's art collecting. In other words, too obsessed, obsessed with the little internal disorders of this thing you call your community, too obsessed to display even the minimum level of good manners to us.'

The woman tugging my arm now moved round so that she was directly behind me and I was aware that she was saying something to me in her effort to tear me away. I ignored her and continued:

'And it's here, of all places, what a cruel irony! Yes, it's here, to
this
place my parents have to come. Of all places, here, to receive your so-called hospitality. What an irony, what a cruelty, of all places, after all these years, that it should be somewhere like this, with people like you! And my poor parents, coming all this way, to hear me perform for the very first time! Do you suppose this makes my task any easier, that I'm obliged to leave them in the care of people like you, and you, and you?'

'Mr Ryder, Mr Ryder…' The woman at my elbow had been pulling insistently for some time and I now saw that this was none other than Miss Collins. This realisation made me lose my momentum and before I knew it she had succeeded in pulling me back from the group.

'Ah, Miss Collins,' I said to her, a little confused. 'Good evening.'

'You know, Mr Ryder,' Miss Collins said, continuing to lead me away. 'I'm genuinely surprised, I have to say it. I mean by the level of fascination there is. A friend told me just now that the whole town is gossiping about it. Gossiping, she assures me, in the kindest possible way! But I really can't see what all the fuss is about. Just because I went today to the zoo! I really can't understand it. I only agreed because they convinced me it was in everyone's interests, you know, for Leo to do well tomorrow night. So I merely agreed to be there, that was all. And I suppose, to be truthful, I wished to say a few encouraging words to Leo, now that he's gone this long without drinking. It seemed only fair I acknowledged it in some way. I assure you, Mr Ryder, if he'd gone this long without drinking at any other point in these last twenty years, I would have done exactly the same. It's just that it hadn't happened until now. There really wasn't anything so significant about my presence at the zoo today.'

She had ceased to pull at me, but had kept her arm in mine and we now settled to a slow walk through the crowd.

'I'm sure there wasn't, Miss Collins,' I said. 'And let me assure you, when I came over to you just now, I didn't have the slightest intention of raising the subject of yourself and Mr Brodsky.

Unlike the great majority of this town, I'm quite content not to pry into your private concerns.'

'That's very decent of you, Mr Ryder. But in any case, as I say, our meeting this afternoon didn't amount to anything so significant. People would be so disappointed if they knew. All that happened was that Leo came up to me and said: "You're looking very lovely today." Just the sort of thing you'd expect Leo to say after twenty years of being drunk. And that was just about all there was to it. Of course I thanked him, and said that he was looking better than I'd seen him for some time. He looked down at his shoes then, something I don't recall him ever doing when he was younger. He never did anything so timid in those days. Yes, his fire's burnt out, I could see that. But something's replaced it, something with some gravity. Well, there he was, looking down at his shoes, and Mr von Winterstein and the other gentlemen were all hovering about a little way behind, looking the other way, pretending they'd forgotten about us. I made some remark to Leo about the weather and he looked up and said, yes, the trees were looking splendid. Then he began to tell me which animals he'd liked of the ones he'd just seen. It was clear he hadn't been attending at all, because he said: "I love all these animals. The elephant, the crocodile, the chimpanzee." Well, the monkeys' cages were nearby and certainly they would have come that way, but they certainly wouldn't have passed the elephants or crocodiles and I said as much to Leo. But Leo brushed this aside as though I'd brought up something completely irrelevant. Then he seemed to get into a slight panic. Perhaps it had to do with Mr von Winterstein coming a little closer just then. You see, my original agreement had been that I'd say a few words to Leo, just literally a few words. Mr von Winterstein had assured me he'd intervene after a minute or so. Well, those had been my conditions but then, once we'd started to talk, it did feel hopelessly short. I myself began to dread the sight of Mr von Winterstein hovering nearby. Anyway, Leo knew we had very little time because then he plunged right in. He said: "Perhaps we might try again. To live together. It's not too late." You must accept, Mr Ryder, this was somewhat blunt after all these years, even allowing for this afternoon's time restrictions. I simply said: "But what would we do together? We've hardly a thing in common now."

And for a second or two, he looked about bewildered, as though I'd brought up a point he'd never before thought of. Then he pointed to the cage in front of us and said: "We could keep an animal. We could love and care for it together. Perhaps that was what we didn't have before." And I didn't know what to say so we were just standing there, and I could see Mr von Winterstein starting to come over, but then he must have sensed something, something in the way Leo and I were standing there, because he changed his mind and moved away again and started talking to Mr von Braun. Then Leo put up a finger in the air, that's a gesture of his from long ago, he put up his finger and said: "I had a dog, as you know, but he died yesterday. A dog's no good. We'll choose an animal that will live a long time. Twenty, twenty-five years. That way, so long as we look after it well, we'll die first, we won't have to mourn it. We never had children so let's do this." To which I said: "You simply haven't thought this through. Our beloved animal may well outlive us both, but it's unlikely the two of us will die at the same time. You may not have to mourn the animal, but if, say, I died before you, you'd have to mourn
me
." To which he said quickly: "That's better than having no one mourn you after you've gone."