This was said in an unmistakably affectionate tone, but the porter seemed to feel real shame. He adjusted his posture away from us, the heavy cases thumping against his legs as he did so, and turned his gaze away sheepishly.
‘There, that’s shown him,’ the young woman said smiling. ‘But he’s one of the very best. We all love him. He’s exceedingly modest and so he’d never tell you himself, but the other hotel porters in this town all look up to him. In fact, it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say they’re in awe of him. Sometimes you’ll see them sitting around their table on Sunday afternoons, and if Gustav hasn’t yet arrived, they won’t start talking. They feel it would be disrespectful, you see, to start proceedings without him. You’ll often see them, ten or eleven of them, sitting there silently with their coffees, waiting. At most, they might exchange the odd whisper, like they were in church. But not until Gustav arrives do they relax and start conversing. It’s worth going along to the Hungarian Café just to witness Gustav’s arrival. The contrast between before and after is very marked, I have to tell you. One moment there are these glum old faces sitting silently around the table. Then Gustav turns up and they start yelling and laughing. They punch each other in fun, slap each other on the back. They sometimes even dance, yes, up on the tables! They have a special “Porters’ Dance”, isn’t that so, Gustav? Oh yes, they really enjoy themselves. But not a bit of it until Gustav’s arrived. Of course he’d never tell you any of this himself, he’s so modest. We do all love him here in this town.’
While the young woman was speaking, Gustav must have continued to turn himself away, for when I next looked at him he was facing the opposite corner of the elevator with his back to us. The weight of the suitcases was making his knees sag and his shoulders quiver. His head was bent right down so as to be practically hidden from us behind him, but whether this was due to bashfulness or sheer physical exertion was hard to say.
‘I’m so sorry, Mr Ryder,’ the young woman said. ‘I haven’t yet introduced myself. I’m Hilde Stratmann. I’ve been given the task of ensuring everything goes smoothly while you’re here with us. I’m so glad you’ve managed to get here at last. We were all starting to get a little concerned. Everyone waited this morning for as long as they could, but many had important appointments and had to go off one by one. So it falls to me, a humble employee of the Civic Arts Institute, to tell you how greatly honoured we all feel by your visit.’
‘I’m very pleased to be here. But concerning this morning. Did you just say …’
‘Oh, please don’t worry at all about this morning, Mr Ryder. No one was put out in the least. The important thing is that you’re here. You know, Mr Ryder, something on which I can certainly agree with Gustav is the Old Town. It really is most attractive and I always advise visitors to go there. It has a marvellous atmosphere, full of pavement cafés, craft shops, restaurants. It’s only a short walk from here, so you should take the opportunity as soon as your schedule allows.’
‘I’ll certainly try and do that. Incidentally, Miss Stratmann, speaking of my schedule …’ I paused rather deliberately, expecting the young woman to exclaim at her forgetfulness, perhaps reach into her attaché case and produce a sheet or a folder. But although she did break in quickly, it was to say:
‘It is a tight schedule, yes. But I do hope it’s not unreasonable. We’ve tried to keep it strictly to the essential things. Inevitably we were inundated, by so many of our societies, the local media, everybody. You have such a following in this town, Mr Ryder. Many people here believe you to be not only the world’s finest living pianist, but perhaps the very greatest of the century. But we think in the end we’ve managed to bring it down to the essentials. I trust there’s nothing there you’re too unhappy with.’
Just at this moment the elevator doors slid open and the elderly porter set off down the corridor. The suitcases made him drag his step along the carpet and Miss Stratmann and I, following on behind, had to measure our pace so as not to overtake him.
‘I do hope no one was offended,’ I said to her as we walked. ‘I mean, about my not having time for them on my schedule.’
‘Oh no, please don’t worry. We all know why you’re here and nobody wants it said that they distracted you. In fact, Mr Ryder, aside from two rather important social functions, everything else on your programme relates more or less directly to Thursday night. Of course, you’ve had a chance by now to familiarise yourself with your schedule.’
There was something about the way she uttered this last remark that made it difficult for me to respond entirely frankly. I thus muttered: ‘Yes, of course.’
‘It is a heavy schedule. But we were very much guided by your request to be allowed to see as much as possible at first hand. A very commendable approach, if I may say so.’
Ahead of us, the elderly porter stopped in front of a door. At last he lowered my suitcases and began fiddling with the lock. As we came up to him, Gustav picked up the suitcases again and staggered into the room, saying: ‘Please follow me, sir.’ I was about to do so, when Miss Stratmann placed a hand on my arm.
‘I won’t keep you,’ she said. ‘But I did just want to check at this stage if there was anything at all on your schedule you weren’t happy with.’
The door swung shut, leaving us standing out in the corridor.
‘Well, Miss Stratmann,’ I said, ‘on the whole, it struck me as … as a very well-balanced programme.’
‘It was precisely with your request in mind that we arranged the meeting with the Citizens’ Mutual Support Group. The Support Group is made up of ordinary people from every walk of life brought together by their sense of having suffered from the present crisis. You’ll be able to hear first-hand accounts of what some people have had to go through.’
‘Ah yes. That’s sure to be most useful.’
‘And as you’ll have noticed, we’ve also respected your wish to meet with Mr Christoff himself. Given the circumstances, we perfectly appreciate your reasons for requesting such a meeting. Mr Christoff, for his part, is delighted, as you can well imagine. Naturally he has his own reasons for wanting to meet you. What I mean, of course, is that he and his friends will do their utmost to get you to see things their way. Naturally, it’ll all be nonsense, but I’m sure you’ll find it all very useful in drawing up a general picture of what’s been going on here. Mr Ryder, you’re looking very tired. I won’t keep you any longer. Here’s my card. Please don’t hesitate to call if you have any problems or queries.’
I thanked her and watched her go off back down the corridor. When I entered my room I was still turning over the various implications of this exchange and took a moment to register Gustav standing next to the bed.
‘Ah, here you are, sir.’
After the preponderance of dark wood panelling elsewhere in the building, I was surprised by the light modern look of the room. The wall facing me was glass almost from floor to ceiling and the sun was coming in pleasantly between the vertical blinds hung against it. My suitcases had been placed side by side next to the wardrobe.
‘Now, sir, if you’ll just bear with me a moment,’ Gustav said, ‘I’ll show you the features of the room. That way, your stay here will be as comfortable as possible.’
I followed Gustav around the room while he pointed out switches and other facilities. At one point he led me into the bathroom and continued his explanations there. I had been about to cut him short in the way I am accustomed to doing when being shown a hotel room by a porter, but something about the diligence with which he went about his task, something about his efforts to personalise something he went through many times each day, rather touched me and prevented me from interrupting. And then, as he continued with his explanations, waving a hand towards various parts of the room, it occurred to me that for all his professionalism, for all his genuine desire to see me comfortable, a certain matter that had been preoccupying him throughout the day had again pushed its way to the front of his mind. He was, in other words, worry
ing once more about his daughter and her little boy.
When the arrangement had been proposed to him several months earlier, Gustav had little supposed it would bring him anything other than uncomplicated delight. For an afternoon each week, he was to spend a couple of hours wandering around the Old Town with his grandson, thereby allowing Sophie to go off and enjoy a little time to herself. Moreover, the arrangement had immediately proved a success and within weeks grandfather and grandson had evolved a routine highly agreeable to them both. On afternoons when it was not raining, they would start at the swing park, where Boris could demonstrate his latest feats of daring. If it was wet, they would start at the boat museum. They would then stroll about the little streets of the Old Town, looking in various gift shops, perhaps stopping at the Old Square to watch a mime artist or acrobat. The elderly porter being well known in the area, they would never get far without someone greeting them, and Gustav would receive numerous compliments regarding his grandson. They would next go over to the old bridge to watch the boats pass underneath. The expedition would then conclude at a favourite café, where they would order cake or ice cream and await Sophie’s return.
Initially these little outings had brought Gustav immense satisfaction. But the increased contact with his daughter and grandson had obliged him to notice things he once might have pushed away, until he had no longer been able to pretend all was well. For one thing, there was the question of Sophie’s general mood. In the early weeks, she had taken her leave of them cheerfully, hurrying away to the city centre to shop or to meet a friend. But lately she had taken to slouching off as though she had nothing to do with herself. There were, furthermore, clear signs that the trouble, whatever it was, had started to make its mark on Boris. True, his grandson was still for the most part his high-spirited self. But the porter had noticed how every now and then, particularly at any mention of his home life, a cloud would pass over the little boy’s expression. Then two weeks ago something had happened which the elderly porter had not been able to expel from his mind.
He had been walking with Boris past one of the numerous cafés of the Old Town when he had suddenly noticed his daughter sitting inside. The awning had shaded the glass allowing a clear view through to the back, and Sophie had been visible sitting alone, a cup of coffee before her, wearing a look of utter despondency. The revelation that she had not found the energy to leave the Old Town at all, to say nothing of the expression on her face, had given the porter quite a shock – so much so that it had taken a moment before he had thought to try and distract Boris. It had been too late: Boris, following the porter’s gaze, had got a clear glimpse of his mother. The little boy had immediately looked away and the two of them had continued with their walk without once mentioning the matter. Boris had regained his good humour within minutes, but the episode had none the less greatly perturbed the porter and he had since turned it over many times in his mind. In fact, it was the recollection of this incident that had lent him such a preoccupied air down in the lobby, and which was now troubling him once more as he showed me around my room.
I had taken a liking to the old man and felt a wave of sympathy for him. Clearly he had been brooding on things for a long time and was now in danger of allowing his worries to attain unwarranted proportions. I thought about broaching the whole topic with him, but then, as Gustav came to the end of his routine, the weariness I had been experiencing intermittently ever since I had stepped off the plane came over me again. Resolving to take up the matter with him at a later point, I dismissed him with a generous tip.
Once the door had closed behind him, I collapsed fully clothed onto the bed and for a while gazed emptily up at the ceiling. At first my head remained filled with thoughts of Gustav and his various worries. But then as I went on lying there, I found myself turning over again the conversation I had had with Miss Stratmann. Clearly, this city was expecting of me something more than a simple recital. But when I tried to recall some basic details about the present visit, I had little success. I realised how foolish I had been not to have spoken more frankly to Miss Stratmann. If I had not received a copy of my schedule, the fault was hers, not mine, and my defensiveness had been quite without reason.
I thought again about the name Brodsky and this time I had the distinct impression I had either heard or read about him in the not so distant past. And then suddenly a moment came back to me from the long plane journey I had just completed. I had been sitting in the darkened cabin, the other passengers asleep around me, studying the schedule for this visit under the dim beam of the reading light. At one point the man next to me had awoken and after a few minutes had made some light-hearted remark. In fact, as I recalled, he had leaned over and put to me some little quiz question, something about World Cup footballers. Not wishing to be distracted from the careful study I was making of my schedule, I had brushed him off somewhat coldly. All this now returned to me clearly enough. Indeed, I could recall the very texture of the thick grey paper on which the schedule had been typed, the dull yellow patch cast on it by the reading light, the drone of the plane’s engines – but try as I might, I could remember nothing of what had been written on that sheet.
Then after a few more minutes I felt my weariness engulfing me and decided there was little point in worrying myself further until I had had a little sleep. Indeed, I knew well from experience how much clearer things became after a rest. I could then go and find Miss Stratmann, explain to her about the misunderstanding, obtain a copy of my schedule and have her clarify whatever points needed clarifying.
I was just starting to doze off when something suddenly made me open my eyes again and stare up at the ceiling. I went on scrutinising the ceiling for some time, then sat up on the bed and looked around, the sense of recognition growing stronger by the second. The room I was now in, I realised, was the very room that had served as my bedroom during the two years my parents and I had lived at my aunt’s house on the borders of England and Wales. I looked again around the room, then, lowering myself back down, stared once more at the ceiling. It had been recently re-plastered and re-painted, its dimensions had been enlarged, the cornices had been removed, the decorations around the light fitting had been entirely altered. But it was unmistakably the same ceiling I had so often stared up at from my narrow creaking bed of those days.
I rolled over onto my side and looked down at the floor beside the bed. The hotel had provided a dark rug just where my feet would land. I could remember how once that same area of floor had been covered by a worn green mat, where several times a week I would set out in careful formations my plastic soldiers – over a hundred in all – which I had kept in two biscuit tins. I reached down a hand and let my fingers brush against the hotel rug, and as I did so a memory came back to me of one afternoon when I had been lost within my world of plastic soldiers and a furious row had broken out downstairs. The ferocity of the voices had been such that, even as a child of six or seven, I had realised this to be no ordinary row. But I had told myself it was nothing and, resting my cheek back down on the green mat, had continued with my battle plans. Near the centre of that green mat had been a torn patch that had always been a source of much irritation to me. But that afternoon, as the voices raged on downstairs, it had occurred to me for the first time that this tear could be used as a sort of bush terrain for my soldiers to cross. This discovery – that the blemish that had always threatened to undermine my imaginary world could in fact be incorporated into it – had been one of some excitement for me, and that ‘bush’ was to become a key factor in many of the battles I subsequently orchestrated.
All this came back to me as I continued to stare up at the ceiling. Of course, I remained highly conscious of how all around the room features had been altered or removed. Nevertheless, the realisation that after all this time I was once more back in my old childhood sanctuary caused a profound feeling of peace to come over me. I closed my eyes and for a moment it was as though I were once more surrounded by all those old items of fu
rniture. In the far corner to my right, the tall white wardrobe with the broken door knob. My aunt’s painting of Salisbury Cathedral on the wall above my head. The bedside cabinet with its two small drawers filled with my little treasures and secrets. All the tensions of the day – the long flight, the confusions over my schedule, Gustav’s problems – seemed to fall away and I felt myself sliding into a deep and exhausted sleep.
2
When I was roused by the bedside telephone, I had the impression it had been ringing for some time. I picked up the receiver and a voice said:
‘Hello? Mr Ryder?’
‘Yes, hello.’
‘Ah, Mr Ryder. This is Mr Hoffman speaking. The hotel manager.’
‘Ah yes. How do you do.’
‘Mr Ryder, we’re so extremely pleased to have you with us at last. You’re very welcome here.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Very welcome indeed, sir. Please don’t worry at all about your delayed arrival. As I believe Miss Stratmann told you, everyone present understood perfectly. After all, when one has the distances you have to cover, and with so many engagements around the world – ha ha! – such things are sometimes inevitable.’
‘But …’
‘No, really, sir, there’s no need to utter another word on the matter. All the ladies and gentlemen, as I say, were very understanding. So let us put the matter behind us. The important thing is that you are here. And for that alone, Mr Ryder, our gratitude to you is unmeasurable.’
‘Well, thank you, Mr Hoffman.’
‘Now, sir, if you aren’t too busy just now, I would very much like at last to greet you face to face. Extend to you my personal welcome to our town and to this hotel.’
The Unconsoled Page 2
