The Unconsoled
Page 19
‘Tomorrow night? Oh yes …’
‘Oh, but here I am talking on selfishly about myself, I haven’t even mentioned how sensationally you went down last night. At the dinner, I mean. Everyone’s been talking about it, all over the city. It really was such a charming speech.’
‘Thank you. I’m glad it was appreciated.’
‘And I’m sure it helped enormously to create the atmosphere for what came afterwards. Yes, apparently – this is the really good news I should have reported to you immediately – as you saw, Miss Collins turned up last night. Well, at one point, as she was leaving, she and Mr Brodsky, apparently they exchanged smiles. Yes, really! Many people witnessed it. Father saw it himself. He’d been making no effort at all to bring them into direct contact, he’d been very careful things weren’t pushed too fast, especially with Miss Collins thinking it over about the zoo and everything. But it was just as she was leaving. Apparently Mr Brodsky noticed she was leaving and stood up. He’d been sitting at his table the whole evening, even though by this time people were milling about freely in the way they always do. But now Mr Brodsky, he got to his feet and looked across the room to the doorway where Miss Collins was saying good night to a few people. One of the gentlemen, I think it was Mr Weber, was escorting her out, but some instinct must have told her. Anyway, she glanced back at the room and of course saw Mr Brodsky on his feet gazing at her. Father noticed this, and so did quite a few others and the room got quite a bit quieter, and Father says he thought for a terrible moment she was going to give him a cold bitter look, her face had shaped up as though she was going to. But then at the last moment, she smiled. Yes, she gave Mr Brodsky a smile! Then she went out. Mr Brodsky, well, you can imagine what that would have meant to him. Just imagine, after all these years! According to Father, I saw him just now, Mr Brodsky’s been working with a new energy this morning. Already he’s been at the piano for an hour! It’s just as well I vacated it when I did! Father says there’s something entirely different about him this morning, and of course no suggestion whatsoever of needing a drink. It’s all been a triumph for Father as much as anyone, but I’m sure your speech contributed enormously to everything. We’re still waiting to hear from Miss Collins, about her coming to the zoo, I mean, but after what happened last night, we can’t help but be optimistic. What a morning it’s turning into! Well, Mr Ryder, I won’t keep you any longer, I’m sure you’re longing to finish your breakfast. I’ll just say thank you again for everything. I’m sure we’ll run into each other during the day and I’ll report to you how things are going with the Kazan.’
I wished him luck and watched him stride purposefully out of the room.
The encounter with the young man left me feeling more contented than ever. For the next several minutes I went on with my breakfast at the same leisurely pace, enjoying in particular the fresh taste of the local butter. At one point the waiter appeared with another pot of coffee then left again. After a while, for some reason, I found myself trying to remember the answer to a question once put to me by a man sitting beside me on a plane. Three pairs of brothers had played together in World Cup finals, he had said. Could I remember them? I had made some excuse and returned to my book, not wishing to be drawn into conversation. But then ever since, on occasions such as this when I found myself with a rare few minutes to myself, I would find the man’s question coming back to me. The annoying thing was that I had at times over the years managed to remember all three sets of brothers, but then at other times would discover I had forgotten one pair or another. And so it was this morning. I remembered that the Charlton brothers had played for England in the 1966 final, the van der Kerkhof brothers for Holland in 1978. But try as I might I could not remember the third pair. After a while I began to grow quite annoyed at myself, and at one stage became quite determined I would not leave the breakfast table nor embark on my day’s commitments until I had succeeded in remembering the third pair of brothers.
I was brought out of my reverie by the realisation that Boris had come into the room and was making his way towards me. He was doing so gradually, drifting nonchalantly from table to empty table, as though it were merely by chance he was getting closer to me. He avoided looking at me and even when he had arrived at the next table he loitered there fingering the tablecloth, his back turned to me.
‘Boris, have you had breakfast?’ I asked.
He continued fiddling with the tablecloth. Then he asked in a tone that suggested he did not care much one way or the other: ‘Are we going to the old apartment?’
‘If you want to. I promised we’d go if you wanted to. Do you want to go, Boris?’
‘Haven’t you got work to do?’
‘Yes, but I can manage to do that later. We could go to the old apartment if you want. But if we’re going, we’ll have to set off straight away. As you say, I have quite a busy day in front of me.’
Boris seemed to be thinking things over. He kept his back to me and went on fiddling with the tablecloth.
‘Well, Boris? Shall we go?’
‘Will Number Nine be there?’
‘I should think so.’ Deciding I should take the initiative, I stood up and tossed my napkin next to my plate. ‘Boris, let’s set off straight away. It looks like a sunny day outside. We don’t even need to go up for jackets. Let’s just go straight away.’
Boris continued to look hesitant, but I put my arm around his shoulders and led him out of the breakfast room.
As Boris and I were crossing the lobby, I noticed the desk clerk waving to me.
‘Oh Mr Ryder,’ he said. ‘Those journalists came back earlier. I thought it best to send them away for now and suggested they try again in an hour’s time. Don’t worry, they were perfectly agreeable.’
I thought for a moment, then said: ‘Unfortunately, I’m in the middle of something important just now. Perhaps you might ask these gentlemen to arrange a time properly through Miss Stratmann. Now if you’ll excuse us, we have to be getting along.’
It was only when we had made our way out of the hotel and were standing on the sunny pavement that it occurred to me I could not remember how to get to the old apartment. For a few seconds I looked at the traffic moving slowly in front of us. Then Boris, perhaps sensing my difficulty, said: ‘We can get a tram. From outside the fire station.’
‘That’s good. Okay then, Boris, you lead the way.’
The noise of the traffic was such that for the next few minutes we hardly talked. We dodged along narrow crowded pavements, crossed two busy little streets, then came out onto a broad avenue with tram lines and several lanes of slow traffic. The pavement was much wider here and we walked more freely through the pedestrians, past banks, offices and restaurants. Then I heard footsteps running up behind me and felt a hand touch my shoulder.
‘Mr Ryder! Ah, here you are at last!’
The man I turned to find resembled an ageing rock singer. He had a weather-beaten face and long messy hair parted down the middle. His shirt and trousers were loose and cream-coloured.
‘How do you do,’ I said cautiously, aware that Boris was eyeing the man with suspicion.
‘What a most unfortunate series of misunderstandings!’ the man said laughing. ‘We’ve been given so many different appointments. And last night we waited a long time, over two hours, but never mind! These things happen. I dare say none of it is your fault, sir. In fact, I’m sure it isn’t.’
‘Ah yes. And you were waiting again this morning. Yes, yes, the desk clerk mentioned it.’
‘This morning, again, there was some misunderstanding.’ The long-haired man shrugged. ‘They said to come back in another hour. So we were just killing time over there, in that café, the photographer and I. But now that you’re passing, I wonder if we shouldn’t just do the interview and the photographs right now. Then we won’t need to bother you ever again. Of course, we realise that for someone such as yourself, talking to a small local paper like ours won’t be high among your priorities …’
‘How very kind of you to say so, Mr Ryder. And if I may say so, rather insightful.’
‘But I was going on to say that, unfortunately, just at this moment, I’m in the middle of something.’
‘Of course, of course. For that very reason, I was suggesting we just get the whole thing over and done with now, rather than that we continue to bother you throughout the day. Our photographer, Pedro, he’s over there now in that café. He can take a few quick pictures while I ask you two or three questions. Then you and this young gentleman, you can hurry along to wherever it is you’re going. The whole thing would take only about four or five minutes. It seems by far the simplest solution.’
‘Hmm. Just a few minutes, you say.’
‘Oh, we’d be more than delighted with a few minutes. We fully appreciate how many other important demands there must be on your time. As I say, we’re just over there. That café there.’
He was pointing to a spot a little distance away where some tables and chairs were spilling onto the pavement. It did not look the sort of place I would ideally conduct an interview, but it occurred to me this might be the simplest way to bring the matter of the journalists to an end.
‘Very well,’ I said. ‘But I have to emphasise, I have a particularly tight schedule this morning.’
‘Mr Ryder, it’s so gracious of you. And for a humble little paper like ours! Well, let’s get it done as quickly as possible. Please, this way.’
The long-haired journalist began to lead us back along the pavement, almost colliding with another pedestrian in his eagerness to return to his café. He was soon a few paces ahead and I took the opportunity to say to Boris:
‘Don’t worry, this won’t take any time at all. I’ll make sure of that.’
Boris continued to wear a disgruntled expression and so I added:
‘Look, you can sit and have something nice while you’re waiting. Some ice cream or cheesecake. Then we’ll set off immediately.’
We came to a halt by a narrow courtyard busy with parasols.
‘Here we are,’ the journalist said, gesturing towards one of the tables. ‘We’re just over here.’
‘If you don’t mind,’ I said to him, ‘I’ll first of all install Boris inside. I’ll come back out and join you in just one minute.’
‘An excellent idea.’
Although many of the tables out in the courtyard were occupied, there were no customers at all inside. The décor was light and modern, and the room was full of sunshine. A plump young waitress of Nordic appearance was standing behind a glass counter inside which was displayed a range of cakes and pastries. As Boris seated himself at a table in the corner, the young woman came towards us with a smile.
‘So what would you like?’ she asked Boris. ‘We have this morning the freshest cakes in the whole town. They just arrived ten minutes ago. Everything’s very fresh.’
Boris proceeded to quiz the waitress very thoroughly about her cakes before settling on the almond and chocolate cheesecake.
‘Okay, I won’t be long,’ I said to him. ‘I’ll just go and see these people, then come right back. If you want anything, I’ll be just outside.’
Boris shrugged, his attention fixed on the waitress, now in the process of extricating an elaborate confection from out of the display cabinet.
12
When I came back out into the courtyard, I could not see the long-haired journalist anywhere. I strolled among the parasols for a while, peering at the faces of the people sitting at the tables. When I had gone once round the courtyard, I stopped to consider the possibility that the journalist had changed his mind and gone away. But this seemed extraordinary, and I looked around me once more. There were various people reading newspapers over their coffees. An old man was talking to the pigeons around his feet. Then I heard someone mention my name and, turning, saw the journalist sitting at a table directly behind me. He was in deep conversation with a squat, swarthy man whom I took to be the photographer. Letting out an exclamation I went up to them, but curiously the two men continued their discussion without looking up at me. Even when I drew up the remaining chair and sat down, the journalist – who was in mid-sentence – gave me no more than a cursory glance. Then, turning back to the swarthy photographer, he continued:
‘So don’t give him any hints about the significance of the building. You’ll just have to make up some arty justification, some reason why he has to be constantly in front of it.’
‘No problem,’ the photographer said nodding. ‘No problem.’
‘But don’t push him too much. That seems to be where Schulz went wrong in Vienna last month. And remember, like all these types, he’s very vain. So pretend to be a big fan of his. Tell him the paper had no idea when they sent you, but you happen to be a really huge fan. That’ll get him. But don’t mention the Sattler monument until we’ve developed a rapport.’
‘Okay, okay.’ The photographer was still nodding. ‘But I kind of thought this would have been fixed up by now. I thought you’d have got him to agree already.’
‘I was going to try and fix it on the phone, but then Schulz warned me what a difficult shit the guy is.’ As he said this, the journalist turned to me and gave me a polite smile. The photographer, following his companion’s gaze, gave me a distracted nod, then the two of them returned to their discussion.
‘The trouble with Schulz,’ the journalist said, ‘is he never flatters them enough. And he’s got that manner, like he’s really impatient, even when he’s not. With these types, you just have to keep up the flattery. So all the time you snap, keep shouting “great”. Keep exclaiming. Don’t stop feeding his ego.’
‘Okay, okay. No problem.’
‘So I’ll start in with …’ The journalist gave a weary sigh. ‘I’ll start talking about his performance in Vienna or something like that. I’ve got some notes on it here, I’ll bluff my way. But let’s not waste too much time. After a few minutes, you make out you’ve had this inspiration about going out to the Sattler monument. I’ll make out I’m a bit annoyed at first, but then end up admitting it’s a brilliant idea.’
‘Okay, okay.’
‘You’re sure now. Let’s have no mistakes. Remember he’s a touchy bastard.’
‘I understand.’
‘Anything starts to go wrong, just say something flattering.’
‘Fine, fine.’
The two men nodded to each other. Then the journalist took a deep breath, clapped his hands together and turned to face me, brightening suddenly as he did so.
‘Ah, Mr Ryder, here you are! It’s so good of you to give us some of your precious time. And the young man, he’s enjoying himself in there, I trust?’
‘Yes, yes. He’s ordered a very large piece of cheesecake.’
Both men laughed pleasantly. The swarthy photographer grinned and said:
‘Cheesecake. Yeah, that’s my favourite. From when I was a little kid.’
‘Oh, Mr Ryder, this is Pedro.’
The photographer smiled and held out his hand eagerly. ‘Very pleased to meet you, sir. This is a real break for me, I tell you. I was put on this assignment only this morning. When I got up, all I had to look forward to was another shoot in the council chambers. Then I get this call while I’m having my shower. Do you want to do it? they ask. Do I want to do it? The man’s been my hero since I was a kid, I tell them. Do I want to do it? Jesus, I’ll do it for nothing. I’ll pay you to do it, I tell them. Just tell me where to go. I swear I’ve never been this excited over an assignment.’
‘To be frank, Mr Ryder,’ the journalist said, ‘the photographer who was with me last night at the hotel, well, after we’d been waiting a few hours he started to get a little impatient. Naturally I was quite angry with him. “You don’t seem to r
ealise,” I said to him. “If Mr Ryder has been delayed, it’s bound to be by the most important sorts of engagements. If he’s good enough to consent to give us some of his time and we need to wait a little, then wait we shall.” I tell you, sir, I got quite angry with him. And when I got back I told the editor it just wasn’t good enough. “Find me another photographer for the morning,” I demanded. “I want someone who fully appreciates Mr Ryder’s position and shows him the appropriate gratitude.” Yes, I suppose I got quite worked up about it. Anyway, we’ve got Pedro now, who turns out to be almost as big a fan of yours as I am.’
‘Bigger, bigger,’ Pedro protested. ‘When I got the call this morning, I just couldn’t believe it. My hero’s in town and I’m going to get to shoot him. Jesus, I’m going to do the best job I’ve ever done, that’s what I said to myself while I was taking my shower. A guy like that, you have to do the best job ever. I’ll take him up against the Sattler building. That’s how I saw it. I could see the whole composition in my head while I was taking my shower.’
‘Now, Pedro,’ the journalist said, looking at him sternly, ‘I doubt very much if Mr Ryder cares to go over to the Sattler building just for the sake of our photographs. All right, it’s only a few minutes’ drive at the most, but a few minutes is still no inconsiderable thing to a man on a tight schedule. No, Pedro, you’ll just have to do the best you can here, take a few shots of Mr Ryder as we talk at this table. Okay, a pavement café, it’s very clichéd, it will hardly show to good effect the unique charisma Mr Ryder carries around him. But it will just have to do. I admit, your idea of Mr Ryder against the Sattler monument, it’s inspired. But he simply doesn’t have the time. We’ll have to be satisfied with a much more ordinary picture of him.’
Pedro punched his fist into his palm and shook his head. ‘I guess that’s right. But Jesus, it’s tough. A chance to take the great Mr Ryder, a once-in-a-lifetime chance, and I have to make do with another café scene. That’s the way life deals you a hand.’ He shook his head again sadly. Then for a moment the two of them sat there looking at me.