The Unconsoled

by Kazuo Ishiguro

  26

  The steps descended steeply past tall hedges and shrubs. I then found myself standing beside the road, looking at the sun setting across the field on the opposite side. The stairway had brought me out at a point where the road curved sharply, but when I followed it round a little the view widened. I could then see up ahead the hill I had recently climbed – the outline of the little hut was visible against the sky – and Hoffman’s car waiting down in the lay-by where he had dropped me earlier.

  I walked on towards the car, my thoughts filled with the exchange I had just had with Pedersen. I remembered the time I had first met him in the cinema when his esteem for me had been obvious in his every word and gesture. Now, for all his good manners, it was clear he was deeply disappointed with me. I found this thought oddly troubling and, as I continued along the roadside gazing at the sunset, began to feel more and more annoyed that I had not proceeded with greater caution over the matter of the Sattler monument. It was true – as I had pointed out to Pedersen – that my decision had seemed to represent the wisest course open to me at the time. Nevertheless, I could not avoid the niggling feeling that for all the limitations on my time, for all the enormous pressures impinging on me, I should somehow by that point have been better informed. And now, even at this late stage, with the evening’s event virtually upon me, there were still certain aspects to these local issues that were far from clear. I saw now what a mistake it had been to miss the Citizens’ Mutual Support Group meeting earlier in the day – and all for the sake of a practice session that had proved far from necessary.

  By the time I came up to Hoffman’s car, I was feeling tired and disheartened. Hoffman was behind the wheel, writing busily in a notebook, and did not notice me until I had opened the passenger door.

  ‘Ah, Mr Ryder,’ he exclaimed, quickly putting his notebook away. ‘Your practice went well, I trust?’

  ‘Oh yes.’

  ‘And the facilities?’ He hurriedly started up the car. ‘They were to your satisfaction?’

  ‘Excellent, Mr Hoffman, thank you. But now I must get to the concert hall as quickly as possible. One never knows what sorts of adjustment may be necessary.’

  ‘Of course. In fact, I too have to hurry to the concert hall just now.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I must check the catering facilities. When I was there an hour ago, I’m pleased to say everything was going very smoothly. But of course, havoc can set in so rapidly.’

  Hoffman steered the car back onto the road and we drove for a few minutes without talking. The road, though somewhat busier than on the outward journey, was still far from crowded and Hoffman quickly built up a good speed. I gazed out at the fields and tried to relax, but found my mind returning to the evening ahead. Then I heard Hoffman say:

  ‘Mr Ryder, I hope you won’t mind my bringing this up. Just a small matter. No doubt you’ve forgotten.’ He gave a short laugh and shook his head.

  ‘Which matter is this, Mr Hoffman?’

  ‘I meant simply my wife’s albums. You might recall I told you about them when we first met. My wife, she’s been such a devoted admirer for so many years …’

  ‘Yes, of course, I remember very well. She has prepared some albums of cuttings of my career. Yes, yes, I hadn’t forgotten. In fact, throughout all these busy events, it’s something I’ve been looking forward to very much.’

  ‘She’s gone about the matter with enormous devotion, sir. Over many years. Sometimes she’s taken huge trouble to acquire certain back issues of journals or newspapers containing important articles about you. Indeed, sir, her dedication has been marvellous to witness. It really would mean so much to her …’

  ‘Mr Hoffman, I have every intention of inspecting the albums before long. As I say, I’m very much looking forward to doing so. However, just at this moment, I’d much appreciate it if we could take this opportunity to discuss, well, certain aspects concerning this evening.’

  ‘As you wish, sir. But I can assure you, everything is well in hand. You have nothing to be concerned about.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I’m sure. Nevertheless, since the event is now so close, surely it would be sensible to turn our minds to it a little. For instance, Mr Hoffman, there’s the matter of my parents. While I have every confidence the people of this city will look after them well, the fact remains they’re both in fragile health and so I’d greatly appreciate …’

  ‘Ah, of course, I perfectly understand. Indeed, may I say I find it most touching that you should display such concern over your parents. I’m only too happy to assure you that very thorough arrangements have been made to ensure their comfort at all times. A group of very charming and able local ladies has been detailed to look after them throughout their stay. And as for this evening’s event, we have planned something a little special for them, a little flourish I trust will appeal to you. As you no doubt know, our local company, Seeler Brothers, was renowned for two centuries for its carriage-making, once supplying many distinguished customers as far afield as France and England. There are some splendid examples of the Seeler Brothers’ craft still in the city and it was my fancy your parents would like to arrive at the concert hall in a particularly distinguished specimen, for which we have prepared a pair of beautifully groomed thoroughbreds. Perhaps you can imagine the scene, Mr Ryder. By that time in the evening the clearing in front of the concert hall will be bathed in lights, and all the prominent members of our community will be congregating there, laughing and greeting one another, all of them wonderfully dressed, much excitement in the air. Cars, of course, are unable to reach the clearing, so people will be arriving on foot from out of the trees. And then once a substantial crowd has assembled outside the hall – can you picture this, sir? – there’ll come from the darkness of the woods the sound of approaching horses. The ladies and gentlemen, they’ll stop talking and turn their heads. The sound of hooves will get louder, coming all the time closer to the pool of light. And then they will burst into view, the splendid horses, the driver in tails and top hat, the gleaming carriage of the Seeler Brothers carrying your most charming parents! Can you imagine the excitement, the anticipation that will go through the crowd at that moment? Of course, your parents will not be required to ride in the carriage for long. Just for that central avenue through the woods. And I assure you, the carriage is a masterpiece of luxury. They will find it as sheltered and comfortable as any limousine. Naturally, there will be a slight rocking motion, but that, in a first-class carriage, becomes a positively soothing feature. I hope you can picture it, sir. I must confess, I had originally conceived this whole arrangement for your own arrival, but then realised you would prefer to be well ensconced backstage by that point in the proceedings. And after all, one wishes nothing to dilute the impact of your appearance on the stage. Then, when we heard the very happy news that your parents would also be honouring this town, I thought immediately: “Ah, the ideal solution!” Yes, sir, your parents’ arrival will set the mood very nicely. We do not, of course, expect your parents to stand about thereafter. They’ll be led straight into their special seats in the auditorium, and this will signal to everyone else it is time they too were beginning to take their seats. And then, shortly after that, the formal part of the evening will commence. We will begin with a short piano recital by my son, Stephan. Ha ha! I admit this is something of an indulgence on my part. But Stephan was so eager for a platform and at the time I perhaps foolishly believed … Well, there’s no point in going into that now. Stephan will give a light piano recital, simply to create a certain atmosphere. For this part of the proceedings, the lights will remain up, to give people the chance to find their seats, greet one another, chat in the aisles and so on. Then, once everyone has settled, the lights will dim. There will follow a few formal words of welcome. Then, in time, the orchestra will come out, take their places, tune their instruments. And then, after a certain pause, Mr Brodsky will emerge. He will … he will then perform. When he has finished, and there is – let us hope, let us assume i
t – there is thunderous applause, and Mr Brodsky has taken many bows, there will follow a small break. Not an intermission exactly, we will not allow the audience to leave their seats. But a short period of five minutes or so, when the lights will go up again and people will have a chance to collect their thoughts. Then, while people are still busy exchanging their views, Mr von Winterstein will appear on stage in front of the curtain. He will give a simple introduction. No more than a few minutes – what introduction is necessary, after all? Then he’ll retreat to the wings. The whole auditorium will be plunged into darkness. And now we come to the moment, sir. The moment of your appearance. Indeed, this is a matter I’d been meaning to discuss with you, since to some degree your co-operation is essential. You see, sir, our concert hall is extremely beautiful but, being very old, it naturally lacks many facilities one would take for granted in a more modern building. The catering facilities, as I believe I’ve already mentioned, are far from adequate, obliging us to rely heavily on those of the hotel. But my point is this, sir. I have borrowed from our sports centre – which is indeed very modern and well-equipped – the electronic scoreboard that usually hangs over the indoor arena. Just at this moment, the arena is looking very sorry for itself! Ugly black wires dangling down from the space the scoreboard usually occupies. Well, sir, to return to my point. Mr von Winterstein will retreat to the wings after his brief introduction. The whole auditorium, for a single moment, will be plunged into blackness, during which time the curtains will open. And then a single spot will come on, revealing you standing at the centre of the stage at the lectern. At that moment, obviously, the audience will burst into excited applause. Then, once the applause has subsided, before you have uttered a word – of course, this is so long as you are agreeable – a voice will boom out across the auditorium, pronouncing the first question. The voice will be that of Horst Jannings, this city’s most senior actor. He will be up in the sound box speaking through the public address system. Horst has a fine rich baritone and he will read out each question slowly. And as he does so – this is my little idea, sir! – the words will be spelt out simultaneously on the electronic scoreboard fixed directly above your head. You see, until this point, owing to the darkness, no one would have been aware of the scoreboard. It will be as though the words are appearing in the air above you. Ha ha! Forgive me, but I thought the effect would serve both the drama of the occasion and at the same time bring added clarity to it. The words on the scoreboard, dare I say, will help some of those present to remember the gravely important nature of the issues you are addressing. After all, it could easily be that in all this excitement certain people will forget to concentrate. Well, you see, sir, with my little idea, there’ll be little chance of that. Each question will be there in front of them, spelt out in giant letters. So then, sir, with your approval this is what we shall do. The first question will be announced, spelt out on the scoreboard, you will give your reply from the lectern, and, once you have finished, Horst will read out the next question and so on. The only thing we would ask, Mr Ryder, is that at the end of each reply, you leave the lectern and come to the edge of the stage and bow. The reason for my requesting this is twofold. Firstly, because of the temporary nature of the electronic scoreboard, there are inevitably certain technical difficulties. It will take the electrician several seconds to load each question into the scoreboard, and then there will be an additional lag of fifteen to twenty seconds before the words start to appear on the board. So you see, sir, by moving to the edge of the stage and bowing, thus provoking inevitable applause, we will avoid a series of awkward pauses punctuating the proceedings. Then, just as each round of applause is dying, Horst’s voice and the scoreboard will announce the next question, giving you ample time to return to the lectern. There is, sir, a further reason this strategy recommends itself. Your coming to the edge of the stage and bowing will tell the electrician, very unambiguously, that you have completed your answer. After all, we wish to avoid at all costs a situation in which, for instance, the scoreboard starts to print out the next question while you are still speaking. But you see, as I’ve explained, because of the time-lag problems this could all too easily occur. All it would take, after all, is for you to appear to finish – for you merely to pause – only for some final pertinent point to occur to you. You proceed to make this final point, but meanwhile the electrician has already started … Ha! What a disaster! Let us not even contemplate it! So, sir, allow me then to suggest this simple but effective device of your coming to the edge of the stage at the end of each answer. In fact, sir, to give the electrician a few extra seconds to load the next question, it would be enormously helpful if you could in addition give some sort of inconspicuous signal as you approach the end of each reply. Perhaps, let us say, a modest shrug of the shoulder. Of course, Mr Ryder, all these arrangments are subject to your approval. If you’re unhappy about any of these ideas, please speak plainly.’

  As Hoffman had been talking, an all too vivid picture of the evening ahead had started to form in my mind. I could hear the applause, the buzz of the electronic scoreboard above my head. I saw myself performing the little shrug, then moving into the blinding lights towards the edge of the stage. And a curious, dreamy sense of unreality came over me as I realised just how unprepared I was. I saw Hoffman waiting for my response and murmured wearily:

  ‘It all sounds splendid, Mr Hoffman. You’ve thought the whole thing out very well.’

  ‘Ah. So you approve. All the details, they are all …’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ I said, waving my hand impatiently. ‘The electronic scoreboard, the walking to the edge of the stage, the shrugs, yes, yes, yes. It’s all very well thought out.’

  ‘Ah.’ For a second Hoffman continued to look uncertain, but then seemed to conclude I had spoken sincerely. ‘Splendid, splendid. Then everything’s settled.’ He nodded to himself and fell silent for a while. Then I heard him mutter to himself again, not taking his eyes off the road: ‘Yes, yes. Everything’s settled.’

  For the next several minutes, Hoffman said nothing further to me, though he continued to mutter to himself under his breath. There was now a pink hue over much of the sky, and as the road turned this way and that through the farmland the sun would appear in the windscreen before us, filling the car with its glow and obliging us to squint. Then at one point, as I was gazing out of my window, I heard Hoffman gasp suddenly:

  ‘An ox! An ox, an ox, an ox!’

  Although this too had been uttered under his breath, I was sufficiently startled to turn and look at him. I saw then that Hoffman was still lost in his own world, staring ahead of him and nodding to himself. I looked around at the fields we were passing but, although I saw sheep in many of the fields, could see no sign of an ox. I had a vague recollection of Hoffman doing something similar once before on a car journey with me, but then soon lost interest in the matter.

  Before long we found ourselves back in the city streets and the traffic quickly slowed to a crawl. The pavements were crowded with people making their way home from work and many shop windows had already turned on their lights for the night. Now that I was back in the city, I felt some of my confidence returning. It occurred to me that once I reached the concert hall, once I had had the chance to stand on the stage and survey the surroundings, many things would fall into place.

  ‘Indeed, sir,’ Hoffman suddenly said, ‘everything is going to order. Nothing at all for you to worry about. This town, you’ll see, will do you proud. And as for Mr Brodsky, I continue to have every confidence in him.’

  I decided I should at least make a show of being optimistic. ‘Yes,’ I said cheerfully, ‘I’m sure Mr Brodsky will be splendid tonight. He certainly seemed in fine form just now.’

  ‘Oh?’ Hoffman gave me a puzzled look. ‘You’ve seen him recently?’

  ‘Up at the cemetery just now. As I say, he seemed very confident …’

  ‘Mr Brodsky was at the cemetery? Now I wonder what he was doing up there.’

&nbs
p; Hoffman gave me a searching stare, and I thought for a moment about recounting the whole story of the funeral and Brodsky’s impressive intervention. But then in the end I could not find the energy and said simply:

  ‘I believe he has an appointment there in a little while. With Miss Collins.’

  ‘With Miss Collins? Good gracious. What on earth can this be about?’

  I looked at him, somewhat surprised by his reaction. ‘It seems a reconciliation is becoming a genuine possibility,’ I said. ‘If such a happy conclusion does ensue, then Mr Hoffman, that will be something else you could quite legitimately take much credit for.’

  ‘Yes, yes.’ Hoffman was thinking something over, a frown forming on his face. ‘Mr Brodsky is at the cemetery now? Waiting for Miss Collins? How curious. Very curious.’

  As we went further into the city centre, the traffic became ever more dense, until at one point, in a narrow back street, we came to a standstill. Hoffman, whose manner had continued to grow increasingly troubled, now turned to me again.

  ‘Mr Ryder, there’s something I must attend to. That is to say, I’ll still be joining you at the concert hall in due course, but just now …’ He looked at his watch with distinct signs of panic. ‘You see, I must attend to … to something …’ Then he gripped the wheel and fixed me in a stare. ‘Mr Ryder, the fact is this. Owing to this wretched one-way system and this diabolical evening traffic, it will take us some time yet to reach the concert hall in this vehicle. Whereas on foot …’ He suddenly pointed past me out of the window. ‘There it is. Before your very eyes. No more than a few minutes’ walk. Yes, sir, that roof there.’

  I could see a large dome-shaped roof looming above the other buildings in the mid-distance. Certainly, it did not appear to be more than three or four blocks away.