The Unconsoled

by Kazuo Ishiguro

  Sophie and Boris were wearing only light jackets and looked to have grown cold in the early morning air. They came running up to the car, and Sophie, leaning down, shouted angrily:

  ‘You were so long! What took you so long?’

  Before I could respond, Boris placed a hand on Sophie’s arm, saying:

  ‘It’s all right. We’ll get there in time. It’s all right.’

  I looked at the little boy. He was holding a large briefcase resembling a doctor’s bag, which gave him a slightly comical air of gravity. But his manner was nevertheless oddly reassuring and he seemed to succeed in calming his mother.

  I had expected Sophie to sit next to me, but she and Boris both got in the back.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said as I turned the car, ‘but I don’t know my way around here so well yet.’

  ‘Who’s with him now?’ Sophie demanded, her voice again very taut. ‘Is someone looking after him now?’

  ‘He’s with his colleagues. They’re all with him. Every one of them.’

  ‘You see?’ Boris’s voice said gently behind me. ‘I told you. So don’t worry. It’ll be all right.’

  Sophie gave a heavy sigh, but again Boris seemed to have succeeded in calming her. Then a moment later, I heard him say:

  ‘They’re taking good care of him. So don’t worry. They’re taking good care of him. Aren’t they?’

  This question was evidently directed at me. I had become somewhat resentful about the role he had assumed for himself – I was not happy either that the two of them should sit together in the back as though I were a taxi driver – and I decided not to reply.

  For the next few minutes we travelled in silence. We came to the intersection again, after which I did my best to remember the route back to the forest road. We were still going through the empty city streets when Sophie said softly, her voice barely audible above the engine:

  ‘This is a warning.’

  I was not sure if she was addressing me and was about to glance over my shoulder at her when she continued in the same soft voice:

  ‘Boris, are you listening to me? We have to face up to it, this is a warning. Your grandfather, he’s getting older. He needs to slow down. There’s no point trying to deny it. He needs to slow down.’

  Boris said something in reply, but I could not hear him.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about it for some time now,’ Sophie went on. ‘I didn’t say anything to you before, because I know how much you … how much you think of your grandfather. But I’ve been thinking it over for some time. There were other signs long before this. Now this has happened, we can’t hide from it any more. He’s getting older and he’s got to slow down. I’ve made plans, I never told you, but I’ve been making plans for a long time. I’m going to have a talk with Mr Hoffman. A good talk with him about Grandfather’s future. I’ve prepared all the information. I’ve spoken to Mr Sedelmayer at the Imperial Hotel and also Mr Weissberg at the Ambassadors. I never said to you before, but I could see Grandfather wasn’t as strong as he used to be. So I’ve been finding out. It’s not at all unusual, when someone’s worked at an hotel for as long as your grandfather has, it’s not at all unusual at a certain stage that he’s given a slightly different sort of job. So that he doesn’t have to do quite as much as before. At the Imperial Hotel, there’s this man, much older than your grandfather, you see him as soon as you go into the lobby. He used to be the chef, but when he was too old to do that any more, that’s what they decided. He’s got a splendid uniform and he’s in the corner of the lobby behind this big mahogany desk with a pen-and-ink stand. Mr Sedelmayer says it works very well, that he’s worth every penny. The guests, particularly the regular ones, they’d be outraged if they came into the lobby and the old man wasn’t sitting there behind the desk. The whole thing gives the place so much distinction. Well, I thought I’d talk to Mr Hoffman about it. Grandfather could do something like that. Of course, he’d get paid less, but he could keep his little room, he’s so fond of it, and get his meals. Perhaps they could set him up with a desk like at the Imperial. But then Grandfather might want to stand. In a special uniform, somewhere in the lobby. I don’t mean this should all happen immediately. But before too long. He’s not so young now and this is a warning. We can’t hide from it. There’s nothing to be gained in pretending about it.’

  Sophie paused a moment. I had by this time brought the car back to the edge of the forest. The dawn sky had become a purple colour.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Boris said. ‘Grandfather will be all right.’

  I could hear Sophie let out a deep breath. Then she said:

  ‘He’ll have more time then, too. He won’t be nearly as busy, and you’ll be able to spend more afternoons with him in the Old Town. Or wherever else you might want to go with him. But he’ll need a good coat. That’s why I’m bringing this now. It’s time I gave it to him. I’ve had it long enough.’

  There was a rustling sound and, glancing in my mirror, I noticed that Sophie was holding beside her the soft brown package containing her father’s overcoat. At this point I was obliged to attract her attention to ask something about our route, and she seemed to become aware of my presence for the first time since setting out. She leaned forward and said close to my ear:

  ‘I’ve been ready for something like this to happen. I’m going to talk to Mr. Hoffman soon.’

  I murmured something in assent and turned the headlights up as we entered the darkness of the forest.

  ‘Other people,’ Sophie said. ‘They just carry on like there’s all the time in the world. I’ve never been able to do that.’

  For the next few minutes she remained silent, but I could sense her presence very near me, and for some reason found myself expecting to feel at any moment the touch of her fingers on my face. Then she said quietly:

  ‘I remember. After Mother died. How lonely it got.’

  I glanced at her again in the mirror. She was still leaning forward towards me, but her eyes were fixed on the forest going by outside.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she said softly, and made another rustling sound with the coat. ‘I’ll see to it we’re all fine. The three of us. I’ll see to it.’

  I brought the car to a halt in a small parking area somewhere behind the concert hall. A door was facing us over which a night light was still shining and, though it was not the door I had used before, I got out and hurried towards it. When I glanced back, Boris was helping his mother out of the car. He insisted on keeping one hand protectively behind her as the two of them came briskly towards the building and the doctor’s bag he was clutching in the other hand banged awkwardly about his legs.

  The door brought us into the long circular corridor and almost immediately we were obliged to stand aside for a catering trolley being pushed by two men. The temperature felt a good few degrees warmer than before – it was now positively stuffy – but then I noticed nearby two musicians in evening dress chatting amiably in a doorway and realised with relief that we had entered not far from where I had left Gustav.

  As I led the way down the corridor, it became increasingly crowded with orchestra members. Most had by now changed for the performance, but the atmosphere among them seemed still to be a very frivolous one. They were shouting and laughing across the corridor more than ever and at one point we nearly collided with a man emerging from a dressing room posturing with a cello as though it were a guitar. Then someone said:

  ‘Oh, it’s Mr Ryder, isn’t it? We met before, you remember me?’

  A group of four or five men coming the other way along the corridor had paused and was looking towards us. They were in full evening dress and I saw in an instant they were all drunk. The man who had spoken was holding a bouquet of roses and, as he came towards me, waved it about carelessly.

  ‘The cinema the other night,’ he said. ‘Mr Pedersen introduced us. How are you, sir? My friends tell me I disgraced myself that night and that I owe you many apologies.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ I said
, recognising the man. ‘How are you? I’m very pleased to see you again. Unfortunately, I have something very urgent just now …’

  ‘I hope I wasn’t rude,’ the drunken man said, coming right up to me until his face was almost touching mine. ‘My intention is never rude.’

  At this his companions all made noises of suppressed mirth.

  ‘No, you weren’t rude at all,’ I said. ‘But just now, you must forgive me …’

  ‘We were searching,’ the drunken man said, ‘for the maestro. No, no, not you, sir. Our very own maestro. We’ve brought him flowers, you see. As a token of our great respect. Do you know where we might find him, sir?’

  ‘Unfortunately I have no idea. I … I don’t think you’ll find Mr Brodsky in this building just yet.’

  ‘No? Not arrived yet?’ The drunken man turned to his companions. ‘Our maestro isn’t here yet. What do you make of it?’ Then to me: ‘We have flowers for him.’ He shook the bouquet again and a few petals drifted to the floor. ‘A token of fondness and respect from the city council. And apology. Of course. We misunderstood him for so long.’ There were more sounds of suppressed laughter from his companions. ‘Not here yet. Our very own beloved maestro. Well, in that case, we’d better while away a little more time with these musicians. Or perhaps we’ll go back to the bar. What do we do, my friends?’

  I could see Sophie and Boris both watching with mounting impatience.

  ‘Excuse me,’ I muttered and started to walk away. Behind us, the men erupted into more muffled laughter, but I decided not to look back.

  Eventually our surroundings grew quieter and then we could see in front of us the end of the corridor and the porters crowded together outside the last dressing room. Sophie increased her pace, but then halted while we were still a little way away. For their part, the porters, noticing our approach, had quickly formed a gangway and one of them – a wiry man with a moustache I recognised from the Hungarian Café – came towards us. He looked uncertain and initially addressed only me.

  ‘He’s holding out well, sir. He’s holding out well.’ Then he turned to Sophie and, lowering his eyes, muttered: ‘He’s holding out well, Miss Sophie.’

  Sophie did not respond at first, simply staring past the porters to where the door of the dressing room was standing slightly ajar. Then she said suddenly, as if to justify her presence:

  ‘I’ve brought something for him. Here’ – she lifted up the package – ‘I’ve brought this for him.’

  Someone called into the dressing room and two more porters who had been inside appeared at the threshold. Sophie did not move and for a moment no one appeared to know what to say or do next. Then Boris strode in front of us, his black bag hoisted up in the air before him.

  ‘Please, gentlemen,’ he said. ‘Stand to one side, please. Over here, please.’

  He waved the porters away from the door. The two men at the threshold remained where they were, looking bemused, and Boris gestured impatiently to them. ‘Gentlemen! Over here please!’

  Having cleared a reasonable space in front of the dressing room, Boris glanced back at his mother. Sophie came forward a few more steps then stopped again. Her eyes fixed on the door – the two porters had left it half open – with a look of some apprehension. Again no one seemed sure what to do next, and again it was Boris who broke the silence.

  ‘Mother, wait here please,’ he said, and with that, turned and vanished into the dressing room.

  Sophie relaxed visibly. She came a few steps closer and leaned forward almost nonchalantly to see if any of the room’s interior was visible. Finding that Boris had pushed the door virtually closed behind him, she straightened and stood waiting as though in a bus queue, her package draped over her folded arms.

  Boris emerged again after a few minutes. Still holding his doctor’s bag, he carefully closed the door behind him.

  ‘Grandfather says he’s very pleased we’ve come,’ he said quietly, looking at his mother. ‘He’s very pleased.’

  He went on looking up into his mother’s face and I was at first puzzled by the way he did so. Then I realised he was waiting for Sophie to give him a message to take back to Gustav, and sure enough, Sophie said after some thought:

  ‘Tell him I’ve brought something for him. A present. That I’m bringing it in for him in just a moment. I’m … I’m just getting it ready.’

  Once Boris had disappeared back into the dressing room, Sophie placed the overcoat over one arm and began to smooth out the wrinkles on the soft brown packaging. It was perhaps to do with the glaring pointlessness of this activity, but I was at this moment suddenly reminded of the many other calls on my time. I remembered, for instance, that I had still to inspect the conditions in the auditorium and that my chances of doing so to any useful degree were diminishing by the minute.

  ‘I’ll be back very soon,’ I said to Sophie. ‘There’s something I have to see to.’

  She continued to attend to her package and gave no response. I was about to repeat myself more loudly, but then, thinking better of drawing undue attention to myself, hurried off quietly in search of Hoffman.

  32

  I had gone a little way down the corridor when I saw a commotion ahead of me. A dozen or so people were pushing against one another shouting and gesticulating and my first thought was that in all the mounting tension a quarrel had broken out among the kitchen staff. But then I noticed the entire crowd was moving slowly towards me and that it comprised a curious mixture of people. Some were in full evening dress, while others – in anoraks, raincoats and jeans – appeared to have come straight in off the streets. A few orchestra members had also attached themselves to this group.

  One of the men shouting the loudest looked familiar and I was trying to recall where I had seen him before when I heard him cry:

  ‘Mr Brodsky, I really must insist!’

  I then recognised the grey-haired surgeon I had encountered earlier in the forest, and realised that indeed, at the centre of the crowd, moving forward slowly with a look of stubborn determination, was Brodsky. He looked ghastly. The skin on his face and neck had become white and startlingly shrivelled.

  ‘But he says he’s all right! Why can’t you let him decide?’ a middle-aged man in a dinner suit shouted back. A number of voices immediately endorsed this statement, to be met in turn by a chorus of protest.

  Meanwhile Brodsky continued his slow progress, ignoring all the commotion around him. It looked at first as though he were being borne aloft by the crowd, but as he came closer I saw he was walking by himself with the aid of a crutch. There was something about this crutch which made me look at it more closely and I saw that it was in fact an ironing board which Brodsky was holding, vertically and folded, under his armpit.

  As I stood watching this spectacle, people seemed one by one to notice me and fall respectfully silent, so that the closer the crowd came, the more quiet it grew. The surgeon, however, continued to shout:

  ‘Mr Brodsky! Your body has had a very severe shock. I really must insist you sit down and relax!’

  Brodsky was looking downwards, concentrating hard on each step, and did not see me for some time. Then finally, sensing a change in those around him, he glanced up.

  ‘Ah, Ryder,’ he said. ‘Here you are.’

  ‘Mr Brodsky. How are you feeling now?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ he said calmly.

  The crowd now stood off a little and he covered the remaining distance towards me with greater ease. When I complimented him on the way he had so quickly mastered the art of walking with a crutch, he looked down at his ironing board as though remembering it for the first time in a while.

  ‘The man who brought me here,’ he said, ‘he happened to have it, this thing, in the back of his van. It’s not so bad. It’s strong, I can walk with it fine. The only trouble, Ryder. Sometimes it starts to open up. Like this.’

  He shook it, and sure enough the ironing board began to slip open. A catch prevented it from opening more tha
n slightly, but I could see how its repeatedly unfolding even to this extent would prove a serious irritation.

  ‘I need some string for it,’ Brodsky said a little sadly. ‘Something like that. But there’s no time now.’

  As I looked down to where he was indicating, I could not help staring aghast at his left trouser leg, tied into a knot just below his thigh.

  ‘Mr Brodsky,’ I said, forcing myself to look up again, ‘you can’t be feeling so well just now. Do you have the energy to conduct the orchestra this evening?’

  ‘Yes, yes. I feel fine. I’ll conduct and it will be … it will be magnificent. Just the way I’ve always known it would be. And she’ll see then, with her own eyes and ears. All these years, I wasn’t being such a fool. All these years I had it in me, waiting. She’ll see me tonight, Ryder. It will be magnificent.’

  ‘You’re referring to Miss Collins? But is she coming here?’

  ‘She’s coming here, she’s coming. Oh yes, yes. He did his best to stop her, make her afraid, but she’s coming, oh yes. I’ve seen through his game now. Ryder, I got to her apartment, I walked a long way, it was hard, but in the end this man came by, this good man here’ – Brodsky looked around at the crowd and waved vaguely towards someone – ‘he came by, he had a van. We went to her apartment, I knocked on the door, I knocked and knocked. Someone, a neighbour, thought it was like before. You know, I used to do that, knock and knock on the door at night, and they’d get the police in the end. But I said, no, you fool, I’m not drunk any more. I had an accident and now I’m sober, I can see everything. I shouted this all up to him, the neighbour, some fat old man. I can see everything now, see everything he’s been doing all this time, yes, that’s what I shouted up. And then she was coming to the door, her, she was coming, and she could hear me talking to her neighbour and I could see her through the glass, not knowing what to do, and so I forgot the neighbour and started to talk to her. She listened, but she didn’t open the door at first, but then I said, look, I’ve had an accident, and she opened the door then. Where’s that tailor? Where’s he gone? He was supposed to get my jacket ready.’ Brodsky looked around him and a voice from the back of the crowd said: