Part Two
The sound of the mallet against the gong nearly punctured my eardrums, and a multitude of wide-eyed stares emerged from the darkness that had permeated the back rows of the theatre. The intensity of the strike, however, could hardly have been responsible for the audience’s reaction, as it was delivered – as in all previous performances – by Boldizsár the emaciated Methuselah. It must have been none other than the daring and venturesome new Calaf, who with his mere presence on stage and a forceful motion of the arm was able to provoke this reaction.
Once the gong resounds ceremoniously, Turandot presents Calaf with the first riddle, ‘What is born each night and dies each dawn?’ ‘Hope,’ Calaf replies with confidence. Astounded, Turandot con tinues, ‘What flickers red and warm like a flame yet is not fire?’ ‘Blood,’ Calaf replies, and an expression of shame covers the face of the ice princess. She then poses the final riddle, ‘What is like ice but burns?’ A silence suddenly permeates the theatre – a silence so thick and absolute that it seems to go on for years rather than mere seconds – until Calaf finally bellows with exaltation, ‘Turandot!’ Triumphant cheers explode left and right, and an unfamiliar feeling awakens in me, making me wonder, What kind of nonsense is this? How imaginative and intellectually superior would one have to be to respond to those three complex and metaphorical questions with the ease that Calaf just demonstrated? The sensationalism of Puccini’s piece was beginning to irk me, and, had anyone told me a few months before that I would feel this way, I never would have believed it.
As it happened, certain unexpected circumstances that had imposed themselves some thirty days before resulted in my more frequent visits to the Opera. In fact, this was due to a violent argument that had erupted between Gorzowski and the young Calaf after Gorzowski walked into the men’s room to discover the actor and the prop-man – plus a prop – striking a highly unnatural pose. The incident immediately ended the actor’s engagement in the Turandot project, and, since there was less than a month left before the next performance, the audition for the new Calaf was announced the following day. The management insisted on being present at each and every audition in order to control Gorzowski’s extravagant behaviour and prevent any inappropriate advances or developments, which ultimately left the director with no other alternative but to cast a quick-witted, ambitious and in every sense conventional young man.
With limited time at our disposal we needed to get down to work. We were informed at the outset that rehearsals would take place every three to four days until the new Calaf settled into the routine. Most of my colleagues considered the additional rehearsals a burden, yet for me they were a temporary escape from reality, a chance to postpone the dreaded moment when I would have to deal with the hardships that were waiting at home and face my opponents. I even resorted to taking this a step further and remaining at the Opera longer than was required of me, working on my composition in the orchestra room after everyone else had gone home. On the one hand, there was something therapeutic in knowing that the very same walls within which I rehearsed had witnessed the genius of musicians such as Zoltán Kodály and Béla Bartók, while, on the other, it suited me to be alone with my music, out of harm’s way and far from Ezekiel – even if he were the source of my inspiration for the piece – without a worry in the world apart from the creative process. Rózsa the cleaning lady – who, being the last one to leave, would lock up the premises and hand over the key to the guard on duty – would allow me to ‘keep her company’ while she cleaned up, which would usually take several hours. Rózsa was a plump, cross-eyed but kind-hearted Roma woman, who was in the habit of addressing all the orchestra members as ‘child’, including Boldizsár, the fossil at the gong. I was grateful to her for paying no particular attention to me or my work. The only time I would be reminded of her presence was when she would sweep around me with her broom or let out an occasional whistle to accompany my composition.
I was deeply committed to the task at hand. I would write and erase, rewrite and erase again, with the goal of eventually rescuing myself from the two principal fears of every artist – anonymity and mediocrity – while at the same time I allowed all other areas of my life to spiral out of control. I was losing interest in the world around me and was beginning to alienate myself from others. Noémi would leave sympathetic messages on my answering machine about the day I tore away from her and fled from her flat, which I would immediately delete and disregard as though they had never existed. I also lacked energy. I would wake up late – something I had never been in the habit of doing – and would often sleep for twelve hours straight without feeling refreshed. If I had used only an additional atom of grey matter, I would have rightfully interpreted this as an indication that things were not quite as they should be.
It was the second and final day of the proceedings. The moment was creeping close for the Disciplinary Committee to hand down the sentence, yet, rather than feeling the slightest bit alarmed, Tobias seemed utterly indifferent to its imminent pronouncement. It was as if it was all happening to some other unfortunate soul who had been forced into assuming Tobias’s identity through a physical resemblance, while the real Tobias was given the opportunity to observe the proceedings from a safe distance with dispassionate curiosity. This could have been caused by the combination of two factors: the curious after-effects of yesterday’s session coupled with the defendant’s state of exhaustion.
The unfortunate soul slouched in his chair, his head falling to his chest like that of a puppet that had been set aside in a dark corner until the next performance. Tobias’s attention was so fully cap tured by the bearings of this mysterious individual that he failed to notice the others present or to catch sight of the document that the Presiding Officer held in his hands. It wasn’t until the Presiding Officer began to speak that Tobias lifted his head and realized that the unfortunate soul who had seized his interest was none other than himself.
‘Welcome back.’
The document was printed on high-quality double-coated paper with a black decorative border and a recognizable logo at the bottom, the outline of which Tobias was barely able to discern from his vantage point. Such was the paper the Office of the Great Overseer used for its famous ‘Reports on the Present State of the Subject’, which listed all the current events in the subjects’ lives, as well as their emotional state, their joys, thoughts, apprehensions and so forth.
As the Presiding Officer’s gaze wandered over the bare walls of Chamber C, he was unconsciously clenching the document in his hands and puckering his lips in contemplation as to how to commence his address to the defendant.
‘Mr Keller, I am unsure whether you have been made aware that during the course of the proceedings the Presiding Officer has the right to request from the Office of the Great Overseer a copy of the “Report on the Present State of the Subject” in connection to any case the Office is processing, should there, of course, be a relationship between that specific case and the proceedings led by the Presiding Officer …’
Tobias hesitated. On countless occasions had he shared the Office elevator with the courier whose bag heaped with envelopes addressed to various recipients from the Second Wing, but it never occurred to Tobias to link these deliveries with the proceedings held in Chamber C.
‘Following yesterday’s session,’ continued the Presiding Officer, ‘which I believe created a degree of confusion and, I dare say, unease among the participants, I decided to request a copy of the “Report on the Present State of the Subject” in reference to Case 414. Because of the nature of the act committed and the circumstances surrounding it, I felt that the Report would significantly deepen the Disciplinary Committee’s insight into the psychological profile of subject Moritz Tóth and provide a closer understanding of your decision to commit the act.’
The Presiding Officer was struggling to maintain a composed and official demeanour, and there was no doubt that what he said next had spilled from his lips without his consent.
‘Judging from the Report, Mr Keller, I would have to agree with the Disciplinary Committee that the subject’s psychological state has become a matter of paramount concern. His sudden indifference towards the world around him – including the amount of time he spends in bed – may be interpreted as an early sign of clinical depression. It would be wise, for the benefit of the proceedings, to examine the extent of your responsibility for his current condition.’
Tobias felt his heart skip a beat, his contented detachment instantly transforming into a feeling of intense involvement and concern. He could hardly bear being uninformed about the development of Case 414 through his temporary removal, and any bad news about the subject Moritz Tóth – particularly resulting from his well-intended deed – he would endure with even greater difficulty.
‘Nevertheless, as we are already well into the second day of the proceedings and time is running short, we had better get on with our work instead of leaping to conclusions. Allow me to present the agenda for the remainder of our time together,’ was the Presiding Officer’s attempt to redeem himself for his carelessness. ‘As the Disciplinary Committee and I were summing up the discussion about the “Report on the Present State of the Subject” just minutes before today’s session was scheduled to commence, Mr Diodorus appeared at the door, kindly requesting that the session be postponed because of an unexpected family affair he is obliged to attend to. Certainly, we are all aware of how worrisome family matters can be, and, as it is in the interest of the proceedings to have the undivided attention of all the participants, I have decided to comply with his request and postpone the session to ten o’clock. The plan, as it now stands, is as follows. At ten o’clock sharp I shall commence today’s session by putting forth to Mr Keller several questions that have arisen from my examination of the “Report on the Present State of the Subject”. Then I shall give the floor to Mr Diodorus who – although unfamiliar with the contents of the Report as dictated by the Law on Disciplinary Proceedings – will also be given the opportunity to introduce additional questions should he consider Mr Keller’s responses unclear. Following the lunch break Mr Keller will have the opportunity to present his defence, which I imagine he has already prepared. This will be followed by another short recess then the sentencing, after which Mr Keller will be free to return home.’
At that very moment Tobias began to take notice of the people sur rounding him, to scan their faces for signs of disagreement with the Presiding Officer’s words. The third member of the Committee – the peculiar gentleman – was staring ahead blankly as though deliberately revealing nothing with his expression, which had a detrimental effect on Tobias’s morale since he was afraid of losing the man’s quiet support in the proceedings. The other two members were focused on other tasks at hand. The young trainee was returning his notebook into his bag with a look of disappointment. The woman in the reseda-green dress was straightening the wrinkles on her garment to make sure her thighs remained fully covered when she rose from her chair, conscious of the fact that in spite of the Prosecutor’s burdensome family obligations each of his shamelessly seductive glances was aimed at regaining her sympathies.
There were those who didn’t care. But there were also those – a revelation that shook Tobias to the core – who truly believed that things were as simple and straightforward as the Presiding Officer had construed, giving no thought to the possible implications of Tobias’s alleged freedom. He felt like shoving his fist into the miniature window or overturning all the furniture in Chamber C out of pure despair, not knowing how else to prove to these people that he would never do anything to compromise the subject Moritz Tóth.
‘With the welfare of this man in mind, Mr Keller, I hope in all sincerity that you speak the truth,’ remarked the Presiding Officer, which was when Tobias realized that he had spoken his most recent thoughts out loud.
The May Day weekend was just around the corner, and the two-week break we were given before the next performance had caused me to fall into to a state of hibernation. It had rained for days on end – the brisk rain of spring – doubtlessly spoiling the holiday plans of many. The television stations kept reporting that the Danube and the Tisza had both risen to alarming levels and that we could be facing floods that the region of central and southeastern Europe had not witnessed in a hundred years. I watched rescue teams set up sandbags along the riverbank and other lines of defence – some even in the vicinity of my town. I followed the close-ups of teary-eyed people who had been left without a roof over their heads, but there were also those who had found temporary solace in alcohol and were gleefully floundering through the water and silt. I watched all of these images, secretly wishing that the landslide would come and sweep me away to some remote and far more desirable place … To hell with everything …
I had not seen Ezekiel since the night he inspected the numbers with his accomplice – or, should I say, superior. I cannot say that I went out of my way to look for him, but, nevertheless, I expected his face to emerge eventually from behind one corner or another, as it had done so many times before. But Ezekiel was nowhere to be seen. I wondered what he might be up to, whether the two men had already devised the plan for my execution, when they would release the arrow that they were so consistently aiming in my direction, what my destruction would be like and whether I had the slightest chance of preventing it. After realizing that I had begun to gather dust from lying in bed for so long, I decided to embark on a search for Ezekiel – a move made out of imprudence if not plain boredom, a move that marked what one might call the beginning of the end.
It was early in the afternoon. I thought I could avoid the large drops of spring rain if I carefully chose my route and kept within the dry, sheltered areas under the canopies, balconies and trees, which was why I didn’t bother to take an umbrella. My attempt at staying dry, however, did not yield the desired results, and I ended up cursing myself for putting on a brave face. Upon reaching the bistro at the end of my street, I rushed inside to dry off and restore my body temperature with a cup of hot coffee.
The restaurant was swarming with customers. Seated at a couple of connected tables near the entrance was a group of about fifteen young men in blue workers’ uniforms, listening to a live radio broadcast of what seemed to be an exciting football match. Sprawled over my favourite corner table by the window were two inebriated idiots who shouted inappropriately over the cheering of the young men and the voice of the sports presenter. Having barely managed to push my way through the crowd, I positioned myself at the bar, turning my back to everyone but the waiter, from whom I ordered a cup of black coffee – extra strong.
I found the waiter’s devotion to my order fascinating and utterly inconsistent with the usual treatment I would receive from him. Completely indifferent to the onslaught of demands from impatient customers, he tended to my order as if he had on his hands all the time in the world. The spoon melodiously tapped against the interior of the copper kettle as he stirred the thick, foaming liquid, which he then carefully poured into the cup. On that particular occasion, I must have seemed to him like a flower amid a profusion of weeds – a rare and delicate species requiring special nourishment.
When the coffee was nearly ready, I reached for my wallet in the back pocket of my trousers, and as I glanced over my right shoulder my eyes became fixed on an unusual and rather unattractive sight. Ezekiel’s superior – the man in black – was charging down the street with an awkward gait, carrying over his shoulder a large nylon bag filled with what seemed to be sharp, angular objects. His hands were clenched, his jaw tight, his expression grim. He was also listing noticeably to one side, which suggested that whatever he was carrying in his bag was quite a load. When I lost sight of him in the vicinity of Ezekiel’s building, I shoved two tatty banknotes in front of the waiter and scurried out of the bistro, leaving behind a resonant slam of the door, a steaming cup of coffee and the waiter’s deeply irritated holler, ‘What the hell did I make this for then?’
; I assumed a position under the old birch tree, which allowed for a perfect view of his two windows. I was hoping to remain unnoticed beneath the thick branches of the tree and to be shielded from the rain, which had, for some reason, often played a role in my contacts with Ezekiel. It was then that I suddenly recalled the moment that I first caught sight of the monstrous creature from my window and how intrigued I was by his appearance. Oh, how beautifully the tables have turned! Who’s watching who now, Ezekiel?
I knew I was once again a step ahead of them, and I voraciously feasted upon this new state of affairs as I rubbed my palms together and waited for the next thing to happen. Then a vicious wind blew my way, swaying the branches and causing them to swoop very low – nearly hitting the ground – but as soon as they soared back into the air, the view in front of me opened once again, and in one of the windows I spotted Ezekiel’s perfectly framed torso.
He was standing at the window completely motionless, as though he had turned to stone. There could have been a number of reasons for this, and I considered it fruitless to engage myself in deeper contemplation of the subject. I assumed that he was expecting his acquaintance – who was running late – but I also could not exclude the possibility that he was simply curious to see if the rain had stopped or if there was a queue in front of the nearby corner shop. All of these prospects seemed more plausible than the possibility that in the shroud of the dismal rainy afternoon he had intentionally sought me out and that through the fierce movement of the branches he was able to spot my unremarkable eyes staring at him.
The Tragic Fate of Moritz Toth Page 8
