The Unconsoled (55 page)

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.'

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.

'Mr Hoffman,' I said, 'if you have something urgent to attend to, I'm quite happy to make my way on foot.'

'Really? You'd forgive me?'

The traffic moved forward a few more inches then came to a standstill again.

'In fact, I'd welcome the walk,' I said. 'It looks a pleasant evening. And as you say, it's only a short distance on foot.'

'This infernal one-way system! We might sit in this car for another hour! Mr Ryder, I'd be enormously grateful if you'd forgive me. But you see, there's something I must… I must see to…'

'Yes, yes, of course. I'll get out here. You've been most kind as it is, driving me about like this at such a busy time. I'm most grateful.'

'You'll be approaching the concert hall from the rear. It's a case of just proceeding on towards that roof. You can't miss it if you keep the roof in view.'

'Please don't worry. I'll have no trouble.' Cutting short his apologies, I thanked him again and stepped out onto the pavement.

I soon found myself wandering down a narrow street past a row of specialist bookshops, then past some pleasant-looking tourist hotels. It was not at all difficult to keep the domed roof in view and for a little while I felt thankful for the chance to walk in the fresh air.

By the time I had gone two or three blocks, however, a number of troubling thoughts had entered my head which I found I could not dislodge. For one thing, I could see there was more than a chance the question-and-answer session would fail to go smoothly. Indeed, if the intensity of emotions displayed at the cemetery was anything to go by, the possibility of ugly scenes could not be ruled out. Moreover, if the question-and-answer session went badly enough, it was conceivable that my parents, witnessing the scene with mounting horror and embarrassment, would demand to be taken out of the auditorium. In other words, they would leave before I had had the chance to get to the piano, and then it would be anyone's guess when they would ever again come to hear me perform. Even worse, if things went very badly indeed, it was not impossible one or the other of them would suffer a seizure. I felt as confident as ever that my mother and my father would be united in astonishment within seconds of my starting to play, but meanwhile the question-and-answer session stood massively in my way.

I realised I had become so preoccupied I had allowed the domed roof to disappear behind some buildings. I thought little of this at first, assuming it would come back into view soon enough. But then, as I walked on, the street grew even narrower, while the buildings around me seemed all to be six or seven storeys high, so that I could hardly see any sky, let alone the domed roof. I decided to look for a parallel street, but then, once I had taken the next turning, I found myself wandering from one tiny side-street to the next, quite possibly going in circles, the concert hall not visible anywhere.

After several minutes of this, a sense of panic began to engulf me and I thought about stopping someone to ask directions. But then it occurred to me this would be unwise. All the time I had been walking, people had been turning - sometimes even stopping dead on the pavement - to look at me. I had been vaguely aware of this, though in my concern to find my way I had not given it much thought. But I now saw that, with the evening's event so close, and with so much hanging in the balance, it would not do for me to be seen wandering the streets, obviously lost and uncertain. With an effort, I straightened my posture and adopted the demeanour of someone who, with all his affairs well in hand, was taking a relaxing stroll around the town. I forced myself to slow my pace and smiled pleasantly at anyone who stared my way.

Finally I turned another corner and spotted the concert hall before me, closer than ever. The street I now entered was broader, with brightly lit cafés and shops on either side. The domed roof was no more than a block or two away, just beyond where the street curved out of view.

I felt not only relief, but also suddenly much better about the whole evening ahead. The feeling I had had earlier - that many things would fall into place once I reached the venue and was able to stand on the stage - came back to me and I proceeded down the street with something approaching enthusiasm.

But then, as I came round the bend, an odd sight greeted me. A little way ahead was a brick wall running across my path - in fact, across the entire breadth of the street. My first thought was that a railway line ran behind the wall, but then I noticed how the higher storeys of the buildings on either side of the street continued unbroken above the wall and on into the distance. While the wall aroused my curiosity, I did not immediately see it as a problem, assuming that once I got up to it I would find an arch or subway leading me through to the other side. The domed roof, in any case, was now very near, lit up by spotlights against the darkening sky.

It was only when I was virtually right up to the wall, it dawned on me there was no way to get past. The pavements on both sides of the street simply came to a dead stop at the brickwork. I looked around in bewilderment, then walked the length of the wall to the opposite pavement, unable quite to accept there was not somewhere a doorway, or even a small hole through which to crawl. I found nothing, and eventually, after standing helplessly before the wall for a time, I waved to a passer-by - a middle-aged woman emerging from a nearby gift shop - saying:

'Excuse me, I wish to get to the concert hall. How can I get past this wall?'

The woman seemed surprised by my question. 'Oh no,' she said. 'You can't get past the wall. Of course you can't. It completely seals the street.'

'But this is extremely annoying,' I said. 'I have to get to the concert hall.'

'I suppose it is annoying,' the woman said as though she had never before considered the matter. 'When I saw you staring at it just now, sir, I just assumed you were a tourist. The wall's quite a tourist attraction, as you can see.'

She pointed to a spinner of postcards in front of the gift shop. Sure enough, in the light from the doorway, I could see postcard after postcard proudly featuring the wall.

'But what on earth's the point in having a wall in a place like this?' I asked, my voice rising despite myself. 'It really is monstrous. What purpose can it possibly serve?'

'I do sympathise. To an outsider, particularly to one trying to get somewhere in a hurry, it must be an annoyance. I suppose it's what you'd call a folly. It was built by some eccentric person at the end of the last century. Of course it's rather odd, but it's been famous ever since. In the summer, this whole area where we're standing now, it gets completely full of tourists. Americans, Japanese, all taking photographs of it.'

'This is nonsensical,' I said furiously. 'Please tell me the quickest way to reach the concert hall.'

"The concert hall, sir? Well, it's quite a long way if you're thinking of going on foot. Of course, we're very near it just now' - she glanced up at the roof - 'but in practical terms, that doesn't mean very much because of the wall.'

'This is quite ridiculous!' I had lost all patience. 'I'll find my own way. You're obviously quite unable to appreciate that a person might be very busy, working on a tight schedule, and simply can't afford to dawdle about the town for hours. In fact, if I may say so, this wall is quite typical of this town. Utterly preposterous obstacles everywhere. And what do you do? Do you all get annoyed? Do you demand it's pulled down immediately so that people can go about their business? No, you put up with it for the best part of a century. You make postcards of it and believe it's charming. This brick wall charming? What a monstrosity! I may well use this wall as a symbol, I've a good mind to, in my speech tonight! It's just as well for you I've already composed much of what I'm going to say in my head and so am naturally reluctant to change things too much at this late stage. Good evening!'

I left the woman and began rapidly to retrace my steps back up the street, determined not to let such an absurd setback destroy my renewed sense of confidence. But then as I continued to walk, conscious all the time of the concert hall getting further and further away, I could feel my earlier despondency returning to me. The street seemed much longer than I remembered it, and then when I finally reached the end I found myself getting lost again in the network of narrow little alleys.

After several further minutes of useless wandering, I suddenly felt unable to go on and halted. Noticing I had stopped beside a pavement café, I collapsed into a chair at the nearest table and immediately felt what remained of my energy draining away. I was vaguely conscious that around me the darkness was falling, that an electric light was shining somewhere behind my head, that this same light was in all likelihood illuminating me to passers-by and fellow customers, but somehow I still could not find the urge to straighten my posture or even nominally to disguise my dejection. In time, a waiter appeared. I ordered a coffee from him, then went on staring down at the shadow cast by my head over the metallic surface of the table. All the possibilities that had disturbed me earlier concerning the evening ahead now began to crowd all at once into my mind. Above all, the depressing idea kept returning to me that my decision to be photographed before the Sattler monument had irrevocably damaged my authority in this town; that it had left me with a daunting amount of ground to make up and that anything less than an utterly commanding performance during the question-and-answer session would result in catastrophic consequences all round. In fact, for a moment, I felt so overwhelmed by these thoughts I was on the brink of tears. But then I became aware of a hand on my back and someone repeating gently above me: 'Mr Ryder. Mr Ryder.'