Portuguese Irregular Verbs (12 page)

Von Igelfeld put down the instrument and heaved a sigh of relief. It was ridiculous, he thought. He was imagining the whole thing. People used Geiger counters for all sorts of purposes, he thought, such as . . . He stopped. Was there any other reason to have a Geiger counter?

‘Moritz-Maria! So here you are!’

Ophelia, standing above him, bent down and kissed his brow.

‘Well,’ said Prinzel, from behind her. ‘What sort of day have you had?’

Von Igelfeld smiled as his friends sat down – Ophelia opposite him, Prinzel right next to him. And as Prinzel sat down, the Geiger counter beside him emitted a loud clicking sound.

‘What was that?’ asked Prinzel. ‘Did you want to say something?’

Von Igelfeld was too shocked to speak. Mutely, he pointed at the Geiger counter.

‘What’s that?’ asked Prinzel. ‘Is that some sort of radio?’

‘A Geiger counter,’ von Igelfeld stuttered.

‘Ah,’ said Prinzel. ‘How useful! Let me test myself!’

With an awful sense of his own inability to prevent the occurrence of a tragedy, von Igelfeld watched as Prinzel turned the hand piece towards himself and ran it down his body. Once again the instrument clicked, and the needle jerked on the dial.

‘Mmm,’ said Prinzel, peering at the dial. ‘A bit of a reaction. Not too bad.’

Von Igelfeld gasped. ‘You mean . . . ’

‘Yes,’ said Prinzel calmly. ‘I seem to have picked something up. Probably something I ate.’

Von Igelfeld protested lamely. ‘But that’s awful,’ he said. ‘Radioactivity is terribly dangerous.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Prinzel. ‘I think I had probably better go and seek treatment at home. They’ll give me iodine pills or something.’ He looked across the table at Ophelia, who was smiling benignly. She clearly knew little about radioactivity.

‘I shan’t be upset to be going home early,’ she said. ‘Venice is still so hot . . . ’

For von Igelfeld, an early departure could not be early enough. He had found out what was wrong with the city, and he was horrified. It was worse than plague; it was worse than cholera. It was almost too awful to contemplate.

They finished their drinks quietly, and then processed into the great dining hall. Von Igelfeld took the Geiger counter with him, determined to run it over each course before they ate it, and this he did discreetly, hoping not to attract the attention of the waiters. The pâté was quite all right, as was the salad, but the fish sent the needle shooting to the top of the scale, and it was despatched back to the kitchen, with no explanation.

Then the band struck up, playing one of those infectiously gay Italian country tunes. Couples began to dance, and Prinzel and Ophelia, with von Igelfeld’s blessing, left the table, and were soon out on the dance floor. Von Igelfeld stayed where he was, and was sitting with the Geiger counter on his lap as the Polish boy, in a fresh white sailor suit, glowing with health, walked slowly past him, and threw him a glance as he did so.

Von Igelfeld’s puzzled irritation was matched only by his surprise. As the boy walked past, the Geiger counter clicked hysterically and the needle shot up to the very reddest part of the scale. Von Igelfeld’s mouth opened in an astonishment that was quickly followed by dismay. He must have been swimming. That was it! Poor youth!

He looked about him. The boy had now joined his mother and sisters at their table and their meal was being ordered. Oh what tragedy! thought von Igelfeld. And so young too! It was as if the very floor of the Grand Hôtel des Bains was littered with fallen rose petals and abandoned mandolins.

For a few minutes he wrestled with conflicting emotions. He assumed that there was nothing he could really do at this stage to help the unfortunate youth. It was none of his business, really, or was it? Was he his neighbour’s keeper, even when his neighbour was a rather strange Polish boy who kept looking at him in a disconcerting fashion? Yes, he was, he decided. He must warn the mother – that’s what he must do.

Von Igelfeld arose from his table, straightened his tie, and walked over to the Polish family’s table. As he approached, the mother raised her eyes, and smiled at him.

‘
Excusez-moi, Madame
,’ said von Igelfeld. ‘
Permettez-moi de
vous dire que votre fils, votre très agréable Tadseuz, est devenu un peu
radio-actif
.’

The mother listened, and inclined her head gravely at the information.

‘
Merci, monsieur
,’ she said after a short pause. ‘
Vous êtes très
gentil de me donner ces informations. Je vous remercie bien. J’ai
des convictions bien intensives au sujet de la radio-activité parmi
les enfants
.’

Von Igelfeld waited for something further to be said, but it was not, and so he bowed, and returned to his table, where the Prinzels were now waiting. They passed the Geiger counter over their coffee, to negative results, and enjoyed the rest of the evening as one might enjoy an evening which was to be one’s last in Venice, ever.

It might have been a melancholy departure the next day, but as they made their farewells to the manager, who expressed great regret on their premature departure, a telegram arrived addressed to von Igelfeld. He opened it with all the sense of foreboding with which one opens telegrams when away from home, but his face lit up as he read the message.

MEDAL AWARDED BY PORTUGUESE GOVERNMENT,

the telegram ran.

QUITE DELIGHTED. BEST WISHES, UNTERHOLZER.

Von Igelfeld thrust the telegram into Ophelia’s hands and turned to Prinzel.

‘Prinzel,’ he said, the dignity in his voice overlaying the emotion. ‘I have been honoured by the Portuguese Government – at last!’

They left in the hotel’s motor launch, riding over the lagoon to the fatal, exquisite, doomed city, and then on to the mainland. Thereafter they made their way slowly through the mountains and into Austria. Throughout the journey von Igelfeld was in a state of complete euphoria. What would his medal look like? By whom would it be awarded, and what would be said at the ceremony? There were so many questions to be answered.

Then, as they passed through a tiny village, with a minute, whitewashed church, Prinzel suddenly turned round and made an observation.

‘That telegram,’ he said. ‘It’s just occurred to me that Unterholzer didn’t say they’d awarded the medal to you. The wording suggests that it was really to him.’

‘What do you mean?’ said von Igelfeld angrily. ‘He said quite clearly: Medal awarded by Portuguese Government. Quite delighted . . . ’ He broke off, becoming silent; could it be . . . ?

They had passed out of the village now, and there was a long, steep mountain pass ahead. Von Igelfeld sat in silence, unable to speak.
Oh!
he thought
.
And then,
Oh!
again.
Why have I had such bad
luck in this life? Why? All I want is love, and a tiny bit of recognition from
the Portuguese, and I get neither. And soon it will be too late; nobody will
read my book any more, and there will be nobody to remember me.

He brought himself to order. There was no point in self-pity, which was something he invariably disliked in others. No; he would not allow himself to be discouraged. He had much to be proud of in this life; much for which he should be grateful. He was, after all, Professor Dr Moritz-Maria von Igelfeld. That, on its own, would have been quite enough; but there was more: he was the author of
Portuguese Irregular Verbs
, and that was something that would forever be associated with his name, just as when people thought of Thomas Mann they thought of . . .

Von Igelfeld stopped. And then he laughed, which made Prinzel swerve the car slightly before he righted it and they continued their journey back to Germany, where they belonged.

VINTAGE CANADA EDITION, 2004

Text copyright © 2003 Alexander McCall Smith

Illustrations copyright © Iain McIntosh

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

Published in Canada by Vintage Canada, a division of Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto. First published in Great Britain in 2003 by Polygon, an imprint of Birlinn Ltd, Edinburgh. Distributed by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto.

Vintage Canada and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House of Canada Limited.

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
McCall Smith, Alexander, 1948–
Portuguese irregular verbs / Alexander McCall Smith.
 (Portuguese irregular verbs trilogy)
“A Professor Dr von Igelfeld entertainment”.
I. Title. II. Series: McCall Smith, Alexander, 1948–
Portuguese irregular verbs trilogy.
PR6063.C326P’.914 C2004-904090-1

www.randomhouse.ca

www.randomhouse.com

eISBN: 978-0-307-42729-8

v3.0