The Unconsoled (45 page)

He was suddenly looking at me.

'A wound?'

'I have this old injury. Maybe that's why I drink. It gives me so much pain.'

'How unfortunate.' Then, after a short silence, I added: 'I did once injure a toe quite badly in a football match. I was nineteen. It wasn't anything too serious.'

'In Poland, Mr Ryder, when I was a conductor, even then, I never thought the wound would heal. When I conducted my orchestra, I always touched my wound, caressed it. Some days I picked at its edges, even pressed it hard between the fingers. You realise soon enough when a wound's not going to heal. The music, even when I was a conductor, I knew that's all it was, just a consolation. It helped for a while. I liked the feeling, pressing the wound, it fascinated me. A good wound, it can do that, it fascinates. It looks a little different every day. Has it changed? you wonder. Maybe it's healing at last. You look at it in a mirror, it looks different. But then you touch it and you know it's the same, your old friend. You do this year after year, and then you know it's not going to heal and in the end you get tired of it. You get so tired.' He fell silent and looked again at his bouquet. Then he said again: 'You get so tired. You're not tired yet, Mr Ryder? You get so tired.'

'Perhaps,' I said tentatively, 'Miss Collins has the power to heal your wound.'

'Her?' He laughed suddenly then went silent again. After a while he said quietly: 'She'll be like the music. A consolation. A wonderful consolation. That's all I ask now. A consolation. But heal the wound?' He shook his head. 'If I showed it to you now, my friend, I could show it to you, you'd see that was an impossibility. A medical impossibility. All I want, all I ask for now is a consolation. Even if it's like the way I said, just half-way stiff and we're doing no more than just dancing, six more times, that'll be enough. After that the wound can do what it likes. We'll have our animal by then, the grass, the fields. Why did she choose a place like this?'

He looked around again and shook his head. This time he remained silent for a long time, perhaps for as long as two or three minutes. I was about to say something when he suddenly leaned forward in his chair.

'Mr Ryder, I had a dog, Bruno, he died. I've… I've still not buried him. He's in a box, a sort of coffin. He was a good friend. Just a dog, but a good friend. I planned a small ceremony, just to say goodbye. Nothing special. Bruno, he's the past now, but a small ceremony just to say goodbye, what's wrong with that? Mr Ryder, I wanted to ask you. A small favour, for me and Bruno.'

The door suddenly opened and Miss Collins came into the room. Then, as Brodsky and I rose to our feet, Parkhurst came in behind her and closed the door.

'I'm very sorry, Miss Collins,' he said, giving Brodsky an angry look. 'He just wouldn't hear of respecting your privacy.'

Brodsky was standing stiffly in the middle of the room. As Miss Collins came closer, he gave a bow and I could see the shadow of a considerable elegance he must once have possessed. He held the bouquet out to her saying: 'Just a small gift. I picked them myself.'

Miss Collins took the flowers from him, but otherwise completely disregarded them. 'I might have guessed you'd come here like this, Mr Brodsky,' she said. 'I came to the zoo yesterday and now you think you can take any liberties you wish.'

Brodsky lowered his eyes. 'But there's so little time,' he said. 'We can't afford to waste time now.'

'Waste time to do what, Mr Brodsky? It's quite ridiculous, your coming here like this. You must know I'm busy in the mornings.'

'Please.' He raised his palm. 'Please. We're old now. We don't have to argue like we used to. I just came by to give you the flowers. And to make a simple proposal. That was all.'

'A proposal? What sort of proposal was that, Mr Brodsky?'

'Simply that you meet me this afternoon at St Peter's Cemetery. Half an hour, that's all. To be on our own and talk a few things over.'

'But there's nothing to talk over. It was clearly a mistake for me to come to the zoo yesterday. And did you say the
cemetery
? Why on earth are you proposing such a place for a rendez-vous? Have you altogether taken leave of your senses? A restaurant, a café, perhaps some gardens or a lake. But you propose a cemetery!'

'I'm sorry.' Brodsky seemed genuinely crestfallen. 'I didn't think. I'd forgotten. That is, I'd forgotten St Peter's Cemetery was a cemetery.'

'Don't be so absurd.'

'I mean, I've been there so often, we used to feel so peaceful there, Bruno and I. Even when things were at their worst, I felt not so bad when I was there, it was peaceful, very beautiful, we liked it there. That's why I asked. Really, I'd forgotten. About the dead people being there.'

'And what did you intend for us to do there? Sit on a gravestone and reminisce about old times? Mr Brodsky, you really ought to think more carefully about your proposals.'

'But we used to like it there, Bruno and I. I thought you'd like it too.'

'Oh, I see. Now that your dog has died, you wish me to go in its place.'

'I didn't mean it like that.' Brodsky suddenly lost his demure look and a flash of impatience crossed his face. 'I didn't mean it that way at all, you know it. You always did this. I spend a long time thinking, trying to find something good for us, and then you, you scorn it, you laugh at it, you make out it's a ridiculous thing. Anyone else and you'd say what a charming idea. You always did this. Like the time I arranged for us to sit in the front at the Kobyliansky concert…'

"That was over thirty years ago. How can you still be talking about such things?'

'But it's the same, the same. I think of something, something good for us, because I know deep down you like things to be a little unusual. Then you just laugh at them. Maybe it's because my ideas, like the cemetery, they really appeal to you, deep down, and you can see I understand your heart. So you pretend…'

'This is a nonsense. There's no reason on earth why we should be discussing such matters. It's much too late, there's nothing for us to discuss, Mr Brodsky. I can't meet you in a cemetery whether it appeals to me or not, because I have nothing to discuss with you…'

'I just wanted to explain. Why it happened, everything, why I was the way I was…'

'It's much too late for that, Mr Brodsky. At least twenty years too late. Besides, I couldn't bear to listen to you trying to apologise all over again. Even now, I'm sure, I wouldn't be able to hear an apology on your lips without shuddering. For many, many years, an apology from you was not the end but the beginning. The beginning to another round of pain and humiliation. Oh, why don't you just leave me alone now? It's simply too late. Besides, you've taken to dressing absurdly since you became sober. What are these clothes you've started to wear?'

Brodsky hesitated, then said: 'It's what I've been advised to wear. By the people helping me. I'm to be a conductor again. I have to dress so people see me that way.'

'I almost said to you yesterday at the zoo. That ridiculous grey coat! Who told you to wear it? Mr Hoffman? Really, you should have a little more sense of your own appearance. These people are dressing you like some puppet, and you let them do it. And now look at you! This ridiculous suit. Do you imagine you look artistic like that?'

Brodsky glanced down at his attire, a hurt expression in his eyes. Then he looked up and said: 'You're an old woman. You don't know about the fashions now.'

'It's the prerogative of the old to deplore the clothes of the young. But how ridiculous that
you
should be the one dressed like that. Really, it's no use, it's simply not your style. Quite frankly, I think the town will prefer you in what you used to wear a few months ago. That's to say, rather elegant rags.'

'Don't laugh at me. I'm no longer like that. I might soon be a conductor again. These are my clothes now. When I looked at myself, I thought I looked right. You forget, in Warsaw, I had clothes like these. A bow tie like this one. You forget now.'

For a second, a sad look came into Miss Collins's eyes. Then she said:

'Of course I forget. Why would I remember such things? There have been so many more vivid things to remember in the years since.'

'Your dress,' he said suddenly. 'It's very good. Very elegant. But your shoes, they're as bad as ever, a disaster. You never accepted you have fat ankles. For a woman so thin, your ankles were always fat. And now look, even now.' He pointed at Miss Collins's feet.

'Don't be so childish. Do you think it's like those days in Warsaw when you could make me change my whole costume minutes before we left with just one remark like that? How much you live in the past, Mr Brodsky! Do you think it means the slightest thing to me, what you think of my footwear? And do you think I don't realise now that it was all merely a trick you played, deliberately leaving it to the last possible moment to make your criticism? Of course, I'd change everything then, go out in something thrown on in a terrible rush. Then once we were sitting in the car, or perhaps at the concert hall, only then would I remember my eye-shadow was the wrong colour for the dress, or the necklace looked awful with the shoes. And it was all so important for me in those days. The conductor's wife! It was so important for me and you knew that. Do you suppose I don't see now just what you were doing? How you would say: "Good, good, very nice," right until there were only a few minutes left. Then, yes, it would be something exactly like this. "Your shoes are a disaster!" As if you would know such a thing! What would
you
know about fashions today, you've been drunk for the last two decades.'

'Nevertheless,' Brodsky said, a hint of imperiousness now entering his expression, 'nevertheless, what I say is true. Those shoes make the lower half of your figure look absurd. It's true.'

'Look at this ridiculous suit! Some Italian creation, no doubt. The sort of thing a young ballet dancer might wear. And you believe this will help you gain credibility in the eyes of people here?'

'Absurd shoes. You look like one of those toy soldiers with a base so you don't fall over.'

'It's time for you to leave! How dare you come here like this, disturbing my morning! The young couple in there, they're very distressed, they need my counsel more than ever this morning, and here, you've disturbed us. This is our last conversation. It was a mistake to have met you yesterday at the zoo.'

'The cemetery.' There was suddenly a desperate note in his voice. 'You must meet me, this afternoon. Okay, I didn't think, the dead people, I didn't think. But I explained that. We have to talk before… before this evening. Or else how can I? How can I do it? Can't you see how important tonight is? We have to talk, you must meet me…'

'Look here.' Parkhurst stepped forward and glared at Brodsky. 'You heard what Miss Collins said. She's requested you leave her residence. Leave her sight, leave her life. She's too polite to say it, so I'll say it on her behalf. After everything you've done, you have no right, not the shred of a right to make the request you've just made. How can you stand there requesting a meeting, as though all those things never occurred? Perhaps you're pretending you were so drunk you don't remember. Well then I'll remind you. It's not so long ago you stood out there in that street, urinating on the wall of this building, shouting obscenities at this very window. The police took you away in the end, dragged you away while you shouted the vilest things about Miss Collins. This was no more than a year ago. No doubt, you're expecting Miss Collins to have forgotten by now. But I can assure you it was only one of many incidents like it. And as for your sartorial pronouncements, wasn't it less than three years ago you were found unconscious in the Volksgarten in clothes you'd repeatedly vomited over, taken to the Holy Trinity Church and there found to have body lice? Do you expect Miss Collins to care what such a man has to say about her dress sense? Let's face it, Mr Brodsky, once a man falls to the depths to which you fell, his position is irredeemable. You'll never,
never
win back a woman's love, I can tell you that with some authority. You'll never win back even her respect. Her pity perhaps, but nothing more. Conductor! Do you imagine this town will ever look at you and see anything other than a disgusting down-and-out? Let me remind you, Mr Brodsky, four years ago, perhaps five now, you physically attacked Miss Collins just off the Bahnhofplatz, and if not for two students who were passing you'd certainly have caused her serious injury. And all the time you were attempting to strike her, you were shouting the vilest…'

'No, no, no!' Brodsky suddenly cried, shaking his head and covering his ears.

'You were shouting the vilest obscenities. Of a sexual and deviant nature. There was talk you should have been imprisoned for it. Then of course there was the episode at the telephone kiosk in Tillgasse…'

'No, no!'

Brodsky grabbed Parkhurst by the lapel, causing the latter to recoil in alarm. But then Brodsky carried out no further aggression, simply clutching Parkhurst's lapel as though it were a lifeline. For the next few seconds, Parkhurst struggled to prise off Brodsky's fingers. When he finally succeeded, the whole of Brodsky's posture seemed to sag. The old man closed his eyes and sighed, then turned and walked silently out of the room.

At first the three of us remained standing in silence, unsure what to do or say next. Then the sound of Brodsky slamming the front door brought us to life and Parkhurst and I both moved to the window.

'There he goes,' Parkhurst said, his forehead against the glass. 'Don't worry, Miss Collins, he won't be back.'

Miss Collins appeared not to hear. She wandered towards the door, then turned back again.

'Please excuse me, I must… I must…' She walked dreamily up to the window and looked out. 'Please, I must… You see, I hope you understand…'

She was speaking to neither of us in particular. Then her confusion appeared to clear and she said: 'Mr Parkhurst, you had no right to speak in that way to Leo. He has shown enormous courage this past year.' She gave Parkhurst a piercing look, then hurried out of the room. The next moment we heard the door slam again.