The Unconsoled (74 page)

For a few seconds I groped through darkness, then found myself once more in the wings. I could see the piano in the middle of the empty stage, dimly lit from above by just one or two lights. I saw too that the curtains were still closed and stepped quietly out onto the stage.

I peered down at the spot where Brodsky had earlier been lying, but could not see even a mark. I then glanced back to the piano, unsure how to proceed. If I sat down at the stool and began simply to play, it was possible the technicians would have the sense to draw back the curtains and to turn up the spotlights.

There was always the chance, however - one could not tell what had been going on - that the technicians had all abandoned their posts and the curtains would not even open. Moreover, when I had last seen the audience, people had been standing about talking restlessly. The best course, I decided, would be to step out through the curtains and make an announcement, giving everyone - the audience, the technicians - the chance to prepare themselves. I quickly rehearsed a few lines in my head, then, without further ado, went up to the gap in the drapes and drew back the heavy material.

I had been ready to find the auditorium in some disorder, but the sight that greeted me quite took me aback. Not only was the audience absent in its entirety, all the seating had vanished as well. The idea came to me that the hall perhaps had some sort of device whereby at the tug of a lever all the seats disappeared into the floor - thus enabling the auditorium to double as a dance floor or whatever - but then I remembered the age of the building and decided this was highly unlikely. I could only suppose the seats had been of the stacking kind and had now all been cleared away as a fire precaution. In any case, before me now was a vast, dark, empty space. There were no lights on at all, but instead, here and there, large rectangular sections of the ceiling had been removed, allowing the daylight to come down in pale shafts onto the floor.

Peering into the murky light, I thought I could make out a few figures towards the very back of the hall. They seemed to be standing around in conference - these were perhaps the stagehands completing their tidying up - and then I heard the echo of footsteps as one of them strode off somewhere.

I stood there on the edge of the stage wondering what to do next. I had, I supposed, spent much longer in Miss Stratmann's office than I had thought - possibly as long as an hour - and clearly the audience had given up hope of my ever appearing. Nevertheless, if an announcement were to be made, the guests could be gathered back into the auditorium in a matter of minutes, and even with the seating gone I could see no reason why a perfectly satisfactory recital could not then take place. It was unclear, though, where the people had all got to and I realised I would first have to find Hoffman, or whoever had now taken charge, to discuss the next step.

I climbed down off the stage and set off across the hall. I had not got half-way across before I began to feel disorientated in the darkness and, changing course a little, made towards the nearest shaft of light. Just as I did so, a figure brushed in front of me.

'Oh, excuse me,' the person said. 'I beg your pardon.'

I recognised Stephan's voice and said: 'Hello. So you at least are still here.'

'Oh, Mr Ryder. I'm sorry, I didn't see you.' He sounded tired and dejected.

'You really ought to be feeling more cheerful,' I said to him. 'You gave a splendid performance. The audience was extremely moved.'

'Yes. Yes, I suppose they did give me a good reception.'

'Well, congratulations. After all that hard work, it must be very satisfying for you.'

'Yes, I suppose so.'

We started to walk side by side through the darkness. If anything, the daylight from the ceiling made it all the more difficult to see where one was going, but Stephan appeared to know his way.

'You know, Mr Ryder,' he said after a moment, 'I'm jolly grateful to you. You've been marvellously encouraging. But the truth is, I didn't come up to scratch tonight. Not by my own standards anyway. Of course, the audience gave me a big hand, but that's because they weren't expecting anything so special. But really, I know myself I've got a long way to go. My parents are right.'

'Your parents? Good gracious, you shouldn't worry about them.'

'No, no, Mr Ryder, you don't understand. My parents, you see, they have the highest standards. These people who are here tonight, they were very kind but really, they don't know so much about these things. They saw a local boy playing at a certain level and got very excited. But I want to be measured by real standards. And I know my parents do too. Mr Ryder, I've come to a decision. I'm going off. I need to go somewhere bigger, study under someone like Lubetkin or Peruzzi. I realise now I can never reach the levels I want to here, not in this city. Look at the way they clapped what was after all a pretty ordinary performance of
Glass Passions
. That just about summed it up. I didn't really see it before, but I suppose you could call me a big fish in a small pond. I ought to go away for a bit. See what I can really do.'

We continued to walk, our footsteps resounding through the auditorium. Then I said:

'That may well be wise. In fact, I'm sure you're right. A move to a bigger city, bigger challenges, I'm sure it will do you good. But you must be careful who you study with. If you like, I'll give the matter some thought and see if I can arrange something.'

'Mr Ryder, if you'd do that, I'd be eternally grateful. Yes, I need to see how far I can go. Then one day I'll come back here and show them. Show them how you
really
play
Glass Passions
.' He gave a laugh, but still sounded far from cheerful.

'You're a talented young man. You've got everything ahead of you. You really ought to be in better spirits.'

'I suppose so. I suppose I'm just a bit daunted. I didn't realise until tonight just what a huge climb I've still got in front of me. You'll think this is very funny, but do you know, I thought I'd have it all wrapped up tonight. It shows what it does to you, living in a place like this. You start thinking small. Yes, I thought I'd do everything there was to do tonight! You see how ridiculous my thinking has been until now. My parents are quite right. I've a great deal left to learn.'

'Your parents? Listen, my advice is to forget about your parents altogether for now. If I may say so, I really don't understand how they can…'

'Ah, here we are. It's this way.' We had arrived at some sort of doorway and Stephan was tugging at a curtain hung across it. 'It's through here.'

'Sorry, what's through here?'

"The conservatory. Oh, perhaps you haven't heard of the conservatory. It's very famous. It was built a hundred years after the hall itself, but now it's almost as famous. That's where everyone's gone to eat breakfast.'

We found ourselves in a corridor, all down one side of which was a long row of windows. I could see through the nearer of them the light blue morning sky.

'Incidentally,' I said as we began to walk again, 'I was wondering about Mr Brodsky. About his condition. Is he… deceased?'

'Mr Brodsky? Oh no, he's going to be fine, I'm sure. They took him off somewhere. Actually, I heard they took him to the St Nicholas Clinic.'

'The St Nicholas Clinic?'

'It's the place that takes in down-and-outs. In the conservatory just now, people were talking about it, saying, well, that's where he belongs, that's where they know how to deal with problems like his. I was a bit shocked, to tell you the truth. In fact - I'll tell you this, Mr Ryder, in confidence - all of that helped me make up my mind. About going away, I mean. That performance Mr Brodsky gave tonight, in my opinion it was the finest thing that's been heard in this concert hall for many many years. Certainly for as long as I've been able to appreciate music. But you saw what happened. They didn't want it, it startled them. It was much more than they'd ever bargained for. They're very relieved he collapsed like that. They realise now they want something else. Something a little less extreme.'

'Something not so different from Mr Christoff perhaps.'

Stephan thought about this. 'A
little
different. A new name, at least. They realise now Mr Christoff isn't quite the thing. They do want
something
better. But… but not
that
.'

Through the windows I could now see the wide expanse of lawn outside and the sun rising over the row of trees in the distance.

'What do you suppose will become of Mr Brodsky now?' I asked.

'Mr Brodsky? Oh, he'll just go back to being what he's always been here. See out his days as the town drunk, I suppose. They certainly won't let him be much else, not after tonight. As I say, they took him to the St Nicholas Clinic. I've grown up here, Mr Ryder, and in many ways I still love this town. But I'm eager to be leaving now.'

'Perhaps I should try and say something. I mean, address the crowd in the conservatory. Say a few words about Mr Brodsky. Put them right about him.'

Stephan considered this for a few steps, then shook his head.

'It's not worth it, Mr Ryder.'

'But I must say, I don't like this any more than you do. You never know. A few words from me…'

'I don't think so, Mr Ryder. They won't listen even to you now. Not after that performance from Mr Brodsky. That reminded them of everything they're afraid of. Besides, there's no microphone or anything in the conservatory, not even a platform you can stand up and speak from. You'd never get yourself heard over all the noise. You see, it's pretty big, almost as big as the auditorium itself. From corner to corner, it must be… well, even if you kept to a dead straight diagonal, knocking aside any tables and guests seated in your way, you'd still measure out fifty metres at least. It's a jolly big place, as you'll see. If I were you, Mr Ryder, I'd just relax now and enjoy your breakfast. After all, you've got Helsinki to be thinking about.'

The conservatory, right enough, was a vast affair, which at this moment was bathed in morning sunlight. Everywhere people were talking cheerfully, some seated around tables, others standing in little groups. I could see people drinking coffee and fruit juice, others eating from plates or bowls, and as we made our way through the crowd I caught in turn the aromas of fresh rolls, fish cakes, bacon. I could see waiters rushing about with plates and jugs of coffee. All around me voices were greeting one another in delight, and it struck me the whole atmosphere resembled that of a reunion. And yet these were people who saw each other constantly. Clearly the evening's events had made them re-assess themselves and their community in some profound way, and the resulting mood, for whatever reason, appeared to be one of mutual celebration.

I could see now that Stephan was right. There was little point in my attempting to address this crowd, let alone in asking them to return to the auditorium for my recital. Feeling suddenly tired and extremely hungry, I decided to sit down and have some breakfast myself. When I looked about, however, I could see no free chairs anywhere. Moreover, I turned to find that Stephan was no longer walking beside me, but had been drawn into conversation by a group at a table we had just passed. I watched him being greeted warmly, half expecting him to introduce me. But he seemed to become engrossed in the conversation, and very soon he too had adopted a cheerful demeanour.

I decided to leave him to it and walked on through the crowd. I thought that sooner or later a waiter would spot me and come rushing up with a plate and a cup of coffee, perhaps show me to a seat. But though on a few occasions a waiter did come hurrying in my direction, each time he pushed past me and I was obliged to watch him serving someone else.

Then after a while I realised I was standing close to the main doors of the conservatory. Someone had thrown them wide open and many guests had spilled out onto the lawn. I stepped out a little way and was surprised by the chill in the air. But here, too, people were standing talking in groups, drinking their coffees or else eating on their feet. Some had turned to face the sunrise, while others were wandering about stretching their legs. One particular group had even sat down on the wet grass, plates and coffee jugs spread around them as for a picnic.

I spotted a catering trolley on the grass not far away with a waiter hunched busily over it. My hunger growing ever greater, I made my way towards it and was just about to tap the waiter on the shoulder when he turned and rushed past me, his arms burdened with three large plates - upon which I glimpsed scrambled eggs, sausages, mushrooms, tomatoes. I watched him go hurrying off, then decided I would not budge from beside the trolley until he returned.

As I waited, I surveyed the scene around me and saw how needless had been my worries concerning my ability to cope with the various demands presented to me in this city. As ever, my experience and my instincts had proved more than sufficient to see me through. Of course I felt a certain disappointment about the evening, but then, as I thought about it further, I could see the inappropriateness of such feelings. After all, if a community could reach some sort of an equilibrium without having to be guided by an outsider, then so much the better.

When after several minutes the waiter had not returned -throughout which time I had been continually teased by the various aromas rising from the hot canisters on the trolley -I decided there was no good reason why I should not serve myself. I had already taken a plate and was bending down searching the lower tiers for some utensils, when I became conscious of a number of figures standing behind me. Turning, I found myself looking at the porters.

As far as I could make out, all of the dozen or so I had last seen gathered together around Gustav's sick-bed were now here before me. As I had turned, some had lowered their eyes, but a few continued to regard me intensely.

'My goodness,' I said, doing my best to hide the fact that I had been about to serve myself breakfast. 'My goodness, what's happened? Naturally, I had meant to come up and see how Gustav was getting on. I was assuming he'd have gone to hospital by now. That's to say, that he was in good hands. I was certainly about to come up as soon as…' I paused, seeing the expressions of grief on their faces.