The Concert Page 19

  When Silva got home, neither Gjergj nor Brikena were back yet. She put the lunch on to cook and got vegetables out of the refrigerator, but just as she was about to start preparing a salad she put the knife down and went over to the phone. Luckily, Skënder Bermema was at home. She said she needed to see him urgently.

  “Whenever you want,” he said. “Now, if you like.”

  “This afternoon would be better. Are you free?”

  “Yes, of course. What time would you like to come?”

  Silva hesitated.

  “You want me to come to your place?” she said.

  She could hear him breathing at the other end of the line. He knew she was avoiding his wife because of the business with Ana.

  “As you like,” he said. “We could just as easily go somewhere else, but I’ll be on my own here this afternoon."

  “I’ll come at five, then.”

  She put the receiver down slowly, as if she were afraid it might break.

  As soon as she entered Skënder’s study, Silva was submerged in a wave of nostalgia. How many years was it since she’d set foot here? How long since the days when she and Ana used to come and see him? The curtains were different, and so were some of the books on the shelves, but the chair where Ana liked to sit leafing through a book or a magazine was still in its old place, and the pictures on the walls were the same. Silva stood there for a moment, forgetting why she was there. Skënder too seemed absent, perhaps for the same reason: the memories they had in common.

  “Sit down, Silva,” he said at last. He sounded tired.

  She took a chair. She’d hesitated about coming, even after she’d phoned. Should she really go to his place or not? Two or three times she decided to do nothing, to avoid giving the impression that it was only when she had problems that she thought of him. She wasn’t the kind to go round begging favours. But, apart from Gjergj, Besnik Struga and Skënder Bermema were the people closest to her. If she didn’t unburden herself to them, to whom could she speak? She’d said this to herself over and over again. Yet when she left her own apartment at a quarter to five, she didn’t tell Gjergj where she was going.

  “What’s it all about?” Skënder asked eventually. “You sounded rather upset when you rang.”

  She felt her eyes starting to fill with tears.

  “To tell you the truth, I am upset.”

  She set about telling him what had happened, and to her own astonishment — perhaps because he was listening to her so quietly - managed to express herself quite calmly. As she spoke he kept glancing impatiently, and more and more frequently, at the telephone.

  “Very strange.” he said as soon as she’d finished.

  And this brief epilogue convinced her that her story must indeed be out of the ordinary.

  He bounded up and pounced on the phone as if it might try to escape. He grabbed the receiver with one hand and dialled feverishly with the other. The ringing at the other end of the line seemed to reverberate in Suva’s heart. No one answered.

  Skënder hung up, then lifted the receiver and dialled again -whether the same number as before or another, Silva had no means of knowing. Then there was a click, and he said, “Hallo — Skënder Bermema here.”

  She’d have liked to shut her eyes and have a rest after all that tension. At first she didn’t take in what was being said over the phone. It was comfort enough to know that someone was taking an interest in her brother, and someone else again was supplying relevant information. At least the general silence, the shrugs, the inability of anyone to explain anything, were over! How right she’d been to come here! She watched his lips gratefully as he spoke.

  The conversation continued. Now she wanted to know what they were saying. Her agitation returned stronger than ever. How could she be so thoughtless as to be lulled by a mere exchange of words? What mattered was what was being said.

  Chewing her lip, she tried to piece together the conversation, guessing at the part she couldn’t hear.

  “What?” Skënder almost yelled down the phone. He seemed as frantic as she was. “What?”

  “What’s up?” she wondered. He was frowning more and more heavily. The person at the other end must be telling him something terrible. She seemed to feel her pulse slacken.

  “What?” he bellowed again, waving his free hand impatiently. “Frankly, I don’t understand…No, really …If you’re supposed to be in charge…What? …No! …No offence meant, but I’m sorry I bothered you…”

  Silva felt a bit better again. If Skënder was ready to lose his temper the situation couldn’t be all that bad. He was now holding the receiver away from his ear. And soon he hung up, looking at Silva with a distant smile.

  “Very odd,” he said. “This chap starts by giving me an earful of tittle-tattle, then tries to tell me we have to approach the matter theoretically! And to think he’s an old friend of mine!”

  “Didn’t he know anything?”

  Skënder shrugged.

  “Who knows? I couldn’t make him out any better than you could, and you didn’t even hear what he said! He wriggled like an eel!”

  Silva would have liked to ask him who it was, but by now he was flicking nervously through the telephone directory. Eventually he found the number he was looking for.

  Silva didn’t understand any more of the second phone conversation than she had of the first. Then Skënder rang someone else, who was out, but the person who answered gave him another number.

  “Hallo - is that the Political Office?”

  Silva felt she would never escape from this maelstrom of calls. Was she going to have to listen to them for hours without being any the wiser?

  “How are you?” he was now asking someone. “You know why I’m calling…”

  Silva held her breath as she listened to his brief preamble. The silence that followed at the other end was almost tangible. Then the other person spoke. Skënder listened, gazing abstractedly at the little table on which the phone stood.

  “Why get into a state about them?” he said, obviously echoing what he’d just heard. “I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m interested in him because he’s a friend of mine. A very close friend, do you get me? These things happen in the army? What do you mean by that?…We civilians attach too much importance to them?…No, I don’t think that’s true…Anyhow, I get the message. You don’t know much about it either…No, no — don’t bother…Goodbye!”

  He put the phone down and smiled at Silva as before.

  “Funny they’re all so vague,” he said, as if to himself. “I’d almost say they’re worried. Why are we civilians taking such an interest? …Yes, very odd … One can’t help thinking …It’s almost as if…”

  “Perhaps it’s got something to do with China?” Silva said gently, to help him finish his sentence.

  “China? No, no …I was thinking of something else…Ah well,… Just theories…maybe they’re all nonsense.”

  He lit a cigarette and started pacing round the studio. He seemed to be staring into space. The same as ever, thought Silva. But perhaps it was because they never changed, he and Besnik Struga, that they were still her friends.

  As she watched him going over to the bookcase, his back now turned, she suddenly felt that an exactly similar scene had probably taken place before, here in this studio, in the silent dusk — between him and Ana.

  Forgetting a Woman … She knew that story of his almost by heart. Frédéric had asked for it to be read out during the divorce proceedings. Everyone said Skënder had dedicated it to Ana. Although it was set in a hotel room, Silva was convinced the scene it depicted had taken place here in this studio.

  Skënder turned and walked over to his desk as if looking for something, but gave up and came and stood in front of Silva with his hands in his pockets.

  “What a pity I’ve got to go abroad, I’m sere I’d have been able to solve the mystery.”

  “You’re going away?” she said, not sure she’d heard right, “Where to?”


  He smiled almost guiltily.

  “Can’t you guess? To China?”

  “China!” exclaimed Silva. “Really?”

  “Really and truly. Apparently this is the last delegation. The last swallow of summer.”

  Silva stared at the fringe on the rug at her feet. The last swallow of summer, she repeated to herself as he went on about the make-up of the delegation. They’re all flying away, she thought sadly. And heaved a sigh.

  Almost as soon as she got to the office next morning, her boss told her she had to go on a mission to the north of the country. She concluded at once that this was the first act of reprisal against her, after the business about her brother. With a haste she was ashamed of whenever she thought of it later, she assumed it was the prelude to a transfer, or else to out-and-out dismissal.

  “Me?… I’ve got to go to the north?” she stammered, frowning, as if to say, Why, what have I done?

  Her boss looked back at her in surprise,

  “Eh?” he exclaimed, “if you can’t manage it …if you’ve got some good reason …”

  “No,” she replied coldly. Her tone implied that it was quite possible for her to go, but she’d like to know why she was being sent.

  It was as if a huge mass had suddenly formed in her head, preventing all normal thought. But after a few seconds, something inside her struggled fiercely to escape from that lethargy. It wasn’t the first time she’d been sent on a mission…No, it wasn’t the first time,… Perhaps that was why…

  “If you’ve got some reason for not going, you can stay,” her boss was saying. She’d have liked to interrupt: “You know the reason perfectly well!” But what would be the point? She herself would never have claimed that the business about her brother was a valid excuse for not going. A few seconds ago she’d been imagining just the opposite…

  “As you wish,” the boss went on, “It was Linda I was thinking of, mainly — she’ll be lonesome all on her own…”

  It was only then that Silva noticed her colleague’s expression, Linda was gazing fixedly at her: it was plain she couldn’t understand her friend’s attitude, and was upset by it. How awful of me! thought Silva, If the others hadn’t been there she’d have buried her face in her hands. Why had she flared up like that? The more she thought about it, the more ashamed she was. The boss had told her about the mission in a perfectly natural manner - why had she let her nerves get the better of her and dreamed up all that nonsense? Yet as the same time she did feel rather sorry for herself. At this rate she was going to end up with a nervous breakdown…

  “I’m sorry — please forgive me,” she said to her boss, without looking at him. “Of course I can go! I could go today! There’s no reason why not.”

  The boss waved his hands. He seemed embarrassed, too.

  “You needn’t go if you don’t want to. In fact, maybe …I hadn’t really thought of that, to tell the truth…”

  “No,” she said firmly. “That’s no reason not to go. Perhaps the opposite. Especially as Linda will still be here…”

  She turned to her friend, who smiled for the first time, though apparently she had no inkling of what lay behind these exchanges.

  “As you like,” said the boss. “Personally I’ve always enjoyed these trips to the hydro-electric power stations ie the north. You see a new world, you learn about new things. You’ll have two comrades with you from the planning office, and an expert on seismology,’

  Linda, her eyes still reflecting the hint of a smile, looked from Silva to their boss as if afraid their conversation might relapse into unpleasantness. But Suva’s expression was peaceful again, and Linda could breathe freely.

  Back home that afternoon, Silva thought over her brief set-to with her boss. She was ironing some sheets, but this usually soothing occupation, instead of driving away her worries, only made her feel more tense. It might have been more relaxing to do some crochet or embroidery.

  “Brikena!” she called. “Will you check the phone? It isn’t out of order, is it?”

  First she heard her daughter’s footsteps, then her voice.

  “No, Mother. It’s working.”

  I’ll start believing in ghosts next, thought Silva. The phone hadn’t rung much since the previous Sunday, but it was silly to think this was because of the Arian affair…

  She glanced for some reason at the calendar. Tuesday the 17th. Then she looked at her watch. Five-thirty. Gjergj ought to have been home by now. She imagined him ringing at the door, taking off his raincoat, asking, “Any news?”

  She shrugged. None.

  Next day Silva felt disoriented. Her boss seemed to be doing his best to avoid being left alone with her. On the two occasions that Linda went out of the office, he found an excuse to absent himself too.

  “Let him do as he likes,” she thought. “I don’t want to think about it any more.”

  After she left the office she took a bus to the cemetery. Gjergj’s bunch of iowers, almost withered now, was still there on Ana’s grave, Silva could scarcely believe only three days had gone by since the previous Sunday.

  She didn’t stay long by her sister’s grave, but when she got home she felt better.

  On Saturday, just as she was resigning herself to spending a tedious afternoon alone (Gjergj was at a meeting, Brikena at a friend’s birthday party), there was a ring at the door. A visitor, she wondered, then was doubtfull. It was her nature: the more she wanted something, the less she believed it would happen. It must be the woman who cleaned the stairs, asking, as she’d done the day before, to be allowed to fill her bucket with water. Or maybe a stranger inquiring after one of the other tenants…

  She threw the door open with some impatience, as one does when about to tell an intruder they might have made proper inquiries before just knocking on doors at random. Her exasperation vanished when she saw she really did have visitors. But the relief was short-lived.

  How on earth? And why? — the question was sharp and cold as the edge of an axe. Why had they come to see her after all these years?

  As if reading her thoughts, the newcomers apologized for turning up without warning. “We said to one another, let’s go and see her — it’s ages since we met - people shouldn’t just lose touch like that… Anyhow, here we are…”

  “Do come in,” said Silva half-heartedly.

  She still felt stunned. As they took their coats off they chatted away airily (God, how could they be so self-satisfied?): How was Gjergj?…And their daughter? — she must be quite big now…They hadn’t any other children, had they?…Sorry again for coming without letting them know…Perhaps she and Gjergj had arranged to do something this afternoon?…After all, it was Saturday…

  “No, it’s all right…” murmured Silva.

  But in fact they’d just provided her with the best possible excuse for turfing them out: “Thanks so much for coming, but as a matter of fact a friend of my husband’s is due in about twenty minutes.” It still wasn’t too late for her to say that. But wait. You could always find a way of getting rid of unwanted guests; the important thing was to find out why they’d come.

  “‘You can guess why! We’re all in the same boat now, so we can afford to go and see one another!’ Can that be it?” she asked herself. Could that really be it?

  Her brain was gradually emerging from its lethargy. She would do her best to find out if that was why they were here. Or if, worse still, they’d come to gloat over her unhappiness, to avenge themself for the long years of indifference and neglect which she’d inflicted on them…She could still get rid of them if she wanted to by remarking, “It is Saturday, as you say, and unfortunately Gjergj and I have an appointment.”

  Some years ago one of Suva’s two aunts had scandalized her nearest and dearest by marrying a member of the old guard, and thenceforward no excuse had been needed for steering clear of her, She had apparently found her husband’s circle quite sufficient, and hardly saw her own family at all except at the occasional funeral.

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nbsp; “This way,” said Silva, leading the way into the living room.

  It was the first time she’d seen her aunt’s husband close to. She examined him surreptitiously to see what her aunt could have seen in him. He had a very ordinary face, but with curious wrinkles which instead of making him look older than he was seemed rather to fix him at one age for ever. Silva vaguely remembered hearing that he’d worked for an ltalo-Albanian bank during the Occupation, that he’d inherited money from Italy, and spent a few years in prison after the Liberation. But she could recall very clearly the uproar caused in the family by her aunt’s escapade. There’d been endless comings and goings, after-dinner councils, plans to intervene, telephone calls, and harassing interviews with the prodigal daughter. You’ve covered us in shame for the rest of our lives -how shall we be able to look other people in the face? And, never mind about tarnishing our reputation — have you so much as thought about the memory of your sister? How could you trample it underfoot like this? Suva’s other aunt, who’d died in the war, had never been invoked so often. She’d been extraordinarily beautiful (Ana took after her), and apparently it was because of her looks that the resistance group she belonged to entrusted her with an especially dangerous mission: she was to get herself up as an upper-middle-class young woman and infiltrate circles to which her colleagues had otherwise no access. She had carried out her task brilliantly (it was said she’d learned to make herself up more skilfully than the models who occasionally showed up from Rome), until one day, in circumstances that had never been clarified, she was unmasked at an officers’ ball at the Hotel Dajti. Although she was seriously wounded as she was trying to escape along an alley near the main boulevard, she managed to reach the safe house where her friends were waiting for her. She was still wearing her jewellery, though it was spattered with blood, and while her comrades were treating her injuries she kept making signs. But the others, trying to save her life, paid no attention to these gestures, which might well have referred to her brooches and necklaces, to her painted lips and eyes, or to the elegant gown which she would have liked them to remove. When she died, an hour later, they buried her in all her finery.