‘To be perfectly fair, it’s not their fault. The modern forms, they’re so complex now. Kazan, Mullery, Yoshimoto. Even for a trained musician such as myself, it’s hard now, very hard. The likes of von Winterstein, the Countess, what chance do they have? They’re completely out of their depth. To them it’s just crashing noise, a whirl of strange rhythms. Perhaps they’ve convinced themselves over the years they can hear something there, certain emotions, meanings. But the truth is, they’ve found nothing at all. They’re out of their depth, they’ll never understand how modern music works. Once it was simply Mozart, Bach, Tchaikovsky. Even the man in the street could make a reasoned guess about that sort of music. But the modern forms! How can people like this, untrained, provincial people, how can they ever understand such things, however great a sense of duty they feel towards the community? It’s hopeless, Mr Ryder. They can’t distinguish a crushed cadence from a struck motif. Or a fractured time signature from a sequence of vented rests. And now they misread the whole situation! They want things to go the opposite way! Mr Ryder, if you’re getting tired, why don’t we take a short rest?’
In fact I had paused a second because a bird, flying alarmingly close to my face, had caused me almost to lose my footing.
‘No, no, I’m fine,’ I called back, recommencing the descent.
‘These steps are rather too grimy to sit on. But if you liked, we could always just pause and stand.’
‘No, really, thank you. I’m fine.’
We proceeded down in silence for the next few minutes. Then Christoff said:
‘In my most detached moments, I actually feel sorry for them. I don’t blame them. After all they’ve done, after all they’ve said about me, I still at times see the situation objectively. And I say to myself, no, it’s really not their fault. It’s not their fault music has become so difficult and complicated. It’s unreasonable to expect anyone in a place like this to comprehend it. And yet these people, these civic leaders, they must give the appearance of knowing what they’re doing. So they repeat certain things to themselves, and after a while, they begin to believe themselves authorities. You see, in a place like this, there’s no one to contradict them. Please be very careful of the next few steps, Mr Ryder. They’re a little crumbled at the edges.’
I took the next several steps very slowly. Then when I glanced up I noticed we had not much further left to go.
‘It would have been useless,’ Christoff’s voice said behind me. ‘Even if they’d accepted our invitation, it would have been useless. They wouldn’t have understood the half of it. You, Mr Ryder, you’ll at least understand our arguments. Even if we fail to convince you, you will, I feel sure, go away with some respect for our position. But of course we hope to persuade you. Convince you that, regardless of my personal fate, the present direction must at all costs be maintained. Yes, you’re a brilliant musician, one of the most gifted presently at work anywhere in the world. But nevertheless, even an expert of your calibre needs to apply his knowledge to a particular set of local conditions. Each community has its own history, its own special needs. The people I’ll shortly introduce you to, Mr Ryder, are among the few, the very few in this town one might reasonably describe as intellectuals. They’ve taken the trouble to analyse the particular conditions that prevail here, and what’s more, they – unlike von Winterstein and his sort – they do understand something of how the modern forms work. With their help, in the most civilised and respectful way, naturally, I’m hoping to persuade you, Mr Ryder, to modify your present stance. Of course, everyone you’ll meet has the utmost respect for you and all you stand for. But we feel it’s possible, even with your powerful insight, there may be certain aspects of the situation here you may not yet have fully appreciated. Here we are.’
In fact there were another twenty or so steps before we reached the road. Christoff remained silent for this last part of the descent. I was relieved, for his latter utterances had begun to annoy me. His implication that I was more or less ignorant of the local conditions, that I was the sort to draw conclusions without bothering with such factors, was quite insulting. I recalled how since my arrival in the city – in spìte of my tight schedule, in spite of my fatigue – I had applied myself to this very task of acquainting myself with the local situation. I remembered, for instance, how the previous afternoon, when I could so easily have been taking a well-earned rest in the comfort of the hotel’s atrium, I had instead set off into the town to gather my impressions. Indeed, the more I thought about Christoff’s words, the more irked I felt, so that when we finally came down to the car and Christoff held open the passenger door for me, I climbed in with barely a word.
‘We’re not too behind time,’ he said, getting into the driver’s seat. ‘If the traffic’s good, we’ll be there very quickly.’
As he said this, I remembered all at once my many other commitments for the day. There was, for instance, Fiona – no doubt expecting me at her apartment at any moment. The situation, I could see, would require a certain firmness on my part.
He started the car and we soon found ourselves descending a steeply curving road. Christoff, who appeared to know the road well, took each sharp bend with assurance. As we came lower the road became less vertiginous and the chalets he had mentioned, often precariously perched, began appearing to either side of us. Eventually I turned to him saying:
‘Mr Christoff, I’ve been looking forward very much to this lunch with you and your friends. To hearing your side of things. However, several things have come up unexpectedly this morning, and as a result I find I have a very busy day ahead of me. As a matter of fact, even as we speak …’
‘Mr Ryder, please, you don’t have to explain. We knew from the outset how very busy you were likely to be and everyone present, I assure you, will be most understanding. If you leave after an hour and a half, even after an hour, no one, I can assure you, will be in the least offended. They’re a fine bunch, the only ones in this town with the ability to think and feel to this level. Whatever the outcome of this lunch, Mr Ryder, I’m sure you’ll be pleased to have met them. Many of them I remember when they were young and eager. A fine bunch, I can vouch for each of them. They’d once have thought themselves my protégés, I suppose. They still look up to me. But these days we’re colleagues, friends, perhaps something even deeper. These last few years have only made us draw closer. Naturally a few have left me, that’s inevitable. But the ones who’ve stayed, oh, they’ve been unwavering. I’m proud of them, I love them dearly. They’re the best hope for this town, though I know they’ll not be allowed any influence here for a good while yet. Ah, Mr Ryder, we’ll soon be passing the chalet I was telling you about. It’s around this next corner. It’ll appear on your side.’
He fell silent, and when I looked at him I noticed he was close to tears. I felt a wave of sympathy for him and said gently:
‘One never knows what the future might bring, Mr Christoff. Perhaps you and your wife will find a chalet very much like this some day. If not here, then in some other city.’
Christoff shook his head. ‘I know you’re trying to be kind, Mr Ryder. But really, there’s no point. It’s all finished between Rosa and me. She’ll leave me. I’ve known that for some time. In fact the whole town knows it. No doubt you’ve heard them gossiping.’
‘Well, I suppose I did hear one or two things …’
‘I’m sure there’s a lot of gossip going about. I don’t much care now. The essential thing is that Rosa will soon leave me. She won’t tolerate being married to me much longer, not after what’s happened. You mustn’t get the wrong idea. We’ve grown to love each other over the years, grown to love each other very much. But you see, with us, that was always the understanding, right from the start. Ah, there it is, Mr Ryder. On your right. Rosa often sat in that seat you’re in now and we’d drive past it slowly. Once we were driving past so slowly, we were so absorbed, we nearly collided with a vehicle coming up the hill. But yes, we had an understanding. While I e
njoyed the pre-eminence I did in this community, she was able to love me. Oh yes, she loved me, she genuinely loved me. I can say this with utter conviction, Mr Ryder. Because you see, for Rosa, nothing else in life would be more important than to be married to someone in the position I was in. Perhaps that makes her sound a little shallow. But you mustn’t misunderstand her. In her own way, in the way she knew, she loved me deeply. In any case, it’s nonsense to believe people go on loving each other regardless of what happens. It’s just that in Rosa’s case, well, the way she is, she’s able to love me only under certain circumstances. That doesn’t make her love for me any less real.’
For a little while, Christoff was silent again, evidently deep in thought. The road was turning a slow curve, offering a plunging view on my side. I gazed down at the valley below us and could make out what seemed to be an affluent suburb of large houses, each with an acre or so of its own ground.
‘I was just remembering,’ Christoff said, ‘when I first came to this town. How excited they all were. And Rosa, how she came up to me that first time at the Arts Building.’ He fell silent again for a moment. Then he said: ‘You know, back then, I had no fanciful ideas about myself. By that point in my life I’d come to accept I was no genius. Or anything approaching one. I’d had a career of sorts, but a number of things had happened which had forced me to see my limitations. When I came to this town, my plan was to live quietly – I have a small private income – perhaps do a little teaching, something like that. But then people here, they were so appreciative of my small talents. So pleased I had come here! And after a while, I began thinking. I had, after all, worked hard, very hard, trying to come to terms with modern musical methods. I did understand something about them. I looked around me and thought, well, yes, I could make a contribution here. In a town like this, the way things were then, I saw how I might do it. I saw how I might do some real good. Well, Mr Ryder, after all these years, my belief is that I did do something worthwhile. I believe it sincerely. It’s not simply that my protégés – my colleagues, I should say, my friends whom you’ll meet shortly – it’s not just that they’ve got me thinking it. No, I believe it, believe it very firmly. I did something worthwhile here. But you know how it is. A town like this. Sooner or later things start to go wrong with people’s lives. Discontent grows. And the loneliness. And people like this, who understand almost nothing about music, they say to themselves, oh, we must have had everything entirely wrong. Let’s do the complete opposite. These accusations they make against me! They say my approach celebrates the mechanical, that I stifle natural emotion. How little they understand! As we’ll demonstrate to you very shortly, Mr Ryder, I merely introduced an approach, a system that would allow people like this some way into the likes of Kazan and Mullery. Some way of discovering meaning and value in the works. I tell you, sir, when I first came here, they were crying out for precisely this. For some ordering, for a system they could comprehend. The people here, they were out of their depth, things were breaking down. People were afraid, they felt things slipping out of control. I have documents with me, you’ll see everything shortly. You’ll see then, I’m sure, just how misguided the present consensus is. Very well, I’m a mediocrity, that much I don’t deny. But you’ll see I was always on the right track. That what little I did achieve was a start, a useful contribution. What’s needed now – I hope you’ll see it, Mr Ryder, if only you would see it, then all might not be lost for this city – what’s needed is someone, someone more gifted than myself, very well, but someone to continue, to build on what I’ve done. I made a contribution, Mr Ryder. I have the proof, you’ll see when we arrive.’
We had come out onto a major highway. The road was broad and straight, revealing a large expanse of sky before us. Off in the distance, I could see two heavy lorries travelling in the inner lane, but otherwise the road ahead was virtually empty.
‘I hope you don’t imagine, Mr Ryder,’ said Christoff after a while, ‘that my bringing you to this lunch today is some desperate ploy on my part to regain my former pre-eminence here. I fully realise my personal position has become impossible. Besides, I’ve nothing left to give. I’ve given it all, everything I had, I’ve given it all to this city. I want to go away somewhere now, far away, somewhere quiet, by myself, and have nothing more to do with music. My protégés, naturally, they’ll be devastated when I leave. They still haven’t accepted it. They want me to fight back. One word from me, they’d set to work, they’d do their utmost, go door to door even. I’ve told them how things stand, I’ve explained very frankly, but they still can’t accept it. It’s so difficult for them. They’ve looked up to me for so long, always found their meanings through me. They’ll be devastated. But it makes no difference, it has to finish now. I want it to end. Even Rosa. Every minute of our marriage has been precious to me, Mr Ryder. But knowing it will finish, yet not knowing quite when – it’s been terrible. I want it all to end now. I wish Rosa well. I hope she finds someone else, someone of proper stature. I just hope she has the sense to look beyond this town. This town can’t provide the sort of figure she needs for a husband. No one here understands music properly. Ah, but if only I had your talent, Mr Ryder! Then Rosa and I, we could grow old together.’
The sky had become overcast. The traffic remained sparse and we found ourselves regularly overtaking long-distance lorries before speeding on. Thick forests appeared to either side, then eventually gave way to flat expanses of farmland. The tiredness of the last several days began to catch up with me, and as I continued to watch the highway unwind before us, I found it difficult not to doze. Then I heard Christoff’s voice say: ‘Ah, here we are,’ and I opened my eyes again.
14
We had slowed right down and were approaching a small café – a white bungalow – standing alone on the roadside. It was the sort of place one might imagine lorry drivers stopping for a sandwich, though as Christoff steered the car across the gravelled forecourt and brought it to a halt, there were no other vehicles to be seen.
‘We’re having lunch here?’ I asked.
‘Yes. Our little circle, we’ve gathered here for years now. Everything’s very informal.’
We got out and walked towards the café. As we approached I could see bright pieces of cardboard hung from the awning, announcing various special offers.
‘Everything’s very informal,’ Christoff said again, opening the door for me. ‘Please make yourself at home.’
The décor inside was very basic. There were large picture windows going all the way round the room. Here and there posters advertising soft drinks or peanuts had been put up with sellotape. Some had become faded in the sunlight and one of them had turned simply into a rectangle of pale blue. Even now, with the sky overcast, there was a harshness to the daylight falling across the room.
There were eight or nine people already present, all seated at the tables near the back. They each had in front of them steaming bowls of what looked to be mashed potato. They had been eating hungrily with long wooden spoons, but now they all stopped and stared at me. One or two began to stand up, but Christoff greeted them cheerily, waving to them to remain seated. Then, turning to me, he said:
‘As you can see, lunch has started without us. But given our lateness, I’m sure you’ll excuse them. As for the others, well, I’m sure they won’t be much longer. In any case, we shouldn’t waste any more time. If you’d just step this way, Mr Ryder, I’ll introduce you to my good friends here.’
I was about to follow him when we became aware of a heavy bearded man in a striped apron signalling furtively to us from behind the service counter nearby.
‘Very well, Gerhard,’ Christoff said, turning to the man with a shrug. ‘I’ll start with you. This is Mr Ryder.’
The bearded man shook my hand saying: ‘Your lunch will be ready in no time, sir. You must be very hungry.’ Then he muttered something quickly to Christoff, glancing as he did so towards the rear of the café.
Both Christoff and I foll
owed the bearded man’s gaze. As though he had been waiting for our attention to turn to him, a man who had been sitting by himself in the far corner now rose to his feet. He was portly and grey-haired, perhaps in his mid-fifties, dressed in a brilliant white jacket and shirt. He started to come towards us, then, stopping near the middle of the room, smiled at Christoff.
‘Henri,’ he said, and held up his arms in greeting.
Christoff stared coldly at the man, then turned away. ‘There’s nothing for you here,’ he said.
The white-jacketed man seemed not to hear. ‘I was just watching you, Henri,’ he continued genially, gesturing out of the window. ‘Walking across from your car. You’re still walking with that stoop. It used to be a sort of affectation, but now it seems to be there for real. There’s no need for it, Henri. Things may not be going your way, but there’s no need for a stoop.’
Christoff continued to keep his back turned to the man.
‘Come on, Henri. This is childish.’
‘I’ve told you,’ Christoff said. ‘We’ve nothing to say to each other.’
The white-jacketed man shrugged and took a few more steps towards us.
‘Mr Ryder,’ he said, ‘since Henri is determined not to introduce us, I’ll introduce myself. I’m Dr Lubanski. As you know, Henri and I were very close once. But now, you see, he doesn’t even talk to me.’
‘You’re not welcome here.’ Christoff was still not looking at the man. ‘Nobody wants you here.’
‘You see, Mr Ryder? Henri’s always had this childish side to him. So silly. Myself, I long ago came to terms with the fact that our paths have diverged. Once we used to sit and talk for hours. Didn’t we, Henri? Dissecting some work or other, arguing it through from every angle over our beers at the Schoppenhaus. I still think back fondly to those days at the Schoppenhaus. Sometimes I even wish I’d never had the good sense to disagree. That we could sit down again tonight, spend more hours arguing and discussing music, about how you’d prepare this or that piece. I live alone, Mr Ryder. As you can imagine’ – he laughed lightly – ‘things can get a little lonely at times. And then I start remembering how it was in those days. I think to myself, how good it would be, just to sit down with Henri again and talk over some score he’s preparing. There was a time he wouldn’t do anything without first consulting me about it. Wasn’t that so, Henri? Come on, let’s not be childish. Let’s at least be civil.’