I was obliged to break off because everyone in the room was now shouting at Christoff. He in turn was holding up his blue folder, thumbing its pages in the air, crying: ‘The facts are here! Here!’
‘Of course,’ I shouted above the noise, ‘this is another common failing. The belief that putting something in a folder will turn it into a fact!’
This was met by a roar of laughter that had at its heart an uncoiling fury. Then the young woman with the thick spectacles rose to her feet and went up to Christoff. She did so very calmly, transgressing the small area of space that had hitherto been maintained around the cellist.
‘You old fool,’ she said, and again her voice penetrated clearly through the clamour. ‘You’ve dragged us all down with you.’ Then, with some deliberation, she struck Christoff’s cheek with the outside of her hand.
There was a stunned pause. Then suddenly people were rising from their chairs, pushing one another aside in an attempt to reach Christoff, the desire to follow the young woman’s example evidently seizing them with some urgency. I was aware of a hand shaking my shoulder but for the moment was too preoccupied with what was unfolding before me to attend.
‘No, no, that’s enough!’ Dr Lubanski had somehow reached Christoff first and was holding up his hands. ‘No, let Henri be! What do you think you’re doing? That’s enough!’
Possibly it was only Dr Lubanski’s intervention that saved Christoff from a full-scale assault. I caught a glimpse of Christoff’s bewildered, frightened face, and then an angry circle settled around him and he ceased to be visible to me. The hand was shaking my shoulder again and I turned to find the bearded man with the apron – I recalled that his name was Gerhard – holding a steaming bowl of mashed potato.
‘Would you care for some lunch, Mr Ryder?’ he asked. ‘I’m sorry it’s a little late. But you see, we had to start a new vat.’
‘That’s very kind of you,’ I said, ‘but actually I really have to be going. I’ve left my little boy waiting for me.’ Then, leading him away from the noise, I said to him: ‘I wonder if you would show me through to the front.’ For indeed, I had at that moment remembered that this café and the one in which I had left Boris were in fact parts of the same building, this being one of those establishments offering contrasting rooms – opening onto separate streets – catering to different kinds of clientele.
The bearded man was clearly disappointed by my refusal of lunch, but he recovered quickly, saying: ‘Of course, Mr Ryder. It’s this way.’
I followed him to the front of the room and round the service counter. There he unlatched a small door and indicated for me to go through. As I was doing so I took a last glance back and saw the pudgy-faced man up on a table top, waving Christoff’s blue folder in the air. There were now hoots of laughter amidst the angry shouts, while Dr Lubanski’s voice could be heard appealing with some emotion: ‘No, Henri’s had enough! Please, please! That’s enough!’
I came through into a spacious kitchen tiled entirely in white. There was a strong smell of vinegar and I caught a glimpse of a large woman bent over a sizzling stove, but the bearded man had already crossed the floor and was opening another door in the far corner of the kitchen.
‘It’s this way, sir,’ he said, ushering me.
The door was peculiarly tall and narrow. Indeed, it was so narrow I saw I would only pass through it by turning myself sideways. Moreover, when I peered in, I could see only darkness; there was nothing to suggest I was looking into anything other than a broom cupboard. But the bearded man made his ushering motion again and said:
‘Please be careful of the steps, Mr Ryder.’
I then saw there were three steps – they appeared to be made from wooden boxes nailed one on top of the other – rising immediately from the threshold. I eased myself through the doorway and took each one with caution. As I reached the top step, I saw in front of me a small rectangle of light. Two paces forward brought me right up to it and I found myself looking through a glass panel into a room filled with sunlight. I saw tables and chairs, and then I recognised the room where I had earlier left Boris. There was the plump young waitress – I was viewing the room from behind her counter – and, over in the corner, Boris gazing into space with a disgruntled expression. He had finished his cheesecake and was absent-mindedly running his fork up and down the tablecloth. Apart from a young couple sitting near the windows, the interior of the café was otherwise empty.
I felt something pushing against my side and realised the bearded man had squeezed up behind me and was now crouched down in the dark, jangling a set of keys. The next moment the whole of the partition before me opened and I found myself stepping into the café.
The waitress turned to me and smiled. Then she called across to Boris: ‘Look who’s here!’
Boris turned to me and pulled a long face. ‘Where’ve you been?’ he said wearily. ‘You’ve been ages.’
‘I’m very sorry, Boris,’ I said. Then I asked the waitress: ‘Has he been behaving himself?’
‘Oh, he’s a complete charmer. He’s been telling me all about where you used to live. On that estate by the artificial lake.’
‘Ah yes,’ I said. ‘The artificial lake. Yes, we were just about to go there now.’
‘But you’ve been absolutely ages!’ Boris said. ‘Now we’ll be late!’
‘I’m very sorry, Boris. But don’t worry, we still have plenty of time. And the old apartment isn’t about to go away, is it? Still, you’re quite right, we ought to be setting off straight away. Now let me see.’ I turned back to the waitress who had started to say something to the bearded man. ‘Excuse me, but I wonder if you could tell us how we can most easily get to this artificial lake.’
‘The artificial lake?’ The waitress pointed out of the window. ‘That bus waiting outside. That will take you right there.’
I looked where she was pointing and saw beyond the parasols in the courtyard a bus parked in the busy street more or less directly in front of us.
‘It’s been waiting there a long time already,’ the waitress went on. ‘So you’d better jump on. I think it’s due to leave any moment.’
I thanked her and, motioning to Boris, led the way out of the building into the sunshine.
15
We boarded the bus just as the driver was starting his engine. As I bought the tickets from him, I saw the bus was very full and remarked worriedly:
‘I hope my boy and I will be able to sit together.’
‘Oh, don’t worry,’ the driver said. ‘They’re a good crowd. Just leave it to me.’
With that he turned and bellowed something over his shoulder. There had been an unusually merry hubbub in progress, but the whole bus went quiet. Then the next moment, all over the bus, passengers were getting up from their seats, pointing, waving and generally conferring about how we might be best accommodated. A large woman leaned into the central aisle and called: ‘Over here! You can sit here!’ But another voice from another part of the bus shouted: ‘If you’ve got a little boy, it’s better over here, he won’t get sick. I’ll move over next to Mr Hartmann.’ Then another conference seemed to commence concerning our options.
‘You see, they’re a good crowd,’ the driver said cheerfully. ‘Newcomers always get a special welcome. Well, if you’d make yourselves comfortable, I’ll start us on our way.’
Boris and I hurried down the bus to where two passengers were standing in the aisle pointing to our seat. I let Boris in nearest the window and sat down just as the bus began to pull away.
Almost immediately I felt a tap on my shoulder and someone in the seat behind was reaching over to offer a packet of sweets.
‘The little boy might like this,’ a man’s voice said.
‘Thank you,’ I said. Then more loudly to the whole bus, I said: ‘Thank you. Thank you, all of you. You’ve all been most civil.’
‘Look!’ Boris clutched excitedly at my arm. ‘We’re going out onto the north highway.’
Bef
ore I could respond, a middle-aged woman appeared beside me in the aisle. Grasping the head-rest of my seat to maintain her balance, she held out a piece of cake on a paper napkin.
‘A gentleman at the back had this left over,’ she said. ‘He wondered if the young man would like it.’
I accepted it gratefully, once more thanking the bus in general. Then, as the woman disappeared, I heard a voice a few seats away saying: ‘It’s good to see a father and son getting on so well. Here they are, going on a little day trip together. We don’t see this sort of thing nearly enough these days.’
I felt a powerful surge of pride at these words and glanced towards Boris. Perhaps he too had heard, for he gave me a smile that had more than a hint of the conspiratorial about it.
‘Boris,’ I said, handing him the cake, ‘isn’t this a marvellous bus? It was worth the wait, don’t you think?’
Boris smiled again, but he was now examining the cake and said nothing.
‘Boris,’ I went on, ‘I’ve been meaning to say to you. Because you might wonder sometimes. You see, Boris, I could never have wished for anything better …’ I laughed suddenly. ‘I’m sounding silly. What I mean is, I’m very happy. About you. Very happy we’re together.’ I gave another laugh. ‘Aren’t you enjoying this bus ride?’
Boris nodded, his mouth full of cake. ‘It’s good,’ he said.
‘I’m certainly enjoying it. And what kind people.’
At the back of the bus a few of the passengers began to sing. I felt very relaxed and sank deeper into my seat. Outside the day had grown overcast again. We were still in a built-up part of the town, but as I watched I saw two road signs go by, one after the other, marked: ‘North Highway’.
‘Excuse me,’ a man’s voice said somewhere behind us. ‘But I heard you saying to the driver you were going to the artificial lake. I hope it won’t be too chilly out there for you both. If you were just wanting somewhere nice to spend the afternoon, I’d recommend you get off a few stops earlier at the Maria Christina Gardens. There’s a boating pond there the young man might like.’
The speaker was sitting directly behind us. The backs of our seats were tall and I could not see the man clearly even though I craned round to do so. In any case I thanked him for his suggestion – it was clearly well meant – and started to explain the special nature of our visit to the artificial lake. I had not intended to go into detail, but once I had started I found there was something about the convivial atmosphere around us that compelled me to go on talking. In fact, I was rather pleased by the tone I happened to strike, perfectly poised between seriousness and jocularity. Moreover, I could tell from the sensitive murmurs coming from behind me that the man was listening carefully and sympathetically. In any case, before long, I found myself explaining about Number Nine and just why he was so special. I was just recounting how Boris had come to leave him behind in the box when the passenger interrupted with a polite cough.
‘Excuse me,’ he said, ‘but a trip of this kind is almost bound to cause a little worry. It’s perfectly natural. But really, if I may say so, I think you have every reason to be optimistic.’ He was presumably leaning right forward in his seat, for his voice, calm and soothing, was coming from a spot just behind where Boris’s shoulder was touching mine. ‘I feel sure you’ll find this Number Nine. Of course, you’re worried just now. So many things could have gone wrong, you’re thinking. That’s only natural. But from what you’ve just told me, I feel sure it’ll turn out well. Of course, when you first knock on the door, the new people might not know who you are and be a little suspicious. But then once you’ve explained they’re bound to welcome you in. If it’s the wife who’s answered the door, she’ll say: “Oh, at last! We’ve been wondering when you’d be coming round.” Yes, I’m sure she will. And she’ll turn and shout to her husband: “It’s the little boy who used to live here!” And then the husband will come out, he’ll be some kindly man, perhaps he’ll be in the middle of re-decorating the apartment. And he’ll say: “Well, at last. Come on in and have some tea.” And he’ll show you into the main room, while his wife slips into the kitchen to prepare the refreshments. And you’ll notice straight away how much the place has changed since you were there, and the husband will see this and at first he’ll be a little apologetic. But then, once you’ve made it quite clear you’re not at all resentful about their changing things, he’s sure to start showing you around the place, around the whole apartment, pointing out this change, that change, most of which he’s seen to with his own hands and about which he’s very proud. And then the wife will come into the living room with the tea and some little cakes she’s made, and you’ll all sit down and enjoy yourselves, eating and drinking, listening to this couple talking about how much they like the apartment and the estate. Of course, through all this, you’ll both be concerned about Number Nine and be waiting for the right moment to bring up the purpose of your visit. But I expect they’ll raise it first. I expect the wife will say, after you’ve been talking and drinking tea for a good while, she’ll say: “And was there something you came back for? Something you left behind?” And that’s when you could mention this Number Nine and the box. And then she’s bound to say: “Oh yes, we kept that box in a special place. We could see it was something important.” And even as she’s saying this, she’ll give her husband a little signal. Perhaps not even a signal, husbands and wives become almost telepathic when they’ve lived happily together for as many years as this couple have done. Of course, that’s not to say they don’t quarrel. Oh no, they may even have quarrelled quite often, perhaps even gone through patches over the years when they seriously fell out. But you’ll see when you meet them, a couple like this, you’ll see these things sort themselves out in the end and that they’re essentially very happy together. Well, the husband, he’ll go and fetch the box from some place where they keep important things, he’ll bring it in, perhaps it’ll be wrapped up in tissue paper. And of course, you’ll open it straight away and this Number Nine, he’ll be there inside, just the way you left him, still waiting to be glued to his base. So then you can close the box and the nice people will offer you some more tea. Then after a while you’ll say you’ll have to be going, you don’t wish to impose on them too much. But the wife will insist you have more of her cake. And the husband will want to show you both around the apartment one last time to admire all his re-decorating. Then finally they’ll wave you off from the doorstep, saying to be sure to call whenever you’re passing by again. Of course, it may not happen precisely like this, but from what you’ve told me, I feel sure, by and large, that’s how things will turn out. So there’s no need to worry, no need at all …’
The man’s voice in my ear, together with the gentle swaying of the bus as it proceeded along the highway, was producing an enormously relaxing effect. I had already closed my eyes soon after the man had started to speak, and now around this point, sinking further into my seat, I dozed off contentedly.
I became aware that Boris was shaking my shoulder. ‘We’ve got to get off now,’ he was saying.
Becoming fully awake, I realised the bus had come to a halt and that we were the only remaining passengers. At the front the driver had risen to his feet and was patiently waiting for us to disembark. As we made our way down the aisle, the driver said:
‘Do take care. It’s very chilly out there. That lake, in my opinion, should be filled. It’s nothing but a nuisance and every year several people drown in it. Admittedly some of these are suicides, and I suppose if the lake weren’t there, they might choose some other more unpleasant method. But in my view the lake should be filled.’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Obviously the lake provokes controversy. I’m an outsider myself so I tend to keep out of these arguments.’
‘Very wise, sir. Well, do enjoy your day.’ Then, saluting Boris, he said: ‘Enjoy yourself, young man.’
Boris and I stepped down off the bus and as it drove away looked around at our surroundings. We were standing o
n the outer rim of a vast concrete basin. Some distance away, at the centre of the basin, was the artificial lake, its kidney shape making it resemble some gigantic version of the kind of vulgar swimming pool Hollywood stars were once reputed to own. I could not help admiring the way the lake – indeed the whole estate – proudly announced its artificiality. There was no trace of grass anywhere. Even the thin trees dotted around the concrete slopes had all been encased in steel pots and cut precisely into the paving. Looking down on the whole scene, completely encircling us, were the countless identical windows of the high-rise housing blocks. I noticed there was a subtle curve to the front of each block, making possible the seamless circular effect reminiscent of a sports stadium. But for all the apartments now surrounding us – at least four hundred, I guessed – there were hardly any people to be seen. I could make out a few figures walking briskly on the other side of the lake – a man with a dog, a woman with a pram – but there was clearly something about the atmosphere that kept people indoors. Certainly, as the bus driver had warned, the climate was not conducive. Even as Boris and I stood there a bitter wind came blowing across the water.
‘Well, Boris,’ I said, ‘we’d better get a move on.’
The little boy seemed to have lost all his enthusiasm. He was staring emptily at the lake and did not move. I turned towards the block behind us, making an effort to put a spring into my step, but then remembered I did not know where in all this vastness our particular apartment was situated.
‘Boris, why don’t you lead the way? Come on, what’s the matter?’
Boris sighed then began to walk. I followed him up several flights of concrete stairs. Once, as we were turning the corner to climb the next flight, he let out a shriek and stiffened into a martial arts posture. I was startled, but saw immediately there was no assailant other than in the boy’s imagination. I said simply:
‘Very good, Boris.’
Thereafter, he repeated the shriek and the pose before turning up each new flight of stairs. Then to my relief – I was growing short of breath – Boris led us off the stairs and along a walkway. From this higher vantage point, the kidney shape of the lake was all the more evident. The sky was a dull white and although the walkway was covered – there must have been two or three more running directly above – there was scant shelter and gusts of wind blew at us with savage force. On our left-hand side were the apartments, a series of short concrete stairways linking the walkway to the main building like little bridges across a moat. Some of the stairways led up to apartment doors while others led down. As we walked on, I found myself studying each of these doors, but when after a few minutes none of them had stirred even the faintest memory I gave up and glanced out at the view over the lake.