‘Mr Hoffman,’ I said, ‘if you have something urgent to attend to, I’m quite happy to make my way on foot.’
‘Really? You’d forgive me?’
The traffic moved forward a few more inches then came to a standstill again.
‘In fact, I’d welcome the walk,’ I said. ‘It looks a pleasant evening. And as you say, it’s only a short distance on foot.’
‘This infernal one-way system! We might sit in this car for another hour! Mr Ryder, I’d be enormously grateful if you’d forgive me. But you see, there’s something I must … I must see to …’
‘Yes, yes, of course. I’ll get out here. You’ve been most kind as it is, driving me about like this at such a busy time. I’m most grateful.’
‘You’ll be approaching the concert hall from the rear. It’s a case of just proceeding on towards that roof. You can’t miss it if you keep the roof in view.’
‘Please don’t worry. I’ll have no trouble.’ Cutting short his apologies, I thanked him again and stepped out onto the pavement.
I soon found myself wandering down a narrow street past a row of specialist bookshops, then past some pleasant-looking tourist hotels. It was not at all difficult to keep the domed roof in view and for a little while I felt thankful for the chance to walk in the fresh air.
By the time I had gone two or three blocks, however, a number of troubling thoughts had entered my head which I found I could not dislodge. For one thing, I could see there was more than a chance the question-and-answer session would fail to go smoothly. Indeed, if the intensity of emotions displayed at the cemetery was anything to go by, the possibility of ugly scenes could not be ruled out. Moreover, if the question-and-answer session went badly enough, it was conceivable that my parents, witnessing the scene with mounting horror and embarrassment, would demand to be taken out of the auditorium. In other words, they would leave before I had had the chance to get to the piano, and then it would be anyone’s guess when they would ever again come to hear me perform. Even worse, if things went very badly indeed, it was not impossible one or the other of them would suffer a seizure. I felt as confident as ever that my mother and my father would be united in astonishment within seconds of my starting to play, but meanwhile the question-and-answer session stood massively in my way.
I realised I had become so preoccupied I had allowed the domed roof to disappear behind some buildings. I thought little of this at first, assuming it would come back into view soon enough. But then, as I walked on, the street grew even narrower, while the buildings around me seemed all to be six or seven storeys high, so that I could hardly see any sky, let alone the domed roof. I decided to look for a parallel street, but then, once I had taken the next turning, I found myself wandering from one tiny side-street to the next, quite possibly going in circles, the concert hall not visible anywhere.
After several minutes of this, a sense of panic began to engulf me and I thought about stopping someone to ask directions. But then it occurred to me this would be unwise. All the time I had been walking, people had been turning – sometimes even stopping dead on the pavement – to look at me. I had been vaguely aware of this, though in my concern to find my way I had not given it much thought. But I now saw that, with the evening’s event so close, and with so much hanging in the balance, it would not do for me to be seen wandering the streets, obviously lost and uncertain. With an effort, I straightened my posture and adopted the demeanour of someone who, with all his affairs well in hand, was taking a relaxing stroll around the town. I forced myself to slow my pace and smiled pleasantly at anyone who stared my way. Finally I turned another corner and spotted the concert hall before me, closer than ever. The street I now entered was broader, with brightly lit cafés and shops on either side. The domed roof was no more than a block or two away, just beyond where the street curved out of view.
I felt not only relief, but also suddenly much better about the whole evening ahead. The feeling I had had earlier – that many things would fall into place once I reached the venue and was able to stand on the stage – came back to me and I proceeded down the street with something approaching enthusiasm.
But then, as I came round the bend, an odd sight greeted me. A little way ahead was a brick wall running across my path – in fact, across the entire breadth of the street. My first thought was that a railway line ran behind the wall, but then I noticed how the higher storeys of the buildings on either side of the street continued unbroken above the wall and on into the distance. While the wall aroused my curiosity, I did not immediately see it as a problem, assuming that once I got up to it I would find an arch or subway leading me through to the other side. The domed roof, in any case, was now very near, lit up by spotlights against the darkening sky.
It was only when I was virtually right up to the wall, it dawned on me there was no way to get past. The pavements on both sides of the street simply came to a dead stop at the brickwork. I looked around in bewilderment, then walked the length of the wall to the opposite pavement, unable quite to accept there was not somewhere a doorway, or even a small hole through which to crawl. I found nothing, and eventually, after standing helplessly before the wall for a time, I waved to a passer-by – a middle-aged woman emerging from a nearby gift shop – saying:
‘Excuse me, I wish to get to the concert hall. How can I get past this wall?’
The woman seemed surprised by my question. ‘Oh no,’ she said. ‘You can’t get past the wall. Of course you can’t. It completely seals the street.’
‘But this is extremely annoying,’ I said. ‘I have to get to the concert hall.’
‘I suppose it is annoying,’ the woman said as though she had never before considered the matter. ‘When I saw you staring at it just now, sir, I just assumed you were a tourist. The wall’s quite a tourist attraction, as you can see.’
She pointed to a spinner of postcards in front of the gift shop. Sure enough, in the light from the doorway, I could see postcard after postcard proudly featuring the wall.
‘But what on earth’s the point in having a wall in a place like this?’ I asked, my voice rising despite myself. ‘It really is monstrous. What purpose can it possibly serve?’
‘I do sympathise. To an outsider, particularly to one trying to get somewhere in a hurry, it must be an annoyance. I suppose it’s what you’d call a folly. It was built by some eccentric person at the end of the last century. Of course it’s rather odd, but it’s been famous ever since. In the summer, this whole area where we’re standing now, it gets completely full of tourists. Americans, Japanese, all taking photographs of it.’
‘This is nonsensical,’ I said furiously. ‘Please tell me the quickest way to reach the concert hall.’
‘The concert hall, sir? Well, it’s quite a long way if you’re thinking of going on foot. Of course, we’re very near it just now’ – she glanced up at the roof – ‘but in practical terms, that doesn’t mean very much because of the wall.’
‘This is quite ridiculous!’ I had lost all patience. ‘I’ll find my own way. You’re obviously quite unable to appreciate that a person might be very busy, working on a tight schedule, and simply can’t afford to dawdle about the town for hours. In fact, if I may say so, this wall is quite typical of this town. Utterly preposterous obstacles everywhere. And what do you do? Do you all get annoyed? Do you demand it’s pulled down immediately so that people can go about their business? No, you put up with it for the best part of a century. You make postcards of it and believe it’s charming. This brick wall charming? What a monstrosity! I may well use this wall as a symbol, I’ve a good mind to, in my speech tonight! It’s just as well for you I’ve already composed much of what I’m going to say in my head and so am naturally reluctant to change things too much at this late stage. Good evening!’
I left the woman and began rapidly to retrace my steps back up the street, determined not to let such an absurd setback destroy my renewed sense of confidence. But then as I continued to walk, consci
ous all the time of the concert hall getting further and further away, I could feel my earlier despondency returning to me. The street seemed much longer than I remembered it, and then when I finally reached the end I found myself getting lost again in the network of narrow little alleys.
After several further minutes of useless wandering, I suddenly felt unable to go on and halted. Noticing I had stopped beside a pavement café, I collapsed into a chair at the nearest table and immediately felt what remained of my energy draining away. I was vaguely conscious that around me the darkness was falling, that an electric light was shining somewhere behind my head, that this same light was in all likelihood illuminating me to passers-by and fellow customers, but somehow I still could not find the urge to straighten my posture or even nominally to disguise my dejection. In time, a waiter appeared. I ordered a coffee from him, then went on staring down at the shadow cast by my head over the metallic surface of the table. All the possibilities that had disturbed me earlier concerning the evening ahead now began to crowd all at once into my mind. Above all, the depressing idea kept returning to me that my decision to be photographed before the Sattler monument had irrevocably damaged my authority in this town; that it had left me with a daunting amount of ground to make up and that anything less than an utterly commanding performance during the question-and-answer session would result in catastrophic consequences all round. In fact, for a moment, I felt so overwhelmed by these thoughts I was on the brink of tears. But then I became aware of a hand on my back and someone repeating gently above me: ‘Mr Ryder. Mr Ryder.’
I assumed it was the waiter returned with my coffee and gestured for him to place it before me. But the voice continued to call my name, and looking up I found Gustav regarding me with a concerned expression.
‘Oh, hello,’ I said.
‘Good evening, sir. How are you? I thought it was you, but I wasn’t sure so I came over. Are you all right, sir? We’re all over there, all the boys, won’t you come and join us? The boys would be so thrilled.’
I looked around me and saw I was sitting on the edge of a square. Although there was a single street lamp at its centre, the square was largely in darkness, so that the figures of the people moving across it appeared to be little more than shadows. Gustav was indicating to the opposite side where I could see another café, somewhat larger than the one I was now patronising, its open doorway and windows throwing out a warm light. Even at this distance, I could make out a lot of lively activity inside, and strains of fiddle music and laughter came drifting out to us through the evening. Only then did it dawn on me I was in fact sitting in the Old Town by the main square, looking over to the Hungarian Café. As I continued to glance about me, I could hear Gustav saying:
‘The boys, sir, they’ve been making me tell them over and over again. About, you know, sir, what you said, about how you agreed. I’d already told them five, six times, but they wanted it all again. They’d barely stopped laughing and slapping each other about from the last time, but there they were again, saying: “Come on, Gustav, we know you haven’t told us everything yet. What exactly did Mr Ryder say?” “I’ve told you,” I was saying to them. “I’ve told you. You know perfectly well.” But they wanted to hear it all again and I dare say they’ll want to hear it all several times more before the evening’s out. Of course, sir, although I adopt this weary tone each time they ask, naturally, that’s just for effect. In truth, of course, I’m every bit as thrilled as any of them and could happily repeat our conversation from this morning over and over. It’s so good to see them wearing such expressions again. Your promise, sir, it’s brought new hope, a new youth to their faces. Even Igor was smiling, laughing at some of the jokes! I can’t remember when I last saw them like this. Oh yes, sir, I’d be very happy to go over it many more times yet. Whenever I get to that moment, when you said: “Very well, I’d be happy to say something on your behalf,” whenever I get to that part, you should see them, sir! Cheering and laughing, slapping each other about, it’s been so long since I’ve seen them like this. So there we were, sir, drinking our beers and talking about your great generosity, talking about how after all these years portering would change for ever after tonight, yes, while we were in the midst of saying all this I happened to look out and I saw you, sir. The proprietor, as you can see, he’s left the door open. It gives the place a much better atmosphere, to be able to see right across the square as the night’s coming in. Well, there I was looking across the square and I was thinking to myself: “I wonder who that poor soul is sitting by himself over there.” But my eyes aren’t so good, you see, and I wasn’t aware it was actually you, sir. Then Karl, he said to me in a sort of whisper, he must have sensed it wouldn’t be a good idea to say it out loud, he said to me: “I’m probably wrong, but isn’t that Mr Ryder himself? Over there?” And then I looked again and thought, yes, that’s possible. What on earth could he be doing out there in the cold and looking so sad? I’ll go and see if it really is him. Let me say, sir, Karl was very discreet. None of the others heard what he said, so aside from him, they won’t know why I’ve slipped out, though I dare say some of them might now be looking this way wondering what I’m up to. But really, sir, are you all right? You look like you’ve something on your mind.’
‘Oh …’ I gave a sigh and wiped my face. ‘It’s nothing. It’s just that all this travelling, all this responsibility. Now and again it just gets …’ I trailed off with a small laugh.
‘But why sit out here like this by yourself, sir? It’s a chilly evening, and in only your jacket. And this after my saying to you how welcome you’d be to join us whenever you wished at the Hungarian Café. Did you think you’d be welcomed with anything less than huge enthusiasm if you’d come over to us? Sitting out here on your own! Really, sir! Please come and join us without further delay. Then you can relax and enjoy yourself for a little while. Put all your worries out of your head. The boys will be overjoyed. Please.’
On the other side of the square, the glowing light in the doorway, the music, the laughter all certainly seemed inviting. I rose to my feet and wiped my face once more.
‘That’s it, sir. You’ll feel better in no time.’
‘Thank you. Thank you. Really, thank you.’ I made an effort to control my emotions. ‘I’m very grateful to you. Really. I just hope I won’t be intruding.’
Gustav laughed. ‘You’ll see soon enough if you’re intruding or not, sir.’
As we set off across the square, it occurred to me I had better prepare to present myself to the porters, who undoubtedly would be overwhelmed with gratitude and excitement at my appearance. I felt more in control with each step I took and was about to make some pleasant remark to Gustav when he suddenly stopped walking. He had kept his hand gently on my back as we had set off across the square and I felt his fingers, just for a second, clutch at the material of my jacket. I turned and saw in the shadowy light Gustav standing quite still, looking down towards the ground, a hand raised to his brow as though he had suddenly remembered something of importance. Then, before I could say anything, he was shaking his head and smiling self-consciously.
‘Excuse me, sir. I just … just …’ He gave a small laugh and began to walk again.
‘Is everything all right?’
‘Oh yes, yes. You know, sir, the boys are going to be so thrilled when you walk in through that door.’
He moved a step or two ahead of me and led the way determinedly across the remainder of the square.
27
Only when I entered the café and felt the warmth of the log fire at the far end of the room did I realise how chilly the evening had become. The interior of the café had been re-arranged since the previous time I had stepped inside it. Most of the tables had been pushed back against the walls, so as to allow a large circular table to dominate the centre of the floor. Around this were a dozen or so men, drinking beers and carrying on boisterously. They looked somewhat younger than Gustav, though almost all were in late middle-age. A littl
e way away from them, over near the café counter, two thin men in gypsy dress were playing a brisk waltz on their fiddles. There were other customers present, but they all seemed content to sit in the background, often in the shadowy recesses of the room, as though conscious of being present at someone else’s event.
As Gustav and I came in, the porters all turned and stared, not certain whether to believe their eyes. Then Gustav said: ‘Yes, boys, it really is him. He’s come in person to wish us well.’
A complete hush fell over the café while everyone – the porters, the waiters, the musicians, the other customers – stared at me. Then the room broke into warm applause. For some reason this reception took me by surprise and almost brought the tears back to my eyes. I smiled, saying: ‘Thank you, thank you,’ while the applause continued so intensely I could barely hear myself. The porters had all risen to their feet and even the gypsy musicians had tucked their fiddles under their arms to join in the applause. Gustav ushered me towards the central table and as I sat down the applause finally subsided. The musicians resumed their playing and I found myself surrounded by a ring of excited faces. Gustav, who had seated himself next to me, began to say:
‘Boys, Mr Ryder has been good enough to …’
Before he could finish, a stout porter with a red nose leaned over to me and raised his beer glass. ‘Mr Ryder, you’ve saved us,’ he declared. ‘Now our story will be different. My grandchildren, they’ll remember me differently. This is a great night for us.’
I was still smiling back at him when I felt a hand grasp my arm and found a gaunt, nervous-looking face staring into mine.
‘Please, Mr Ryder,’ the man said. ‘Please, you’ll really do it, won’t you? You won’t when the time comes, with all the other very important things on your mind, in front of all these people, you won’t change your mind and …’
‘Don’t be so insolent,’ someone else said and the nervous man vanished as though someone had pulled him back. Then I could hear a voice saying behind me: ‘Of course he won’t change his mind. Who do you think you’re talking to?’