shopping area in the 0sterbro, and we stopped at length outside
a shop where overcoats, macintoshes and even gumboots
were hung up on rails inside the window. White paint
on the glass announced 'Kampenedscettelse! 35% off everything!'
'Don't you laugh,' she said, smiling at me a little nervously;
or so it seemed.
'I'm not laughing, Kathe.'
'It's a very good shop!'
'I'm sure it is.'
'I've bought a lot of nice things here.'
'Including the shoes that broke?' I realized that it was my
89
disappointment speaking - scratching - and before she could
reply went on quickly, 'I'm sorry! They're very nice shoes;
I was just cross with them for letting you down, that's all.'
'Well, I shall complain about them in the shop -'
'I don't think you'll be able to, Kathe. There's something
we hadn't noticed. Look, they're closed.'
Indeed, it was now plain that they were. For a moment
Kathe seemed at a loss. Then she said gaily,
'Well, I shall just have to become a - what is it? - hippy,
ja, and walk home in my bare feet.' And she opened the
door of the car.
I leaned across and shut it again. Our bodies touched as I
did so.
'No, Kathe, you can't do that. Apart from anything else,
you've got a nasty cut on the sole of your foot, with only a
thin dressing on it, and the pavements are dirty. Now please
don't argue. I'm going to take you to Ilium and buy you some
shoes.'
She hesitated for a moment; then gave in.
'That will be absolutely lovely. Thank you, Alan. Oh, how
kind of you!'
Once we got to Ilium she fairly let herself go. She must
have tried on two dozen pairs, obviously delighting in the
elegance of her feet in a positive welter of kids and glossy
patents, slim pumps and arching sandals all straps; walking
towards the floor-level glass and back in each pair and
spending nearly half an hour over her choice. Her soiled
stockings and the dressing on her foot seemed to cause her
no embarrassment whatever. To the girl who served us she
did not even mention, much less excuse them. Finally she
chose a pair of high-heeled, navy-blue sandals (for which
I paid four hundred kroner on my credit card), and wore
them out of the shop.
I had learnt better than to try to change her mind. I
walked with her to the nearest 'but stop, where we waited together
for about ten minutes.
Kathe, for her part, seemed genuinely sorry we were parting,
but nevertheless chattered about trivial things with a
90
self-possession which, as I was beginning to realize, seldom
or never failed her.
I could think of nothing cheerful to talk about, and felt
surprised at the depth of my own depression. As the 'bus
finally approached, I said I hoped we'd meet next time I came
to K0benhavn, thanked her again for the letters and turned
away almost sulkily as she climbed through the door. I collected
myself enough to turn and wave and then, not waiting
until the 'bus started, strode quickly off towards the car
park.
I had told Jarl and Jytte that I would-be out for the evening,
and felt reluctant to go back to the flat in Gammel Kongevej
and say that now I would not. I wasn't, I'm afraid,
thinking of any inconvenience I might cause to them, but
merely of my own low spirits and frustrated hopes. In the
end I ate a meal in a cafe and spent the evening at some
film or other that I didn't want to see. I can't even remember
what it was.
It was while I was lying in the bath the following morning Sunday
- that I decided I wasn't going to leave K0benhavn
next day. When I was going to leave I wasn't sure. A day
or two later, anyway. It would be expensive, for Jarl and
Jytte were off to Milan on a business trip on the Monday their
plane was due to leave Kastrup an hour before the one
on which I was booked - which meant that I would have to
turn out of the flat and go to a hotel. The rate of exchange
in Denmark is heavily against English currency, and even two
nights at any reasonable hotel was going to set me back
enough to hurt.
I also knew that I was not going to say anything to Jarl
and Jytte about my change of plan. I was not clear why, for
they were close friends and Denmark is the last country
where anyone is likely to be made to feel embarrassed over
being attracted, whether lightly or seriously, by a girl. Partly,
my decision to stay was so mysterious to myself that I felt
it had to be concealed from others as well. But also, I was a
little like a child playing a fantasy game impossible of ex91
planation to anyone else, child or adult. If the child tries to
explain, his hearers, of course, will listen, but cannot possibly
understand the game as it really is - that is, as it is to him.
They will see either too much or too little. All I knew I
wanted was for Fraulein Kathe Geutner to spend a little
more time in my company; just, I told myself, as I might have
wanted, before going home, to have another look at the
oriental ceramics in the Davids Samling.
During the day, one or two references happened to be made
in conversation to my forthcoming departure and return to
England. I refrained from correcting them, and felt this as
yet a further step in the deception of friends I had no reason
to deceive. And suppose they were to learn later, as they
well might, that I had stayed on without telling them? They
would be bound to think it odd - unsavoury as well, perhaps
- and might not be terribly pleased, even though it was entirely
my own affair.
The following morning I packed my suitcase, drove with
Jarl and Jytte to Kastrup and saw them off on their flight
to Milan. Then I postponed my own flight indefinitely, returned
to K0benhavn and took a room at the Plaza Hotel on
Bernstorffsgade. I telephoned my mother, told her that as
things had turned out I would be staying another day or
two and hoped she would be able to cope with the shop.
I was worse off than Honegger, I thought, for I did not
even half-understand the material from which I was creating:
I did not even know what I was trying to create.
'Is that Kathe?'
'Oh - Alan? You're not yet gone back to England?' At
least she didn't sound displeased.
'No. I - well, I find I've still got one or two things to see
to here - sort of tidying up some bits of business, you know.
How's your foot?'
'My foot? Ach, I had quite forgotten it. It's fine.'
'Good. Kathe, can we meet this evening? You're not doing
anything else, are you?'
92
'I'm very sorry, Alan, I can't this evening. Oh - it would
be nice, but I can't.'
'Are you really sure? Not just for a drink, perhaps?'
'No, not this evening, Alan. I'm so sorry. Please don't
press me.'
'No, I see.' (Going out with someone else, of course.)
' 'Sorry if I sounded insistent - I didn't mean to. Would tomorrow
evening be any good?'
A pause.
'Hullo? Kathe?'
'Yes, I'm here, Alan. Lass mich nachdenken. Yes. Yes, I
think perhaps I might be able to manage tomorrow. Can I
telephone you later?'
'Yes, at Hotel Plaza.'
'Well, then, I'll ring you between eight and nine to-night.
But I shall have to go now. It's very busy here.'
Til be waiting. You'll hear me snatch up the phone before
it's rung twice.'
'Alan?'
'Yes?'
'Don't be too worried. I think I will manage to come. Auf
Wiedersehen.'
THIRTY-THREE hours to get through - thirty-three hours
which one would like to tie in a parcel and drop in the Kattegat.
Why couldn't I hang myself up in a cupboard, like a
butterfly in winter? Without company and without my new
mentor I had no aptitude for frivolity. I certainly didn't want
to spend the best part of two days in seeing films or walking
round shops which had no interest for me. Worse, I next
realized that I felt no inclination even for more serious ways
of passing time, with which I had purposely equipped myself
before leaving England. I had brought Malory's Morte
d'Arthur - an old favourite - meaning to re-read it - or part
93
of it - during the flight: but now the troubles of Balin or Sir
Gawaine no longer attracted me. I had also packed my newly
acquired copy of F. Severne MacKenna's Chelsea Porcelain:
The Triangle and Raised Anchor Wares. Now I found I did
not want to read that either, but as I dismissed the idea a
more attractive notion came to mind. I would drive down to
Sor0, look at the twelfth-century church - which I had never
seen - pay my respects to Holberg's tomb and perhaps walk
in the park by the lake. I could be there in time for lunch
and stay as long as I liked, since I had nothing at all to get
back for.
This little project certainly got me through the day;
though not altogether as I had envisaged, namely, by taking
my mind off my tedium and frustration. Sitting in the sun
in a solitary spot beside the wooded lake, I fell to trying to
straighten out my thoughts. Was I in love? How could I be
seriously in love with a total stranger of whom I knew nothing
- whom I had met less than a week ago? But supposing
for the sake of argument that I was, it followed that to continue
to see her could prove nothing but foolishness and selftorment.
This girl could fairly be described as a raving
beauty. Even if Mr Hansen couldn't see it, there was no lack
of other people who could. She was going out with someone
else tonight: that had stuck out a mile. It was not too much
to say that she could probably have pretty well anyone she
wanted. Clearly, she was not going to want me. To begin
with, I was physically unattractive and anyway had always
been a non-starter sexually. Though not poor, I was certainly
not rich or ever likely to be, and in spite of the Dom Perignon
she must be able to tell this. And I was a foreigner. But
on top of all that, no dispassionate observer - a computer,
for instance - would think us particularly compatible. She
had as good as said this herself - 'You' (as opposed to me,
understood) 'are a man who always has some object in his
mind.' I had happened upon a splendid butterfly and chased
it across a meadow full of flowers. But what was the point?
I was no entomologist. Why stay here hurting myself (and
incidentally, wasting time and money) until the moment
when she would tell me, kindly but firmly (and as I knew,
94
she could be firm), that she couldn't really see any sense in
our continuing to meet? How much more realistic and prudent,
after to-morrow evening, to go home.
I got to my feet and began walking restlessly up and down,
kicking the trunks of the trees and throwing sticks into the
water for no dog to retrieve.
I left Sor0 about five, but the drive back was bedevilled
with more traffic than I had expected. Anyway, I have never
found it easy to drive on the right-hand side of the road. You
have to be thinking about your reactions all the time. I
missed my exit from the motorway and had to drive on some
distance and come into the city by a less direct route, so
that it was twenty past six when I found myself in Kronprinsessegade,
driving down the edge of Kongens Have.
It was a fine evening and the gardens were full of children
playing and people strolling between the flowerbeds. My eye
was caught by a great lime tree, its new, pale-green leaves
not yet fully unfolded, so that one could see, between the
branches, open grass stretching away towards a distant herbaceous
border. I had time for only a quick glance before
attending once more to the road, but just before turning
my head I glimpsed, between the leaves, a bench on which
two girls were sitting. One of them was Kathe.
I slowed down and looked along the kerb for somewhere
to park. No luck. Indeed, parking was plainly out of the
question. As I grasped this it was confirmed by the driver
behind me, who began hooting. Danes, by and large, are
more courteous and patient than British drivers, but I could
see his point. I wasn't in the near-side lane and there was a
lot of traffic about. All in all, I could forget it. I drove on
down the flank of the gardens, looking for a side-street.
It was over fifteen minutes before I was able to get back to
Kongens Have on foot and make my way to the lime tree.
The bench was empty. Three or four children ran past on
their way out, laughing and calling to one another as they
went. Looking about me in the gathering dusk I saw, near
the far end of the lawn, two women walking away towards
the herbaceous border. As I stood peering, trying to make
out whether or not one of them might be Kathe, they turned
95
the corner of a hedge and disappeared. I ran after them, but
when I, too, turned the corner I found no one in the short
length of the green path beyond.
There was an attendant not far off. I ran up to him and
asked, 'Did you see two ladies come by a minute or two
ago?' He smiled, spreading his hands. 'Many ladies!' It reminded
me of the episode in Jean Cocteau's Orphee, when
the hero searches the streets and market in vain for his
mysterious girl-visitant, who keeps inexplicably disappearing
round corners. I gave it up and walked back to the car. At
least there was no ticket for forty minutes' illegal parking.
'Alan?'
'Oh, Kathe! Have you had a nice day?'
'You have a magic spell to make Monday a nice day?'
'Yes, I have. I'll come and give it to you, if you like.'
'Oh, that would be nice, but I'm afraid not possible.
Actually I tried to 'phone you e
arlier today, but you were
out.'
'I wish I'd known. I went to Sor0.'
'To Sor0? How nice!'
'It would have been nicer still if you'd been there.'
'You're lucky. All I had was the old office. Alan, listen. I
can come tomorrow evening. There is a concert at Tivoli
Gardens. Fou T'song is playing and Haitink is conducting.
Would that be nice?'
'Marvellous! D'you think I'll still be able to get tickets?'
'I think through your hotel. They are sure to have someone
whose job it is to get tickets for foreign visitors. Perhaps
you might wear a camera and talk American.'
'I may even be able to manage without going to extreme
lengths like that.'
'Then, look - I'll meet you in the foyer at ten minutes before
the start, which I think is eight o'clock -'
'No meal first?'
'Nein. But afterwards there may be a little while. Alan, I
must be quick. The time will run out and I haven't any more
coins.'
96
'Oh, you're in a call-box?'
'Yes, of course. If you can't get the tickets, 'phone me at
the office and we'll arrange something else. If you don't
'phone I'll meet you as I've said.'
'Kathe, I saw you earlier to-day.'
'You saw me? Where?'
'This evening, in Kongens Have, under a linden tree. I
was driving back from Sor0. I stopped and came to look for
you, but it took me so long to find anywhere to park that I
missed you. I was awfully disappointed.'
'Oh!' A moment's pause. 'Then I suppose you must also
have seen-' Beep beep beep beep beep ... As it stopped,
Kathe said, 'Morgen abend,' and the line went dead.
She arrived just in time for us to take our seats before the
concert began. Indeed, we and the first violin entered almost
simultaneously. Having reached her seat she stood, with an
air of having all the time in the world, looking round the
packed auditorium for the best part of half a minute. When
she had joined me outside she had evidently been hurrying
and had seemed, I thought, a shade tense. Now she visibly
relaxed, seeming to absorb the spaciousness and eager, expectant
atmosphere as a garden receives rain. Turning to me
with a smile, as though overjoyed to find everything just as
delightful as she had expected, she said, 'Oh, Alan, how
lovely! Thank you so much!' and squeezed my hand.
I helped her off with her coat just as Mr Haitink was making
his applauded way to the rostrum. She opened and
arranged it carefully, so that it covered the back and seat of
her stall, and then settled into it with a little sigh of pleasure,
laying on her lap the same small black bag which she had
carried at the 'Golden Pheasant'. I handed her a programme,
but this she placed under her bag without a glance. As the
applause died away she whispered 'And so to heaven!'
It seemed trite - the first false note she had struck. In less
than two minutes I realized that it was not.
Haitink was opening with The Hebrides Overture, and as
the deep surge began in the 'cellos and 'basses I felt at once
97
that singular happiness imparted by the knowledge that one
is listening in company with someone to whom music is like
the communion of the saints - wisdom, safety and delight. I
have often wondered how this communicates itself without
speech or movement, but that it does is beyond question.
Kathe, firmly present, was still as meadow-sweet beside a
stream, with a soft, easy tranquillity, delicate yet upstanding,
at home in natural surroundings and drinking in the
flow around her. There was no frivolity now.
As the applause broke out at the end she clapped for a
few moments, then inclined her head towards mine and said,
'Isn't it beautiful; and - was ist das - well, exact, too? You
would think you could swim in it!'
'Now that really would be cold, even though Fingal's Cave
isn't as far north as we are now.'
'How far north is it?'
'About as far as Danzig, or anywhere along that coast.'
'Well, haven't you got blood in your veins?'
Mr Fou T'song, making his appearance, saved me from
having to answer this.
The concerto was the Mozart C minor, and as the tutti
opened with the noble, tragic first subject I realized that this
had become one of those rare concerts appointed to endure
in memory; a glimpse, vouchsafed for an hour or two, of a
better world. The performers - even the composer - can
achieve only so much. The rest is not even up to ourselves,
The Girl in a Swing Page 11