The Concert

by Ismail Kadare

  “No,” answered the other at last. “Perhaps what I’ve said already was stupid.” He lowered his voice and leaned closer to Simon, as if he’d have liked the others not to hear. “They had some manoeuvres in our area not long ago, and there were some rumours about …I can’t tell you exactly what was said, but I did hear something about some of the soldiers rebelling against that minister of yours…Of course there may not have been anything in it…”

  “No, they must have been just rumours. What else?” said Simon. “I’m surprised you listened to them. You know it’s not right to spread gossip…”

  “Gossip? What gossip?” interrupted Simon’s wife.

  “Nothing,” he answered. “Just foolishness.”

  This was the second time he’d heard hints about the minister, but he went on looking reprovingly at his brother as if to say, “Other people may take an interest in such things, but what possesses you to poke your nose in - haven’t you got troubles enough already with this business of postings?”

  A week earlier in the cafeteria, when Simon had overheard two people talking about the person he thought of as “his” minister, he’d nearly passed out. At first he hadn’t realized who they were referring to. He’d just caught the words, “It doesn’t matter if you’re a minister or not, if you do a thing like that you’ve had it.” But as he was standing beside the speakers in the coffee queue, he couldn’t help hearing more, though he wasn’t in the habit of eavesdropping. The other two kept on about the misdeed in question, expressing surprise that anyone in such a position as a minister could have been guilty of it. Simon concluded that at the worst the speakers own minister must have committed some impropriety. But as the queue moved slowly forward and he heard the words “manoeuvres” and “order” mentioned, he realized with horror that they were talking not about their own minister but about “his”…

  Although he tried later to reassure himself with the thought that, if there was any criticism in the press or in the government about a minister, rumours of this kind might easily get spread around, a niggling doubt still remained. And this had something to do with the somewhat odd behaviour of the vice-minister who had taken him to dinner with the distinguished personage in question, and who, the first time they met again afterwards, had not only pretended to have forgotten that memorable evening, but had also given Simon the impression that he wished to avoid any reference to it or to the minister himself. At first Simon had interpreted this as the kind of affectation practised by those who try to minimize things that are important in order to show that they themselves are above them. But after overhearing the. conversation in the cafeteria, Simon saw it all differently. He remembered that the vice-minister hadn’t phoned him for several days after the dinner party. He remembered the doubt that had seized him not only during the dinner itself, during Enver Hoxha’s phone call, but also in the days beforehand, when he’d kept wondering why anyone as insignificant as himself had been invited. He’d asked his friend the vice-minister about it, quite straightforwardly and without any arrière-pensée, and accepted as quite plausible the reply that leaders sometimes need to make contact with the common people, with ordinary clerks from the ministries, and that this is often more useful to them than all the official reports. Bet after the conversation overheard in the cafeteria, and Simon’s own reflections thereafter this explanation seemed inadequate, not to say specious. He even recalled hearing it said that it is when they fall from favour that the mighty tend to be more gracious to the humble. He dismissed this line of thought by telling himself that if this were the case the minister could easily have found hundreds of subordinates to be gracious to. But the poison of doubt still lingered, and eventually grew ail the stronger precisely because it lacked foundation.

  Who knows how far Simon would have pursued his investigations if he hadn’t seen his minister shown on the television news one Thursday, attending some official ceremony. He cursed the rumours for having frightened him for nothing. Then he cursed himself for a psychopath and a double-dyed idiot: why had he got so upset? It wasn’t as though the minister was a relation or friend, someone on whose career his own future depended. Of course, Simon might be sorry if anything unpleasant happened to him, because that would mean the end of certain dreams arising out of the memorable dinner. But that was all. There was no point in exaggerating - as he had done by worrying for days on end — just on the strength of some tittle-tattle put about by fools.

  However no sooner had his brother mentioned rumours about the minister than Simon relapsed into all his former anxiety. What he’d heard in the cafeteria wasn’t just silly gossip: his owe brother, out in the back of beyond, had heard about it, Trae, it was a godforsaken spot — but it was near the place where the manoeuvres were held, and where the deed was done that couldn’t be overlooked…Only pride prevented Simon from asking his brother if he knew anything more.

  “Do it, I beg you, Simon — do it for us,” implored Benjamin’s wife, interrupting her brother-in-law’s reflections, “We know It’s difficult, but think of the mess we’re in! And you’ve only got one brother, haven’t you?”

  “All right, I’ll -see to it,” said Simon, surprised by his own resolution.

  And he meant what he said. If the minister had lost some of his influence, that would only make Simon’s own task easier. Didn’t those in disgrace tend to be kinder? But this reasoning soon lost its cogency. Wasn’t seeking a favour from someone when he had worries of his own like asking for a light from a man whose beard has been set on fire? Not at all the thing to do. And yet… The worries of the great must be on an entirely different scale. Of course - it’s obvious, he told himself ten minutes later: everything is relative in this world, and even if the minister’s authority was temporarily diminished he could still solve by a mere phone call a problem that would require superhuman efforts on the part of minor functionaries. Simon recalled the words of an old protocol clerk on the subject of a department head who’d seen his position undermined twice, but who nevertheless remained one of the bosses: “A lion can tear you to pieces even if he’s got only one tooth,” So even if “his” lion had only one tooth left, why shouldn’t Simon take advantage of it? After all, he’d never asked anything of him before, and after this favour would never ask anything of him again,

  “I’ll try to get in touch with him tomorrow,” he said, breaking the silence. Then, to his wife: “I’ll wear my blue suit.”

  “It’s all ready,” she said, beaming round at the others as if to say, “You see, he finally made up his mind. Simon will see to it — you needn’t worry any more.”

  “Yes, the blue suit’s ready,” she repeated. “I took it to the cleaner’s a week ago, as if I had a presentiment you’d be needing it.”

  “Good,” said Simon, remembering he’d made a stain on the jacket during the famous dinner.

  The little apartment had come to life again. The mention of the blue suit had made Simon’s intervention seem more real Made to measure from Polish cloth fifteen years before, that suit enabled them all to bask in the glory reflected from Simon himself. It made them think of official occasions, grand assemblies, stately halls where political meetings were held, examination results were read out, workers given medals. When Simon came home after such ceremonies, it was his suit as much as his face which brought back a reflection of the bright lights of the presidium or the exhibition, sometimes made brighter still by the presence of television cameras or important foreign delegates. This had become so well established that if Simon had worn his blue suit on an ordinary day, his wife and all the others around him would have said, “You’ve made a mistake, Simon — there’s nothing special about today.”

  This episode came back to him in his office. It had happened only yesterday, but so painful was its effect on him he felt he’d been struggling with it for a week.

  And now those infernal girls in the next room had noticed about his suit! But Simon was not to be deterred by that, or by overhearing them say he m
ust be a bit deranged. His only concern at present was how to make his phone call On the evening of the dinner party the minister had given him both his office and his home number, but while, yesterday afternoon after Simon had promised his brother to intervene, it had seemed best to call the minister at the office, this morning it had struck him as preferable to phone him at home, Then he realized he might spend the whole day shilly-shallying, and end up not talking to the minister at either place. But having then resolved to take the plunge at once, he learned from a colleague — not without some relief — that their phone wasn’t working again. Simon would have given up at that point, but for the fact that all his people would be waiting eagerly back in the apartment to hear how he’d got on. He couldn’t expect them to swallow the excuse that his office phone was out of order. Better at least appease his conscience by gritting his teeth and getting the chore over. After that, let ‘em all come!

  But in the next-door office, when he’d already started dialling the number, it struck him that it would be better for the two women not to hear, so he hung up. Quite rightly too, for those two wretches, so quick to notice his suit, would certainly have listened to every word he said, despite their assumed indifference, Yes, he’d been quite right not to phone from their office, but that was no reason for not phoning at all.

  As the end of the working day got nearer, Simon began to panic, but he comforted himself with the thought that if he couldn’t reach the minister at the ministry he could certainly reach him at his residence. And he had every right to call him at either place.

  When two o’clock arrived he still hadn’t made his call as he stood in the corridor watching the other employees go home. This was the most propitious moment, with everyone in a hurry to leave and the offices emptying. He could find a phone without attracting attention. Eh? What did he mean by “without attracting attention”? A few days ago he’d have been proud to call the minister in front of everyone, and now he was letting himself be intimidated like this! It was unpardonable! If others could read his thoughts he’d be exposed to public obloquy. “Look at him - obsessed by rumours and gossip, a spreader of doubt! There’s no place for people like him in our society, the lousy petty-bourgeois!”

  He saw Silva and Linda locking their office door behind them, and was about to call out, “Hey, could you hold on a moment while I make a phone call?” But not only did he not speak - he shrank into a recess so that they shouldn’t see him. I really must be going off my head! he thought. All the offices were swiftly being shut up one after the other - his chances were lessening with every minute that passed. He kept telling himself it didn’t matter, but his anxiety increased. But why? - there was a phone down in the porter’s lodge that he could use whenever he liked - in a way, that was the best solution. It was a sort of public phone, anonymous, so that if …If what? Now what crazy ideas was he getting? How shameful! How had he sunk so low?

  He was now at the top of the front steps, just by the porter’s lodge. He pushed the glass door open with a firm gesture.

  “You want to use the phone?” said the porter. “Help yourself!”

  Simon Dersha picked up the phone and dialled the first digits. One of the porter’s eyes looked rather odd: red-rimmed, but watchful. After he’d finished dialling, Simon let the dial revolve back into place. But before it had finished doing so he was struck by a thought: What if things really were going badly for the minister? And he, Simon, chose this moment to ring him up? And where? At home! Hardly had the ringing begun at the other end than Simon pressed down the springs on the receiver stand and replaced the phone.

  “No answer?” said the porter. “Perhaps you should have let it ring a bit longer…”

  “Sez you!” thought Simon, making off without more ado. The fresh air helped him see things more clearly. He wasn’t really sorry he’d given up on the porter’s lodge: it would have been better if he’d called the minister in his office - at home it was a different matter. And what about the porter’s bloodshot eye?… Still, not a bad idea to ring from a phone that didn’t belong to anyone in particular. He could ring from a public call-box - funny he hadn’t thought of it before!

  When he came to a call-box he took a deep breath. He felt at bay. Never mind, let ‘em ail come! He put his hand in his pocket and got out a coin. All his movements were strangely rigid. It wasn’t until he heard a voice say “Hallo!” at the other end that he gave a start.

  “Hallo — is that the residence of comrade —“

  “Speaking,” said the minister.

  “I’m sorry to bother you, comrade minister,” stammered Simon, “Especially at this hour…”

  He let loose a flood of words he’d have been hard put to it to repeat afterwards. For a moment he felt he’d never manage to explain. But he must try to overcome the obstacles: first tell the minister who he was, and then…

  But to Simon’s surprise the minister knew who he was straight away.

  “You came to dinner at my place with…Yes, yes, I remember very well…Yes, of course …So what did you want to talk to me about?”

  His voice sounded different — sharper, thinner.

  Simon started to answer, but when the minister repeated the question he realized he hadn’t explained anything. He began again, but felt himself getting in a worse muddle still Two girls had appeared from somewhere, outside the call-box. That takes the biscuit! fumed Simon. Can’t even phone in peace from a public call-box now!

  “Oh, you wanted to see me?” said the minister. “No problem, my dear fellow. Come whenever you like. Today if it suits you…”

  “Today?” Simon wanted to exclaim. “What’s the hurry?” But the voice at the other end insisted.

  “No point in putting it off. It so happens I’m free this afternoon, I’ll expect you at my place at six. All right?”

  “I don’t know how to thank you, but…what shall I say? Just like that? Perhaps …”

  “No point in complicating things! So that’s settled - I’ll be expecting you at six. See you then,”

  Good Lord, thought Simon, hanging up. Anyone would think he’s dying for someone to go and see him…

  As he made his way slowly home he couldn’t throw off the feeling that it might have been a mistake to phone. That thin voice, followed by the eagerness to see him …It left a bitter taste. Of course. that’s the state of mind you’d expect in someone who’s being ostracized. Could that really be the case? Had things gone so far? He tried to recall their conversation, but couldn’t. He kept thinking of the television programme the previous Thursday, but that didn’t help either. Why the devil did I have to come across that call-box? he grumbled.

  “Well, what’s new?” said his wife as he came in, “But what’s the matter? You look quite drawn.”

  “Nothing, nothing,” he said. “I spoke to the minister and I’m seeing him at six o’clock.”

  “Really? But that’s wonderful!”

  “Is there anyone here?”

  “Of course - Benjamin and his wife. Who did you expect?”

  “Oh, them,” he grunted.

  “I don’t know why you take that tone.”

  He gestured vaguely.

  “At least don’t let them see you’re in a bad mood!” she whispered, “It isn’t polite!”

  He took off his raincoat and hung it up.

  “Simon’s spoken to the minister!” his wife announced when they’d gone into the room where the other two were waiting. “He’s going to see him today.”

  “Really?” Benjamin and wife exclaimed in chorus.

  Simon slumped down on the settee.

  “He’s expecting me at six o’clock,” he said, not looking at anyone.

  His brother and sister-in-law didn’t know what to do to show their gratitude. Their eyes shone, they babbled incoherently, Simon went on scowling. The sister-in-law signalled to Benjamin and they both stood up.

  “We’d better be going,” she said. “I don’t know how to thank you, Simon. We’ll never
forget what you’ve done for us.”

  “It’s nothing, it’s nothing,” said Simon.

  Simon’s wife thought her brother-in-law looked worried.

  “Don’t go like that,” she said. “Stay for lunch, if you don’t mind taking pot luck.”

  “No, thank you,” he answered faintly.

  Simon’s wife looked at her husband reproachfully.

  “Yes, stay,” he said, “Well manage.”

  “We don’t want to inconvenience you,” stammered Benjamin’s wife.

  “You won’t be inconveniencing es in the least,” said the hostess. “Stay for lunch, and then we can all wait together for Simon to come back. All right?”

  Benjamin and his wife turned to Simon.

  “Yes, good idea,” he said.

  The sister-in-law whispered something to her husband. He nodded, then stood up and went out into the hall. They heard the front door open and shut.

  “Where’s Benjamin gone to?” asked Simon’s wife.

  “Just out… He’ll be back in a minute.”

  The two women went into the kitchen to lay the table. A little while later Benjamin returned carrying some cans of beer.

  “You’re being very rude,” his wife told Simon when she came to call him in to lunch. “Why are you glowering at them like that? Just because you’re doing them a favour? Don’t forget your brother’s had your mother on his hands all these years!”

  “You don’t understand anything about it!” he muttered. Bet she didn’t hear.

  During lunch Simon made an effort to be more relaxed, and the meal turned out to be quite cheerful But every now and then the guests would be overcome, not to say inarticulate, with emotion,

  “How we racked our brains to find a solution!” said Benjamin’s wife, “We never breathed a word to anyone else, but we can talk to you, especially now …”

  “She thinks it’s all settled,” thought Simon.

  “We did think of one way out,” his sister-in-law went on, “A pretty far-fetched one, though I gather some people have resorted to it lately. The husband gets a divorce so as not to have to take his family with him, the wife stays on in their apartment in Tirana, and the husband comes to see her in secret, like a lover!” She laughed. “Have you ever heard of such a thing?”