Several voices were shouting around me. A young man in a green suit had risen to his feet and was trying to make a point to Christoff, while at least three others were waving their fingers to emphasise something.
'But that's an irrelevance,' Christoff was shouting over them. 'And in any case, it's just Mr Ryder's personal opinion…'
This brought an onslaught down on him, almost everyone in the room attempting to respond at the same time. But in the end Christoff again managed to shout them down.
'Yes! Yes! I'm aware of
exactly
who Mr Ryder is! But local conditions, local conditions, that's another matter! He doesn't yet know about our particular conditions! While I… I have here…'
The rest of this statement was drowned out, but Christoff raised the blue folder high above his head and waved it.
'The nerve! The nerve!' Dr Lubanski was calling from the back with a laugh.
'With all respect, sir' - Christoff was now addressing me directly - 'with all respect, I am surprised you aren't more interested in hearing about the conditions here. In fact, I'm
surprised
, your expertise notwithstanding, I'm
surprised
you should simply leap to your conclusions…'
The chorus of protest came again, now more furious than ever.
'For instance…' Christoff yelled over the top. 'For instance, I was very surprised that you should allow the press to photograph you in front of the Sattler monument!'
To my consternation, this brought sudden silence.
'Yes!' Christoff was clearly delighted at the effect he had created. 'Yes! I saw him! When I picked him up earlier on. Standing right in front of the Sattler monument. Smiling, gesturing towards it!'
The shocked silence continued. Some of those present seemed to grow embarrassed, while others - including the young woman with the thick spectacles - stared at me questioningly. I smiled and was about to make some comment when Dr Lubanski's voice, now controlled and authoritative, said from the back:
'If Mr Ryder chooses to make such a gesture, it can only indicate one thing. That the extent of our misguidedness is even deeper than we suspected.'
All eyes turned to him as he rose and came a few steps closer to the gathering. Dr Lubanski stopped and leaned his head to one side as though listening to the distant sounds of the highway. Then he continued:
'His message is one we must each of us examine carefully and take to our hearts. The Sattler monument! Of course, he's right! It's not overstating the case, not for one moment! Look at you, still trying to cling onto Henri's foolish notions! Even those of us who've seen them for what they are, even us, the truth is we've remained complacent. The Sattler monument! Yes, that's it. This city is at crisis point. Crisis point!'
It was gratifying that Dr Lubanski had immediately highlighted the preposterousness of Christoff's statement, at the same time underlining the strong message I had wished to send out to the city. Nevertheless, my indignation towards Christoff was now considerable and I decided it was high time I cut him down to size. But the whole room was again shouting all at once. The man named Claude was repeatedly banging his fist on a table surface to emphasise a point to a grizzled man with braces and muddy boots. At least four people, from different parts of the room, were shouting at Christoff. The situation seemed on the verge of chaos and it occurred to me this was as good a point as any to take my leave. But as I stood up, the young woman with thick spectacles materialised in front of me.
'Mr Ryder, please tell us,' she said. 'Let's get to the bottom of it. Is Henri right in believing we can't at any cost abandon the circular dynamic in Kazan?'
She had not spoken loudly, but her voice had a penetrating quality. The whole room heard her question and immediately became quiet. A few of her companions gave her searching looks, but she glared back defiantly.
'No, I'll ask it,' she said. 'This is a unique opportunity. We can't waste it. I'll ask it. Mr Ryder, please. Tell us.'
'But I have the facts,' Christoff muttered miserably. 'Here. I have it all.'
No one paid him any attention, every gaze having focused once more on me. Realising I would have to choose my next words carefully, I paused a moment. Then I said:
'My own view is that Kazan never benefits from formalised restraints. Neither from the circular dynamic, nor even a double-bar structure. There are simply too many layers, too many emotions, especially in the later works.'
I could feel, almost physically, the tide of respect sweeping towards me. The pudgy-faced man was looking at me with something close to awe. A woman in a scarlet anorak was muttering: 'That's it, that's it,' as though I had just articulated something she had been struggling to formulate for years. The man named Claude had risen to his feet and now took a few steps towards me, nodding vigorously. Dr Lubanski was also nodding, but slowly and with his eyes closed as if to say: 'Yes, yes, here at last is someone who really knows.' The young woman with the thick spectacles though had remained quite still, continuing to watch me carefully.
'I can understand,' I went on, 'the temptation to resort to such devices. There's a natural fear of the music flooding the musician's resources. But the answer surely is to rise to such a challenge, not to resort to restraints. Of course, the challenge might be too great, in which case the answer is to leave Kazan well alone. One should not, in any case, attempt to make a virtue out of one's limitations.'
At this last remark, many in the room seemed no longer able to hold back their feelings. The grizzled man with the muddy boots broke into vigorous applause, throwing snarling looks towards Christoff as he did so. Several others started to shout again at Christoff, and the woman in the scarlet anorak was again repeating, this time more loudly: 'That's it, that's it, that's it.' I felt strangely exhilarated and, raising my voice above the mounting excitement, continued:
'These failures of nerve are, in my experience, very often associated with certain other unattractive traits. A hostility towards the introspective tone, most often characterised by an over-use of the crushed cadence. A fondness for pointlessly matching fragmented passages with each other. And at the more personal level, a megalomania masquerading behind a modest and kindly manner…'
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.'