The porter looked down at his feet and seemed to be waiting for my next utterance as though for a judgement.
'I'm sorry,' I said after a while, 'but I'm not quite clear what you're saying. You mean you haven't seen your daughter all this time?'
'No, no. As you know, I
see
her regularly, each time I take Boris off her. What I mean is, we don't speak. Perhaps you'd understand better if I were to give an illustration. Take those times Boris and I are waiting for her after one of our little walks around the Old Town. We might be sitting in Mr Krankl's coffee house, say. Boris might be in high spirits, talking loudly, laughing about everything. But as soon as he sees his mother coming through the door, he'll go silent. Not in any upset sort of way. He'll just restrain himself. He respects the ritual, you see? Then Sophie will come up to our table and address
him
. Did we have a nice time? Where did we go? Has Grandfather not been too cold? Oh yes, she always asks after me. She worries that I'll get ill wandering about the district like that. But as I say, we don't speak directly, Sophie and me. "Say goodbye to Grandfather," she'll say to Boris by way of farewell and off they go together. That's the way things have been with us for many years and there seems no real call to alter them at this stage. But then, you see, in a situation like this one, I find myself at something of a loss. I do feel a good talk is what's required. And someone like yourself would in my opinion be ideal. Just a few words, sir. Just to help her identify what the problems actually are. If you can just do that, she'll do the rest, you can be assured of that.'
'Very well,' I said after thinking this over. 'Very well, I'll see what I can do. But I must stress what I said earlier. These things are often too complicated for an outsider. But I'll see what I can do.'
'I'll be indebted to you, sir. She'll be at the Hungarian Café at this moment. You should have no difficulty recognising her. She has long dark hair and a number of my features. And if you're in any doubt, you could always ask the proprietor or one of his staff to point her out.'
'Very well. I'll set off straight away.'
'I'll be so indebted, sir. And even if for some reason a talk with her proves impossible, I know you'll enjoy walking around the area.
I lowered myself off the high-stool. 'Well then,' I said to him, 'I'll let you know how I get on.' 'Thank you so much, sir.'
3
The route from the hotel to the Old Town - a walk of some fifteen minutes - was distinctly unpromising. For much of the way glassy office buildings loomed above me along streets noisy with the late-afternoon traffic. But when I came out to the river and started across the hump-backed bridge leading to the Old Town, I could sense I was about to enter a quite different atmosphere. Visible on the opposite bank were colourful awnings and café parasols. I caught the movement of waiters and of children running in circles. A tiny dog was barking excitedly at the quayside, perhaps having noticed my approach.
A few minutes later I had entered the Old Town. The narrow cobbled streets were full of people walking at an easy pace. I wandered around aimlessly for some minutes, past numerous little souvenir shops, confectioners and bakeries. I also passed several cafés and for a moment I wondered if I would have difficulty locating the particular one referred to by the porter. But then I came out to a large square at the heart of the district and the Hungarian Café was immediately obvious. The sprawl of tables occupying the entire far corner of the square was, I could see, emanating from one small doorway beneath a striped awning.
I paused a moment to recover my breath and take in the surroundings. The sun was starting to set over the square. There was, as Gustav had warned, a chilly breeze which every now and then caused a flutter to pass through the parasols surrounding the café. Regardless, the majority of the tables were occupied. Many of the customers seemed to be tourists, but I could see also a fair number who looked like locals who had left their work early and were unwinding over a coffee and newspaper. Indeed, as I crossed the square I passed many office workers standing in groups with their briefcases, talking cheerfully together.
On reaching the tables, I spent a few moments strolling around them, looking for someone likely to be the porter's daughter.
Two students were arguing about a movie. A tourist was reading
Newsweek
. An old woman was throwing pieces of bread to some pigeons gathered around her feet. But I could not see any young women with long dark hair and a small boy. I stepped inside the café and discovered a small, rather gloomy room with just five or six tables. I could see how the overcrowding problem mentioned by the porter might become a very real one during the colder months, but on this occasion the only occupant was an old man in a beret, seated near the back. Deciding I should give up on the matter, I returned outside and was looking about for a waiter from whom to order some coffee, when I became aware of a voice calling my name.
Turning, I saw a woman sitting with a young boy waving to me from a nearby table. The pair clearly matched the porter's description and I could not understand how I had failed to notice them earlier. I was a little taken aback, moreover, that they should be expecting me, and it was a moment or two before I waved back and began making my way towards them.
Although the porter had referred to her as a 'young woman', Sophie was in early middle age, perhaps around forty or so. For all that, she was somewhat more attractive than I had expected. She was quite tall, slimly built and her long dark hair gave her a gypsy-like quality. The boy beside her was a little on the tubby side, and at this moment was regarding his mother with a cross expression.
'Well?' Sophie was looking up at me with a smile. 'Aren't you going to sit down?'
'Yes, yes,' I said, realising I had been standing there hesitantly. 'That is, if you don't mind.' I gave the boy a grin, but he just looked back at me with disapproval.
'Of course we don't mind. Do we, Boris? Boris, say hello to Mr Ryder.'
'Hello, Boris,' I said seating myself.
The boy continued to look at me with disapproval. Then he said to his mother: 'Why did you tell him he could sit down? I was just explaining something to you.'
'This is Mr Ryder, Boris,' Sophie said. 'He's a special friend. Of course he can sit with us if he wants.'
'But I was explaining to you how the Voyager flew. I knew you weren't listening. You should learn to pay attention.'
'I'm sorry, Boris,' Sophie said, exchanging a quick smile with me. 'I was trying awfully hard, but all this science is way above my head. Now why don't you say hello to Mr Ryder?'
Boris looked at me for a moment, then said grumpily: 'Hello.' With that he turned his gaze away from me.
'Please don't let me be the source of any friction,' I said. 'Please, Boris, continue with what you were just explaining. In fact, I'd be very interested to hear about this aircraft myself.'
'It's not an aircraft,' Boris said wearily. 'It's a vehicle for going through star systems. But you wouldn't understand any better than Mother.'
'Oh? How do you know I wouldn't understand? I might have a very scientific mind. You shouldn't judge people so quickly, Boris.'
He sighed heavily and kept his gaze averted from me. 'You'll be just like Mother,' he said. 'You'd lack concentration.'
'Now come on, Boris,' Sophie said. 'You should be a little more accommodating. Mr Ryder's a very special friend.'
'Not only that,' I said, 'I'm a friend of your grandfather.'
For the first time, Boris regarded me with interest.
'Oh yes,' I said. 'We've become good friends, your grandfather and I. I'm staying at his hotel.'
Boris went on studying me carefully.
'Boris,' Sophie said, 'why don't you say hello nicely to Mr Ryder? You still haven't shown him any manners at all. You don't want him going away thinking you're an ill-mannered young man, do you?'
Boris went on looking at me a while longer. Then quite suddenly he flopped forward onto the table, burying his head in his arms. At the same time he began to swing his feet about underneath, for I could hear the clanging of his shoes against the metal table leg.
'I'm sorry,' Sophie said. 'He's been rather moody today.'
'As a matter of fact,' I said to her quietly, 'there was something I wished to talk to you about. But, er…' I signalled with my eyes towards Boris. Sophie looked at me, then turned to the little boy, saying:
'Boris, I've got to talk with Mr Ryder a moment. Why don't you go and look at the swans? Just for a minute.'
Boris kept his head in his arms as though asleep, though his feet continued to clang rhythmically. Sophie shook his shoulder gently.
'Come on now,' she said. "There's a black swan out there too. Go and stand over by those railings, where those nuns are. You'll be able to see it for sure. You can come back in a few minutes and tell us what you've seen.'
For a few more seconds Boris gave no response. Then he sat up, let out another weary sigh and slid off his chair. For some reason best known to himself, he affected the mannerisms of someone utterly drunk and went staggering away from the table.
Once the boy was a sufficient distance away, I turned back to Sophie. Then an uncertainty came over me as to how I should begin and I sat hesitating for a moment. In any case, Sophie smiled and spoke first:
'I've got good news. That Mr Mayer phoned earlier about a house. It's just come on the market today. It sounds really promising. I've been thinking about it all day. Something tells me this might be it, the one we've been looking for all this time. I told him I'd go out there first thing tomorrow morning and have a good look. Really, it sounds perfect. About half an hour's walk from the village, all by itself on a ridge, three storeys. Mr Mayer says the views over the forest are the best he's seen in years. I know you're very busy just now, but if it turns out to be anything like as good as it sounds, I'll call you and perhaps you could come out. Boris too. It might be exactly what we've been looking for. I know it's taken a long time, but I might have found it at last.'
'Ah yes. Good.'
'I'll take the first bus out there in the morning. We'll have to act fast. It won't stay on the market long.'
She began to give me more details about the house. I remained silent, but only partly because of my uncertainty as to how I should respond. For the fact was, as we had been sitting together, Sophie's face had come to seem steadily more familiar to me, until now I thought I could even remember vaguely some earlier discussions about buying just such a house in the woods. Meanwhile my expression had perhaps grown preoccupied, for eventually she broke off, then said in a different, more tentative voice:
'I'm sorry about that last phone call. I hope you're not still sulking about it.'
'Sulking? Oh no.'
'I keep thinking about it. I shouldn't have said any of it. I hope you didn't take it to heart. After all, how can you be expected to stay at home just now? What home? And with that kitchen the way it is! And I've been taking so long, finding somewhere for us. But I'm so hopeful now, about this house tomorrow.'
She began to talk again about the house. As she did so, I tried to recall something of the phone conversation to which she had just referred. After a while, I found a faint recollection returning to me of listening to this same voice - or rather a harder, angrier version of it - on the end of a telephone in the not-so-distant past. Eventually I thought I could recall also a certain phrase I had been shouting at her down the mouthpiece: 'You live in such a small world!' She had continued to argue and I had gone on repeating contemptuously: 'Such a small world! You live in such a small world!' To my frustration, however, I found nothing more of this exchange would come back to me.
Possibly I had begun to stare at her in my endeavour to jog my memory, for she now asked rather self-consciously:
'Do you think I've put on weight?'
'No, no.' I turned away with a laugh. 'You're looking quite marvellous.'
It occurred to me I had not yet mentioned anything of the matter concerning her father and I tried again to think of a suitable way to broach the topic. But just then something jolted my chair from behind and I realised Boris had returned.
In fact the little boy was running around in circles near our table, kicking a discarded paper carton as though it were a football. Noticing that I was now watching him, he juggled the carton from one foot to the other, then kicked it hard through the legs of my chair.
'Number Nine!' he shouted, holding his arms aloft. 'A superb goal from Number Nine!'
'Boris,' I said, 'hadn't you better put that carton in the waste bin?'
'When are we going to go?' he asked, turning to me. 'We're going to be late. It'll be dark soon.'
Looking past him I saw that indeed the sun was beginning to set over the square and that many of the tables had become vacant.
'I'm sorry, Boris. What was it you were wanting to do?'
'Hurry up!' The little boy gave my arm a tug. 'We'll never get there!'
'Where is it Boris wants to go?' I asked his mother quietly.
'To the swing park, of course.' Sophie sighed and rose to her feet. 'He wants to show you the progress he's made.'
There seemed no choice but for me to rise also, and the next moment the three of us were setting off across the square.
'So,' I said to Boris as he fell in step beside me, 'you're going to show me a few things.'
'When we were there earlier on,' he said, taking my arm, 'there was this boy, he was bigger than me, and he couldn't even do a torpedo! Mother thought he was at least two years older than me. I showed him how to do it five times, but he was too scared. He just kept going to the top, then he couldn't do it!'
'Really. And of course, you're not scared to do this thing. This torpedo.'
'Of course I'm not scared! It's easy! It's completely easy!'
'That's good.'
'He was too scared! It was so funny!'