'Yes, I'm sure he will be, Mr Hoffman,' I said. 'In fact, I'm sure this whole occasion tonight will be a fine success…'
'Yes, yes, I know it!' he shouted impatiently. 'I hardly need reassurance on such a point! I wouldn't have even mentioned it at all, after all there's plenty of time yet until things get started, I wouldn't have mentioned it at all if it wasn't for… for the occurrences earlier tonight.'
'Occurrences?'
'Yes, yes. Ah, you haven't heard. How could you have done? There's nothing much to it, sir. A certain sequence of events took place earlier this evening, and as a consequence, when I last left Mr Brodsky a few hours ago, he was sipping a small glass of whisky. No, no, sir! I can see what you're thinking. No, no! He consulted me fully. And after some consideration I relented, coming to the view that in these very special circumstances, a small glass would do no harm. I judged it best, sir. Perhaps I was wrong, we shall see. Personally, I do not think so. Of course, if I did make the wrong decision, then this whole evening - pugh! - a catastrophe from start to finish! I will be forced to hide for the rest of my life. But the fact is, sir, things became very complicated this evening and I was obliged to make a decision. In any case, the upshot of it all is that I left Mr Brodsky at his home with his small glass of whisky. I am confident he will stop at that. My only thought now is that I should perhaps have done something about that cupboard. But then again, I'm sure I'm being over-cautious. After all, Mr Brodsky has made such progress, he can surely be trusted absolutely, absolutely.' He had been fiddling with his bow tie and he now turned to the mirror to adjust it.
'Mr Hoffman,' I said, 'what exactly has happened? If something has happened to Mr Brodsky, or if anything else has occurred that's likely to alter the overall picture in any way, then surely I should be informed of it straight away. Surely you'll agree with me, Mr Hoffman.'
The hotel manager gave a laugh. 'Mr Ryder, you have entirely the wrong idea. There's no need for you to worry in the least. Look here, am I worried? No. My entire reputation rests on this evening, and yet am I not calm and confident? I tell you, sir, there's nothing whatsoever to concern yourself with.'
'Mr Hoffman, what were you referring to just now when you mentioned a cupboard?'
'Cupboard? Oh, merely the cupboard I discovered this evening at Mr Brodsky's home. You may know, he has for many years lived in an old farmhouse a little way off the north highway. I had of course been there many times before, but things being a little untidy - no doubt Mr Brodsky has his own way of ordering things - I had never looked so carefully about his residence. That's to say, it was only this evening I discovered that he did after all have a further supply of drink. He swore to me he had forgotten all about it. It was only when it came up this evening, when I said, well, in the circumstances, in these very special circumstances owing to the upsetting business with Miss Collins and so on, it was only in these circumstances, you see, I agreed with him that on balance, despite the very small risk, yes, it would be best for him to have just one small glass of whisky, just to steady himself. After all, sir, the man was very distressed over this business of Miss Collins. It was only then, when I offered to fetch a hip flask from my car, that Mr Brodsky remembered there was still one cupboard he had not cleared out. And so we went into his, er, kitchen, I suppose you would call it. Mr Brodsky has done very well over the last months repairing the place. He's made steady progress, and now the elements hardly come in at all, though of course there aren't yet any windows as such. In any case, he opened the cupboard, which was actually lying on its side, and inside, well, there were a dozen or so old bottles of spirits. Mostly whisky. Mr Brodsky was as surprised as I was. It did occur to me, I have to admit it, that I should do something. That I should take the bottles away with me, or perhaps pour them out onto the ground. But then, sir, you can see it, that would have been an insult. A great affront to the courage and determination Mr Brodsky has shown. And having already suffered one great blow to his ego this evening on account of Miss Collins…'
'Excuse me, Mr Hoffman, but what is this you keep mentioning about Miss Collins?'
'Ah, Miss Collins. Yes, well, that's another matter. That was why I happened to be there, at Mr Brodsky's farmhouse. You see, Mr Ryder, this evening I found myself the bearer of a most sad message. No one would have envied me such a task. The fact was, I had been growing uneasy for some time, even before their meeting at the zoo yesterday. I had been worried, that's to say, on Miss Collins's behalf. Who would have guessed things would move so fast with them, and after all these years? Yes, yes, I was worried. Miss Collins is a dear lady for whom I have the highest regard. I could not bear to see her life torn apart again at this stage. You see, Mr Ryder, Miss Collins is a woman of immense wisdom, this whole town will testify to it, but for all that - and if you lived here, I'm sure you would agree - there has always been something vulnerable about her. We have all come to respect her enormously, and many people have found her counsel invaluable, but then at the same time - how can I put it? - we have always felt
protective
towards her. As Mr Brodsky became… more himself over the months, many issues presented themselves that I for one had not properly considered before, and well, as I say, I became concerned. So you can imagine how it was, sir, when as I was driving you back this evening from your practice and you happened to mention so innocently that Miss Collins had agreed to a rendez-vous with Mr Brodsky, when you made it clear that Mr Brodsky was even at that moment waiting for her at St Peter's Cemetery… My goodness, such fast moves! Our Mr Brodsky was clearly once something of a Valentino! Mr Ryder, I realised I had to do something. I could not allow Miss Collins's life to be plunged back into misery, particularly as a result of something I had done, however indirectly. So earlier this evening, after you most graciously allowed me to drop you off in the street, I took the opportunity to go and visit Miss Collins in her apartment. She was of course surprised to see me. Surprised I should have come personally on this of all evenings. In other words my presence alone spoke volumes. She showed me in immediately and I asked her to excuse the abruptness of my visit, and the fact that I could not approach the difficult topic I wished to discuss with the care and tact I would normally wish to employ. She of course understood perfectly. "I realise, Mr Hoffman," she said, "what great pressure you must be under this everting." We sat down in her front parlour and I came straight to the point. I told her I had heard about their proposed rendezvous. Miss Collins lowered her eyes at this, just like a young schoolgirl. Then she said very sheepishly: "Yes, Mr Hoffman. Even as you were coming to my door just now, I was preparing myself. For well over an hour now, I've been trying out different outfits. Different ways to pin my hair. At my age, isn't it amusing? Yes, Mr Hoffman, it's quite true. He was here this morning and he persuaded me. I agreed to meet him." She said some such thing, it was mumbled, not at all the way that elegant lady usually speaks. And so I proceeded. Of course I did so very gently. I tactfully pointed out the possible pitfalls. "It is all very well, Miss Collins." I used such phrases. I trod as carefully as I could given the constraints on my time. Naturally, had it been another evening, had we had time to exchange pleasantries, to make small talk, I dare say I might have made a better job of it. Or perhaps it would have made little difference. The truth of the matter would always have been difficult for her. In any case, for all my going about things in the best way I could, when I eventually confronted her with the truth, when I said to her: "Miss Collins, all those old wounds will be re-opened. They will hurt, they will give you agony. It will break you down, Miss Collins. Within weeks, within days. How can you have forgotten? How can you lay yourself open to it all again? Everything you went through before, the humiliation, the great hurt, it will all come back and more acutely than ever. And after everything you've done over the years to build a new life for yourself!" When I put things to her in such terms - oh, I tell you, sir, it was not easy -I could see her crumbling inside, even as she tried to maintain her outward calm. I could see the memory of it all coming back to her, the old aches starting again. It was not easy, sir, I can tell you, but I felt it my duty to continue. Then finally, she said very quietly: "But Mr Hoffman. I've promised him. I've promised I'd meet him this evening. He'll be depending on me. He always needs me before a big night like this." To which I said: "Miss Collins, of course he'll be disappointed. But I will personally do my utmost to explain it to him. In any case, he'll already know in his heart of hearts, just as you do, that this rendez-vous is ill-advised. That the past is now best left well alone." And she looked out of the window as if in a dream and said: "But he'll be there already. He'll be there waiting." To which I said: "I will go myself, Miss Collins. Yes, I am very busy tonight, but this is something I regard as so important I can only entrust myself with the task. In fact I will go now, immediately, to the cemetery and inform him of the situation. You can rest assured, Miss Collins, that I will do everything I can to comfort him. I will encourage him to think ahead, to the immensely important challenge in front of him this evening." I said some such thing to her, Mr Ryder. And though I must say she looked for the moment completely destroyed, she is a sensible lady and a part of her must have known I was right. Because she touched my arm quite kindly, saying: "Go to him. Straight away. Do what you can." And so I got up to leave, but then realised I still had one last painful duty left to perform. "Oh, and Miss Collins," I said to her. "As far as this evening's event is concerned. Under the circumstances, I would have supposed it best you stayed at home." She nodded and I could see she was close to tears. "After all," I went on, "one has to be sensitive to his feelings. Under the circumstances your presence in the hall might have a certain influence on him at this most crucial juncture." She nodded again and indicated that she understood fully. I excused myself then and showed myself out. And then, although there were so many other pressing things waiting to be done - the bacon, the bread deliveries -I saw that the overwhelming priority was to see Mr Brodsky safely over this last unexpected hurdle. So I drove to the cemetery. It was dark by the time I arrived and it took me a little while walking among the graves before I could locate him, sitting on a tomb, looking despondent. And when he saw me approaching he looked up tiredly and said to me: "You've come to tell me. I knew it. I knew it wasn't to be." This made my task easier, you might think, but I tell you, sir, it wasn't easy at all. To be the bearer of such news. I nodded solemnly and said, yes, he was right, she was not coming. She had thought things through and had changed her mind. Furthermore she had decided not to come to the concert hall tonight. I saw no point in going into it any further than that. And he looked very distraught, so for a moment I looked away and pretended to inspect the tomb next to the one he was sitting on. "Ah, old Mr Kaltz," I said to the trees, because I knew Mr Brodsky was weeping to himself quietly. "Ah, Mr Kaltz. How many years is it now since we buried him? It seems like yesterday, but I see it's already fourteen years. How lonely he was before he died." I was making some such conversation, so as to allow Mr Brodsky to weep. Then I sensed he had brought his tears under control and I turned to him and suggested he come back with me to the concert hall to get himself ready. But he said no, it was too early. He would become too tense hanging around the venue for so long. And I thought he might be right and suggested I drive him home. He agreed to this and so we made our way out of the cemetery and down to the car. And all through the drive, the whole time we were going up the north highway, he was just staring out of the window, saying nothing, the tears occasionally welling in his eyes. I realised then that we were not yet home and dry. That things were not quite so certain as they had seemed a few hours earlier. But I was still very confident, Mr Ryder, just as I am now. Then we arrived at his farmhouse. He has renovated it well, many of the rooms are now perfectly comfortable. We went into the main room and turned on the lamp and I looked about the place making light conversation. I offered to arrange for some people to come and look at the mildew problems on the walls. He didn't seem to hear, but just went on sitting in his chair with a far-away look. Then he said he wanted a drink. A small drink. I told him this was impossible. Then he said, very calmly, that it wasn't like the old way he wanted a drink. It wasn't like that. That sort of drinking was behind him for good. But he had just suffered a terrible disappointment. His heart was breaking. He used those words. His heart was breaking, he said, but he knew how much rested on him this evening. He knew he had to do well. He wasn't asking for a drink in the old way. Surely I could tell that? And I looked at him and I could see he was telling the truth. I saw a saddened, disappointed but responsible man. He had come to know himself better than most men can ever hope to do, and he was fully in control. And he was saying that, in this crisis, a small drink was what he needed. To get him over the shock of this emotional blow. To give him the steadiness he needed for the demands of the evening ahead. Mr Ryder, I heard him ask for drink many times in the early days and this was a different thing altogether. I could see that. I looked deep into his eyes and said: "Mr Brodsky, can I trust you? I have some whisky in a hip flask in the car. If I gave you just a small glass can I trust you that that will be the end of it? One small glass and no more?" To which he said, meeting my gaze full on: "It's not like before. I swear to you." And so I went out to the car, it was very dark and the trees were making a furious noise in the wind, and I got the flask from the car and brought it in, and he was no longer in his chair. That's when I went through and found him in his kitchen. It's really an outhouse connected to the main farmhouse that Mr Brodsky has been very skilfully converting. Yes, that's when I found him opening the cupboard, the cupboard that was lying on its side. He'd forgotten all about it, he said when he realised I had come in. And there was the whisky. Bottles and bottles of it. He took out just one of the bottles, opened it and poured a small measure into a tumbler. Then, looking me in the eye, he poured the remainder of the bottle onto the floor. His kitchen floor, I should say, is largely earth, it's not as though it made a terrible mess. Well, he poured it out onto the ground, then we came back through to the main room and he sat down in his chair and began to sip the whisky. I watched him very carefully and I could see he was drinking not in the way he used to. Even the fact that he could just sip like that… I knew I had made the right decision. I told him I would have to be returning. That I had already stayed away much too long. The bacon and the bread had to be supervised. I stood up and then we both knew without speaking what was on my mind. That's to say, the cupboard. And Mr Brodsky looked me straight in the eye and said: "It's not like before." That was enough for me. To insist on staying any longer, that would only have undermined him. It would have been an insult. In any case, as I say, when I looked into his face I felt perfectly confident. I left without another thought. And it is only in the last few minutes, sir, that even a flicker of a doubt has crossed my mind. But I know rationally it is simply the tension before a great event. He will be here shortly, I'm certain of it. And the whole evening, I feel very confident, will be a success, a great success.