'Mr Ryder,' Hoffman said gravely, and it occurred to me he had not been listening. He was very preoccupied and appeared to have been watching me simply for an opportunity to break in. 'Mr Ryder, there's a matter I wanted to bring up with you. A small matter.'
'Oh, what is that, Mr Hoffman?'
'A small matter, at least to you. For me, for my wife, a matter of some importance.' Suddenly his face contorted with fury and he flung back his arm. I thought he was about to strike me, but then realised he was pointing to a spot behind him further down the corridor. In the subdued light I saw the silhouette of a woman, her back to us, leaning into an alcove. The recess was mirrored and her head was virtually touching the glass, so that her reflection slanted away from her. As I gazed towards this figure, Hoffman, perhaps thinking his first gesture had not got through to me, flung his arm back a second time. Then he said:
'I refer, sir, to my wife's albums.'
'Your wife's albums. Ah yes. Yes, she very kindly… But surely, Mr Hoffman, now is hardly the time…'
'Mr Ryder, you will recall you promised you would look at them. And we agreed, out of consideration for you, sir, so that you would not be inconvenienced at an unsuitable time, we agreed - do you not recall, sir? - we agreed on a signal. A signal you would give me when you felt ready to inspect the albums. You recall it, sir?'
'Of course, Mr Hoffman. And I had every intention…'
'I have watched you very keenly, Mr Ryder. Whenever I caught a glimpse of you strolling around the hotel, walking across the foyer, taking your coffee, I would think to myself: "Ah, he appears to have a moment. Perhaps now is the time." And I waited for the signal, I watched you very carefully, but did it ever come? Pugh! And now here we are, your visit here all but over, just a few hours to go to your flight and your next engagement in Helsinki! There were times, sir, when I thought I had perhaps missed it, that I had turned away for a second and, turning back, mistaken the finishing moments of your signal for some other gesture. If of course this is the case, that you have given the signal on a number of occasions and it is I who have been too obtuse to receive it, then naturally I will apologise without reservation, without shame, without dignity, I will grovel to you. But it is my contention, sir, that you have given no such signal. In other words, sir, that you have treated… treated' - he glanced back towards the figure down the corridor and lowered his voice -'you have treated my wife with contempt. Look, here they are!'
Only then did I notice the two large volumes he was carrying in his arms. He held them up to me.
'Here you are, sir. The fruits of my wife's devotion to your marvellous career. How she admires you. You can see it. Look at these pages!' He struggled to open one of the albums while holding the other under his arm. 'Look, sir. Even small little cuttings from obscure magazines. Things said about you in passing. You see, sir, how devoted she is to you. Look here, sir! And here and here! And you cannot find the time even to glance over these albums. What am I to say to her now?' He gestured again towards the figure down the corridor.
'I'm sorry,' I began. 'I'm terribly sorry. But you see, my time here just seemed to get very confused. I had every intention…' I then saw that, with all the mounting chaos of the evening, I at least had to keep a cool head. I paused, then said with some command: 'Mr Hoffman, perhaps your wife will find it easier to accept my sincere apologies if she hears them from my own lips. I had the great pleasure of meeting her earlier this evening. Perhaps if you would now lead me to her, we shall be able to sort this matter out quickly. Then of course I really should go on stage, say a few words about Mr Brodsky then give my recital. My parents in particular will be getting impatient.'
Hoffman looked slightly bewildered by these words. Then, trying to re-kindle his earlier anger, he said: 'Look at these pages, sir! Look at them!' But the fire had now died, and he looked at me a little sheepishly. 'Then let us go,' he said in a low voice which had a shocking defeat about it. 'Let us go.'
But he did not move for another moment and I had the impression he was turning over in his head some distant memories. Then with resolve he began to walk towards his wife and I followed a few paces behind.
Mrs Hoffman turned as we approached. I stopped a little way away, but she looked straight past her husband and said to me:
'It's very nice to see you again, Mr Ryder. Unfortunately the evening seems not to be unfolding quite as we all had hoped.'
'Regrettably,' I said, 'it would seem not.' Then taking a step forward, I added: 'Furthermore, madam, with one thing and another, I appear to have neglected a number of things I was very much looking forward to doing.'
I expected her to respond to this hint, but she merely gazed at me with interest and waited for me to go on. Then Hoffman cleared his throat and said:
'My dear. I… I knew of your wish.'
With a meek smile, he held up the albums, one in each hand.
Mrs Hoffman stared at him in horror. 'Give me those albums,' she said sternly. 'You had no right! Give them to me.'
'My dear…' Hoffman gave a little giggle and his gaze dropped to his feet.
Mrs Hoffman continued to hold out her hand, a furious expression on her face. The hotel manager handed her one album and then the other. His wife gave each a quick glance to verify their identities, and then seemed to become overwhelmed with embarrassment.
'My dear,' Hoffman mumbled, 'I merely thought it would do no harm…' Again he trailed off and laughed.
Mrs Hoffman stared coldly at him. Then, turning to me, she said: 'I'm very sorry, Mr Ryder, my husband felt the need to trouble you with such trivial things. Good evening to you.'
She tucked the albums under her arm and began to walk away. She had gone no more than a few paces, however, when Hoffman suddenly exclaimed:
'Trivial? No, no! But they are not trivial! And neither is the album on Kosminsky. Nor the album on Stefan Hallier. Not trivial! If only they were. If only I could believe they were!'
His wife stopped but did not turn, and Hoffman and I stared at her back view as she stood there quite still in the low light of the corridor. Then Hoffman took a few steps towards her.
'The evening. It's a shambles. Why pretend it's anything else? Why continue to tolerate me? Year after year, blunder after blunder. After the Youth Festival, your patience with me was surely at its end. But no, you put up with me further. Then Exhibition Week. Still you put up with me. Still you give me another chance. Very well, I begged you, I know. Implored you for one further chance. And you didn't have the heart to refuse me. In a word, you gave me tonight. And what have I to show for it? The evening is a shambles. Our son, our only son, making a laughing stock of himself before the most distinguished citizens of this town. That was my fault, yes, I know it. I encouraged him. Even at the last moment I knew I should have stopped him, but I didn't have the strength. I let him go through with it right to the end. Believe me, my dear, I never intended it. From the beginning I said to myself, I'll tell him tomorrow, we'll have a proper talk about it tomorrow when there'll be more time. Tomorrow, tomorrow, I kept putting it off. Yes, I was weak, I admit it. Even tonight, I was saying, just a few more minutes and I'll tell him, but no, no, I couldn't and he went on. Yes, our Stephan, he went up there in front of the whole world and played the piano! A laughing stock! Ah, but if only that were the half of it! Everyone, the whole city, knows who is responsible for tonight's proceedings. And the whole city knows who took on the responsibility for Mr Brodsky's recovery. Very well, very well, I don't deny it, I failed, I couldn't bring him round. The man's a drunk, I should have seen how useless it was from the start. The evening is collapsing all around us while we speak. Even Mr Ryder here, even he can't save it now. He only adds to our embarrassment. The finest pianist in the world, I bring him here to what? To take part in this disgrace? Why was I ever allowed to put my clumsy hands anywhere near such divine things as music, art, culture? You, from a talented family, you could have married anyone. What a mistake you made. A tragedy. But it's not too late for you. You are still beautiful. Why wait any longer? What further proof do you need? Leave me. Leave me. Find someone worthy of you. A Kosminsky, a Hallier, a Ryder, a Leonhardt. How did you ever come to make such a mistake? Leave me, I beg you, leave me. Do you see how hateful it is to be your prison warden? No, worse, the very ball and chain on your ankle? Leave me, leave me' -suddenly Hoffman stooped forward and bringing his fist up to his forehead, performed the movement I had watched him rehearsing earlier in the evening. 'My love, my love, leave me. My position is now impossible. After tonight, my pretence, at last, it's over. They'll all know it, down to the smallest child in the town. From tonight, whenever they see me scuttling about my business, they'll know I have nothing. No talent, no sensitivity, no finesse. Leave me, leave me. I'm nothing but an
ox, an ox, an ox!'
He performed his action again, his elbow jutting out oddly as he thumped his forehead. Then he sank down onto his knees and began to sob.
'A shambles,' he was mumbling through his sobs. 'Everything a shambles.'
Mrs Hoffman had by now turned and was watching her husband carefully. She did not seem at all astonished by the outburst, and a look of tenderness, almost of longing, had come into her eyes. She took a hesitant step, then another, towards Hoffman's bent-over form. Then slowly she reached out a hand as though to touch gently the top of his head. The hand hovered over Hoffman for a second without making contact and then she withdrew it. The next moment, she had turned on her heel and disappeared down the corridor.
Hoffman went on sobbing, evidently oblivious of any of his wife's movements. I watched him for a while, not quite sure what to do next. Then suddenly I realised I must now be well due on stage. And I remembered in a flood of emotion how I had so far been unable to find a single sign of my parents' presence anywhere in the building. My feelings towards Hoffman, which until this point had been close to pity, suddenly turned and, advancing on him, I shouted into his ear:
'Mr Hoffman, it may well be that you have made a shambles of your evening. But I will not be dragged down with you. I intend to go out there and perform. I shall do my best to bring back some order to these proceedings. But first of all, Mr Hoffman, I demand to know once and for all. What has become of my parents?'
Hoffman looked up and seemed slightly surprised to find his wife gone. Then, regarding me with some irritation, he got to his feet.
'What is it you are wanting, sir?' he asked wearily.
'My parents, Mr Hoffman. Where are they? You assured me they would be well looked after. And yet earlier, when I looked, they were not in the audience. I am now about to go on the stage and I wish my parents to be comfortably installed. So now, sir, I must ask you to answer me. Where are they?'
'Your parents, sir.' Hoffman took a deep breath and ran his hand tiredly through his hair. 'You must ask Miss Stratmann. She's in direct charge of their welfare. I merely supervised the larger structure of events. And since, as you see, I have been an utter failure in that respect, you can hardly expect me to be able to answer your question…'
'Yes, yes, yes,' I said, growing impatient. 'So where is Miss Stratmann?'
Hoffman sighed and pointed over my shoulder. Turning, I saw there was a door behind me.
'She's in there?' I asked sternly.
Hoffman nodded, then, staggering over to the mirrored alcove where his wife had been standing, gazed at his reflection.
I gave the door a sharp knock. When there was no reply, I glanced accusingly over at Hoffman. He was now bowed over the ledge of the alcove. I was about to vent more of my anger on him when I heard a voice from within calling me to come in. I took a last look at Hoffman's hunched-over form, then opened the door.
36
The large modern office I found myself in was quite unlike anything else I had so far encountered within the building. It was a sort of annexe, seemingly constructed entirely out of glass. There were no lights on in the room and I saw that the dawn had finally come. Soft patches of early sunlight were drifting over the tottering piles of paper, the filing cabinets, the directories and folders strewn about on the desks. The office contained three desks in all, but at this moment Miss Stratmann was the only person present.
She appeared to be busy and it struck me as odd she should have switched off the lights, for the pale glow in the room was hardly sufficient to read or write by. I could only suppose she had switched them off just momentarily to enjoy the view of the sun coming up behind the trees in the far distance. Indeed, as I came in, she was sitting at her desk, a telephone receiver in her hand, gazing out emptily through the huge glass panes.
'Good morning, Mr Ryder,' she said, turning to me. 'I'll be with you in just a moment.' Then she said into the receiver: 'Yes, in about five minutes. The sausages too. They should start frying in the next few minutes. And the fruit. That ought to be ready by now.'
'Miss Stratmann,' I said, advancing towards her desk, 'there are matters more pressing than when the sausages should be fried.'
She glanced up at me quickly and said once more: 'I'll be with you in a moment, Mr Ryder.' Then she spoke into the receiver again and began to write something down.
'Miss Stratmann,' I said, hardening my voice, 'I have to ask you to come off that telephone and listen to what I have to say.'
'Hold on,' Miss Stratmann said into the phone. 'I've got someone here I'd better deal with. I won't be a minute.' Then she put down the receiver and glared at me. 'What is it, Mr Ryder?'
'Miss Stratmann,' I said, 'when we first met, you assured me you would keep me fully informed on all aspects of my visit here.
That you would advise me fully about my schedule and the nature of my various commitments. I believed you to be someone I could depend on. I'm sorry to say you've fallen considerably short of expectations.'