Ismail Kadare - The Concert

“What?” Simon’s wife interrupted. “How can you say such a thing? A minister of his importance? I’d no idea you were so naive, Benjamin. What do you say, Simon?”

Everyone expected him to laugh or lose his temper at his brother’s foolishness, but he didn’t do either. His face clouded over.

“Did you want to say something?” he asked his brother, who sat with his head bowed, looking guilty.

“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.”