Ismail Kadare - The Concert

And now here he was, betrayed again. But by whom, and why? Because of a conversation. Oh, if only I’d held my tongue in 1960, or even in 1947! That wretched conversation — the years went by, but like a plague bacillus it refused to die! We know what you said to the Soviets in 1960 …We know what you said to the Turks in 1911…And what you said before that, in 999, about the destruction of the socialist bloc…Not to mention what you said to Pontius Pilate that famous night in the year dot…

His mind was in a whirl If you looked at it closely, it was only an ordinary conversation, but these people clung to it like limpets and wouldn’t let it go…Yes, just an ordinary conversation — and what were they doing now, really, but just having a chat, man to man?

He’d never been ie such a mess. And to crown all, Zhou’s eyes were still riveted on him. Bet they were now slowly loosening their vice-like grip. The Chinaman’s expression was softening, and what he was saying came back to the beginning, like a loop of recording tape. “That’s how one always feels to start with. It seems impossible, but once you’ve taken the first step… For example, you could do something that looks quite modest but has a great symbolic value. Do you see what I mean?”

But he couldn’t concentrate. His mind drifted back to the prologue to all this, that windy, rainy day in February 1947 when, biting his nails nervously, he’d listened to the Yugoslav, in his broken Albanian, filling him with bitterness.

“As if you weren’t as capable as anyone else! You’re cleverer than them, really, but…”

The Soviets had told him the same thing later, in 1960, and it had seemed to him that from now on he would always be haunted by those terrifying words. One day, returning home at mid-day, he’d frozen as he went into the drawing room: someone was saying them again. It took him some time to realize it was his son. He fell upon the boy, tore the book out of his hands, and started to yell like a madman. The boy didn’t understand, “It’s only my textbook on medieval Albanian literature. Father,’ he murmured…

“You see what I mean?” said Zhou Enlai.

But the minister didn’t see anything at all

“I’m sorry — would you mind saying it again? I' m sorry…”

“It doesn’t matter — I understand,’ said Zhou, smiling affably. “I was saying you could do something symbolic. Such things have always been important in a country’s history, and always will be. Things which look quite ordinary at first sight, but which take on a special meaning in their context — an alliance, a symbolic marriage, for example. To show you what I Mean I’ll tell you about an episode in my own life. As you know, my wife is the sister-in-law of our greatest enemy, Chiang Kai-shek. Have you ever considered the fact that, through all the changes and chances China has gone through, Î have never ended my marriage? It wouldn’t have been difficult for me to find another wife — most of our other leaders, Mao first and foremost, had remarried, And my rivals in the struggle for power might well have tried to exploit what they called a dishonour. And try they did, but someone stood in their way every time: Mao himself. Leave Zhou’s marriage alone, he’d say, and the matter was closed. But he didn’t do it out of friendship for me, still less out of friendship for my wife! No, he did it because it was in the interests of us all.”

Here Zhou paused for breath.

“Mao didn’t do things like that for nothing. That marriage was and still is imprinted on the consciousness of the Chinese people. For it has a meaning. Behind my wife there was Chiang Kai-shek, and behind him the United States! Every time I heard Mao say ‘Leave Zhou’s marriage alone!' I realized that marriage would turn out to be useful one day. And now, it seems, that moment has almost come…Bet that’s enough about me. I just wanted to illustrate the influence of symbolic acts, Now let’s get back to you. Don’t look at me like that! I know you’re married — “ he laughed. “You’re not going to be asked to marry a woman from the old guard! You can do something else — something apparently unimportant, bet really very significant. For example, during manoeuvres you could encircle a Party committee with your troops, or better still your tanks, I don’t say it has to be the Tirana Party committee — that would be premature — a district committee would do. As you probably know, in the course of our Cultural Revoiution hundreds of Party committees were burned down. So surround a district Party committee with your tanks. It sounds simple. It is simple. But it could act as an important symbol, and the people are always influenced by symbols! It will travel by word of mouth in the form of rumours and conjectures, it will awaken ideas and hopes. We’ve initiated many great actions in China like that!”

As Zhoe was speaking, the minister thought of the cynicism with which the Yugoslavs, Soviets and Chinese — an infernal triangle that seemed intent in keeping him in its clutches all his life — had passed that conversation to and fro. Once or twice he thanked his lucky stars that the Chinese weren’t asking more of him. To hell with their symbolic act — he’d do it, if that would shut them up!

That cursed conversation! He’d never have dreamed a chat could cost so dear. Why on earth hadn’t he owned up to it at the time, directly after the break with Yugoslavia, when all members of the Party were asked to report what they’d talked to the Yugoslavs about? “One day, comrades, I too, fool that I was, impelled by jealousy, that survival from the world of the bourgeoisie, told them how frustrated I felt when X was appointed instead of me to post Y…” That would have done it…

“You seem very thoughtful,” said Zhou. “The play seems to have made a great impression on you. I see it’s not only Shakespeare who can set your head in a whirl!”

And they’d gone on talking about surrounding a Party committee, about the Party in general, and about how urgently necessary it was to overhaul it.

Later on, when he was back home from his trip to China, what Zhou had said still remained on his mind — though he didn’t know whether to call it a piece of advice, a suggestion or an order. He didn’t ha^e a word for it in Albanian. In his imagination it was like a snake coiled up inside him, which stirred whenever he got a phone call from the Central Committee, especially one that summoned him to a meeting. What did they think he was, a minister or a bus driver, ringing for him every time it suited them?

Even so, he would never have followed up his talk with Zhou, never have dared to do anything, symbolic or otherwise, if, some time later, the Chinese prime minister hadn’t sent him greetings through a member of a government delegation.

Relations with China were not so warm as they had been. One evening, at an official dinner at the Brigades Palace, the Chinaman sitting next to him, and to whom he’d so far paid no attention started to talk to him in broken Albanian.

“Comrade Zhou Enlai sends you his best wishes. Comrade Zhou Enlai still thinks of you. You went to the theatre, magnificent. wasn’t it?” said the Chinaman, with a high-pitched laugh that had nothing to do with what he was saying. He went on, more and more openly, his words sounding now like a message and now more like a menace.

“The moment comrade Zhou Enlai spoke about is coming. The test, hee-hee! Everyone must do somethings. Can’t just wait for it to fall in lap, hee-hee! Difficult times ahead, hee-hee!”

The minister’s fork was suspended in mid-air. He had lost his appetite. So nothing had been forgotten! The day of reckoning was apparently at hand, and they were explicitly letting him know what was expected of him. He looked round at the faces of the other guests, trying to guess which of them had been given a similar message. At one point he had the impression that all the tables were full of giggling Chinamen. I must act before it’s too late, he thought — do something, even if it’s only symbolic, to keep them quiet. A sort of consideration, the price of their silence about the Soviets and the Yugoslavs. Something symbolic: the Party secretary dragged across the stage, tanks surrounding a district Party committee…Afterwards, if there really was an upheaval, as Zhou Enlai had said…Bet for the moment, the symbolic act would do…They were on the eve of some manoeuvres…