Ismail Kadare - The Concert

“We’ll know more about it tomorrow, Well go and call on a few friends and find out what’s going on. And now come to bed.”

“It’s a good thing you’re here to cheer me up,” he said, straightening up a little.

He had a restless night. Twice he made to get up to listen to the radio again, but his wife stopped him. The third time she spoke to him severely.

“What more do you expect to find out? It’s happened^ and there’s nothing to be done about it,”

He just looked sheepish.

“No, but I'd like to know what you’re hoping for,” she said,more gently.

“I'm hoping they might deny it!”

She laughed.

“You really are…!”

“No, why? it wouldn’t be the first time. There have been false reports of his death before. Several! Don’t you remember?” He was getting close to tears again. “As if they couldn’t wait for him to die!”

“Now that’s enough!” she said decisively. “Let’s get some sleep…”

It was a grey, reluctant-looking dawn. That morning it was she who made the coffee and brought him a cup in bed.

“Do you think they’ll embalm him?” he asked.

She gave him a sidelong look,

“Will you please give it a rest? We’ll go out and see some people — then we’ll find out something.”

“Which people?”

“Anyone you like. We could go to the Kryekurts’, They usually know what’s really going on.”

“You’re right. Let’s get dressed and go,”

“Don’t be ridiculous! It’s far too early. If we don’t watch out, people will be suspicious,”

“Yes, I suppose so. We don’t want to attract attention.”

They didn’t start out for the Kryekurts. place until after ten o’clock, but when they got there they saw they needn’t have worried about being too early. Apart from frequent visitors like Hava Preza and Musabelli, they found Lucas Alarupi, Mark and his fiancée already there. Alarupi was the former owner of what was once a little soap factory; it had now expanded to produce washing machines, shampoo and tooth-paste. Mark had the day off, as the concert that evening had been cancelled.

“Cancelled?” said Ekrem, as if to check he’d heard aright.

“Yes,” said Hava Preza. “No need to ask why.”

“It’s a good sign, I suppose,” said Hava Fortuzi.

“On the way here I saw a lot of official cars going towards the Chinese embassy, no doubt to offer condolences,’ said one of the others.

“I told you so,” whispered Hava Fortuzi to her husband. “The concert’s cancelled, the officials are going to register their condolences at the embassy… It’s going to be all right!”

Ekrem tossed his head and gazed at the shiny, sallow face of Lucas Alarupi. He’d heard a lot about him, and wondered why he was out visiting on a day like this. He must be a mine of information.

“Do you often come here?” Ekrem asked him, while the others went on with the general conversation. “I’ve been wanting to meet you for a long time.”

“I don’t go out very much,” answered the other. “We’re swamped with work, especially now, when we’re just coming up to the end of the quarter. And as well as production there are the committee meetings at Party headquarters, and socialist endeavour, and cultural activities, and all sorts of other things which may seem less important but which need a lot of attention. Eunning a factory involves a lot of problems, especially now, after the decisions taken at the last plenum of the Central Committee.”

Ekrem’s wife goggled, then looked round at the others as if to say, “Just listen to him!” She felt like shouting, “What’s all this about Party meetings and socialist endeavour? You’re jest a yesterday’s man like the rest of us I They don’t let you anywhere near your old factory let alone consult you about their problems! But Hava Preza gave her a look, and Ekrem nudged her, so she didn’t say anything.

“Well,” said Hava Preza to break the silence. “So you’ve got plenty to do and plenty of worries?”

“Of course,’ said Alarupi tonelessly. “As I said, carrying out the plan is only one of our problems. We also have to meet people with new ideas, evaluate pilot experiments, and so on. It sounds easy, but it takes a lot of doing.”

“He may be crazy himself,” Ekrem’s wife whispered to him, “but I don’t understand how the rest of you put up with his maunderings.“

“Ssh,” he said.

“But he’s in the same boat as we are, isn’t he? If not worse! No job, downgraded socially. So what’s all this about endeavour and committees?”

“I know, I know,” Ekrem answered, “But he believes, and wants to make other people believe, that things are back to what they were before …”

“But how …?”

The fact was, Alarupi had started to entertain this delusion when he heard that in China former factory owners had been made assistant managers of what had been their own firms, and were even allowed a share in the profits,

“I’ve always said that’s the most fantastic thing that ever happened, even in China,” said Ekrem’s wife.

“When it was announced he became a new man. It knocked him completely off-balance, and he started to spend all his time hanging round the factory. It’s his whole life. His briefcase is full of press cuttings about it, and graphs about the progress of the plan. At home he’s got a whole collection of wall newspapers, citations for workers’ awards, and so on. When things at the factory go badly he’s quite ill. If the Party criticizes it, he can’t sleep. In short, it’s the only thing he lives for.”

“Poor man!”

“Of course, he never forgets to calculate his share of the profits,”

“There you are!”

“Of course! What did you think?”

Hava Fortezi’ could — scarcely keep from laughing.

“Even so, he must be completely ga-ga.”

“Perhaps. I’d say he’s typical of our age — just an extreme example. Perhaps the most extreme in all…”

“In all Europe?” she interrupted.

“Maybe …What are you looking at me like that for?”

How else? Hadn’t she told herself only a few hours ago that her husband must be the only person in Europe to weep for Mao Zedong? And now here was another, hardly less extravagant oddity. What an age we live in, she thought. Ever since she’d left her youth behind, she’d always thought the world was going to the dogs. But she hadn’t expected it to go as fast as this!

“He’s a hybrid,” said Ekrem, continuing his whispered conversation with his wife. “A capitalist-communist hermaphrodite.”

“A loony, anyhow,” she answered. “I’d like to throw a bucket of water over him to bring him to his senses,”

“But why? He’s probably quite happy as he is,”

“Yes, dreaming! But we’re awake! Why should we have to suffer his nonsense, and without an anaesthetic!”

“It’s not his fault,” said Ekrem. “And anyway, perhaps it’s not just a dream. Perhaps it’s an omen, a sign of things to come!”

“No chance! It’s too late now for wool-gathering!”

At that she caught Hava Preza’s eye, which had been fixed on her reproachfully for some time because of the Fortuzis’ lengthy private parleyings.

Lucas Alarupi hadn’t noticed anything. He was still droning on.

“A fortnight ago we had a very good meeting with the star workers about exchanging jobs. We haven’t done so well with socialist endeavour, though, I'm sorry to say. The Party’s going to have something to say about that. Still, we can only do our best…”

People were surreptitiously shaking their heads. It was incredible to hear such talk in this room of all places. I wouldn’t have come if I’d known, thought Ekrem’s wife.