Ismail Kadare - The Concert

Perhaps after all the situation wasn’t as bad as he’d thought. He’d certainly have to go before the plenum of the Central Commit-tee, but the meeting was supposed to be chiefly concerned with the economic situation. And everyone knew the economy was in a bad way. Moreover, he wasn’t the only person who was in trouble, and when old colleagues found themselves all in the same boat they could always be counted on to help one another. They did it instinctively, without being asked, like a pack of wolves-each looking chiefly to his own interests.

Yes, the economic situation would probably distract attention from his case. When the economy goes wrong people forget everything else. Material concerns soon bring everyone to their senses. They take everyone by the sleeve and say, Just look at these statistics — never mind about the encircling of Party committees, and all that other symbolic carry-on…

And after all, leaving aside the evidence of the man he’d just interviewed, the fact that the tank officers had explained their disobedience couldn’t be laid directly at his door. The signals people had come into it long before he did, and they could be held responsible. And then there were his owe “aides, and the bad weather, the wind, the thunder and lightning! Oh, they weren’t going to get him as easily as that!

He turned his head. Something had banged against a window-pane. Probably a dead leaf. The wind was howling outside. The minister returned to his meditations, still concentrating on those that were most reassuring…

Mao’s death and the troubles that had broken out in Peking would come in useful…He looked at his watch. Time for the television news. There was alarming news from China every day,and that could only help to distract attention from him.

He stood up, stuffed his autocritique into his pocket, and went out of the office. Outside, the wind had almost emptied the streets. His car seemed to waft him home more swiftly than usual As he alighted, a column of black dust appeared before him, and he let out a shriek of terror.

Arian Krasniqi wrapped his scarf round the lower part of his face to keep out the dust. He regretted having stopped off at a bar for a cup of coffee after coming out of the ministry, instead of going straight back to Suva’s place. He hadn’t expected such a nasty wind to spring up. It made him feel depressed and light-headed.

But, going into the building where his sister lived, he breathed more easily and felt better.

“Well?” said Silva, opening the door. “How did it go?”

He smiled noncommittally.

“Is Sonia still here?”

“Of course — we’ve been waiting for you. What happened?”

“Nothing,” he said, taking his coat off.

The voice of the television newscaster could be heard in the living room,

“Don’t worry about me,” said Arian, smiling again.

Silva felt as if a load had been lifted off her shoulders: he looked quite serene.

“Have you heard what’s happened?” she said. “Great upheavals in Peking!”

“Really?”

“Yes — Mao’s wife and some of her cronies have been arrested. They’ve jest announced it on the news.”

“How strange,” he murmured, looking at the TV screen, though the images no longer had anything to do with China.

Like Silva a few minutes ago, Sonia now looked at Arian’s placid face and heaved a sigh of relief.

“Incredible, isn’t it?” said Silva.

“What? Jiang Qing’s arrest?”

“Of course. I can hardly believe it,”

“It doesn’t surprise me,” said Arian,

“Why not?”

But Silva couldn’t catch his eye.

She’d have liked to ask him why nothing surprised him any more. She was more worried by his present indifference than she had been by his previous agitation.

“I'm worried about Gjergj,” she said. “What bad leek to be over there just now!”

“Father ought to have been back the day before yesterday,” said Brikena, who had slipped into the room unnoticed.

“Yes — all the plane timetables have been upset because of what’s going on.”

Silva went over to the television and changed the channel The Italian TV was showing the same thing: the arrest of Mao’s widow. Then came shots of the Cultural Evolution — meetings, chanting crowds, people running in all directions, Commentators put forward various theories about what was going to happen next. Silva was getting nervous.

“Don’t go,” she ‘said when her brother and his wife got up to leave. “Stay a bit longer — please!”

They exchanged glances, Silva made no attempt to conceal her anxiety.

“You’ve no need to worry,” Arian told her, still looking at archive “shots of the British embassy burning.

“Father says our embassy is only a few yards away,” said Brikena.

Arian tried to say something to distract them from what was going on on the screen, but they were mesmerized.

“Hell!” he murmured.

“What?” said Silva.

“Nothing…What a business!” he improvised, pointing at the screen.

He’s all right for the moment, thought Silva, but he nearly got it in the neck before because of China. Hadn’t his reference to Shanghai made things worse for him? She couldn’t help feeling that her nearest and dearest were still in danger.

The longer she thought about it the more impossible it seemed that her brother’s fate could have anything to do with what was happening now. But she couldn’t make out whether this was a good thing or not.

“Do stay,” she pleaded. She didn’t want herself and Brikena to have to spend the evening alone.

So the visitors took their coats off and sat down again. They tried to talk about other things, but kept coming back to the events they’d just seen depicted on the screen, and the interpretations put on them by the various commentators.

The phone rang. It was Skënder Bermema, “Is Gjergj back?” he asked, “No,” said Silva. “When’s he arriving?” “I don’t know — why do you ask?” “Eh?” “I meant, what made you suddenly think of him?” “Oh, I see.” “I suppose you watched the news?” “Of course.” “So you didn’t just phone by chance…”

They could all hear him laughing at the other end.

“Why don’t you come round for a coffee?”

“What, now?”

“Yes!”

A moment’s silence.

“All right, I’m on my way.”

Silva came back into the room, delighted. She obviously wanted to be surrounded by as many people as possible.

“It was Skënder Bermema …I think! introduced you to one another, Arian…”

“Yes. But he probably doesn’t remember me.”

There was an unmistakeable note of reluctance in his joke.

When Skënder came in about twenty minutes later Silva noticed that her brother still looked rather put out. He wouldn’t scowl like that, she thought, if he knew the trouble Skënder went to on his behalf when he was in jail. But she soon forgave him: what brother would be at ease in the presence of a man whose alleged affair with his sister had been the talk of the town?

“Were you worried because I asked if Gjergj was back?” the newcomer asked Silva, laughing. “I soon guessed why! But though it was the latest news that made me think of him, it wasn’t for any sinister reason.! just wanted to see him. Do you know the first thing that came into my head when I heard that Jiang Qing had been arrested? I thought, well, as in the case of Lin Biao’s death, Gjergj will bring us back at least a dozen different versions of what happened!”

They all laughed, including Arian.

“Are his versions useful, then?” asked Silva.

“I should think so! And I can prove it!”

He reached for his briefcase and got out a large envelope.