Malcolm Bradbury - Doctor Criminale

‘Ah,’ I said, ‘Codicil. That’s why he’s so worried.’ Ildiko looked across the white cloth at me and laughed. ‘No, you don’t really now think that Codicil is a nice good man?’ she said, ‘That is not how you said it yesterday.’ Then I began to see. ‘It wasn’t Codicil,’ I said, ‘You were his publisher, you were his girl-friend. You could get his manuscripts out, you could probably make arrangements for his royalties . . .’ ‘I think a publisher must always help an author and the cause of art, yes?’ said Ildiko. ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘Even if that means working a little under the table?’ ‘Naturally there were deals with officials and so on,’ said Ildiko, ‘They knew he made very much money, so they made certain demands of him.’ ‘What kind of demands?’ I asked. ‘He had to please them with certain things, naturally,’ said Ildiko, ‘Sometimes to remain silent when it was better to speak, sometimes to speak when it was better to remain silent.’ ‘I see,’ I said. ‘But always Criminale was an honest man. Honest, but a little bit flexible. Maybe that is the best you can ever be, in such a country.’

‘But why didn’t he move to the West?’ I asked. ‘Oh, why?’ asked Ildiko, ‘Because he was a philosopher, he liked to live in a world with an idea. Of course then he found it was not such a good idea, that he wanted a new idea. What I did not tell you about Marxism, perhaps you knew it already, is it appears to be made of thinking. Unfortunately Marx said that the important thing is not to understand the world but to change it. Poor man, he got it the wrong way round. The important thing is not to change the world too much until you understand it. The human need, for one thing. I am sorry, perhaps I am too serious for you. I know the British do not like this.’ ‘I like you when you’re serious,’ I said. ‘Better than when I shop? Well, now you understand everything,’ said Ildiko, ‘Oh look, isn’t it nice?’

Ildiko pointed out of the train window; I looked, and saw rising over the high ridges the white spire of Mont Blanc. ‘We must be getting near Lausanne,’ I said, ‘You know, what I don’t understand is why Criminale has gone there.’ Ildiko looked out of the window and said, ‘Well, tell me something, what do they have a lot of in Switzerland?’ ‘Mountains, of course,’ I said. ‘More of than mountains,’ she said. ‘Cows,’ I said. ‘Not cows,’ said Ildiko. ‘Not shops,’ J said, ‘They don’t have shops.’ ‘They do, I checked,’ said Ildiko, ‘But no, not shops.’ ‘Banks,’ I said. ‘And what is it for, a bank?’ she asked. ‘To keep your money safe,’ I said. ‘I don’t think so,’ said Ildiko, ‘If you want it safe, keep it better in your bed. You are so ignorant, now I must teach you capitalism too. Banks are to hide your money away, move it, put it through the washer . . .’ ‘Launder it?’ I said, ‘You mean Criminale’s royalties are in Swiss banks?’ ‘Of course,’ said Ildiko, ‘In a bank with no questions. Special accounts.’

‘So perhaps he’s come to collect his royalties?’ I asked. ‘Well, since the Wende , he does not have to be so cautious, in Hungary what do they mind any more?’ said Ildiko, ‘Now it is the free market, we can do with our money what we like. Even spend it all on Miss Blasted Belli.’ ‘You think that’s what he’s doing?’ I asked. ‘Well, you have seen Sepulchra, wouldn’t you?’ ‘It must be a great deal of money, if he’s the world’s bestselling intellectual novelist.’ ‘Perhaps two million dollar,’ said Ildiko. I looked at her in amazement. ‘A fortune,’ I said. ‘Well, fortunate for him,’ said Ildiko, ‘Not because he cared so much for the money. He is not like that, with him it comes and goes. What mattered was the freedom.’ Then I suddenly remembered the bank statement I had seen on Criminale’s desk in his suite at Barolo. ‘These accounts are in Lausanne,’ I said. ‘I think so,’ said Ildiko. ‘You seem to know a lot about it,’ I said. ‘Of course, I helped him put it there,’ she said. I thought about this for a moment, and then I said, ‘Maybe that’s what interests Miss Black Trousers.’ ‘I don’t know why,’ said Ildiko, ‘You were right, she is crazy. Criminale did nothing, except a few things under the table. I told you, he is honest man.’

The train had by now emerged from the mountain passes, and we were moving along beside the spread of Lake Geneva: the waters of Léman, by which some have sat down and wept, and many, many others have sat down and written. There was the castle-prison of Chillon, standing in the lake; then the esplanades of Montreux, where Vladimir Nabokov – God bless him – had written and had died. Very soon there was Vevey, where Charlie Chaplin had died, been buried, and, if I remembered rightly, also been exhumed again, for profit. Then there was a lattice of vineyards, stretching up and down the slopes on either side of the train, not a scrap of space wasted, in the good Swiss way. ‘Lausanne, City of Banking and Culture,’ said the advertisements on the station platform, as we drew in. ‘You see, it is the right place,’ said Ildiko, pointing them out to me as we lifted our luggage down from the train: looking once more for honest, if flexible, Bazlo Criminale.

From the moment Ildiko and I stepped down from the Milan express in the station at Lausanne, the good grey city set midway along the great banana that is Lake Geneva, it was clear we had entered a different kind of world. Here everything seemed so sober and Protestant after Vienna, so solid and lasting after Budapest, so very neat and honest after northern Italy. Fine, let the Austrians, with their taste for baroque abandon, celebrate two hundred years of Amadeus in their own Alpine wonderland next door. The Swiss had seven hundred years of mountain democracy, of alphorns and liberty, watches and banks, to celebrate that same year, but they did it without any excess. When I went into the tourist information office in the station concourse, leaving Ildiko to keep guard over our lug­gage, the girl behind the desk was solemn, dour, and reserved. So were all the maps and guidebooks she handed me. ‘Here it is the quality of life that counts,’ said the first guide I opened, ‘Each district, street, park and shop attempts to outshine the others, but always in the best of good taste and with due moderation.’ No doubt about it; we had definitely arrived in Switzerland

I went back to the station concourse with my tourist trophies, and looked round for Ildiko. Our luggage still stood there, an untidy pile of my rucksack and Ildiko’s plastic-bagged Western purchases, tumbled among the cautious feet of passengers. Of Ildiko herself there was no sign at all. Then I saw her at last, coming towards me through the quiet crowds. I had been away for only a few minutes, but she’d used the time very well. She had already effortlessly acquired several boxes of chocolates, a cheeseknife, two cowbells, a designer watch, and a sweater that said ‘I ♥ Lausanne.’ I asked you to guard the luggage,’ I said. ‘It’s all right, everything is safe here, the Swiss do not steal,’ said Ildiko, ‘Everyone knows that.’ ‘I couldn’t find you anywhere,’ I said. ‘It was all right,’ said Ildiko, ‘I just saw this very little shop, over there. I bought you a sweater, see, so you can remember where you have been. Did you find out where is the hotel of Criminale Bazlo?’

‘It’s at Ouchy,’ I said, ‘down by the lake. The girl said there’s a little cogwheel railway that goes straight down there, right from under the station.’ ‘Do we go there?’ asked Ildiko, gathering up her ever-growing pile of luggage, ‘I think so.’ ‘We might as well take a look,’ I said. ‘I expect it is very good hotel,’ said Ildiko. ‘One of the ten best in Europe,’ I said, ‘Even the gardener’s shed has five stars. Criminale must have been round at the bank already.’ ‘Oh, I think so,’ said Ildiko, as we went down the stairs toward the funicular railway, ‘That is why people come to Switzerland, to come to the bank.’ ‘Even Bazlo Criminale?’ I asked. ‘I know you imagine that Criminale is a great philosopher who does not think about money,’ said Ildiko, ‘But even a wise man needs some, yes, especially when he has found a new girl.’ ‘He could have got it without coming to Lausanne,’ I pointed out. ‘I expect he has some good reasons,’ said Ildiko, ‘Oh, is this the train? Very nice.’