Kazuo Ishiguro - Nocturnes - five stories of music and nightfall

“Look, if you like, I’ll play you that song I was working on earlier. I haven’t finished it, and I wouldn’t usually do this. But since you heard some of it anyway, I don’t mind playing you what I’ve got so far.”

The smile returned to Sonja’s face. “Yes,” she said, “please do let us hear. It sounded so beautiful.”

As I got ready to play, they shifted again, so they were facing the view like before, their backs to me. But this time, instead of cuddling, they sat there on the grass with surprisingly upright postures, each with a hand up to the brow to shield away the sun. They stayed like that all the time I played, peculiarly still, and what with the way each of them cast a long afternoon shadow, they looked like matching art exhibits. I brought my incomplete song to a meandering halt, and for a moment they didn’t move. Then their postures relaxed, and they applauded, though perhaps not quite as enthusiastically as the last time. Tilo got to his feet, muttering compliments, then helped Sonja up. It was only when you saw how they did this that you remembered they were really quite middle-aged. Maybe they were just tired. For all I know, they might have done a fair bit of walking before they’d come across me. All the same, it seemed to me they found it quite a struggle to get up.

“You’ve entertained us so marvellously,” Tilo was saying. “Now we are the tourists, and someone else plays for us! It makes a pleasant change.”

“I would love to hear that song when it is finished,” Sonja said, and she seemed really to mean it. “Maybe one day I will hear it on the radio. Who knows?”

“Yes,” Tilo said, “and then Sonja and I will play our cover version to our customers!” His big laugh rang through the air. Then he did a polite little bow and said: “So today we are in your debt three times over. A splendid lunch. A splendid choice of hotel. And a splendid concert here in the hills!”

As we said our goodbyes, I had an urge to tell them the truth. To confess that I’d deliberately sent them to the worst hotel in the area, and warn them to move out while there was still time. But the affectionate way they shook my hand made it all the harder to come out with this. And then they were going down the hill and I was alone on the bench again.

THE CAFE HAD CLOSED by the time I came down from the hills. Maggie and Geoff looked exhausted. Maggie said it had been their busiest day yet and seemed pleased about it. But when Geoff made the same point over supper-which we ate in the cafe from various left-overs-he put it like it was a negative thing, like it was awful they’d been made to work so hard and where had I been to help? Maggie asked how my afternoon had gone, and I didn’t mention Tilo and Sonja-that seemed too complicated-but told her I’d gone up to the Sugarloaf to work on my song. And when she asked if I’d made any progress, and I said yes, I was making real headway now, Geoff got up and marched out moodily, even though there was still food on his plate. Maggie pretended not to notice, and fair enough, he came back a few minutes later with a can of beer, and sat there reading his newspaper and not saying much. I didn’t want to be the cause of a rift between my sister and brother-in-law, so I excused myself soon after that and went upstairs to work some more on the song.

My room, which was such an inspiration in the daytime, wasn’t nearly so appealing after dark. For a start, the curtains didn’t pull all the way across, which meant if I opened a window in the stifling heat, insects from miles around would see my light and come charging in. And the light I had was just this one bare bulb hanging down from the ceiling rose, which cast gloomy shadows all round the room, making it look all the more obviously the spare room it was. That evening, I was wanting light to work by, to jot down lyrics as they occurred to me. But it got far too stuffy, and in the end I switched off the bulb, pulled back the curtains, and opened the windows wide. Then I sat in the bay with my guitar, just the way I did in the day.

I’d been there like that for about an hour, playing through various ideas for the bridge passage, when there was a knock and Maggie stuck her head round the door. Of course everything was in darkness, but outside down on the terrace there was a security light, so I could just about make out her face. She had on this awkward smile, and I thought she was about to ask me to come and help with yet another chore. She came right in, closed the door behind her and said:

“I’m sorry, love. But Geoff’s really tired tonight, he’s been working so hard. And now he says he wants to watch his movie in peace?”

She said it like that, like it was a question, and it took me a moment to realise she was asking me to stop playing my music.

“But I’m working on something important here,” I said.

“I know. But he’s really tired tonight, and he says he can’t relax because of your guitar.”

“What Geoff needs to realise,” I said, “is that just as he’s got his work to do, I’ve got mine.”

My sister seemed to think about this. Then she did a big sigh. “I don’t think I ought to report that back to Geoff.”

“Why not? Why don’t you? It’s time he got the message.”

“Why not? Because I don’t think he’d be very pleased, that’s why not. And I don’t really think he’d accept that his work and your work are quite on the same level.”

I stared at Maggie, for a moment quite speechless. Then I said: “You’re talking such rubbish. Why are you talking such rubbish?”

She shook her head wearily, but didn’t say anything.

“I don’t understand why you’re talking such rubbish,” I said. “And just when things are going so well for me.”

“Things are going well for you, are they, love?” She kept looking at me in the half-light. “Well, all right,” she said in the end. “I won’t argue with you.” She turned away to open the door. “Come down and join us, if you like,” she said as she left.

Rigid with rage, I stared at the door that had closed behind her. I became aware of muffled sounds from the television downstairs, and even in the state I was in, some detached part of my brain was telling me my fury should be directed not at Maggie, but at Geoff, who’d been systematically trying to undermine me ever since I’d got here. Even so, it was my sister I was livid at. In all the time I’d been in her house, she hadn’t once asked to hear a song, the way Tilo and Sonja had done. Surely it wasn’t too much to ask of your own sister, and one who’d been, I happened to remember, a big music fan in her teens? And now here she was, interrupting me when I was trying to work and talking all this rubbish. Every time I thought of the way she’d said: “All right, I won’t argue with you,” I felt fresh fury coursing through me.

I came down off the window sill, put away the guitar, and threw myself down on my mattress. Then for the next little while I stared at the patterns on the ceiling. It seemed clear I’d been invited here on false pretences, that this had all been about getting cheap help for the busy season, a mug they didn’t even have to pay. And my sister didn’t understand what I was trying to achieve any better than did her moron of a husband. It would serve them both right if I left them here in the lurch and went back to London. I kept going round and round with this stuff, until maybe an hour or so later, I calmed down a bit and decided I’d just turn in for the night.

I DIDN’T SPEAK MUCH to either of them when I came down as usual just after the breakfast rush. I made some toast and coffee, helped myself to some left-over scrambled eggs, and settled down in the corner of the cafe. All through my breakfast the thought kept occurring to me I might run into Tilo and Sonja again up in the hills. And though this might mean having to face the music about Hag Fraser’s place, even so, I realised I was hoping it would happen. Besides, even if Hag Fraser’s was truly awful, they’d never suppose I’d recommended it out of malice. There’d be any number of ways for me to get out of it.