The knot of people around us suddenly loosened and I could not wait a moment longer. I held up my hand almost in her face to halt her flow of words. Her voice stopped and her face was stunned. She stared at the open palm of my hand as intently as though there were something written on it.
‘Excuse me, I must…’ I gestured vaguely to the other side of the room.
Her face was confused and she controlled it with effort. She managed a creaky smile. ‘Oh! I wouldn’t dream of holding you up! You must have important business here; all of these literature types.’ She dismissed them with a flick of her wrist.
Her voice trailed away as I left her behind, and the space between us became filled with the bodies of others. It was only then that I remembered Gustav. I saw that he was standing close by, talking with Theodor. Gustav was saying something to Theodor, his hands animated as he explained something. I could not see Theodor’s face, but I could see him nodding his head, listening.
When I got closer I realised that they were discussing a recent production of Janáček’s Ihre Stieftochter and were deep in conversation. Gustav’s knowledge on the subject took me aback, and then immediately I felt snobbish for assuming that a soldier would be ignorant of opera. Besides, I did not even know whether the man was a soldier. They hardly paused in their conversation to acknowledge me. Far from being bothered by this, I felt relieved that the two were getting on so well. I looked around the room for Franz, but I could not see him. It appeared that my luck had held. The thought that I might have pulled off my plan that evening was intoxicating. I felt a greater sense of achievement than any I had felt with the completion of my creative works. I must have been standing there with a foolish expression on my face, for first Gustav and then Theodor gave me an odd look.
‘So, Max,’ said Theodor, ‘I have been wanting to ask you: how was it that you two first met?’
‘At a Schopenhauer lecture,’ I said, without thinking. Then it occurred to me, too late, that the question might have been a test. Theodor was nodding slowly, his face inscrutable, but for a brief moment I thought I saw something flash across his lips and eyes; the ghost of a smirk, a certain fixity of gaze, which chilled me. I rapidly changed the subject, trying to distract Theodor by bringing up the Schopenhauer book, which was by now far behind schedule.
‘You must be mightily sick of Schopenhauer,’ he said, and I laughed nervously.
‘Franz’ and I left the party soon after that, and after we were a few streets away I stopped to pay Gustav the rest of his fee. He thanked me politely.
‘By the way, Theodor asked me to come to his office tomorrow morning,’ he said.
So still I had not escaped. It seemed that this charade would stretch on indefinitely.
‘Can you make it?’ I asked.
‘Perhaps. It will cost you a hundred and eighty crowns.’
12.
GUSTAV LEFT AND I WALKED HOME. IT WAS STILL RAINING AND I made my way very slowly, supporting myself with one hand against the buildings and railings. I felt very tired. My thoughts kept returning to Anja. I imagined her lying weak and fevered in her bed, and I wished I could be with her.
Without allowing myself to notice, I favoured the route that took me close to Anja’s house and soon I found that I was standing outside it. I looked up at the shrouded windows. I could hear, or imagined I could hear, the faint sound of piano music and singing and laughter. I stood for a long time with my hand on the wall of the house opposite. The music became overlaid with the percussive ringing of the raindrops falling onto the taut fabric of my umbrella and the hard surfaces of the street. Another faint sound became audible, of sharp footsteps echoing on stone.
At the sound of these I instinctively hurried to the street door and knocked, not wishing to be discovered loitering there, staring up at the house. In the interval before the door was opened I stood there wondering whether I should run away; it was far too late to call on Anja, particularly if she was ill. But the concierge opened the door and I went through to Anja’s apartment. As I toiled up the stairs, leaning heavily on the bannister, I imagined Anja’s face smiling at me and I recalled the light touch of her fingers in mine, and the staircase seemed so immensely long that I thought I would never reach the top. The maid opened the door of the Železný apartment and I asked breathlessly for Anja, but the maid shook her head and told me that I could not see her, that she was asleep. As she was telling me this, her eyes left my face and she gave a start of surprise. I heard a sound behind me. I turned and there was Anja, out of breath herself and soaked with rain, coming up the stairs.
She stopped at the top of the stairs and looked at us, wide-eyed, the fingertips of one hand lightly touching the bannister, frozen like an animal surprised by a predator. She very quickly smoothed over her look with a smile and stepped towards me, thrusting forward her damp and cold hand for me to take. I could see the beat of her heart pulsing the arteries in her throat, and I felt the undulating motion of her audible breath running through her body. Raindrops slid down the strands of her hair like glass beads down a string and dropped onto the floor around her.
‘I thought you were ill,’ I said, watching her face closely from under lowered lids.
‘Oh, yes. Well, I was. But then I felt better and then I thought…’ Her voice trailed off. She seemed ill at ease and kept wiping her hands one against the other. ‘How was the party?’ she asked.
‘It was fine,’ I said. Both of us were stiff with lies, like bad actors. ‘But where were you just now?’
‘Yes! Well, I was with Aunt Ilse.’ This was clearly a lie. ‘I was going to stay there for the night, but then I thought, well, it’s better to come home. But now, look! I am soaked through.’ She gave a little uncertain laugh.
Something had shifted between us. She seemed to speak to me from a great distance, as though I were standing on a pier and she on board a ship about to sail, leaning over the ship’s side. I didn’t know what to say to bring her closer.
We remained on the landing and she didn’t invite me in. She politely asked me about the party, who had been there, what people had said about the book, and I told her some invented generalities. The words that came out of my mouth were like heavy bricks that fell between us and formed a barricade.
She began to talk about Franz’s book and only then did she forget herself and break through the reserve that she had been wearing like armour. How I hated Franz at that moment for having the ability to light her eyes, to animate her fingers when I could not.
Franz. In a perverse flash of jealousy it came to me that the reason for her breathless disarray was that she had just returned from an assignation with Franz. After all, where had he been? I knew that the thought was pure paranoia, but at the same time it seemed perfectly reasonable to me.
‘And how is your Aunt Ilse?’
She looked blank for a moment and then told me that her aunt was very well. The life left her again. I felt suddenly very tired. So it was true.
‘She has recovered from the flu?’ I could not escape from my trap of deadened words.
‘Oh yes. Fighting fit.’
‘The maid thought you were asleep.’
‘Did she? Oh, Marie doesn’t know if it’s day or night.’
It occurred to me that I also had no idea how late it was. The house was very quiet.
‘Well, I’m sorry to keep you waiting out here in your wet things,’ I said. I wished I had never come here.
‘Yes, I suppose I should change. Well, goodnight then. I’m glad you enjoyed the party.’