Levadski’s mother died in a drafty Lemberg hospital filled with creaky beds, shortly after Levadski’s promotion. The coughing, even the sighs of the patients, became a tragicomic affair through the ever-present creaking. Levadski’s mother laughed constantly; her bed laughed with her. She was always saying romantic things. “My heart is a broken sugar bowl, my son, your mother’s teeny old heart is a teeny bone china cup.” The diminutives cost her a lot of effort, but seemed to amuse her much: “In death everything becomes smaller, just as it should, my son,” she said, smiling. Levadski nodded and knew that he would understand later. Much later, just not now. “So, here we are,” were her last words. Levadski often thought of this, and that nothing better would have occurred to him in her place.
VII
LEVADSKI WAS SITTING IN THE KITCHEN, BLOWING ON THE flower created by the gas flame. The petals dispersed and grew back immediately. “I can also strangle you,” Levadski said to the flame and switched it off. The soft hiss of the gas flower died away. “Your company bores me!” said Levadski to the stove.
With shuffling steps he entered the living room, and as he could think of nothing better to do, sat down in the rocking chair, which he instantly regretted. Getting up — wrath of the Almighty! — was getting more difficult the more years Levadski had at his back. He stared at his telephone as if wanting to hypnotize it: come here, come here, come over here! The telephone did not react. Groaning, Levadski lifted himself out of the rocking chair, went to the phone, and grabbed the receiver. As he dialed the number of his favorite radio station, he could feel his hand growing clammy. Radio World Harmony — the number he had memorized years ago and never used. Now I am ninety-six, thought Levadski, and I am calling a radio station like a schoolboy!
“Radio World Harmony” the voice answered.
“Good evening, I have a re—”
“Before we connect you with one of our staff members,” the voice continued, “we would like to ask you to participate in our survey.”
“A request,” Levadski said a little more loudly into the receiver, “a song by Ra—”
“Please respond to the questions with yes or no,” the voice said.
“—by Ray Price, For The Good Times,” Levadski said.
“Ready! Let’s begin. First question: are you listening to us over the radio?” Levadski’s eyes widened.
“How else? What nonsense!”
“Sorry, your answer was unclear. Are you listening to us on the internet?”
“Oh right! No.”
“Sorry, your answer was unclear. Are you a young listener?”
“No.”
“Thank you for your answer. Are you satisfied with the variety of music that the station offers?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you for your answer. Do you find our radio hosts pleasant and easy to listen to?”
“Well …”
“Sorry, your answer was unclear. Would you like more features on culture?” Levadski waved his hand in the air.
“By all means, yes!”
“Sorry, your answer was unclear …”
“My God, you stupid snail!” Levadski shouted into the receiver.
“… Thank you for participating in our survey. We are connecting you.”
“Radio World Harmony. Good evening!”
“Are you there?” Levadski asked cautiously.
“Where else?” the voice said with indignation.
“Excuse me. Good evening. I have a request, a song by Ray Price — For the Good Times.”
“Let’s see,” the voice said, “Ray Price. Ray Price … For the Good Times. We’ll play it between 10 and 11 p.m. during the request show.”
“Thank you!”
“Not at all.” The voice turned into a dead dial tone. Levadski placed the phone on the receiver. He waited for the request show. His song was the last.
How often, thought Levadski, have I laughed at the people who call up the radio station, and now I have done it myself! Levadski felt something akin to deep satisfaction.
Don’t look so sad
I know it’s over.
“Oh dear,” Levadski sighed.
But life goes on
And this old world
Will keep on turning.
Let’s just be glad
We had some time
“To spend together,” Levadski whispered.
To spend together …
And make believe you love me
One more time
For the good times …
“… and now for the news of the day.”
Levadski switched off the radio. He lay down in bed and imagined he was lying in the suite in the Hotel Imperial where he’d stayed during the Northern Bald Ibis Conference in Vienna in 2002. In the spacious room the air was heavy with the scent of flowers and furniture polish. An imposing crystal chandelier sprouted from a ceiling rose. It swung above Levadski like a cut teardrop. Back and forth, back and forth, and sleep seeps through the midnight blue silk wallpaper on the walls. Delicious silence.
The next morning Levadski dialed the number of the Konrad Lorenz Research Center. A young lady gave her double-barreled name in a singsong voice. Levadski introduced himself by reading out the captions of some newspaper articles that had been sent to him after the conference. “Foster father in a light airplane: away with the borders! Reintroduction into the wild project, historically unparalleled. Paving the way ahead, Ukrainian ornithologist breaks all barriers … Well, yes. Barriers, barriers, barriers, you see, Madam, human beings are forever being confronted with limitations, internal or external. Sometimes the shoes are too tight, sometimes the coffin too close, do you understand what I mean?”
The employee of the Konrad Lorenz Research Center seemed to be crying in silence at the other end of the receiver, then Levadski heard an escalation of strangled sounds and asked the young lady to connect him with a man. When a male voice answered at the other end of the line, Levadski introduced himself again by reading the same captions. “Foster father in a light plane: away with the borders! Reintroduction into the wild project, historically unparalleled. Paving the way ahead, Ukrainian ornithologist breaks all barriers.”
“Oh, Professor Levadski, of course, of course. The young lady? Oh, right. An intern. Yes, yes. Exactly. Overtaxed is the right word. Exactly. Our best. Exactly. But of course people still know who you are. Of course. Even small fry like myself. I have grown up with your intellectually stimulating articles in the annual magazine. Sorry? Whether I personally liked them? For example, On the Red-Backed Shrike’s Humane Art of Impaling Insects and Large Prey on Thorns, or How Global Warming Alters Fish Stocks and Turns North Sea Birds into Cannibals. Sorry? You would like a favor?”
What was at stake was nothing less than the project of a lifetime, Levadski said, his last research project, and he needed an invitation from the Research Center for an express visa. As a Ukrainian it wasn’t so easy to get across the border, member of the Academy of Sciences or not.
The male voice asked for Levadski’s passport number and promised he would deal with everything.