Read Online The Concert by Ismaíl Kadaré - Free Book Online Page B

been a sleepless night, what looked like a flash of joy. Was it love? Silva wondered, almost with disgust at the thought that Simon Dersha could ever have anything to do with such a feeling.
    The room had fallen silent except for the distant ringing of the phone at the other end of the line, in some other, empty office. Thee Simon finally hung up, thanked them, and left.
    â€œHe tried the same thing on in
our
office a quarter of an hour ago,” said Illyrian, who had shown no sign of moving.
    â€œHe has his own life to live,” said Silva.
    â€œYes - he has a perfect right… But what were we talking about? Oh yes — the Chinese. And a peaceful severing of relations with them…”
    â€œNot like the rupture with the Soviets!”
    â€œWhy? Was that more dramatic?” asked Linda,
    â€œNo comparison!”
    Iliyrian had gone over to the window and was looking outside.
    â€œCome and have a look,” he said,
    â€œWhat is there to see?”
    â€œChinamen in Skanderbeg Square!”
    The other two got up and went over to the window. There were indeed groups of Chinese scattered all over the broad pavement of the square. Some were still arriving, while others were standing near the marble columns of the Palace of Culture or the Skanderbeg monument not far away.
    â€œI’ve never seen so many Chinese all at once,” said Iliyrian.
    â€œThere are more of them still coming,” Linda observed. “Look, over by the main boulevard!”
    â€œPerhaps there’s a meeting at their embassy,” suggested Silva.
    â€œYes, that must be it.”
    They stood for a while, gazing at the scene without speaking.
    â€œThe square’s absolutely full of them,” said Linda. “What a peculiar sight!”
    Silva looked uneasy. That sudden mysterious mass of humanity surging slowly around the square somehow filled her with deep misgivings.
    â€œWhen they see the new Chinese Embassy starting to go up, people think history is repeating itself,” said Linda. “It was the same with Moscow — our relations with the Soviets worsened while they were building their new embassy.”
    â€œTrue,” agreed Iliyrian.
    â€œJust now you were saying this was a peaceful severing of relations, Silva,” said Linda. “How was it different before?”
    â€œWith the Soviets, you mean?…Oh, there was a sort of threat hanging over everything. A sort of anguish. It was another kettle of fish altogether,”
    â€œAnd how was it in the case of Yugoslavia?” said Linda — and immediately could have kicked herself for asking. The break with Yugoslavia had happened a quarter of a century ago, and the question seemed to underline the difference in their ages. She felt herself flush slightly. “But maybe you don’t remember?” she added, trying to cover up her blunder.
    â€œYes, I do,” Silva answered. “I remember quite well” An inward smile seemed to light up her face. “I was still in primary school It was a cold, rainy morning, and we were all standing in line in the playground waiting for the bell to ring. Then the headmaster came to the door and said, ‘Children, I have an announcement to make. Tito has betrayed us!’“
    â€œIt was the same when we broke with the Soviets,” said Illyrian. “When that happened I was still at school too.” Then, turning to Linda: “But I don’t suppose you can remember either occasion?”
    â€œNo,” she said, sounding rather puzzled. “All I can remember is something about Krushchev…”
    â€œYou must still have been in kindergarten then,” said Silva with an attempt at a smile.
    Linda admitted it, flushing guiltily.
    â€œI suppose you two think I’m still just a kid,” she said. “I remember us taking down the portrait of Krushchev from the classroom wall. One of the other children wanted to trample on it, but the