Nocturnes_ Five Stories of Music and Nightfall - Kazuo Ishiguro [73]
“So what is it you have to think over so carefully?” he demanded of the boy. “What were you expecting? Carnegie Hall?”
“I’m not ungrateful. Nevertheless, I must give this matter some thought. To play for people while they chat and eat. And these other hotel duties. Is this really suitable for someone like me?”
Giancarlo always lost his temper too quickly, and now the rest of us had to stop him from grabbing Tibor by his jacket and shouting into his face. Some of us even felt obliged to take the boy’s side, pointing out it was his life, after all, and that he was under no obligation to take any job he was uncomfortable with. Things eventually calmed down, and Tibor then began to agree the job had some good points if viewed as a temporary measure. And our city, he pointed out rather insensitively, would become a backwater once the tourist season was over. Amsterdam at least was a cultural centre.
“I’ll give this matter careful thought,” he said in the end. “Perhaps you will kindly tell Mr. Kaufmann I will give him my decision within three days.”
Giancarlo was hardly satisfied by this—he’d expected fawning gratitude, after all—but he went off all the same to call back Mr. Kaufmann. During the whole of this discussion that evening, Eloise McCormack had not been mentioned, but it was clear to us all her influence was behind everything Tibor had been saying.
“That woman’s turned him into an arrogant little shit,” Ernesto said after Tibor had left. “Let him take that attitude with him to Amsterdam. He’ll soon get a few corners knocked off him.”
TIBOR HAD NEVER TOLD Eloise about his audition with Mr. Kaufmann. He’d been on the verge of doing so many times, but had always drawn back, and the deeper their friendship had grown, the more it seemed a betrayal that he’d ever agreed to such a thing. So naturally Tibor felt no inclination to consult Eloise about these latest developments, or even allow her any inkling of them. But he’d never been good at concealment, and this decision to keep a secret from her had unexpected results.
It was unusually warm that afternoon. He’d come to the hotel as usual, and begun to play for her some new pieces he’d been preparing. But after barely three minutes, she made him stop, saying:
“There’s something wrong. I thought it when you first came in. I know you so well now, Tibor, I could tell, almost from the way you knocked on the door. Now I’ve heard you play, I know for certain. It’s useless, you can’t hide it from me.”
He was in some dismay, and lowering his bow, was about to make a clean breast of everything, when she put up her hand and said:
“This is something we can’t keep running away from. You always try to avoid it, but it’s no use. I want to discuss it. The whole of this past week, I’ve been wanting to discuss it.”
“Really?” He looked at her in astonishment.
“Yes,” she said, and moved her chair so that for the first time she was directly facing him. “I never intended to deceive you, Tibor. These last few weeks, they haven’t been the easiest for me, and you’ve been such a dear friend. I’d so hate it if you thought I ever meant to play some cheap trick on you. No, please, don’t try and stop me this time. I want to say this. If you gave me that cello right now and asked me to play, I’d have to say no, I can’t do it. Not because the instrument isn’t good enough, nothing like that. But if you’re now thinking I’m a fake, that I’ve somehow pretended to be something I’m not, then I want to tell you you’re mistaken. Look at everything we’ve achieved together. Isn’t that proof enough I’m no fake anything? Yes, I told you I