Free The Concert by Ismaíl Kadaré Page A

people like that,” said Linda.
    The boss looked up.
    â€œEasier said than done. This isn’t one of your cheap romances, where if one character hurts another person’s feelings they have a row, say they wish they’d never set eyes on one another, and flounce off…”
    â€œI don’t know what you mean,” said Linda, looking him straight in the eye.
    â€œI mean foreign relations are not like people’s private affairs: you love me, I don’t love you any more, and so we part…This sort of thing goes much deeper, There are objective considerations and all sorts of other factors to take into account…”
    â€œDo you think I’m such a feather-brain that I reduce everything to the level of a domestic row?” asked Linda icily.
    The boss stared at her, taken aback.
    â€œCalm down! I didn’t say that!”
    â€œBut that’s what you were insinuating!” she replied, her eyes flashing angrily.
    He waved his hand vaguely, then turned to Silva as if to seek her help. But, unsure she was willing to come to his aid, he threw up his arms as if to say, “That’s all I needed!”
    For a few moments he busied himself opening and shutting the drawers of his desk, as he usually did when he was nervous. Then he lit a cigarette. And promptly stubbed it out again.
    â€œRight, that’ll do,” he said mournfully. “I didn’t mean to be disagreeable, for heaven’s sake! I suppose, at the end of the day, I’m allowed to make a bit of a joke! I am the boss, aren’t I?”
    He leapt up, stuffed his packet of cigarettes into his pocket, and left the room.
    â€œHe really is a case,” said Linda. His annoyance had displaced her own. “I’m the one who ought to have been annoyed!”
    Silva smiled indulgently.
    â€œShall we go down to the cafeteria?”
    â€œDo you think I went a bit too far?” Linda asked as they went down the stairs.
    Silva smiled at her again. Vaguely. She was thinking of something else.
    The cafeteria was in the basement, and the stairs leading down to it were crowded with people coming and going. This was the time most of the clerks took a coffee break. Silva noticed Victor Hila at the far end of the counter with a glass of brandy. He looked worn down.
    She went over.
    â€œDid you get to see the vice-minister?” she asked.
    He waved his hand.
    â€œYes, Much good it did me!”
    â€œDo you know each other?” she asked as she introduced him to Linda.
    â€œDelighted to meet you,” said Victor, still staring into space. “May I offer you a drink? Sorry, I’m like a bear with a sore head today…”
    â€œWhat’s the matter?” asked Silva. “I noticed something was wrong when I met you first thing…”
    â€œI didn’t take it seriously at first, but now I see I’m in trouble. I’ve been running around all morning trying to find out what’s up, but no one will tell me anything definite…Anyhow, what’ll you have?”
    â€œPerhaps it would be better to leave that till another time,” said Silva, “You look a bit low.”
    â€œAll the more reason for you to help cheer me up! Come on, do have something! I insist!”
    Linda glanced at Silva, as if to ask if Hila was quite right in the head.
    â€œAll right,” said Silva. “Coffee for us, please.”
    Victor Hila emptied his glass. Then:
    â€œI’m in trouble over a Chinaman,” he said.
    â€œWhat?” exclaimed Silva.
    â€œWe were just talking about the Chinese,” said Linda, looking at Victor curiously.
    â€œYes,” he went on. “A Chinaman! A particularly lousy Chink!”
    Linda put her hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh. Victor went and fetched their coffees from the counter and set them down in front of them.
    â€œI was told yesterday that I’d been suspended. Do you realize what that means? I’m