The Concert by Ismaíl Kadaré Page B

long time,
    â€œHow are you?” she asked him, still out of breath. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”
    He looked at her rather vacantly, and only then did Silva notice how tired and depressed he looked, and how ill-shaven.
    â€œI’m here on business,” he muttered with a vague wave of the hand. “Can you tell me where the chief vice-minister’s office is?”
    â€œI’ll take you there. Come along.”
    She led the way, glad to be of help. Though she didn’t see him very often now Ana was dead, she tried to be nice to him, as to all the friends whom the two sisters had once had in common and who now represented a subtle link with the past.
    â€œHere we are, Victor,” she said kindly.
    He mumbled his thanks and knocked at the door without even offering to shake hands.
    He must be out of sorts or upset about something, she thought as she made her way to her own office. Such behaviour would have offended her, coming from anyone else; but not from him…
    â€œGood morning,” she said as she opened the door.
    â€œGood morning, Silva,” answered her boss.
    His addressing her by her first name suggested he hadn’t noticed she wasn’t on time, but as she hung up her raincoat she apologized anyway.
    â€œI’m afraid I’m a bit late…”
    Linda, looking over from her desk, treated her to a mischievous wink. She’d done her hair differently, and looked even younger than before. She’s only twenty-three, thought Silva as she opened a drawer and took out the files she needed. Why must she try to make herself seem younger still?
    No one spoke. It was now, first thing in the morning, that the silence that usually reigned in government offices weighed most heavily on the people that worked there, preventing them from exchanging a few words about what they’d done the night before, repressing their comments on the latest interesting bit of news. The panes in the tall baroque windows seemed to filter out all the interesting whims and fancies of the weather, admitting only such light as was needed to work by. Beneath his sleeked-back hair the boss’s smooth expanse of brow hung motionless over his desk. Silva, sitting close to Linda, could feel almost physically how eagerly her friend longed to turn and talk to her.
    As the morning wore on, Linda’s impatience communicated itself to Silva, and every time the phone rang or someone knocked at the door they both waited with bated breath for their boss to be called away.
    But though he answered several phone calls they never heard him say, “Very well - I’ll be right along.” Then, when they’d almost given up hope, he just got up of his own accord and left the room.
    â€œThank goodness!” said Linda as soon as he’d gone, “I don’t feel a bit like work today.”
    â€œI like your hair-do — it suits you!”
    Linda’s face lit up.
    â€œReally?”
    â€œWhen I came in just now I thought to myself, ‘Why does she want to look even younger than she is?’“
    â€œI’m not as young as all that!”
    â€œYou don’t know how lucky you are!” Silva exclaimed. “My God, if you’re not young, what am I?”
    Linda looked at her.
    â€œWell, I wouldn’t mind changing places with you,” she said.
    â€œWhat?” exclaimed Silva, feeling herself start to blush for some reason or other.
    Linda smiled.
    â€œI said I wouldn’t mind changing places.”
    â€œYou must be joking!”
    â€œNo - I mean it.”
    Silva knew her cheeks were still flushed. Why was she being so foolish?
    Luckily the door opened, and in came a plump secretary from the protocol department.
    â€œBrr! Isn’t it cold today!” said the newcomer. Then, putting her hand on the radiator: “Your heating’s working! It’s freezing in our room! Where’s your boss?”
    Linda kept her eyes on the