vigour.’ He felt almost sorry for Prokofiev. Always, when it came to the critics, the inevitable fall from grace.
But this was not what he’d been looking for. His eyes raced on down the column. ‘But of course,’ he murmured slowly. ‘What did you expect.’ He folded up the pages, once, twice, three times, until the paper sat in a hard wad under his arm. He crossed back over into the shade and leaned against the wall of an apartment block, pressing against the cold stone as if its strength might seep into him.
‘Aha!’ Someone emerged from the doorway on his left. ‘If it isn’t Karl Eliasberg!’
Blinking, Elias turned to see Sollertinsky beside him. ‘Good morning to you, Ivan,’ he said, as evenly as he could manage.
‘And a good morning to you, too!’ Sollertinsky was still bundling his tie into a clumsy knot. For such an eminent lecturer, not to mention Artistic Director of the Leningrad Philharmonica, he looked rather a mess. ‘At least I hope it’s a good morning. I’m off to buy a newspaper to see what damaging words that dung-beetle Druskin has written about my orchestra.’
Elias swallowed so loudly he thought it must be audible over the clatter of the trolley cars. ‘In fact, I’ve just read that very review.’
‘Oh! How scathing was it?’ Sollertinsky pulled his collar down overhis untidy tie and squinted at Elias.
‘Not at all scathing, Sir.’ Elias bit his lip; not even Sollertinsky’s sartorial flaws could save him from undue deference. ‘That is, Prokofiev didn’t come off so well, but Mravinsky — well, yet again Mravinsky has saved the day.’
‘Is that so?’ Sollertinsky spied the newspaper clenched tightly under Elias’s elbow. ‘May I?’
‘Of course.’ Elias shoved the paper at him as if it were red-hot.
Sollertinsky smoothed out the paper. ‘“Only Yevgeny Mravinsky and his skilled musicians could rescue the music from charges of flimsiness”,’ he murmured, scanning the review at top speed. ‘“His stick technique is as modest as it is commanding.” Nice! “Barrow-loads of self-confidence, which translates to complete authority.” Very good! “Leningrad is fortunate to call a conductor of this calibre our own.” Well! ’ He straightened up, although the newspaper stayed bent like an old pin in his hands. ‘Who would have thought such warmth of feeling could be hidden in Druskin’s heart, eh?’
‘Indeed.’ Elias tried to smile, though he felt as if his face would crack with the effort. ‘Quite a review from such a tough nut.’
With a gallant flourish, Sollertinsky offered the ridiculous-looking newspaper back to him, but he waved it away. ‘Please, keep it. I’ve read enough already.’
The birthday
H appiness or the lack of it always stopped her sleeping. Tonight, it was happiness. She lay in bed, looking at the way the moon painted tiger-stripes on the wall, and she made herself stay that way while she counted her breaths.
By the time she reached forty — in and out — she couldn’t help noticing she was breathing faster than usual. The sheet was hardly rustling, so shallowly were her lungs working, so eager was her heart.
‘Kitten breaths,’ she told herself severely. ‘You’re cheating!’ When she reached the allotted fifty breaths, she added ten more as penance, though by now the longing to roll over was almost unbearable. ‘You’re a born teacher!’ Papa always said, when he watched her copying out a lesson all over again because of a small ink blot on the last line. ‘I’ve only ever known one other person with such an insistence on perfection.’ He laughed as he said this, but he sighed too. ‘Perhaps it’s not necessary to be quite so strict with yourself. Life is a hard enough taskmaster, you know.’
Sonya had started to notice that Papa often sighed. Also, that the end of his beard was fraying away in wisps because he pulled it when he was writing. And another thing — their apartment was not like other