Chapters (63)
He closed his eyes and allowed the music to wash over him. The last time he’d heard this piece live was at a concert hall in Florence. After stumbling upon the file of documents that revealed the terrible history of his mother and father, both long dead, he’d tried to outrun the pain by travelling to Tibet, before circling back to Europe by way of Italy. He’d begun his journey in a tiny village in Sicily, before drifting northward, accompanied at times by a ghostly companion he could only assume was a delusion created by his exhausted mind. Or perhaps a spectral presence, as suggested by an old woman he’d met on a mountain trail. Mostly benevolent, and believed to accompany those on the brink of death.
After he’d reached Florence and was sitting in the darkened concert hall as the final notes of Bach’s violin concerto in E major faded away, the idea of becoming a psychiatrist floated into his head. If he could dedicate his life to helping others heal from trauma and the terrible weight of the past, it might provide him with a tiny measure of redemption.
Through half-closed lids, he studied Vidor’s bored expression, as if trying to parse the thoughts of an unfamiliar life-form.
‘Lovely, isn’t it,’ Gessen murmured. ‘Stirs the soul.’ When he switched off the music, the air in the room hummed with the last vibrations of the strings.
‘Are you going to ask me about my dreams now? Whatever programme you have in mind,’ Vidor said, ‘could you please step up the pace so I can get back home. Every day I’m not in my office, or the classroom, or the lab is a day wasted.’ He gave Gessen a thin-lipped smile.
An email from Ursula earlier in the day was evidence of Vidor’s growing desperation. Just after breakfast, he’d cornered her on the way to her office and begged her to have him released. She promised to speak to Gessen on his behalf, hoping to calm him down, but it was clear Vidor’s frustration had reached a tipping point. And a desperate man, feeling caged, might resort to rash behaviour. In the coming days, he would have to be carefully watched.
Gessen waited for Vidor to finish. ‘Rest assured,’ he said, ‘discussion of your dreams is not on the agenda. Not yet, anyway.’ He smiled. ‘Now, I’d like you to turn your attention to the past.’ Gessen met Vidor’s eyes. ‘You want to go home? Then no more dodging the ball. Today, you’re going to tell me about your father. I suggest you start with your very first memory, and then go from there.’