The Girl in a Swing Read online

shopping area in the 0sterbro, and we stopped at length outside

  a shop where overcoats, macintoshes and even gumboots

  were hung up on rails inside the window. White paint

  on the glass announced 'Kampenedscettelse! 35% off everything!'

  'Don't you laugh,' she said, smiling at me a little nervously;

  or so it seemed.

  'I'm not laughing, Kathe.'

  'It's a very good shop!'

  'I'm sure it is.'

  'I've bought a lot of nice things here.'

  'Including the shoes that broke?' I realized that it was my

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  disappointment speaking - scratching - and before she could

  reply went on quickly, 'I'm sorry! They're very nice shoes;

  I was just cross with them for letting you down, that's all.'

  'Well, I shall complain about them in the shop -'

  'I don't think you'll be able to, Kathe. There's something

  we hadn't noticed. Look, they're closed.'

  Indeed, it was now plain that they were. For a moment

  Kathe seemed at a loss. Then she said gaily,

  'Well, I shall just have to become a - what is it? - hippy,

  ja, and walk home in my bare feet.' And she opened the

  door of the car.

  I leaned across and shut it again. Our bodies touched as I

  did so.

  'No, Kathe, you can't do that. Apart from anything else,

  you've got a nasty cut on the sole of your foot, with only a

  thin dressing on it, and the pavements are dirty. Now please

  don't argue. I'm going to take you to Ilium and buy you some

  shoes.'

  She hesitated for a moment; then gave in.

  'That will be absolutely lovely. Thank you, Alan. Oh, how

  kind of you!'

  Once we got to Ilium she fairly let herself go. She must

  have tried on two dozen pairs, obviously delighting in the

  elegance of her feet in a positive welter of kids and glossy

  patents, slim pumps and arching sandals all straps; walking

  towards the floor-level glass and back in each pair and

  spending nearly half an hour over her choice. Her soiled

  stockings and the dressing on her foot seemed to cause her

  no embarrassment whatever. To the girl who served us she

  did not even mention, much less excuse them. Finally she

  chose a pair of high-heeled, navy-blue sandals (for which

  I paid four hundred kroner on my credit card), and wore

  them out of the shop.

  I had learnt better than to try to change her mind. I

  walked with her to the nearest 'but stop, where we waited together

  for about ten minutes.

  Kathe, for her part, seemed genuinely sorry we were parting,

  but nevertheless chattered about trivial things with a

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  self-possession which, as I was beginning to realize, seldom

  or never failed her.

  I could think of nothing cheerful to talk about, and felt

  surprised at the depth of my own depression. As the 'bus

  finally approached, I said I hoped we'd meet next time I came

  to K0benhavn, thanked her again for the letters and turned

  away almost sulkily as she climbed through the door. I collected

  myself enough to turn and wave and then, not waiting

  until the 'bus started, strode quickly off towards the car

  park.

  I had told Jarl and Jytte that I would-be out for the evening,

  and felt reluctant to go back to the flat in Gammel Kongevej

  and say that now I would not. I wasn't, I'm afraid,

  thinking of any inconvenience I might cause to them, but

  merely of my own low spirits and frustrated hopes. In the

  end I ate a meal in a cafe and spent the evening at some

  film or other that I didn't want to see. I can't even remember

  what it was.

  It was while I was lying in the bath the following morning Sunday

  - that I decided I wasn't going to leave K0benhavn

  next day. When I was going to leave I wasn't sure. A day

  or two later, anyway. It would be expensive, for Jarl and

  Jytte were off to Milan on a business trip on the Monday their

  plane was due to leave Kastrup an hour before the one

  on which I was booked - which meant that I would have to

  turn out of the flat and go to a hotel. The rate of exchange

  in Denmark is heavily against English currency, and even two

  nights at any reasonable hotel was going to set me back

  enough to hurt.

  I also knew that I was not going to say anything to Jarl

  and Jytte about my change of plan. I was not clear why, for

  they were close friends and Denmark is the last country

  where anyone is likely to be made to feel embarrassed over

  being attracted, whether lightly or seriously, by a girl. Partly,

  my decision to stay was so mysterious to myself that I felt

  it had to be concealed from others as well. But also, I was a

  little like a child playing a fantasy game impossible of ex91

  planation to anyone else, child or adult. If the child tries to

  explain, his hearers, of course, will listen, but cannot possibly

  understand the game as it really is - that is, as it is to him.

  They will see either too much or too little. All I knew I

  wanted was for Fraulein Kathe Geutner to spend a little

  more time in my company; just, I told myself, as I might have

  wanted, before going home, to have another look at the

  oriental ceramics in the Davids Samling.

  During the day, one or two references happened to be made

  in conversation to my forthcoming departure and return to

  England. I refrained from correcting them, and felt this as

  yet a further step in the deception of friends I had no reason

  to deceive. And suppose they were to learn later, as they

  well might, that I had stayed on without telling them? They

  would be bound to think it odd - unsavoury as well, perhaps

  - and might not be terribly pleased, even though it was entirely

  my own affair.

  The following morning I packed my suitcase, drove with

  Jarl and Jytte to Kastrup and saw them off on their flight

  to Milan. Then I postponed my own flight indefinitely, returned

  to K0benhavn and took a room at the Plaza Hotel on

  Bernstorffsgade. I telephoned my mother, told her that as

  things had turned out I would be staying another day or

  two and hoped she would be able to cope with the shop.

  I was worse off than Honegger, I thought, for I did not

  even half-understand the material from which I was creating:

  I did not even know what I was trying to create.

  'Is that Kathe?'

  'Oh - Alan? You're not yet gone back to England?' At

  least she didn't sound displeased.

  'No. I - well, I find I've still got one or two things to see

  to here - sort of tidying up some bits of business, you know.

  How's your foot?'

  'My foot? Ach, I had quite forgotten it. It's fine.'

  'Good. Kathe, can we meet this evening? You're not doing

  anything else, are you?'

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  'I'm very sorry, Alan, I can't this evening. Oh - it would

  be nice, but I can't.'

  'Are you really sure? Not just for a drink, perhaps?'

  'No, not this evening, Alan. I'm so sorry. Please don't

  press me.'


  'No, I see.' (Going out with someone else, of course.)

  ' 'Sorry if I sounded insistent - I didn't mean to. Would tomorrow

  evening be any good?'

  A pause.

  'Hullo? Kathe?'

  'Yes, I'm here, Alan. Lass mich nachdenken. Yes. Yes, I

  think perhaps I might be able to manage tomorrow. Can I

  telephone you later?'

  'Yes, at Hotel Plaza.'

  'Well, then, I'll ring you between eight and nine to-night.

  But I shall have to go now. It's very busy here.'

  Til be waiting. You'll hear me snatch up the phone before

  it's rung twice.'

  'Alan?'

  'Yes?'

  'Don't be too worried. I think I will manage to come. Auf

  Wiedersehen.'

  THIRTY-THREE hours to get through - thirty-three hours

  which one would like to tie in a parcel and drop in the Kattegat.

  Why couldn't I hang myself up in a cupboard, like a

  butterfly in winter? Without company and without my new

  mentor I had no aptitude for frivolity. I certainly didn't want

  to spend the best part of two days in seeing films or walking

  round shops which had no interest for me. Worse, I next

  realized that I felt no inclination even for more serious ways

  of passing time, with which I had purposely equipped myself

  before leaving England. I had brought Malory's Morte

  d'Arthur - an old favourite - meaning to re-read it - or part

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  of it - during the flight: but now the troubles of Balin or Sir

  Gawaine no longer attracted me. I had also packed my newly

  acquired copy of F. Severne MacKenna's Chelsea Porcelain:

  The Triangle and Raised Anchor Wares. Now I found I did

  not want to read that either, but as I dismissed the idea a

  more attractive notion came to mind. I would drive down to

  Sor0, look at the twelfth-century church - which I had never

  seen - pay my respects to Holberg's tomb and perhaps walk

  in the park by the lake. I could be there in time for lunch

  and stay as long as I liked, since I had nothing at all to get

  back for.

  This little project certainly got me through the day;

  though not altogether as I had envisaged, namely, by taking

  my mind off my tedium and frustration. Sitting in the sun

  in a solitary spot beside the wooded lake, I fell to trying to

  straighten out my thoughts. Was I in love? How could I be

  seriously in love with a total stranger of whom I knew nothing

  - whom I had met less than a week ago? But supposing

  for the sake of argument that I was, it followed that to continue

  to see her could prove nothing but foolishness and selftorment.

  This girl could fairly be described as a raving

  beauty. Even if Mr Hansen couldn't see it, there was no lack

  of other people who could. She was going out with someone

  else tonight: that had stuck out a mile. It was not too much

  to say that she could probably have pretty well anyone she

  wanted. Clearly, she was not going to want me. To begin

  with, I was physically unattractive and anyway had always

  been a non-starter sexually. Though not poor, I was certainly

  not rich or ever likely to be, and in spite of the Dom Perignon

  she must be able to tell this. And I was a foreigner. But

  on top of all that, no dispassionate observer - a computer,

  for instance - would think us particularly compatible. She

  had as good as said this herself - 'You' (as opposed to me,

  understood) 'are a man who always has some object in his

  mind.' I had happened upon a splendid butterfly and chased

  it across a meadow full of flowers. But what was the point?

  I was no entomologist. Why stay here hurting myself (and

  incidentally, wasting time and money) until the moment

  when she would tell me, kindly but firmly (and as I knew,

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  she could be firm), that she couldn't really see any sense in

  our continuing to meet? How much more realistic and prudent,

  after to-morrow evening, to go home.

  I got to my feet and began walking restlessly up and down,

  kicking the trunks of the trees and throwing sticks into the

  water for no dog to retrieve.

  I left Sor0 about five, but the drive back was bedevilled

  with more traffic than I had expected. Anyway, I have never

  found it easy to drive on the right-hand side of the road. You

  have to be thinking about your reactions all the time. I

  missed my exit from the motorway and had to drive on some

  distance and come into the city by a less direct route, so

  that it was twenty past six when I found myself in Kronprinsessegade,

  driving down the edge of Kongens Have.

  It was a fine evening and the gardens were full of children

  playing and people strolling between the flowerbeds. My eye

  was caught by a great lime tree, its new, pale-green leaves

  not yet fully unfolded, so that one could see, between the

  branches, open grass stretching away towards a distant herbaceous

  border. I had time for only a quick glance before

  attending once more to the road, but just before turning

  my head I glimpsed, between the leaves, a bench on which

  two girls were sitting. One of them was Kathe.

  I slowed down and looked along the kerb for somewhere

  to park. No luck. Indeed, parking was plainly out of the

  question. As I grasped this it was confirmed by the driver

  behind me, who began hooting. Danes, by and large, are

  more courteous and patient than British drivers, but I could

  see his point. I wasn't in the near-side lane and there was a

  lot of traffic about. All in all, I could forget it. I drove on

  down the flank of the gardens, looking for a side-street.

  It was over fifteen minutes before I was able to get back to

  Kongens Have on foot and make my way to the lime tree.

  The bench was empty. Three or four children ran past on

  their way out, laughing and calling to one another as they

  went. Looking about me in the gathering dusk I saw, near

  the far end of the lawn, two women walking away towards

  the herbaceous border. As I stood peering, trying to make

  out whether or not one of them might be Kathe, they turned

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  the corner of a hedge and disappeared. I ran after them, but

  when I, too, turned the corner I found no one in the short

  length of the green path beyond.

  There was an attendant not far off. I ran up to him and

  asked, 'Did you see two ladies come by a minute or two

  ago?' He smiled, spreading his hands. 'Many ladies!' It reminded

  me of the episode in Jean Cocteau's Orphee, when

  the hero searches the streets and market in vain for his

  mysterious girl-visitant, who keeps inexplicably disappearing

  round corners. I gave it up and walked back to the car. At

  least there was no ticket for forty minutes' illegal parking.

  'Alan?'

  'Oh, Kathe! Have you had a nice day?'

  'You have a magic spell to make Monday a nice day?'

  'Yes, I have. I'll come and give it to you, if you like.'

  'Oh, that would be nice, but I'm afraid not possible.

  Actually I tried to 'phone you e
arlier today, but you were

  out.'

  'I wish I'd known. I went to Sor0.'

  'To Sor0? How nice!'

  'It would have been nicer still if you'd been there.'

  'You're lucky. All I had was the old office. Alan, listen. I

  can come tomorrow evening. There is a concert at Tivoli

  Gardens. Fou T'song is playing and Haitink is conducting.

  Would that be nice?'

  'Marvellous! D'you think I'll still be able to get tickets?'

  'I think through your hotel. They are sure to have someone

  whose job it is to get tickets for foreign visitors. Perhaps

  you might wear a camera and talk American.'

  'I may even be able to manage without going to extreme

  lengths like that.'

  'Then, look - I'll meet you in the foyer at ten minutes before

  the start, which I think is eight o'clock -'

  'No meal first?'

  'Nein. But afterwards there may be a little while. Alan, I

  must be quick. The time will run out and I haven't any more

  coins.'

  96

  'Oh, you're in a call-box?'

  'Yes, of course. If you can't get the tickets, 'phone me at

  the office and we'll arrange something else. If you don't

  'phone I'll meet you as I've said.'

  'Kathe, I saw you earlier to-day.'

  'You saw me? Where?'

  'This evening, in Kongens Have, under a linden tree. I

  was driving back from Sor0. I stopped and came to look for

  you, but it took me so long to find anywhere to park that I

  missed you. I was awfully disappointed.'

  'Oh!' A moment's pause. 'Then I suppose you must also

  have seen-' Beep beep beep beep beep ... As it stopped,

  Kathe said, 'Morgen abend,' and the line went dead.

  She arrived just in time for us to take our seats before the

  concert began. Indeed, we and the first violin entered almost

  simultaneously. Having reached her seat she stood, with an

  air of having all the time in the world, looking round the

  packed auditorium for the best part of half a minute. When

  she had joined me outside she had evidently been hurrying

  and had seemed, I thought, a shade tense. Now she visibly

  relaxed, seeming to absorb the spaciousness and eager, expectant

  atmosphere as a garden receives rain. Turning to me

  with a smile, as though overjoyed to find everything just as

  delightful as she had expected, she said, 'Oh, Alan, how

  lovely! Thank you so much!' and squeezed my hand.

  I helped her off with her coat just as Mr Haitink was making

  his applauded way to the rostrum. She opened and

  arranged it carefully, so that it covered the back and seat of

  her stall, and then settled into it with a little sigh of pleasure,

  laying on her lap the same small black bag which she had

  carried at the 'Golden Pheasant'. I handed her a programme,

  but this she placed under her bag without a glance. As the

  applause died away she whispered 'And so to heaven!'

  It seemed trite - the first false note she had struck. In less

  than two minutes I realized that it was not.

  Haitink was opening with The Hebrides Overture, and as

  the deep surge began in the 'cellos and 'basses I felt at once

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  that singular happiness imparted by the knowledge that one

  is listening in company with someone to whom music is like

  the communion of the saints - wisdom, safety and delight. I

  have often wondered how this communicates itself without

  speech or movement, but that it does is beyond question.

  Kathe, firmly present, was still as meadow-sweet beside a

  stream, with a soft, easy tranquillity, delicate yet upstanding,

  at home in natural surroundings and drinking in the

  flow around her. There was no frivolity now.

  As the applause broke out at the end she clapped for a

  few moments, then inclined her head towards mine and said,

  'Isn't it beautiful; and - was ist das - well, exact, too? You

  would think you could swim in it!'

  'Now that really would be cold, even though Fingal's Cave

  isn't as far north as we are now.'

  'How far north is it?'

  'About as far as Danzig, or anywhere along that coast.'

  'Well, haven't you got blood in your veins?'

  Mr Fou T'song, making his appearance, saved me from

  having to answer this.

  The concerto was the Mozart C minor, and as the tutti

  opened with the noble, tragic first subject I realized that this

  had become one of those rare concerts appointed to endure

  in memory; a glimpse, vouchsafed for an hour or two, of a

  better world. The performers - even the composer - can

  achieve only so much. The rest is not even up to ourselves,