Both the doors on the second-floor landing were open, and without knowing which was the Bermema’s apartment, Linda went in through one of them. Fortunately the hall was crowded. She tried to make out which room had, ie accordance with custom, been set aside for the men to deliver their condolences, and which for the women. Then she realized there was eo such arrangement here.
She looked for some quiet corner from which she could look on without attracting notice. Her courage was ebbing away. In the end she decided she might as well stay in the hall; there were so many comings and goings, and one seemed to be standing on ceremony. As Silva had suggested, in the case of a calamity like this, the usual forms were abandoned.
So far Linda hadn’t seen anyone she knew. At one point she thought she glimpsed Suva’s husband, but she couldn’t be sure. And where was the coffin? she wondered.
About a quarter of an hour went by, and she might have stayed there indefinitely, but suddenly she saw Silva come into the hall
“Oh, there you are!” Silva whispered.
“Have you jest arrived?” asked Linda.
“No, we’ve been here some time. Have you presented your condolences to the family?”
Silva looked rather distraught, too.
“No,” said Linda.
“Neither have I. Come on, let’s go together — it’s not easy for me, either…”
Lînda gave her a grateful look, and clung to her arm as they made for the door, She longed to ask where Besnik was, but only said, “I’m so glad I found you!”
The room Silva led her into was spacious and heavily furnished,with chairs placed round all the walls. They chose a couple of seats in the row on one side, and sat down, Linda still clutching Suva’s arm. The silence was broken only by murmurs too faint to be heard all the way across the room.
“Is that him?” Linda whispered, nodding towards a large photograph on the opposite wall.
Silva nodded.
Linda gazed absently at a big bronze clock with a statue of Skanderbeg on top. Inscribed on its base were the words: “Albania’s hour has come.” She remembered learning it at school — the six-hendred-year-old maxim that could be applied as easily to national victory as to national disaster.
A new wave of visitors arrived, and a few of those already there, Silva and Linda included, stood up to make room for them and thee went back into the hall. Some continued across into the other apartment, bet:
“Let’s stay here,’’ said Silva.
Linda wanted to ask about Besnik, but didn’t like to. It was as if Silva had forgotten their conversation that morning.
People kept passing in and out of the hall. One man with a very sad expression came up and greeted Silva. Linda thought she recognized him.
“A friend of mine,” said Silva, nodding towards her. “This is Skënder Bermema — Ï think you know him.”
“Oh, it’s you!” said Linda, holding out her hand.
His response was friendly, but his sad expression didn’t change. For a moment he looked at Silva without saying anything, as if he had been angry with her, bet now was angry no longer.
“I was so shocked,” said Silva. “I met him only a few days ago, at the complex, just as he was working to prepare the explosion. Just before …”
You could see him gritting his teeth.
“Who’d have credited it?” he murmured. “We thought that scourge would go away of its own accord. Who could have imagined it would take Max with it?”
“A scourge indeed.” echoed Silva.
“We split our sides laughing at their deceit, but it turned out to be more deadly than we thought.”
Their laughter…Silva thought of Victor Hila. She couldn’t imagine him blind. Laughter starts in the eyes…And that was where it had ended.
“Oh, here’s Ben,” said Silva, moving towards a tall young man whose face was partially covered with dressings held in place with sticking plaster.
He must be Besnik’s brother thought Linda. She’d have liked to go over, joie in the conversation, perhaps even kiss him, but she was too shy. She was here, wasn’t she? She mustn’t ask for more. There were traces of tears on the young man’s bandages, and again she felt like kissing him tenderly. My brother-in-law…God, was it possible?
“That was Besnik’s brother,” Silva said, coining back to her.
“Yes, so I guessed.”
She suddenly felt she had to see Besnik himself. This was no mere wish arising from a fleeting passion, but something stronger, derived from the real affection that can only come into being gradually, maturing slowly like wine,
A stir of activity suggested that the journey to the cemetery was imminent.
“That’s the dead boy’s mother,” said Silva, showing Linda a woman in deep mourning who’d just come into the hall “Her husband was a minister just after the Liberation,”
Linda was clinging to Silva once more, drinking in all she said.
“The man over there in the dark grey suit is the present husband of Besnik’s first fiancée.”
Linda looked at him until he seemed to notice he was being scrutinized. “Where’s she?” she asked,
“I can’t see her, but she must be here somewhere.” Silva looked round. “Yes, I should think she is here.”
The crowd in the hall and on the landing was getting denser. Besnik’s brother went by again, with his tear-stained, black-streaked bandages. Then Linda felt Suva’s hand on her arm,
“Look, there she is!” she whispered, “Zana…”
Linda trembled.
“Where?”
She was over by the door, in a black dress, with another woman who couldn’t stop weeping.
“The one who’s crying is the dead boy’s sister. Her name’s Diana…”
Silva went on talking, but Linda was scarcely listening now. She couldn’t take her eyes off the first woman, Zana. That was more or less how she’d imagined her, except… The weight and coldness of the big silver comb in her hair seemed to be echoed in her eyes — but the coldness there, it seemed to Linda, was the kind men like. She felt a pang. Yes, she’d imagined her rather like that, except for the comb…Besnik had told her very briefly about their break-up. Perhaps it was really just a misunderstanding, he’d said after a moment’s reflection. She had been sorry to hear it. People who split up over a mere misunderstanding can come to love one another again. She would have been consumed with anxiety if it hadn’t been for Ana. It was Ana who must have interposed between her, Linda, and Besnik’s first fiancée, confronting Zana’s power and neutralizing it. Linda, seeing Zana for the first time, with her seductiveness concentrated in that silver comb, marvelled at the thought of Ana and her saving power. Who was she, this dead woman who left behind her nothing but peace and light? How had she performed that miracle?
The crowd on the landing was parting. They were bringing out the coffin. Linda caught a glimpse of it, an oblong draped in red, being carried head-high. Then, further off, she saw Besnik, and Linda’s husband. Ail the pall-bearers were gathered together now: Skënder Bermema, sad as ever; Besnik’s brother, with his tear-stained cheeks; together with many more, A long, lugubrious procession. To Silva it suddenly looked like a whole generation moving along mournfully to the strains of a hymn.
It was quite dark when Max’s funeral was over, and some people who were there, and who had departed friends and relations of their own buried nearby, took the opportunity to visit their graves.
Silva and Linda were standing by Ana’s tombstone when they saw Besnik approaching, followed at some distance by Skënder Bermema. The two women moved away a little. After a while, Beseik, who hadn’t noticed them, left Ana’s grave and walked over to the middle of the cemetery, where his father and aunt were buried. As they waited for him to be out of range — it was Linda who had asked Silva not to let him see them — Linda noticed the name of another Ana, on another tombstone, sumptuous and made of marble: “Ana Vuksaei, aged 21, taken from her loving family and friends by an incurable illness…”