Kakoli had not at first been ecstatic about Schubert, her tastes running more to Chopin, whom she played with heavy rubato and gloom. But now that she was accompanying Hans’ singing she had grown to like Schubert more and more.
The same was true about her feeling for Hans, whose excessive courtliness had at first amused her, then irked her, and now reassured her. Hans, for his part, was as smitten by Kuku as any of her mushrooms had ever been. But he felt that she took him lightly, only returning one in three of his calls. If he had known of her even poorer rate of return with other friends, he would have realized how highly she valued him.
Of the twenty-four lieder in the song-cycle they had now arrived at the last song but one, ‘The Mock Suns’. Hans was singing this cheerfully and briskly. Kuku was dragging the pace on the piano. It was a tussle of interpretation.
‘No, no, Hans,’ said Kakoli when he leaned over and turned the page to the final song. ‘You sang that too fast.’
‘Too fast?’ said Hans. ‘I felt the accompaniment was not very brisk. You wanted to go slower, yes? “Ach, meine Sonnen seid ihr nicht!” ’ He dragged it out. ‘So?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, he is mad, Kakoli, you know.’ The real reason why Hans had sung the song so energetically was Kuku’s perfect presence.
‘Almost mad,’ said Kuku. ‘In the next song he goes quite mad. You can sing that as fast as you like.’
‘But that last song must be very slow,’ said Hans. ‘Like this –’ And he played out what he meant with his right hand in the treble reaches of the piano. His hand touched Kuku’s for a second at the end of the first line. ‘There, you see, Kakoli, he is resigned to his fate.’
‘So he’s suddenly stopped being mad?’ said Kakoli. What nonsense, she thought.
‘Maybe he is mad and resigned to his fate. Mixed.’
Kuku tried it, and shook her head. ‘I’d go to sleep,’ she said.
‘So now, Kakoli, you think “The Mock Suns” must be slow and “The Organ-grinder” must be fast.’
‘Exactly.’ Kakoli liked it when Hans spoke her name; he pronounced the three syllables with equal weight. Very rarely did he call her Kuku.
‘And I think “The Mock Suns” must be fast and “The Organ-grinder” must be slow,’ continued Hans.
‘Yes,’ said Kuku. How dreadfully incompatible we are, she thought. And everything should be perfect – just perfect. If it wasn’t perfect it was awful.
‘So each of us thinks that one song must be fast and one slow,’ said Hans with triumphant logic. This seemed to prove to him that, given an adjustment or two, he and Kakoli were unusually compatible.
Kuku looked at Hans’ square and handsome face, which was glowing with pleasure. ‘You see,’ said Hans, ‘most times I hear it, people sing both slow.’
‘Both slow?’ said Kuku. ‘That would never do.’
‘No, never do,’ said Hans. ‘Shall we take it again from there with slower tempo, like you suggest?’
‘Yes,’ said Kakoli. ‘But what on earth does it mean? Or in the sky? The song, I mean.’
‘There are three suns,’ explained Hans, ‘and two go and then one is left.’
‘Hans,’ said Kakoli. ‘I think you are very lovable. And your subtraction is accurate. But you haven’t added to my understanding.’
Hans blushed. ‘I think the two suns are the girl and her mother, and he himself is the third.’
Kakoli stared at him. ‘Her mother?’ she said incredulously. Perhaps Hans had too stodgy a soul after all.
Hans looked doubtful. ‘Maybe not,’ he admitted. ‘But who else?’ He reflected that the mother had appeared somewhere in the song-cycle, though much earlier.
‘I don’t understand it at all. It’s a mystery,’ said Kakoli. ‘But it’s certainly not the mother.’ She sensed that a major crisis was brewing. This was almost as bad as Hans’ dislike of Bengali food.
‘Yes?’ said Hans. ‘A mystery?’
‘Anyway, Hans, you sing very well,’ said Kuku. ‘I like it when you sing about heartbreak. It sounds very professional. We must do this again next week.’
Hans blushed once more, and offered Kakoli a drink. Although he was expert at kissing the hands of married women, he had not kissed Kakoli yet. He did not think she would approve of it; but he was wrong.
7.30
WHEN they got to the Park Street Cemetery, Amit and Lata got out of the car. Dipankar decided he’d wait in the car with Tapan, since they were only going to be a few minutes and, besides, there were only two umbrellas.