“Had that happened before?”
“No-although…” He paused to reconsider. “Although, if I am honest, there were times when I suspected that she was-shall we sayless comfortable with intimacy than before. Of course, I asked her ‘What's the matter?’ And she looked at me with those beautiful dark eyes and said, ‘Something's changed-hasn't it?’ My instinct was to say ‘No, no-nothing's changed, my sweet.’ But I knew that she was right. Something had changed. I'd known it for some time. It's difficult to say when it started. A month ago, perhaps, maybe even longer: a slow cooling of affection, a growing discomfort with shared silences… Yes, I knew it, of course, but didn't have the courage to say anything. I didn't want to hurt her. Fortunately, she-of the two of us-was the stronger.”
The room seemed to Liebermann to pitch like a boat. Kanner drew on his cigarette and continued, “One cannot live a lie, Max. One cannot pretend to be in love.”
Liebermann felt an intense pressure in his chest-as though his lungs had become inflated, and their expansion was placing a profound strain on his rib cage.
“Stefan, I can't do it. I can't go through with it.”
The words came out involuntarily in a garbled rush, but once he'd said them, Liebermann experienced an enormous relief. The pressure in his chest subsided and he was left slightly breathless and feeling light- headed.
“I beg your pardon? What did you say?” Kanner asked.
“I can't go through with it, Stefan-my marriage to Clara. You're absolutely right. One cannot live a lie. It would be wrong. Clara will be heartbroken, but it will be better for her if she marries a man who truly loves her.”
Kanner sat very still, blinking. “What? You… I thought… I thought…” Connecting words to make sentences was simply too demanding for him.
“It's just as you describe,” Liebermann continued. “Something has changed. I didn't mean to stop loving her- it just happened.”
Kanner sat back in his chair and rang the service bell. Almost immediately, the door opened and a waiter appeared.
“More slivovitz,” Kanner called out, his speech slurring slightly.
The waiter waved his hand to clear away some of the smoke.
“Are you sure, sir?” he asked in slow, sinewy German. Liebermann thought he sounded Transylvanian.
“Yes, quite sure,” Kanner replied. The waiter bowed and stepped backward out of the room, smiling contemptuously at the two young men. “Well, Max,” continued Kanner, pouring the last few drops of alcohol into his glass. “I don't know what to say.”
A long silence ensued.
“For the last three weeks,” said Liebermann softly, “I've been treating Herr Beiber.”
Kanner's brow furrowed as he set his mind to the task of producing a sensible reply. “The monomaniac obsessed with the Archduchess Marie-Valerie?”
“Indeed,” said Liebermann. “I know that he is unwell, but during our sessions it has become plain to me that in his madness he comes much closer to the general conception of true love than I ever have. In a peculiar way, I envy him. I have desired Clara, enjoyed her company, and been excited at the prospect of consummation-but I have never…” His words trailed off.
“What?”
“I have never felt that… that I could not live without her, that we are soul mates, that we were destined to meet and that we have been drawn together by a higher power.”
“Maxim, what are you talking about? You don't believe in any of those things: the soul, destiny, a higher power.”
Liebermann shook his head. “It's difficult to explain… but talking to Herr Beiber has underscored the deficiencies of our relationship. I have never loved Clara improvidently, wildly-and that is how it should be.” He paused for a moment, and repeated his last words, more to himself than to his companion. “That is how it should be.”
The door opened and the waiter entered. He placed the bottle on the table, and made a preternaturally discreet exit.
Kanner filled their glasses again.
“Max, forgive me for being so blunt, but as your friend…” Liebermann gestured that he should continue. “Is there someone else?”
“No!” Liebermann's denial was far too strong and even in Kanner's inebriated state his suspicion was aroused. Something of his clinical sensitivity had survived the evening's excesses and he scrutinized his companion more closely.
“These things happen, Max.” Kanner's tone was forgiving. “If there is someone else…”
Miss Lydgate, sitting in the window seat of the Natural History Museum. Her flaming hair in the darkness. Rocks and gems surrounding her-sparkling, like stars in the firmament.
“No,” Liebermann said again. “There is no one else.”
He snatched up his glass and gulped down his plum brandy. It was rough and astringent-almost caustic.
“What are you going to do?” Kanner asked.
“What can I do? I have no choice. I will have to end our engagement.”
“Max, you need to think about this.”
“I have thought about it, Stefan. I've thought about it day and night. In fact, I've thought of little else since the spring.”
“Then why didn't you say anything before?”
“The opportunity never seemed to present itself. I almost said something to you when we dined last at the Bristol.”
“But that was months ago.”
“Yes, I know.”
Kanner bit his lower lip. “And I thought I had problems.”
They talked into the early hours until the conversation became desultory and incoherent. At some point Liebermann must have fallen into a fitful sleep, for he woke with a start-and discovered that the chair opposite was empty. He turned his head and saw Kanner lying on the sofa. He was evidently not asleep, for he was singing quietly to himself. “O heiliges Band der Freundschaft treuer Bruder…” Oh holy Bond of Friendship of true Brothers…
Kanner possessed an untrained tenor voice, yet the melody possessed an unmistakable sweetness and clarity.
“Stefan?”
Kanner opened one eye. “Ah, Max!” It was as though he had not been expecting to see his friend seated at the table.
“Is that Mozart?”
Kanner smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “What?”
“That song. Is it Mozart?”
“I… er… I have no idea.”
“It sounded like Mozart.”
“Well, perhaps it is.”
“Where did you hear it?”
Kanner seemed inexplicably embarrassed. “I don't know… must have picked it up from somewhere. I really don't know.” He raised himself up from the sofa and winced. “Oh, my head. What time is it?”
“Three o'clock.”
“I have a clinic in five hours.”
“No, you don't-it's Sunday morning.”
“You know, Max, I had a most curious dream. I dreamt that you said
… you said that you were going to break off your engagement with Clara.”
Liebermann threw some coins onto the table. “Come on, Stefan. Get up. We have outstayed our welcome.”
