Unusual Uses for Olive Oil (18 page)

‘Yes,’ said von Igelfeld. ‘Yes indeed.’

‘And Professor Zimmermann?’ asked the Librarian. ‘Did you see him?’

Von Igelfeld shook his head. ‘He was away,’ he said. ‘But he left a note for me saying that we should meet soon. Those were his words: meet soon.’

‘Very satisfactory,’ said Herr Huber. ‘And they liked your talk? I knew they would. Will they invite you back, do you think?’

Von Igelfeld smiled. Poor, unworldly Herr Huber; he clearly did not know that guest speakers were usually invited only once. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said. ‘They have different speakers each year, you see.’

Herr Huber looked disappointed. ‘Oh, well. There will be many other invitations stemming from this one, when word gets out.’ He paused. ‘And in fact one has already come in. Have you looked in your in-tray yet?’

Von Igelfeld had not. He was busy working on the
final draft of a piece for the
Zeitschrift
and had found no time so far for correspondence.

The Librarian explained. ‘Professor Unterholzer and Frau Professor Unterholzer have invited everybody for dinner – as they did last year. That’s you and Professor Prinzel and Frau Professor Prinzel and me and …’ He hesitated, smiling shyly.

‘Is there anybody else?’ asked von Igelfeld.

‘My fiancée,’ whispered Herr Huber. ‘She is invited as well. Specifically. By name. The future Frau Huber.’

It took von Igelfeld a few moments to absorb what had been said. ‘Your
fiancée
, Herr Huber?
You
have a
fiancée
?’

Herr Huber beamed with pleasure. ‘Yes,’ he whispered. ‘And you’ve met her …’

Again a few moments were required for von Igelfeld to order his thoughts. Then the memory came back of the sight of Herr Huber walking in the mountains with that young woman whose name he could not quite recall; of the comment that she sought out the Librarian’s company. So that was it …

‘I must congratulate you, Herr Huber,’ he said. ‘I never thought it possible …’ He paused. No, he could not say what he was thinking. ‘That is, I never thought it possible that you would find somebody who met your high standards. I am delighted that you have.’

Herr Huber accepted the compliment gravely. ‘I have been very lucky,’ he said.

‘And she has been lucky too!’ said von Igelfeld. ‘She has been lucky to get you!’

‘Do you really think so?’ asked the Librarian.

Von Igelfeld wanted to say no, but could not. ‘Of course I do,’ he lied. ‘You will both be very happy.’

‘Well that’s very kind, Herr von Igelfeld. And you’ll all have the chance to get to know her better when we meet at Herr Unterholzer’s house next week.’

Von Igelfeld looked down at his colleague’s left hand. Yes, the Librarian was wearing a ring – a large gold band on which, even at this distance, could be made out an incised pair of entwined hearts. He glanced down at his own, discreet signet ring with its tiny hedgehog motif, drawn from the crest of the von Igelfeld family. He could never wear a ring with entwined hearts, but somehow, now, it seemed less lonely, less demanding than a single figure of a hedgehog rampant.

After his experience of arriving too early at the Prinzel house, von Igelfeld was careful to arrive somewhat later at the Unterholzers’. This meant he was last, everybody else having arrived at exactly the time stipulated by Frau Professor Unterholzer.

‘Ah, there you are, Herr von Igelfeld,’ said Unterholzer, adding, ‘at last.’

Von Igelfeld looked at his watch. It was ten minutes after the appointed time.

‘I have always believed that it is polite to arrive a few minutes after the time on an invitation,’ he said. ‘This gives one’s hosts the opportunity to make last-minute preparations.’

‘Not necessary in this household,’ said Unterholzer. ‘This meal has been ready since yesterday. And the table was laid two days before that.’

They went into the sitting room where the other guests were already seated. Herr Huber sprang to his feet and introduced Aalina. ‘You’ve met my fiancée, of course,’ he said proudly.

Von Igelfeld shook hands with Aalina and proceeded to greet Frau Unterholzer and the Prinzels.

‘What a happy gathering,’ said Prinzel. ‘And how opportune it is to be able to wish every happiness to our newly engaged friends.’

‘A very good development,’ said Unterholzer. ‘May you have many happy years together, Herr Huber and … and the future Frau Huber.’

Von Igelfeld raised the glass that had been pressed into his hands by Frau Unterholzer. He thought, even as he drank the toast, how bleak was the prospect of many years with Herr Huber. Could such years really be happy? How many hours of sheer boredom lay before the unfortunate Aalina – hours of tedium
stretching out like the great German plain itself. And yet women were funny about that sort of thing. So many of them appeared to be perfectly satisfied with the most unlikely men, failing to see their manifest drawbacks, failing to object to their monotonous conversation, their wretched hobbies: fishing, motor-sport, beer – that sort of thing. Not that Herr Huber was interested in those pursuits; he was more focused on nursing homes and the issue of where people came from and how long they had lived there. Poor woman! Did she know that, he wondered. Was she aware of what she was doing?

‘Herr Huber tells us that you had a very successful visit to Hamburg, Herr von Igelfeld,’ said Prinzel. ‘A standing ovation, no less!’

Unterholzer’s eyes flashed. ‘Sometimes people are very keen to get out,’ he said. ‘That may look like a standing ovation, but it is just getting up to go. Not that this was the case with Herr von Igelfeld. I’m sure that his standing ovation was quite genuine.’

‘I’m sure it was,’ said Ophelia Prinzel. ‘Well done, Moritz-Maria! It will be London next. Then New York.’

Von Igelfeld smiled. ‘I shall not be accepting any more such invitations,’ he said. ‘Like all of us, I have work to do here in Regensburg.’

‘A very noble sentiment, I must say,’ said Prinzel. ‘There is nothing worse than these people who dash
about the place shamelessly giving talks. Have they nothing better to do?’

There were murmurs of agreement from all, and the next subject was broached. This was a discussion of road repairs near the Prinzels’ house. Then they moved on to talk about Venice, and whether it was best to go there in the summer or the winter. Then there was something about a concert that Ophelia had attended recently where she was sure the piano was out of tune. ‘The pianist looked most uncomfortable throughout the performance and at the end he banged the lid shut and swore. I heard him. I was in the front row.’

‘That is quite inexcusable,’ said Frau Unterholzer. ‘It does not help to do such things.’

There was further agreement on this matter, and that took them to the point at which dinner was served. Over the meal, the conversation was congenial, with everybody making an effort to include Aalina in what was said. She proved to be an easy conversationalist, smiling charmingly at anybody who spoke to her and nodding agreement with everything that the host or hostess said. For the rest, she gazed upon Herr Huber with intense pride, not noticing, it appeared, that he told the same story twice, once at the beginning of the meal and once towards the end. This was a story of a man who came from Bonn but moved to Frankfurt, and then went back to Bonn.

Halfway through the meal, von Igelfeld spilled a small amount of gravy on the cuff of his shirt. Attempts to remove the stain with his table napkin having failed, he asked permission to use the tap in the bathroom for this purpose. ‘I know exactly where it is,’ he said. ‘Please continue for a few minutes without me.’

He went out into the long, book-lined corridor that led to the bathroom at the back of the house. Halfway down this corridor, sitting strategically on the carpet, was the Unterholzers’ dachshund, the unfortunate Walter, with his three-wheeled prosthetic appliance strapped round his sausage-like stomach. On seeing von Igelfeld approach, Walter rose to his remaining foot and attempted to wheel himself out of the way. He was not fast enough, and von Igelfeld, who was not looking where he was placing his feet, tripped over him.

The dog gave a yelp and attempted to move further out of the way. Unfortunately this was not possible, as von Igelfeld’s foot had kicked off one of the dog’s wheels. Now unbalanced, the dachshund simply fell on his chest, letting out a whimper as he did so.

Von Igelfeld looked down at the dog at his feet, its little wheel clearly detached, lying beside him. Bending down, von Igelfeld picked up the wheel and, calming the dog as best he could, attempted to fit it back on the appliance. It was very stiff, and he had
to give it a good push before it found its place, but this had the effect of driving all the breath out of the dog, who had to gasp for air.

The wheel in place, von Igelfeld gave the dog a further push, to see whether all was working correctly. It was not. The wheel that he had replaced now refused to go round at all, so that the dog turned in little circles as he paddled with his remaining leg.

Von Igelfeld had no difficulty in arriving at a diagnosis: the wheel needed oiling. But how to do that?

The dog, in the interim, had moved in circles through the kitchen door, and it was in the kitchen that the solution presented itself. Reaching up to the shelf above the sink, von Igelfeld took down a bottle of extra virgin olive oil and dripped a small quantity over the bearings of the non-functioning wheel. Then he tried to ease the wheel by spinning it. Unfortunately he forgot that he was holding an open bottle of olive oil in his other hand, and as he leaned forward he tipped the contents of this bottle all over Walter and the surrounding parts of the kitchen floor.

Walter, alarmed by being covered with olive oil, let out a howl of protest and ran – in so far as a dog with a prosthetic appliance and three wheels can run – back along the corridor and into the dining room, to seek the succour of his owners.

Von Igelfeld put the now empty bottle of olive oil
back on the shelf, made an unsuccessful attempt to mop up the spillage on the floor, and returned to the dining room. The conversation was still in full swing, although Frau Unterholzer was looking down in puzzlement at the floor beside her chair where Walter, covered in olive oil, was licking at his coat. She glanced up at von Igelfeld and frowned, but he avoided her gaze.

At the end of the meal, Professor Unterholzer left the table to turn on the coffee-making machine in the kitchen. A moment or two after his departure, there was a loud thud from the kitchen. Frau Unterholzer gasped and hurried from the room, to return a few moments later with her husband, who looked flustered and uncomfortable. They both glared at von Igelfeld.

‘My husband slipped,’ said Frau Unterholzer. ‘But he is uninjured.’

‘I’m so sorry to hear that,’ said Herr Huber. ‘At my aunt’s nursing home they have these special non-slip floors. You can’t slip on them – it’s just impossible.’

‘If one covered them with olive oil, one might,’ said Frau Unterholzer darkly.

‘Possibly,’ said Herr Huber. ‘But why would one do a thing like that?’

The Prinzels had come by car, and they gave von Igelfeld a lift back to his apartment. As they drove
through the night, Prinzel said, ‘A very pleasant evening, don’t you think, Herr von Igelfeld?’

Von Igelfeld looked out of the window; a city looked so different by night; indifferent too. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Very pleasant.’

Ophelia Prinzel turned to look at von Igelfeld in the rear seat. She was fond of him – and always had been. Poor Moritz-Maria: all alone with nobody to go home to. And there appeared to be oil stains all over the front of his shirt and on the sleeves of his jacket. How strange.

‘Are you happy, Moritz-Maria?’ she asked suddenly. She did not know why she asked this; it just seemed to be the question that needed to be asked at the time.

‘Happy?’ he asked. ‘Why should I be anything but happy?’

She shrugged. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘It’s just that the world sometimes seems a bit unkind, doesn’t it? It can be unkind to people who just want to be loved, like everybody else; who just want that – no more, just that.’

‘Well, it’s not been unkind to me,’ said von Igelfeld.

He looked out of the window again, at the passing world – a world of night and loneliness. A world in which there was a place for some but not for all. Did he believe the words that he had just uttered – that the world had not been unkind to him? He tried to believe
what he said – he tried – and that, perhaps, sometimes enables us to believe what we wish to be true.

‘Yes,’ he muttered, half to Frau Prinzel and half to himself. ‘I have much to be thankful for, as most of us do.’

‘That’s true,’ she said, reaching out over the back of the seat to place a comforting hand upon his forearm. She felt the olive oil on the fabric of his sleeve, but did not worry about that, because sympathy – and friendship – can rise above, can negate, the misfortunes that so consistently and so unfairly beset others. Sympathy and friendship can rise above these things – and almost always do.

THE CORDUROY MANSIONS SERIES