‘‘Our agreement is valid,’’ the man emphasizes.
The forty year old businessman opens the drawer and takes out a bundle of banknotes. He places it on the desk and pushes it towards the side of the man. ‘‘Money can buy everything,’’ he claims and with obstinacy he sucks the cigarette on his lips.
‘‘Not everything.’’
‘‘What I want to buy, yes…’’ he continues and seems to believe in his plan. ‘‘You know who he is, don’t you?’’
‘‘It’s none of your business.’’ His eyes look ready to explode. If he could kill with his look, the music producer would already be dead.
‘‘Will you bring him here?’’ he sweetens a little the tone of his voice. ‘‘His songs will rise to the top the company’s shares. This composer is top!’’ he repeats.
The man raises and lowers his head as if he is trying to balance the level of pressure. He feels a piercing force in his chest.
‘‘Well?’’
‘‘I will do it, but I need time. These are just the deposit…’’ he clarifies and hides the bundle in the inside pocket of his jacket.
‘‘OK, I told you I will give you whatever you want, as long as this talent gets into my hands.’’
Another outburst of anger is muted in the mind of his interlocutor. His teeth ache from the pressure exerted on them. He fastens his jacket and leaves through the inner door.
Prison without bars
‘‘…remains unanswered. What is hidden behind his favourite partner? Why isn’t his name revealed? Many questions will probably not be answered soon, however one is for sure: the unknown composer came to stay, and together with Ioannis they seem ready to conquer the music world! Let’s move on now to yesterday’s appearances of celebrities…’’
He turns off the TV. It is his last day in this apartment. He puts his hand on his chest and coughs loudly, letting out a heavy sigh. He feels like he can't breathe, but this is not the case. That time hasn’t come yet. The winner in the game of survival has already been highlighted, but he must wait until the end. He must wait to reach the finish line.
He leans his back on the comfortable chair. He closes his eyes and watches the film of his dreams.
He is holding Julia by the hand and they are moving on inside the church. All their friends are there for the most cheerful event in their lives. She is the unique, the chosen partner of his heart. Her auburn hair is held low and they hold a veil of impressive length. He smiles at her and she hastily changes her appearance and begins to shout. She is sweating. He is standing next to her holding her hand, while she is fighting to bring into the world their first child. He sees the happiness in her face and looks at her hand. She is holding a pregnancy test and shaking it ostentatiously before his eyes. One more member will be coming to the family soon. Their second child. He sees his mother trying to calm their children, while he and Julia are preparing for the festival. He is very anxious and his wife is trying to encourage him. He always has the same anxiety before a performance. Only she can act as the ultimate stress reliever. The show begins, the first notes touch the space, and he feels reborn. His fingers give the rhythm to a melody that cannot leave anyone unmoved. He approaches the centre of the stage and bows to the crowd, which is below, and is applauding him. He is moved. They are shouting his name. His first name. And she is there, in the front row smiling at him with admiration. He is happy. The applause does not stop. He opens his arms towards the crowd and feels free, ready to fly in this magic. He sees around him gold dust, glitter, a glory he never asked for, but he would not change it with anything else in the world. Because this glory is love. It is passion. It is a commitment. It is an endless relationship.
He opens the eyes. This is not his life. This is how his life would be. These were his dreams. These were his goals, and he was ready to achieve them all. One by one. He contemplates how much time has passed since the last time he was applauded and takes a sharp look at the piano.
He leans on the desk and brings the laptop near him. He types his name into the search engine.
Dima Vladimirov
He is not surprised to see that journalists in Russia are still dealing with him. The publications make a puzzle of memories that is a heavy load on his eyes. He chooses to open an article which was published three days ago in a well-known, Russian magazine.
Where is the greatest composer of recent
years, Dima Vladimirov, today?
The unexpected disappearance of the top musician has provoked a storm of reactions from his fans. Half a year ago he turned off all his social media accounts and since then he has been literally invisible. The latest sources tell us he is in America preparing a new collaboration with the greatest names of music industry. According to our exclusive information, a relevant poster with his participation in the new project will be coming out soon. We look forward to seeing his new proposal, which will surely impress us once more.
He smiles. He is trying to figure out how such a scenario would unfold. He imagines himself in a sewn suit walking on the red carpet and standing in front of the reporters, holding his wife in his arms. The questions would pop up right away. How was it for you to work together with these distinguished composers? What are your plans for the future? Are you going to stay permanently here? How do you feel that people are moved by your compositions? And he would reply with an awkward smile, looking at Julia, saying that he still cannot announce anything.
He frowns. He turns off the computer and hides his face inside his hands. Silence. He cannot breathe again. This time he does not want to. He begs for this martyrdom to stop here. He cannot bear to live waiting for the end. He suffocates. He closes his eyes.
He wants to run, to run, to run.
Mr. Vladimirov the orthopedist was right in sending you to me. This instability you feel is not due to your muscles.
He shakes the head negatively. He remembers his reaction to the doctor’s words.
It is not common at your age, but the examinations showed that you are in the early stages of amyotrophic lateral sclerosis.
He had left the doctor’s office disoriented, as if he was in a foreign land where everything was unknown to him. He wandered in the streets as if he was out of time. The present did not matter, as he could not dream the future.
It is a degenerative disorder of the nervous system. Muscle weakness is one of the first symptoms. The disease is characterized by spasms and progressive muscle weakness. Gradually the muscles atrophy and the limbs paralyze, usually first the upper and then the lower, and sometimes simultaneously. This leads, with the passing of time, to difficulty in movement, in speech, in swallowing, and usually people who suffer by it end up suffocating.
The doctor’s words are repeated again and again like an elegiac melody.
Life expectancy depends on the course of the disease. Each organism reacts differently in the disease itself, as well as in treatment. The higher limit is about three to five years.
He remembers the moment he reached Ostankino Park. He had thrown his body forward and was looking at his feet. The will of the mind made them seem weak, whereas that morning he had gotten up with an unprecedented power from the bed. He did not want to accept that everything had finished. His wedding with Julia would take place in a few months. With eyes in the sky, he let out a scream and walked into the park.
He started running, running, running.
We arrive in Vari. The iron door opens and we enter the garden. Maniatis’s wife is already at the entrance waiting for us.
‘‘Peter Deligiannis. As I explained to you on the phone, we won’t bother you so much. We only have some questions for you.’’
‘‘Come in...’’ she whispers hesitantly and, as we get inside, I observe her more carefully. Her face is pale, no black circles under her eyes. It seems she has not cried for her husband at all.
‘‘Did you know he possessed a gun illegally?’’
‘‘No,’’ she states inexpressibly in a col
ourless voice.
‘‘Did you face any problems with your husband? I mean financial, personal...’’ he asks her without delay.
‘‘No.’’
‘‘So, this is a sudden incident. I mean you didn’t expect it.’’
Her eyes are raised momentarily, however, in the next second they relax, maintaining her prior static look. ‘‘Yes, exactly.’’ Her voice is hardly heard. She is not whispering. She is murmuring. Her brown hair has circled her face as if they are trying to hide it.
‘‘The funeral is tomorrow, right?’’
‘‘Yes. The ship... The ship couldn’t embark due to the wind. Our relatives...’’ she continues, and it is obvious she is making a great effort to speak. Probably she hasn’t eaten anything since yesterday.
‘‘You mean your relatives from Zakynthos...’’ Peter clarifies trying to help her.
She nods her head positively. I am trying to clarify this vast look. It shows more relief than misery. I am sure that even if I scream, she won’t react in the slightest. Every person reacts differently to the pain, Magda. Andrew’s words come to remind me that I have to stop judging others so easily.
She combs her unruly hair with her fingers, after capturing my obsessive gaze on them. The left sleeve of her dress goes up higher and she hastily restores it to her wrist.
‘‘You live here. In this luxury home. In this area. As far as I know, you don’t work. Did you or your husband have some property that justifies your financial ability?’’ Peter continues.
‘‘He worked hard. Lots of hours.’’ She keeps gazing at us in the same chaotic way and as time passes, I can find the word to describe it. It is peaceful. She seems to have been redeemed from something and I believe that I know what it is.
‘‘Peter no more questions are needed. Go outside and in a few minutes, I will come too. I would like to talk with her alone.’’
Mrs. Maniatis does not react to my statement. On the other hand, Peter looks at me with anger, telling me with his eyes that I just stopped a storm of questions he had prepared for her. I know how oppressive he can be, even in such situations. My tone forces him to give up. He greets her, gives her his condolences, and moves to the front door.
‘‘You may also talk to our accountant. I know nothing.’’
‘‘Mrs. Maniatis, I can understand you, really...’’ I assert and approach her. ‘‘In the past, I was also a violence victim by a man who destroyed my life.’’ She retreats, holding a defensive attitude towards me. ‘‘I saw the bruise on your hand, and I am sure that you are trying to hide more behind your hair...’’ I try to hold her wrists, but she pulls them sharply.
‘‘It is not true...’’ She avoids looking at me.
‘‘Now it is all over... It is all over... You don’t need to fear anymore. I am not going to accuse you of murdering your husband just because he was hitting you; I am simply trying to understand... We have already concluded that he was not the best man and you are confirming it now.’’
She hesitates. Her lips form words that should not be said. She looks down at the carpet under the living room table. She is frightened. She brings her long fingers near her face and pulls her hair behind her ears, revealing to me an image that fills me with rage.
I clench my teeth to keep away memories that hit my mind. ‘‘Why did you allow it?’’ I ask her trying to hold my anger.
What about me? Why did I allow it?
‘‘What should I have done with two children? Divorce him? Leave him? And where could I have gone? To Zakynthos? My parents are extremely strict… They would rather see me dead than divorced. Where could I have gone? When I was eighteen, I got pregnant and his parents insisted on us getting married. They are just as absolute as mine.’’
The outbreak she had been waiting for years to manifest spreads tears on her bruised face. I don’t know which emotion prevails in me at this moment. Sadness or anger?
‘‘We need to talk. In such cases, we have to talk. I left him and my sister lost her life due to him.’’ I hate myself for narrating my story again. Why should she care? She is clearly in no such mood. I hold her hands in an attempt to give her a little strength and courage to continue.
‘‘I didn’t murder him… Neither do I know how he makes so much money… But I know that he was cheating on me, he was constantly drunk and if something went wrong, he burst out on me.’’
‘‘Was he cheating on you with his secretary?’’
She smiles ironically. ‘‘If only it was just her...’’
I hear the disappointment in her voice, and I see her smiling with the sad smile clowns have beneath their make-up. ‘‘I would like to ask you a last question. Do you know if he knew Aris Nomikos, the politician?’’
She takes a deep, balanced breath. ‘‘They were fellow students in America a few years ago. Apostolos had gone there for his master’s degree.’’
‘‘Do you know if they still had communication?’’
‘‘I don’t know.’’
I go out in the garden and look at a pale blue sky and an even weaker sun. I return to the car detecting from afar the disapproving grimaces on Peter’s face. My mood has ciphered. I feel an indefinite fear, like the one when you walk alone at night and feel that you are in danger of something you don’t know even if it exists.
‘‘Nomikos was a fellow student of Maniatis in America. In the postgraduate program.’’ I sit next to him and start feeling more secure. ‘‘She doesn’t know if they were still talking.’’ I turn towards him to meet an annoyed look. ‘‘Where are we going next?’’ I ask him with a false naturalness. A big red question mark is imprinted on his face, but I overpass it with courage.
‘‘Will I have to wait for more, Mrs. Iliopoulou?’’
‘‘I have nothing else to add, my love. We may be on our way.’’
He does not believe me, but today he seems to be accepting each of my revolts. I stop and let some time fly by. I feel his gaze carve my cheek. He cannot explain my silence and decides to drive to our next destination: Orpheus Nomikos’s house in Glyfada.
He stops the car a few meters away from the entrance and the two guards. He lifts the handbrake. ‘‘Is there anything else I should know?’’
While I want to answer him negatively, I feel the need to confess to him everything I talked about with Maniatis’s wife. Surely, she had a motive to kill her husband, but I am absolutely sure she didn’t do it. I choose not to tell him anything else, at least until we see what is going on with the politician. The only thing that she does not need at this moment is for her to become Peter’s target! The image with the bruises on her face gives me the answer I need. ‘‘I asked her if she knew about the affair her husband had with his secretary.’’
‘‘And?’’
‘‘She didn’t know it.’’
‘‘Or she may have said so. Generally, her tranquility was strange, however...’’
‘‘But you don’t believe she killed him, right?’’ I seek a positive answer. I need it so that I have no insecurities left.
‘‘First of all, we don’t even know if he was murdered, Magda. If we have such a case, surely Nomikos had the greatest motive.’’
‘‘Does that mean that you exclude the possibility that his wife killed him?’’ I ask again with tension.
Please, say yes...
‘‘I exclude it.’’
I smile with satisfaction.
‘‘Why did you suspect her? From what? From her reaction when I asked her if she expected his death? I believe she was simply terrified.’’
‘‘I never suspected her. I simply exclude one more suspect.’’
‘‘To exclude someone as a suspect he or she must be one in the first place, Magda...’’ he stresses to me with great pleasure.
‘‘And his secretary?’’
‘‘The motive for her would have been that he was not good at sex!’’
I steal his smile and begin to feel even calmer with my choice.
<
br /> ‘‘I exclude her too. Women in general,’’ he adds, and I smile again. ‘‘Won’t you comment it?’’
‘‘What do you want me to say?’’
‘‘When will you stop recalling your past?’’ Our looks lock. ‘‘I allow you to watch nightmares only in your dreams, but I demand that you seize them from your conscious life. Since I am next to you, you must stop being afraid. Stephen’s shadow should leave your mind.’’
‘‘You saw...’’
‘‘Her bruises? Which of all? Those on the legs or the hands?’’
On the legs? Why can’t I have exclusiveness on an observation?
‘‘It wasn’t difficult to spot them... From the moment she was wearing a summer dress with a woolen cardigan in mid-March, it was obvious that she had chosen it in order to hide something. But she didn’t kill him. She was simply one more of his victims.’’
I let out a sigh of relief. I am glad and sorry simultaneously that he is so observant and so annoyingly clever. ‘‘I am sorry I didn’t tell you anything...’’
‘‘Magda...’’ he raises his eyebrow with ironic pride. ‘‘I want you beside me to correct me, not to see what I have spotted earlier than you.’’
And we return to his well-known style of Mr. Know-it-all!
A black car exits Nomikos’s villa, catching our attention.
‘‘It is him...’’ he says and starts the car. ‘‘Let’s see what your next movement is going to be… Aris.’’
He hugs the steering wheel in a way that signifies fear lest it disobeys his orders. He remembers how hard learning to drive was, but that was also an order he had to follow. He did not dare to bring the slightest objection to his father, however he was very lucky, as his teacher was the most patient man he has ever met in his life up to now.
Everything he has achieved so far is a result of his hard effort to overcome his weakness. And he has done very well. Degree in Economics at the University of Berkeley, Master’s Degree in International Relations, and excellent knowledge of three foreign languages. Going abroad was the only option, after his failure in the Panhellenic Exams, which he never managed to complete.
The Last Symphony Page 4
