His father invoked a serious infection of the respiratory system, which did not let him be examined in all the subjects. A restrained smile of gladness was placed on Orpheus’s face when he was admitted to the University of Berkeley. And now that the time has come, equipped with his degrees and knowledge, to enter the family core of politics, the new circumstances stand in the way of any ambitious attempt he makes.
He drives with filtered attention and reaches the block of flats where his sister lives. Luck blesses him again and he parks exactly in front of the entrance. He turns off the engine and waits. If he does not speak to anybody, he will go crazy. His mind has been entangled in a labyrinth of doubts and possibilities. He is afraid. He is sure he has made a mistake, but he can’t spot it. His memory couldn’t record all the moments from last night.
He hears a deafening sound. Anxiety and horror shake his whole existence. He turns fast and looks in the back seat. He inspects the pavement next to him. A woman in a red coat is rolling a pram, smiling at her baby. A man is following her quickly, holding a black briefcase, and is trying to overcome her.
He looks at the opposite pavement. A man with short hair and a black gabardine is crossing the road and coming towards him. His face looks alike Maniatis’s. He closes his eyes. It is in my imagination, it is in my imagination... He repeats the same sentence again and again. He opens his eyes and there is nobody. It was one more product of his disturbed mind.
He breathes quickly and sharply. He is trying to calm himself. He must definitely speak to someone; however he does not know if he can trust Natalie again.
‘‘Aris?’’
His sister cuts his breath. She looks at him strangely behind the tinted glass as he lowers the window and disciplines two curls of his hair.
‘‘What are you doing here?’’ she asks him with an investigating look.
‘‘I came to help you with the moving.’’
‘‘Now you remembered it. I had told you that the transport would come yesterday, but your mind was probably elsewhere... As always...’’
‘‘I forgot it.’’ He shrugs his shoulders down.
‘‘Dad has driven you crazy with the preparations, right?’’
‘‘Almost.’’
‘‘Oh Aris... He sees that you are not suitable for this position, so why is he tormenting you? We all know you are going to fail. Even dad knows it.’’
His gaze is loaded with contradictory emotions. His eyes are shining, reminiscent of a robot. ‘‘Why are you saying this?’’
‘‘People like you are suitable for any bank position. Why don’t you suggest it to him? You have the knowledge,’’ she advises him without receiving a response. ‘‘My sweet love, I’m not telling you this to underestimate you. On the contrary, I admire you for everything you have achieved, but we are not all suitable for every job position and you are not suitable for a politician’s position!’’
He imagines himself behind the dividing glass working as a banker. He hears the director’s voice condemning him for making a credit mistake in the system.
‘‘I got the last things and now I am going to my new home. You can come and see me whenever you like, OK bro?’’ she smiles at him and walks to her car. She ignites the engine and the rustle of it makes Aris return to the present.
‘‘Natalie, wait! I want to talk to you.’’ He approaches the driver’s window.
‘‘Aris, I’m in a hurry. The one who was renting the apartment is waiting for me to give me the keys. I also want to check the house before he leaves. Never will I understand why dad decided to rent it while I was studying.’’
‘‘Why not do it?’’
‘‘Maybe because he doesn’t need the money? Who knows in what condition will the house be in... Tonight, I will crush at your place and tomorrow I will go there with a repair party.’’ She wears the black sunglasses and turns on the radio to her favourite station.
‘‘Natalie, something serious has happened and I want...’’
‘‘...stolos Maniatis. The well-known, from his appearances on TV, lawyer left his last breath in his office, while his dead body was spotted by the cleaner this morning. The police are examining all the possibilities around his death, but all clues indicate he committed suicide.’’
‘‘Aris I am talking to you! I have to go. Stop behaving like a retarded person and take your hands off the car!’’
He takes some steps backwards. He looks at his sister with a dead look. Natalie laughs ironically and disappears with great speed from his field of view.
He grabs his throat. He is suffocating. His hands tremble. Another panic attack he has to deal with by himself. He returns to the car, without looking around him. He closes himself in and begins to feel safer. He tries to put his thinking in order, but all he sees in front of him is the dead body of Maniatis. He stretches out his trembling hand to the ign and returns to the road.
Black - White
Black. White. Black. White. Black. White.
He gently strikes the keys and listens carefully to the notes. The piano is his only consolation now. He wants to stay creative until the end. He wants to transfer feelings into melodies until the last moment. As he did then. As always. It is just that now, the sole source of inspiration is his unfulfilled dreams.
The sound of the door forces him to stand up and proceed in the doorway, but his limbs do not want to cooperate this time. Once again. His knees bend and end on the floor.
‘‘Dima, Dima are you OK?’’ A familiar voice calls his name knocking loudly on the door.
‘‘Yes, yes, I’m opening...’’ he replies and stands up.
‘‘Are you OK? You frightened me!’’ Ioannis is shaking his friend, who avoids eye contact, on his shoulders.
‘‘The demo is ready. I have it in the suitcase. I’m going to bring it.’’
‘‘Dima, I want us to discuss the new treatment again,’’ he pulls him by his arm, holding him in his place.
‘‘You are trying in vain. I’m not going to change my mind.’’
‘‘Why are you so stubborn?’’
‘‘Because I am bored! I’m tired of going in and out of the hospital and changing my treatments one after the other. Six months and nothing’s changed. I’m not a guinea pig, Ioannis!’’ he shouts and gets up from the armchair. He thinks he needed this outburst, but now he feels a knot in his throat ready to drown him before his illness.
‘‘From the first moment you appeared on my way I did everything to help you. I won’t give up now. Yes, there is no cure, but we can win some time and ameliorate the quality of your life. Next week I will take some blood samples again.’’
‘‘And if I don’t want any help?’’
‘‘Then I will insist even more. We’re a team! Nothing can beat us, Dima!’’
He bites his lips. He presses them so that he won’t outburst again. ‘‘We already have a winner, my friend...’’
The knocking on the door saves Ioannis from the admitting to the great composer that he is right. That it is a matter of weeks for the symptoms to get worse and his life to become a daily martyrdom. However, he wants to give him a spark of hope even if he knows that it does not exist.
‘‘Don’t go out, the wind will slap you in the face…’’ Nektarios says when he faces Ioannis. This time his humor is not enough to unburden the atmosphere and the sad faces around him. ‘‘What happened guys?’’
‘‘Dima...’’
‘‘What happened to him?’’
‘‘It’s OK, Nektarios. Let’s talk about the song.’’
He approaches him and sits on his knee. ‘‘Dima, we are here for you. You aren’t alone in this. We’re next to you, OK?’’ he asks him to raise his palm next to his face.
The composer reciprocates and holds his friend’s hand tightly. ‘‘Thank you, Nektarios. Truly I thank you both.’’
‘‘So, will you try the new treatment?’’ Ioannis begs him with his eyes, revealing his shiny smile.
> He rubs his eyes with the thumb and middle finger. He takes a deep breath to gather energy. ‘‘OK.’’
‘‘Will you finally leave tomorrow?’’
‘‘Yes, since I couldn’t communicate with the transport company. I hope the owner has no problem. I had told her I would leave tonight, and she thinks I have already got my things. Of course, she is not consistent either. She is already half an hour late...’’ Dima demonstrates again his compulsion with time.
‘‘When you say ‘‘your things’’ you mean the piano and your cup of coffee?’’ Nektarios teases him.
‘‘I rented it furnished. Do you believe I’m going to take the furniture leaving?’’
His friend scrutinizes the armchair Dima is sitting on. ‘‘It isn’t a bad idea... Anyway, I’m offering to lighten the place from two or three little things.’’
The composer smiles. Even though he is a dead person his two friends and associates can lift his spirit in a minute. The delicate Ioannis, whose face looks like a cartoon, and Nektarios’s seriousness which hides a pleasurable self-sarcasm, are what is left now in his life.
‘‘Apart from the piano, there are also my awards.’’
‘‘Yes, right... Let’s not forget that you need a room only for your distinctions,’’ the cartoon with a playful voice is ironic and is looking for support on Nektarios’s face, who is scrutinizing him interrogatively.
‘‘What are you wearing exactly?’’ he asks him and bursts into a short laughter.
Ioannis lowers his eyes on his burgundy, leather trousers, and turns the hanging scarf around his neck. ‘‘What do you mean?’’ His eyes express a clear questioning.
‘‘Floral shirt with detachable scarf of the same design, velvet burgundy jacket and similar colored leather trousers...’’ Nektarios states his questioning in every form of expression. ‘‘Why?’’ he concludes and touches his knees with his palms, blinking slowly.
‘‘I have a special taste as an artist...’’ he attributes his stylistic mannerism as an artistic impression, without convincing any of his listeners. Dima smiles faintly and Nektarios throws a nervous, silent, prolonged laughter. ‘‘Don’t look at me this way, the combination expresses me...’’ he insists and passes the scarf on his back.
‘‘Let’s ask the girl’s opinion who is yet to come. I forgot to tell you she is Natalie Nomikou. The politician’s daughter.’’
‘‘What?’’ Ioannis is thrown back. ‘‘I don’t want to see her again. She is a very obnoxious girl...’’ he says and stands up hurriedly from the couch. ‘‘We got to know each other at a painting exhibition two months ago and she was making fun of me with her company, criticizing my appearance, my hair, my smile...’’ he frowns and passes again the scarf at his back.
‘‘And didn’t you say anything?’’
‘‘Nektarios you can’t imagine the way she was looking at me... She was so offensive that I left the exhibition. I don’t want to see her again. As soon as she leaves, let me know,’’ he concludes, and the composer is left alone with the lyricist.
Dima smiles. Ioannis’s innocence is a special note in his life. ‘‘This song will become a great success.’’
‘‘Dima, whatever you write reaches the top. I admire you!’’
‘‘A nice music can say nothing without a good verse...’’ he tries to encourage him, but in fact he strongly disagrees with that statement. For Dima melody is what engraves the mind and penetrates the soul of the listener. He believes that a unique composition can express words and emotions, can narrate a story. Music can make you cry, smile, feel nostalgia, dream. The lyrics are the mold into which every melody fits. Adapted emotion.
In Russia, and all over the world, he is famous for his instrumental compositions. He has written the film score for five American productions, making people seek the soundtracks over the films themselves. However, in Greece, his contact with Ioannis led him to a new cooperation. Now his music has verses and a voice.
‘‘We both know that you don’t believe this... For the sake of Ioannis, you accept verses to be put into your compositions. I really want to know... What is your real opinion of my verses?’’
‘‘What question is this, Nektarios? You know that in my job I’m a very strict critic. If I didn’t approve of what you write I wouldn’t allow my music to be given it. In versing, you have a great talent.’’
‘‘Probably this is the best I have heard of in this field. And it comes from you...’’ His voice cracks towards the end. His eyes take a familiar shine. He seems ready to weep.
Dima feels that his friend is sorry for him. He feels great anger with this. It is the only emotion he would like to eliminate from Nektarios’s face. The empathy he sees every time in his eyes. ‘‘I will go change my shirt and will return. If she shows up, let her in and tell her to wait.’’ He finds an improvised excuse and wishes his legs won’t betray him until he reaches the room. This time his wish is satisfied. He closes the door and collapses behind it.
Mercy. His selfishness cannot bear to see others feel sorry for him, that’s why he has closed himself into the house. That’s why he does not want to have contact with people. That’s why he is hiding from life. Maybe inwardly he hates Nektarios, but he does not want to admit it. How can he hate someone who supports him so much? He cannot erase from his memory everything he has done for him in the last months. No. Probably he has to get used to the idea that as time passes everybody will feel sorry for him. Even Ioannis.
He opens his suitcase and takes out one of his black shirts. It is crumpled, but he doesn’t care about the girl’s impression, since he won’t see her again. He takes out the white shirt, he places it on top of the second suitcase, and at the next moment, he leans on it. One more muscle weakness. Nektarios’s brimmed with tears eyes are impressed on his short memory and fill his own eyes with red spots of anger.
The lyricist straightens the jacket over his shoulders and opens the door. ‘‘Good evening,’’ he greets the young girl, and his lips remain open.
‘‘We talked on the phone. I am Natalie Nomikou.’’
‘‘Actually, you didn’t speak with me, but with my friend. Allow me to introduce myself. Nektarios Giannatos.’’
‘‘Nice to meet you.’’ Her handshake freezes the heat his enthusiasm radiates.
‘‘My friend is coming soon...’’ he makes a gesture with his hand scanning every detail on her. He would characterize her as a black gazelle. An impressive, sturdy, brunette female. Her high-waisted trousers and narrow jacket give her an androgynous look.
He observes her, as she supervises the space, and follows her, while she sits on the couch crossing her long legs. The previous image of her walking in front of him passes through his mind. She is much taller than him. He looks at her shoes and observes that she is wearing squared-heel boots. He does not have any clue how many inches they are, but he is not interested in a strict estimation. Without them, she may not be that taller.
‘‘Do I know you from somewhere?’’
‘‘I don’t think so.’’ He follows her wandering gaze in the place. ‘‘Are you going to stay here?’’
‘‘Yes. I need my personal space. I took a degree in economics and now I want to complete my studies in the violin.’’
‘‘Do you play the violin?’’ The impression is reflected on his forehead and eyebrows, which take an ascending course.
‘‘Yes, I have been playing professionally for many years,’’ she continues abruptly, shaking her right leg impatiently.
‘‘It is impressive! The music I mean. The melody of the violin fascinates me.’’
She nods in agreement, while her eyes are searching for something more interesting outside the window.
‘‘Good evening, forgive me for the delay.’’ The imposing stature of one meter and eighty-five centimeters passes into the living room and approaches the brunette girl.
‘‘Glad to meet you. Natalie Nomikou,’’ she smiles revealing the dimple
s that give a sweet feeling on her tightly rounded face. ‘‘You haven’t told me your name...’’
‘‘Dimitris.’’ He hesitates to disclose his full name. He looks around him. ‘‘As you see my brother’s things are still here, but they will be removed tomorrow morning’’ he says pointing at the piano.
‘‘Your brother’s? I thought you were living alone here. So was I informed by the estate agent who gave me the information about you.’’
‘‘I lived with my brother. He is a piano teacher.’’
‘‘Oh, OK...’’ she smiles faintly and half-closes her eyes. He doesn’t like her reaction. ‘‘As I was saying to your friend, I am a violinist. I play professionally...’’ Her lips utter every word with warmth and glow in her expression.
Dima evaluates her look and feels that this woman is smarter than she shows. ‘‘Interesting...’’ he answers in one word.
‘‘I am twenty-four years old. I have dreams. Ambitions. I want to conquer the world! I wish to become a top violinist that everyone will talk about! I will go abroad. I will study next to the best. Then I will tour. I will perform on the greatest stages, next to the top names of music industry and the applause won’t stop. I will hold my violin in my hands and will rise it to the audience. The absolute liberation... This glory is the love of my life!’’
Nektarios watches her intently and cannot believe how incredibly fast she transforms her discipline to frantic spontaneity.
‘‘It is wonderful to dream. I wish your dreams come true,’’ the composer wishes to her with a hurried nod. If only he could make her disappear from his sight. The red spots invade again into his eyes and poison his mind. His eyes become two fiery flames, ready to burn her.
‘‘I will implement them! Who will stop me?’’
The Last Symphony Page 5
