And the question pierces the most sensitive part of his mind, that of dreams. The point in which he lives the last months. These dreams will never come true. Hearing from her lips his own ambitions, it feels like a tyrant has come yelling at him that she can, while he cannot. That she will tour, but he won’t. That she will receive the audience’s applause, but he will never again. He wants to kill her with his eyes, to drive this tyrant out of his sight. This is what he wants. This girl came to remind him that there is a great life to live, but he can’t.
‘‘I wish you that!’’ he answers abruptly. ‘‘Would you like to check the rest of the house?’’
‘‘I don’t want to upset you now… Could I suggest offering dinner here tomorrow night?’’ Her pride is transformed into an erotic look full of implications.
‘‘I don’t think I can, I am sorry.’’
‘‘Come, please…’’ she grabs him by the wrist and gently caresses his hand. ‘‘It will just be a dinner…’’
‘‘My schedule is full.’’
‘‘Why? Aren’t you in Greece for holidays, Mr. Vladimirov?’’
His face hardens. He realizes that he evaluated correctly the tyrant that this girl hid inside her. ‘‘Bravo! You are very clever,’’ he comments with an ironic smile.
‘‘This is the reason I will reach the peak!’’ she stresses and lifts her chin. ‘‘From the moment I mentioned I want to tour abroad, did you believe I wouldn’t recognize you?’’ She raises her thin eyebrow. ‘‘Dima Vladimirov. The charming Russian composer. Last summer I was in the first seats of your concert in Kremlin.’’ She halts to examine his facial expressions. ‘‘I promise not to tell anyone, but I really want to find out the reason you resigned. So, would you like to explain it to me tomorrow, over dinner just for the two of us?’’ Her last question almost touches his lips. She is provocative, seductive. She has learned to always get what she wants. A characteristic she inherited from her father.
‘‘OK.’’
‘‘Antonella, can you leave your mobile phone aside and pay attention here?’’
Peter runs his fingers through his hair, walking nervously in the room.
‘‘You need to calm down a bit…’’ she keeps typing the message indifferently. I think she believes that she should be awarded just for her presence at work.
‘‘I can’t do it, first because we lost him and secondly because the evidence we have is so vague that even I want to give up!’’ he sighs falling into the chair and crossing his arms behind his head.
‘‘Are you sure that the woman he spoke with was his sister?’’
‘‘Yes. She lived there and she moved today,’’ I explain to her without many details.
‘‘This guy… He is really suspicious… Did you see how he was looking from inside the car? As if he was suspecting that someone was on his tail. He was frightened. Why?’’
‘‘Even you, if you were blackmailed, you would be terrified…’’ Antonella’s straightforwardness will probably bring in her way a second transfer.
My husband swirls his eyes, waving ostentatiously his right hand. ‘‘Strong characters, like me, are not afraid. They dare to face any situation, even their mistakes.’’
‘‘Peter, we are talking about blackmailing and not about your incurable ego! Don’t miss the point!’’ I remind him of taking a stand on the indictment.
He opens his eyes widely and I realize that he is passing my proposal through double and triple processing. I canceled him, I accused him, I ordered him, I described him as a narcissist…
‘‘Can we speak to him?’’ Antonella's question interrupts his processing. Rather it gets postponed.
‘‘Yes, I believe we should approach him on the occasion of the mini market owner’s statement.’’
‘‘I disagree!’’ I declare with absolute certainty for my objection. At the same time, I am trying to realize this new voice inside me. The voice of reaction. Where did the submissive to Peter’s wants Magda go? Why am I reacting like this?
‘‘Is that so, Mrs. Iliopoulou?’’ The team leader, who happens to be my husband, is sitting at a ninety degrees angle on his chair, has placed his elbows on the desk and his palms diametrically opposed to each other, and is looking at me with half an eye look. ‘‘I am waiting to listen to the arguments of your disagreement.’’ He crosses his fingers and his look becomes threatening.
‘‘If we talk to him, we will lose the advantage of surprise. He is lost. He will burst out very soon. This is shown by his spasmodic kinesiology and behavior. He makes continuous explosions, which if we record, we will be able to make his profile. I consider keeping spying on him a better choice.’’
I conclude my speech and meet two surprised pairs of eyes. My proud princess comes out and claps. I definitely believe that these fluctuations that my personality lastly makes come from my cohabitation with Peter. However, I think I prefer myself as I used to be. More patient, more receptive, more obedient, Peter’s mouthpiece…
No.
I don’t want this.
‘‘I will agree with Magda.’’ Antonella’s statement turns the room into a rink, with Peter crammed into the corner.
‘‘Very well. We will spy on him again tomorrow. We will also get all the data from the Directory of Criminological Investigations and we will reach our conclusions,’’ he says and points with his right index finger on the edge of his desk.
We return home, to the shift of responsibilities. I take on the role of the sweet mother and I enter my daughter’s room. ‘‘Violeta go to bed! It’s ten o'clock.’’
‘‘Mom, forget it! There is a match in a while. Olympiakos vs Panathinaikos[1],’’ she states passionately and wraps a red and white scarf around her neck.
‘‘What is this again?’’ I open my eyes widely noticing how skillfully she is making a perfect knot.
‘‘Peter bought it for me the other day when we went to Karaiskakis[2],’’ she continues and my eyes move from their position, approaching threateningly my eyebrows.
‘‘Did he take you to the stadium?’’
‘‘Just to see it. He guided me. He told me that in the new season he will take me with him in the VIP seats.’’
My eyebrows take the lead and are approaching the top of my hair. She walks past me, pushing me aside, and goes into the living room. For a few seconds I stay alone with myself, so that my characteristics can return to their natural position and then I follow her into the living room.
‘‘Welcome princess! Come on, it starts soon!’’
Violeta sits next to Peter with a strict style, as if she is wearing a crown on her head, instead of a scarf on her neck. Their eyes are fixed on the TV.
‘‘Peter did you take her to the stadium?’’ I stand in front of the object of their attention with the hands-on waist.
‘‘Oh Magda, when will you stop this habit…’’
‘‘The habit of caring for my daughter’s education?’’ My eyes open widely again.
‘‘The habit of asking rhetorical questions. I have told you many times that it is a waste of time when you are not in court,’’ he says with a playful expression. ‘‘I think that being a lawyer would suit you…’’
‘‘Peter!’’
‘‘Magda, what do you want?’’ He checks the binding on Violeta’s scarf, without looking at me and my pulses rise dangerously.
Composure. ‘‘I just want you to inform me. I think it is good to know that in a few months my daughter will be cursing the referees in the stadiums.’’ I bring the image to my mind and go crazy.
‘‘Only with arguments, Magda…’’
He leans to the side to check if the match has started. He leans extravagantly as if a mountain is standing in front of him. I am not even fifty kilos. I puff and huff and move to the kitchen.
‘‘Bring us some chips…’’ he gives his order and I hit the air with my fists.
I suppose he is taking his revenge for my previous behavior in the offi
ce. I think it is the first time in the two years we are together, that we will follow my suggestion. I am proud of this, even the moment I am looking all over the kitchen to find a packet of crisps.
‘‘Magda…’’ I bang the head on the cupboard and meet his smile. ‘‘Careless…’’ He winks and every trace of anger disappears from my mind. He smiles sweetly. Again. I want to kiss him.
How easy is it for him to manipulate me?
‘‘Violeta wants ice cream after all,’’ he says and takes his jacket from the hanger on the wall.
‘‘Ice cream in the middle of winter?’’ Damn. Why am I constantly heard as a hysterical shrew?
‘‘We learn from our mistakes. If she eats it slowly, she will be all right. If not, she will get ill and will be more careful next time. She must learn the rules of life, Magda…’’
‘‘If you want her to do that, you must be stricter with her. You spoil her! I wonder if you will do the same to our son as soon as he starts talking.’’
‘‘Don’t tell me what to do. You know that you can’t change my character…’’ he stresses to me peremptorily.
I think again about the scene in the office tonight and I smile. ‘‘My love… I have already done it… Our roles have changed!’’
His lips open and his eyes sparkle. ‘‘Sense is only one step away from illusion. I will be very happy when the time you can distinguish it comes.’’
He is sitting at the desk scrutinizing the black pen. He is twisting it with his fingers. It is relieving his anxiety. He looks at the clock on the wall. It’s 22:20. An image from his childhood blurs his eyes.
He was in the second grade when he decided to put a clock on the wall for checking the time needed to prepare for the school bus. The minutes’ hand stood motionless and patiently noted the time, but the seconds’ hand… It was constantly moving making noise in the deadly, nightly silence. Every second and beat. Tak, tak, tak. One night it stopped beating after the device was found dismantled on the floor. And then silence and its replacement came. The digital clock that is now showing exactly half-past ten.
The entrance gate opens, and he goes hurriedly to the other corner of the room. He throws a careful look over the window. His case is right. He takes a few, sharp, controlled breaths and runs downstairs.
‘‘Natalie… I want us to talk.’’ He arrives in front of her panting.
‘‘Aris, are you still awake?’’
He surpasses his sister’s ironic comment and he is waiting patiently for her to take off her purple coat.
‘‘Is he in the office?’’
She tries to overtake him, but he holds her hand and turns her in front of him. ‘‘I tell you that I want to speak to you.’’ He squeezes her arm.
‘‘First I will see dad.’’
Her voice is solitary and authoritarian. She is alike Orpheus. Of course, it is not the first time Aris makes this confirmation. He has understood that Natalie has the same toughness as their father since a long ago. In the exact same years, he wonders why he does not look alike him to anything. He would like to have even a small portion of his power.
‘‘Dad!’’ She approaches him with a warm smile that lights his dull office.
He holds her hands, calming her excitement, and retreats to a restrained embrace. ‘‘Is everything OK with the house?’’
‘‘Everything is perfect! Tomorrow I’m moving in there. How are things going on here?’’ She straightens the curtain behind her, a movement that looks meaningless in her brother’s eyes. ‘‘Will your son do well?’’ The derogatory smile comes again on her lips.
‘‘Better ask him.’’
‘‘Dad, you know very well that he can’t become a politician. Look at him… He is trembling like a fish only by me mentioning it…’’
Aris turns to the full-length curved mirror, next to the bulky library. He looks at his reflection and observes that he is not trembling while thinking that he may just not be realizing it. He turns forward with a look lost in the gap between imagination and reality.
‘‘Natalie, I have work to do. Do you want anything from me?’’ Orpheus avoids answering his daughter’s comments and the latter does not insist. She can impose on everyone, except her father. He is her teacher. The only man to whom she submissively obeys in her life.
She tosses her hair and stands on her black court shoes. ‘‘I just came to greet you. Tonight, I will sleep here and, in the morning, I will go to the apartment. If I don’t see you, we will meet at Aris’s speech.’’ A positive nod is Orpheus’s only answer. ‘‘I hope you won’t ridicule us, brother…’’ she slaps him on the shoulder and throws him a kiss on the cheek.
Aris lets her pass and looks at his father, repeating behind his teeth the same phrase over and over again.
Say something, say something, say something…
Support me, please…
Orpheus’s icy eyes are lost in the computer. Instead of getting angry with him, Aris puts up with himself again. He must prove to Natalie that she is wrong. That he can achieve it. However, he is afraid he will once again be a laughingstock in everybody’s eyes.
Like that night.
The wine cellar next to the library attracts his attention. Undoubtedly, in his situation he could easily become a victim of the false sweetness of intoxication or get lost in the addictive smoke of nicotine and then under the influence of the hardest drugs. However, he is not in danger by anything of all these. He considers that no substance can redeem him. Moreover, in every one of the aforementioned cases, he would prove to his father that he is unworthy. For all his life he has been trying to refute this assessment; his opinion of him. He wants to show him that he has the ability to succeed. That is why what happened to Maniatis should never be unveiled.
In fact, Orpheus never stated that he is unworthy, however he never either rewarded him for any achievement. Since he was a good student, one of the best in his class, he could not understand why his father insisted on him having extra lessons. He was always hurt by the fact he did not do the same to Natalie.
His sister is three years younger than him and was always three steps ahead of him. She studied alone; she passed the Panhellenic Exams almost effortlessly, and she finished her school with honors, without needing the help of any postgraduate student. Aris, at Berkeley University was constantly seeking helpers for his assignments, which he finally completed on his own. He had learned asking for help, although he did not really need it.
He walks to his room counting the stairs. He places his hand on his chest to reassure his heart when he opens the door and sees his sister behind it.
‘‘Really, are you scared now? You act like a child,’’ she mocks him and sits at his desk.
This is his corner. His world. He desperately wants to ask her leave from there but hesitates.
‘‘So, what did you want me for?’’
He breathes slowly and steadily, trying to gain time. Maybe he will be able to achieve it on his own. Maybe he does not even need to speak to her. Maybe he is stronger than he believes.
‘‘Why are you looking to me like that, Aris? Hmm… Let me guess…’’ she says and leans back in the chair, playing with the pen on her chin. His pen. His relief of anxiety. ‘‘You want me to have Dad cancel your candidacy. Right?’’
His face contracts. Recalling several memories, he realizes that Natalie never missed a chance to manifest her spiritual superiority. And his father never supported him. He hates his sister, but not more than him.
‘‘Do you like humiliating others? Does that satisfy you?’’
Her eyes sparkle and her lips are crooked with a hint of a smile. ‘‘Since when do you answer back?’’ she passes in front of the desk to confront him. ‘‘I don’t say these things to humiliate you, Aris. I say them for your sake. I told you again. If you want to succeed, you must pursue goals that you can achieve.’’
‘‘And what makes you believe that I will fail as a politician?’’
�
�‘Maybe the fact that you don’t have leadership and diplomatic skills?’’
He plays with his hair to tame these curls that he hates, trying to gain time. ‘‘You believe that I’m not strong enough to survive in such a field.’’ The affirmation hides an explicit question.
‘‘Are you?’’ Her style is triumphant. It seems as if she is in a battle with her brother and has just declared herself the winner. ‘‘Remember that I will always be by your side, whatever you need. I’m your sister. Don’t forget this…’’ she says and winks before leaving the room.
Aris turns the key and walks away. He remains alone in the prison of his body again, trying to explore the cells of his mind. He puts the hands on his head. He hears an inner sound. He recognizes this voice. It is his voice. He hears his screams under Apostolos’s office. He wonders if there is anyone else who knows the truth, anyone to whom Apostolos managed to speak. He is waiting. He must speak to somebody, but Natalie constantly shows him she is not to be trusted. His questions cannot be answered and the core sending the stimuli marks one more explosion in the center of his brain.
Red applause
‘‘Is it OK here?’’
‘‘Ioannis, I will make them myself. Both of you have already done enough for me. Besides, placing my awards is a pleasure for me.’’
‘‘As you wish…’’ he says carefully descending the ladder, taking care so that his All-star laces do not get caught anywhere; he believes he has combined successfully these shoes with the snake jacket.
‘‘Do you like it here?’’ Nektarios looks snobbishly at the place.
‘‘It’s indifferent to me.’’
‘‘But how… Here is your kingdom… Since you have chosen to be locked in the house you must make it as beautiful as possible.’’
‘‘I will try it, Nektarios. Thank you for respecting my choice.’’ He raises meaningfully the prize of best composition he won two years ago in a European competition.
‘‘I like it more than the previous one. It also has a separate kitchen…’’ Ioannis comments to limit Dima’s intensity.
The Last Symphony Page 6
