‘Why?’
‘To do some restoration work on you. She’s afraid that before long we’ll be spooning you up off the floor.’ He paused a moment, while still facing me. ‘I told her it’s not necessary. You’re a person with a lot of inner strength, all you have to do is get the system up and running.’
‘Is that why you wanted us to go for a drive? To tell me about Katerina?’
‘Because of that, and also because there’s no point in swapping one babysitter for another, for your daughter to take your wife’s place. The point is that you have to do something for yourself.’ He fell silent for a moment, as if weighing up what it was he wanted to say. ‘If you go on like this, there’s no question of your returning to the service. You’ll need more convalescence.’
‘Keep your tongue in your mouth!’ It was the first time my voice hadn’t come out lifeless.
‘Katerina is at the most crucial point in her thesis.’ Again, he halted. He was worried in case he went too far and I took it the wrong way. ‘It’s not the right time to put it on hold. And I can’t stop her. Only you …’
He saw that I wasn’t going to reply and was about to turn the key in the ignition.
‘You’re all of you very kind,’ I said, and he left his hand on the key. ‘My wife, who caters to my every whim, and you, who are always trying to cheer me up, and my daughter, who’s willing to give up her doctorate to come and pamper me. So why do I feel so lousy?’
‘Because you don’t send us all packing and do what you feel like. That’s what I’m trying to explain to you.’
This time he turned the key and the engine started up. He waved goodbye to me in front of the apartment block. I didn’t ask him up because I knew it was time for his evening call to Katerina.
The kitchen table was laid and waiting for me.
‘How was the drive?’ Adriani asked me.
‘Fine. We went along the coast as far as Aghios Kosmas.’
‘In summer, the coastal road is full of life. As soon as you’re well,
I’ll take you for a drive down there in the mornings.’ The message was crystal clear. She would be the one to decide when I was well and she would be the one to take me for a drive. ‘Sit down and I’ll bring you your soup.’
‘I don’t want soup. It’s sizzling outside, people are in the sea and I’m eating noodle soup.’
‘Because you have to get better, Costas dear. It’ll help you to get better.’
‘Which damn quack says that?’ I knew that there was no medical truth behind it – the treatment was her own.
Instead of replying, Adriani took the bowl, filled it with soup and tossed a chicken leg into it. She brought it over and put it in front of me.
‘If you want, eat it, if not, don’t. I’m simply doing my duty,’ she said, going out and leaving me alone in the kitchen.
I clutched at the two corners of the table to pull myself up and let out a few choice words, when suddenly my legs went from under me. My anger deflated like a manometer; all the strength went out of my body and I felt paralysed. I sat down again, took a piece of bread, broke it into pieces and tossed it into the soup. I started to eat the soaked bread like an old man. At the third mouthful, I left the spoon in the bowl and went out of the kitchen.
3
I was sitting on the couch beside Adriani and watching the Aquarium. The Aquarium in question is not inhabited by tropical fish, but by the well-known TV hostess, Aspasia Komi, who every week invites various politicians, businessmen, sometimes a footballer or weightlifter, makes accusations, uncovers scandals and, in the end, sends her guests away smiling. In the past, I would turn my nose up at such programmes and leave the room. Now I turn my nose up and watch them, just like nine out of ten other Greeks today.
Komi was sitting in a comfortable armchair facing Jason Favieros, a well-kept fifty-year-old, who was sitting in the other comfortable armchair. If it wasn’t widely known that he had made bags of money in the last twenty years, you would have taken him for a rocker from the seventies who had forgotten to shave and change his jeans. He was the owner of a huge construction company with projects throughout the Balkans, was building a large part of the works for the Olympics, but was wearing faded jeans and a crumpled jacket.
Komi had him with his back to the wall and was questioning him about the accusations that the Olympic works would not be ready in time, but Favieros did not appear to be the slightest bit worried.
‘Put it all down to unfounded rumours, Mrs Komi,’ he said. ‘In undertakings of this kind, a great deal of money is involved, there’s a lot of interest generated and Greece is a small country in business terms. Even if we disagree, it’s only natural that competitors often resort to trying to discredit their opponents or even eliminating them.’
‘So are you telling me that the building projects will be ready on time for the Olympics?’
‘No,’ he replied with a self-confident smile, ‘I’m telling you that they’ll be ready much earlier.’
‘You realise that you have just made a commitment to our viewers, Mr Favieros.’ Komi turned to the camera and was beaming with satisfaction.
‘Of course,’ replied Favieros completely at ease.
‘Yes, I’d just like to see you when we’ve made fools of ourselves before the entire world,’ commented Adriani, who thinks all assurances are fraudulent.
Perhaps she is right, but Favieros had brought the discussion to an end with his commitment and Komi was looking for some other ground to do battle.
‘Nevertheless, there’s still an unanswered question in business circles, Mr Favieros,’ she said. ‘How did you manage to create that – albeit by Greek standards – colossal business empire of yours from absolutely nothing in the space of fifteen years?’
‘Because very early on I understood two simple things,’ answered Favieros immediately. ‘First, if I confined myself to Greece, my businesses would be condemned to stagnation. And that’s why I opened up in the Balkans. Today, either directly or through my subsidiaries, I’m engaged in projects throughout the Balkans, even in Kosovo. And apart from that, I exploited the traditionally friendly relations that Greece has with a number of Arab countries.’
‘And what was the second thing?’
‘That a businessman shouldn’t have any complexes. A large part of our work is carried out in partnership with other European companies, much bigger than mine. I can assure you, Mrs Komi, that I have never been afraid that they would swallow us up.’
‘It seems that you discovered the secrets of globalisation very early, Mr Favieros.’
Favieros broke into laughter. ‘I knew the secrets of globalisation long before globalisation.’
‘How about that, a pioneer then! And how did you come to discover them?’
Komi came out with a cute little smile as a kind of down-payment for the amusing reply she was about to hear.
‘From leftist internationalism, Mrs Komi. Globalisation is the last stage of internationalism. Read the Communist Manifesto.’
Whereas, until now, he had been completely open and informal, I suddenly discerned in his voice something like pride and provocation at the same time. The smile on Komi’s lips had turned into a smile of perplexity. She had no idea what either internationalism or the Communist Manifesto was, much less what they had to say. But she was experienced and quickly recovered her composure. She leaned forward to fix him better with her gaze.
‘You might call it internationalism and the Communist Manifesto, but others would call it connections with the governing party, Mr Favieros,’ she said in a bland tone. ‘And they also talk of your dealings with ministers.’
‘Not only with the governing party but with all the parties. Do you know any businessman who doesn’t have contacts with the parties, Mrs Komi?’
‘But we’re not talking just about contacts here. We’re talking about close personal relations. Only the other day, you were seen eating with a government minister at a well-known and very fas
hionable restaurant.’
‘What are you implying? That the Minister and I were plotting in public and in a restaurant of all places?’ said Favieros laughing. Then he suddenly grew serious. ‘Don’t forget that I am acquainted with many of the ministers in the government since the time of the military Junta, when we were students together.’
‘Nevertheless, there are more than a few who claim that the rapid growth of your businesses is due to the fact that you have the favour of the government,’ said Komi. ‘Perhaps because you were once comrades-in-arms,’ she added caustically.
‘My business success is due to proper planning, the right investments and sheer hard work, Mrs Komi,’ said Favieros gravely. ‘And that will be proven beyond a shadow of doubt, and very soon too.’ He stressed the last phrase, as if it were about to happen.
Komi opened a folder lying in her lap, took out a sheet of paper and handed it to Favieros.
‘Do you recognise this letter?’ she asked him. ‘It is a letter of protest from five construction consortiums to the Minister of Town Planning and Public Works. They are protesting because the contract for the construction of three junctions was not awarded and will be re-advertised simply to allow your company, which wasn’t ready, to take part.’
Favieros glanced at the letter and slowly lifted his head
‘Yes, I had heard something, but it hadn’t been brought to my attention.’
‘As you can see, here we’re dealing with very specific accusations. Is there any basis to them?’
‘Let me answer you,’ said Favieros calmly.
Slowly, his hand went to the inside pocket of his jacket. Komi clutched hold of the armchair, fixed her gaze on Favieros and waited. Through her body language, she was trying to transmit the electrified atmosphere to the viewers, but the staging stank from here to Mesoghia, where the channel was located.
Favieros withdrew his hand from his pocket, but he wasn’t holding a paper or even a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his brow. In his hand was a small Beretta pistol, which he turned towards Komi.
‘Heavens above, he’s going to shoot her!’ shouted Adriani, jumping to her feet.
Komi stared at the pistol as if mesmerised. I don’t know if it was her terror that had paralysed her or the fascination that the murder weapon has for the victim, something I’ve noticed on numerous occasions. At any rate, when she came out of her momentary torpor, she started to get to her feet terrified, except that her legs didn’t obey her and she collapsed back into the armchair. She opened her mouth to say something, but her tongue had entered into an alliance with her legs and refused to obey.
‘Mr Favieros,’ said a voice off set, trying to pacify him, yet trembling with fear. ‘Mr Favieros, put the gun away … Please … We’re on the air, Mr Favieros.’
Favieros paid no attention. He went on holding the pistol and staring at Komi.
‘Switch to the adverts, switch to the adverts,’ the same voice cried.
‘No adverts!’ The voice heard now was categorical, allowing no room for objection. ‘Stay with it. I’m the boss here!’
‘Mr Valsamakis!’ shouted the first voice. ‘We’ll end up in prison!’
‘How often do you think you’ll get an opportunity like this, you dimwit. Do you want to spend all your life on news bulletins and game shows or do you want CNN to fall at your feet and beg you? Well, do you or don’t you!’
‘Patroklos, give me a close-up of Favieros! I want a close-up of Favieros!’ shouted the director.
‘Aspasia, say something to him! You’re on the air, talk to him!’ Again the voice of the boss was heard.
Komi made no effort to hide her panic.
‘Mr Favieros,’ she mumbled. ‘Don’t … please …’
As Patroklos was zooming in, Favieros made three lightning-quick moves: he turned the gun on himself, pushed the barrel into his mouth and squeezed the trigger. The shot was heard together with Komi’s scream. A red fountain gushed from Favieros’s head, while his brains splattered onto the scenery, which depicted a huge aquarium with variously coloured tropical fish. Favieros’s body slumped forward as if he had suddenly fallen asleep in the armchair.
Komi had leapt to her feet and was retreating almost mechanically towards the exit on set, but the voice of the boss stopped her in her tracks.
‘Stay where you are, Aspasia!’ he shouted to her. ‘Just think that at this very moment we’re writing history! The first live suicide on TV!’ Komi hesitated for a moment, then turned to the camera, so as to allow a close-up of her face and also to avoid seeing Favieros.
Beside me, Adriani had put her hands over her eyes and, swaying to and fro as if keening, whispered:
‘No, dear God, no … No, dear God, no …’
‘Aspasia, talk to the camera!’ Again the voice of the boss was heard. And on cue the voice of the director: ‘Miltos, zoom in on Aspasia!’
‘Dear viewers.’ This time is was Aspasia’s voice that was heard, but instead of her, what appeared was a blurred image with blood and splatters.
‘Miltos, wipe your lens! I don’t have an image!’ shouted the director.
‘What can I wipe it with?’
‘Your sleeve for all I care. I want an image.’
‘Which imbecile left the intercom on? Switch to insert.’
The voices and sound cut out and on the bottom right of the screen appeared the words ‘unedited footage’.
‘Turn it off!’ Adriani screamed angrily. ‘Their only problem is that it’s unedited. Have they no conscience!’
‘I’ll turn it off,’ I said, ‘but you can bet you’ll see the suicide on all the news bulletins for the next week at least, like a trailer for a new film.’
‘And as for him, what on earth was he thinking of to commit suicide in front of the camera?’
‘Who knows what goes on in people’s minds.’
I had recourse to this vague reply because if we started to discuss it, we would only end up talking nonsense.
‘Everything these days is done for show, even committing suicide.’
There are times when Adriani hits the nail on the head without being aware of it. What reason had a successful businessman like Jason Favieros to stage a public suicide? Unless he was after something else and changed his mind along the way and preferred suicide. But what else? Killing Komi? She needed killing, but Favieros certainly didn’t watch so much TV as to have his killer instincts aroused by that blonde Barbie, all covered in glitter like a Christmas tree.
The other alternative was that he had wanted to threaten his rivals. So what was he doing with the pistol? Would he threaten his rivals with a pistol pointing at the camera? I had been a long time out of training when it came to crime investigations and I was coming up with nonsense.
4
I spent another sleepless night. The insomnia was my worst torment. I dreaded the moment when I turned off the light. Fanis told me that this often happens during convalescence and recommended that I take half a sleeping pill before going to bed. I refused to take as much as a quarter, because if you get used to sleeping pills, you can never do without them. I spent half my nights with my eyes wide open, tossing and turning in bed.
The previous night’s insomnia, however, had none of the usual symptoms: neither exasperation nor counting backwards from a thousand nor the midnight itinerary of kitchen–sitting room–verandah. On the contrary, each time I felt sleep coming on, I threw some water over my face to stay awake. I couldn’t for the life of me work out what it was that had driven Jason Favieros to commit public suicide. I could have accepted his suicide in the office or at home. His business wasn’t going well, he had psychological problems, his wife was cheating on him, he was involved in some major scandal and he preferred suicide to the shame of it. It was the public part of it that I couldn’t understand. Why in public? Why would Jason Favieros want to make a spectacle of his death? The likes of Favieros hate fuss and move in places far from the public eye, in offices lined with th
ick carpets to stifle the sound. And suddenly, one of their kind causes the TV ratings to rocket through his death? The possibility that he may have simply flipped could be excluded. He had gone to the studio prepared, with the pistol next to his wallet. Consequently, the public suicide served some purpose; he wanted to reveal something.
Beside me, Adriani was sleeping with that constant, muted, snoring of hers, like a cistern filling all night long. I usually bite the pillow in exasperation, but that night I had hardly heard her. It was the first night of insomnia for months that I didn’t want to end and that I revelled in.
For the past month, getting out of bed in the mornings had been a veritable odyssey. I thought of the day before me, the strict programme, without any novelty or deviation, and my feet refused to touch the mat next to the bed. That day, however, I was snug in bed by choice, because I was enjoying it. I had spread my dictionaries around me and was skipping from one to the other. I found the best documented entry in Dimitrakos’s Lexicon.
‘Suicide: 1. By one’s own hand, perpetrator: Aesch. Suppl., 592 This father; by your own hand, Lord, you planted our stock; // gen. executioner, perpetrator: Soph. Antig., 306 If you don’t find the same man whose hands dug this tomb, do not appear before my eyes; 2. partic. one who kills himself intentionally, self-inflicted killing: Soph. Antig., 1175 Haemon is gone. He drew his blood himself // mod. Only act or instance of killing oneself, murderer; 3. Soph. Oed. Rex., 231 If he knows the murder, another, from foreign parts, let him not keep silent;’
‘Are you all right?’ She poked her head round the door and fixed her eyes on me in concern.
‘I’m fine.’
‘Why don’t you get up?’
‘I thought I’d have a bit of a lie-in.’
‘You don’t feel out of sorts, do you?’
‘No. Nor strain from too much work.’
She stared at me, surprised at my somewhat ironic tone, which of late had faded together with the post-operational symptoms. The truth was that I, too, wondered what was the cause of my unexpected recovery. Was it the brainwashing by Ouzounidis the previous evening? Was it Favieros’s suicide? Most likely the latter. Something wasn’t right about that suicide, something had been bothering me from the moment that I saw his brains sticking to the huge aquarium on the set, and it was this that had dragged up the policeman, half-drowned and gasping for breath, from the watery depths back to the surface. I told myself it was just bullshit every time my thoughts led nowhere. I was creating crossword puzzles to pass the time. But I knew deep down that there was more to it. Favieros’s suicide had something of a show about it that simply didn’t add up, and it was this that was bothering me.
Che Committed Suicide Page 2
