by Diane Baumer
The rain rattled the windows in the library. Endzela remembered the words of the poet.
Why was I created as a human?
Why didn’t I come as rain?
She melancholically sighed and got down to the poem “Letter from a Pshav Soldier to his Mother.” The girl felt she was like a word painter as she applied brushstrokes here and there until she was fully satisfied.
Thy dreams, dear mother, will become
A garden full of / happiness / joy / delight.
O weep not so / like that, nor drown / plunge thy heart
In the languor of...
When the time came to go home, there was no trace of a single cloud in the sky. Checking on her phone, she learned that François had been calling. He knows no shame – sixty-seven missed calls and twelve messages just to let me know he is home. Too much for someone who hates to be bothered. Now, baby, don’t hold your breath.
She just felt like going for a nature walk. The morning conversation with grandpa had made her homesick.
It’s two hours until it gets dark. I can go to the park for an hour. The only problem is wearing those stilettos. My sneakers are still dripping. Okay, I’ll just give it a try – if I’m unable to walk, I’ll go back.
When she arrived there, Endzela hid her motorcycle. She was afraid that someone might see it from the road and steal it. Then, she entered the forest, enraptured by the magical charm of birch trees. The girl walked almost on tiptoe, in order to prevent her heels from getting stuck into the wet soil. Walking among the silvery trunks, under the golden vault of their leaves, assisted her in feeling safe from trouble – her longing, the fact she would not be able to bring her son with her, François’ unaccountable thriving economy, anonymous calls at an ungodly hour...
The idea of continuing to pretend nothing was wrong made her extremely uneasy.
There is a trap hiding something under the fallen leaves, but I just walk on them not asking him where the trap is. One of these days I’ll just step on it and...
Endzela picked a birch twig off the ground. From her grandfather she knew they were used as a flogging instrument. She gently whipped her hand.
The forest was stirred by a gentle breeze. Whispers here and there asked her what they could do for helping. On her way home, Endzela entrusted the wind with putting out the flames awaiting her with François. An inner voice exhorted her to flee the fire before she became trapped.
Everyone is responsible for their acts.
“I should have settled for a small apartment and have peace of mind knowing my family would never fall short of anything. He just appeared to be the man of my dreams.”
That will become your nightmare. His ambition knows no bounds, her inner voice said.
“How much I miss romanticism back on the good old days!”
She adjusted her palms to the trunk of a birch tree, as she recalled sweet nothings written centuries ago with ink from its soot, printed on paper from its bark.
What a shame! Had François been my beloved honest gentleman, even the coldest of winters would avoid such poetry outbursts every time he is evoked.
She gracefully jumped into a puddle. The memory of that day in her childhood when she had fallen came in too late. The Georgian stumbled because of one of her heels. Too much unevenness. No, no, this can’t be happening. I’m heading for the abyss.
A branch held her back in time.
Yes, nature has given me a warning. I have reached the edge of the abyss, and this is my last chance to avoid falling into it.
She was about to start her motorcycle when the phone rang again.
“Hi, François.”
“Where are you? Didn’t you see my missed calls?” he asked in an irritatingly authoritative tone.
“I went for a walk in the birch forest. I’m going home now.”
“In the woods? On your own? Are you out of your mind?”
“Do you prefer to waste our time discussing it, or shall I start the motorcycle?”
When Endzela arrived home, the phone was ringing. She picked it up before François managed to stop her.
“Hello?” she said nervously.
“Did you enjoy your walk in the woods, Miss Dzagnidze?”
“Who are you? Excuse me? Hello? Hello?”
Endzela and François started a heated argument. She wanted to go to the police and report the anonymous calls. François refused to let her go.
“I’ll protect you, I swear, my darling. You can’t betray me. I’ve done all this for you, too. You see how comfortable your life is right now, huh?”
“You’ve been selling forgeries like they were originals, right? You send me to Germany to pick them up. I opened the packages and there were paintings inside them. At first, I tried to convince myself those were unlisted artworks, purchases by discreet clients... Yet there’s nothing further from the truth – they are copies! Admit it! You’ve been swindling your clients and you got me in trouble.”
If icy glances could cut, at that moment François would not have hesitated to attack her jugular with the edge of his own glance. She was faker than all those fraudulent artworks. Endzela had promised that she would not look into the contents of the packages. Despite his anger, François managed to speak to her softly, in an attempt to dissuade her from reporting to the police.
“This is going to end. Trust me. As soon as everything is solved, we’ll sell everything and move to your country. Wouldn’t you like that? Close to your family.”
Endzela did not make any concessions. She had a small child and did not want to risk her own life as she tried to keep François away from jail.
However, she had no time to move away. An iron owl statuette hit her head harshly.
“You’re a murderer...” she stammered as she collapsed.
François remained holding the statue for a while, wondering why he could still hear the hitting if he had just attacked her once. Trembling, the Belgian used his hand to verify if she still lived. For a moment he hesitated. Was the heartbeat his or hers? Well, I think she’s dead.
On the shelf, Vasyl’s picture was still showing a smile, as usual.
“She didn’t give me a chance – it was either her life or mine,” François murmured.
The head-cracking noise incessantly repeated itself. François dropped the owl in an attempt to show that he was not doing anything.
On the shelf, the grandfather continued to smile in the picture as if nothing had happened. Endzela’s mother and François directly looked into each other’s eyes.
“She didn’t suffer,” he said in his defense.
Vasyl’s smile seemed frozen in time, willing to torment him for life.
“Don’t look at me like that. I’ll bear the brunt of this. Remorse will corrode me little by little.”
He had to bend his head before his parents. How much he needed his mommy now! Other mothers would put their children above everything else and fight tooth and nail for them – however, she was unable to love unconditionally.
“If you had spoiled me a little more, I wouldn’t have become a murderer, mom. Are you happy now?”
He covered his ears with his hands. “Stop the damn hitting!”
As he arrived in the birch forest, he threw her into the ravine. If her body is found, it will appear that her head has been struck by a rock.
35. The visit
Lina showed the two friars into the living room. Initially hired to take care of the pianist, Rosario served some delicious lunch consisting of typical starters – pisto and coca de bonito, squid, sobrassada with honey toast, and garden chops – which was not a meat dish, but potatoes.
The pianist asked about Cinnamon.
“I forgot to mention you should bring him, if possible.”
“Oh well – surely he would have agreed to that. The poor dog mus
t still be sitting by the door, complaining. We didn’t want to bother you.”
“What a shame! Well, next time you’ll know...”
They talked about the garden, the weather, the health benefits of cycling, Lina’s recovery – and also about Álvaro Ledesma. The friars grew really sad when they learned what had happened to the surgeon.
“His nobility is obvious. I hope justice will be served,” Brother Pedro asserted.
“We will pray for him,” Brother Lucas said.
Lina cleared her throat, giving the custodian a knowing smile.
“Would you like to see the piano? It’s a Fazioli. It was handcrafted as per my request.”
When she entered the study, it felt as if her heart had skipped a beat. It was the first time the pianist set foot in the room after the accident. Had the woman been alone, she would have embraced the instrument and apologized. However, Lina covered up her feelings. The last thing she wanted was to trouble the friars. She looked forward to being of help to Brother Lucas. Now I’ll see how good I am at acting.
She forced a weak sigh of worry.
“What a shame! It will lose its sound if no one ever plays it again. Inaction is terribly damaging to such hardwood. If I lived in an inhabited place, I would ask some student to come over and practice – yet I can’t do that here, in the middle of these mountains... Where could I find someone who can play the piano…? I feel so sad for it!”
The custodian held his breath for a moment and disclosed the secret.
“What a coincidence! Brother Lucas learned how to play the piano back in his country.”
The Mexican looked at him in mixed dread and shame feelings before bending his head – he had turned as red as a beetroot. Lina made a great fuss with her bandaged hands.
“I can’t believe my ears! How did he manage to be so quiet about it?”
Brother Lucas spoke in uncertainty.
“I only perform simple scores. I’m just a beginner.”
The masquerade went on as the pianist addressed the custodian.
“I don’t want to cause you any trouble, but if Brother Lucas could find a gap in his schedule, I beg you to allow him to come over and practice. Rosario will pick him up three times a week, or more if needed. This is the least the piano deserves. There’s no need for him to worry about anything. Here, he’ll be in the study all by himself. I beg you – please help me.”
Deep inside, Brother Pedro apologized to God for enacting that theater piece.
“As far as I’m concerned, I’ll be happy to help – as long as he is available.”
Brother Lucas ended up accepting the proposal. Back in the monastery, he needed to find out for sure. Had Lina’s proposal been spontaneous, or had she previously been in cahoots with Brother Pedro?
He did not need to ask. The custodian nodded with a smile.
36. Lina and Doctor Ledesma
Belén accompanied Lina to the hospital chosen by Doctor Ledesma. The pianist was scheduled to undergo some tests. If everything went according to plan, she would be operated on very soon. During the journey, the two friends discussed the same issue for the umpteenth time.
“You need to travel back to Boston as soon as the surgery is over. You were having a good time there.”
Belén tried hard to conceal how her stubborn friend had managed to get on her nerves.
“No way I’m leaving you alone with so much you have going on, dear.”
Belén received a text on her phone.
“It’s Álvaro. He is waiting for you in Office 3 C.”
“I didn’t know Álvaro was coming,” Lina said, stressing the doctor’s name ironically.
“What a pain in the neck you are!”
“Are you two texting?” the pianist asked amusedly as Belén parked.
Lina headed for the office. He told me we would see each other for the results. Hold on – was that before he knew Belén would be coming with me today, or later? It was before, I’m sure. Now, I know why he changed his mind and decided to get here. Crystal-clear.
How wrong she had been in her guesswork! As Doctor Ledesma saw Lina Maldonado entering the office, he gulped and put on his best smile – not that the surgeon was too used to smiling, yet the patient greatly appreciated his efforts.
The pianist looked astonishingly different. It was not something physical or tangible, but rather something to do with her attitude. His suspicions were confirmed as he heard her speak. Yes – that version of Lina Maldonado was neither the august woman in the concerts, nor the fragile one back in the hospital. Doctor Ledesma was standing before a strong, rational person willing to fight for what once had belonged to her – music. He wondered about the reason of such magnificent transformation.
On the contrary, Lina found the doctor pretty worn out. Was he so gray-haired? There was no trace of the arrogant demeanor which had irritated her so much at first. She felt sorry for him. It seemed a cruel mockery of fate that both had ended sharing the misfortune of not being able to practice their passions.
“By the way, you’re going to be dumbstruck when you hear my news. Do you remember the Mexican friar, the one who saved my life?”
“Yes, sure I do.”
“Well, it turns out he can play the piano, so we agreed about him coming over to practice with mine. Not to mention his outstanding voice...”
“I would really like to hear it.”
“Sure, I’ll tell him. He is very modest, but he will be happy to please you. I know the friars are fond of you. I look forward to him singing for you. The first time I heard him, I almost had a nervous breakdown. His voice sounds like my father’s – he used to be an opera singer.”
Doctor Ledesma looked troubled. Lina asked him if there was anything wrong.
“Nothing... It’s just a thought that crossed my mind – but this can’t be possible since dates don’t tally,” he said.
“Oh, I understand what you mean. No, we are not siblings. My father died long before Brother Lucas was born. It’s just a funny coincidence.”
“Maybe you and he end up giving concerts – you may be playing the piano while he is singing.”
“I don’t think so. I already told you that Mexican is extremely humble.”
“Just in case, I plan on being there to applaud.”
She realized that the tension of their early conversations had vanished. Lina found it pleasant how familiarly Álvaro would talk to her now – well, Doctor Ledesma. This is far from personal – he has just taken an interest in my hands, and I’m thankful for that.
She needed to go for a test. Doctor Ledesma asked whether Belén was in the cafeteria. The pianist left, certain that the surgeon was attracted to her friend.
Álvaro and Belén spoke about the court proceedings which he would have to face. Given how serious the case was, she suggested discussing it with Sergio, her husband.
“Actually, we are now filing for divorce, but that doesn’t matter. He is a good criminal lawyer, smart and honest alike. If you are seeking a second opinion, I’ll ask him to examine your lawsuit.”
Doctor Ledesma stopped and reflected in silence. On the one hand, he would accept her offer; however, he did not want to put her in a predicament.
“Please tell me the truth – would that affect you in any way? I certainly wouldn’t like to put you in an awkward position.”
“Don’t worry – everything is fine between us.”
“Then, I’ll agree to your help, Miss Molina. Thank you very much. I owe you.”
Belén smiled, thinking of a way to call in her favor – yet she was not sure whether he had the same feelings. For now, we’ll just let it be, only since you are Lina’s doctor and I don’t want to spoil it all; however, as soon as she recovers, I’ll find out, for sure.
37. On the edge of the abyss
Endzela half-opened her
eyes in the bowels of the cliff. It hurts, it hurts a lot... Where am I? What’s all this deathly silence about? she wondered in astonishment. The hazy cold morning seemed to be the typical of a Gothic story.
Her side felt like puncturing with her breath. As she tried to sit up, she screamed and fell. I think I just got a broken tibia. Her torture was unbearable. The girl wished she lost consciousness again so her suffering would cease. After holding her breath, she unhesitatingly bit into her knuckles so her brain would divert attention and, thus, ease her pain. I can’t bear this any longer. I really can’t...
“Help... Somebody help me, please... Is anyone there?” she stammered.
Endzela had a nervous breakdown as she noticed a disgusting slug sliding down her head. The Georgian detested bugs. She had to take it off, but her trembling hand refused to touch it. I can’t do this, I can’t... she said with a sob. At the third attempt, courage sprang to her aid. Phobias do work in mysterious ways… – she felt almost relieved as she realized it was just a trickle of blood. I have an open wound in my head. Was I involved in an accident while riding my motorcycle? I can’t remember anything.
“Help...”
The excessive calmness around caused her to shudder. She remembered the words in Elegy, a poem by Iliá Grigorievich Chavchavadze.35
Deep quietness holds the breath of night;
My motherland in silence lies.
She had the suspicion that the golden magnificence of the birch trees was some sort of deception to embellish death. If the spell was broken, only the gloomy outline of a mourning forest would be distinguished on either side of the cliff. The sun seems to have fled to avoid becoming an accomplice of this injustice. She understood what its absence meant. Poets would mention that in their elegies.