by Diane Baumer
Endzela closed her eyes gently, allowing herself to be seduced by eternal sleep. A distant owl chuckled over her with its methodical hoot.
“Hoo-hoo, hoo-hoo, hoo-hoo...”
An owl... That was what François used to hit me...
“Hoo-hoo, hoo-hoo, hoo-hoo...”
It’s the death knell coming from the bell tower of Svetitskhoveli Cathedral.
“Hoo-hoo, hoo-hoo, hoo-hoo...”
She smiled faintly as she saw the silhouettes of his brother and grandmother approaching her hand in hand.
“Nana... You are with Arsen... I knew you would take care of him.”
How much she had missed them! The light emerging from them soothed her heartbeat.
“I’ll be right there with you. Hold on a second. I need to say goodbye first. Goodbye, mom, grandpa, Vasyl... My little son... Forgive me... Forgive me for abandoning you, once again.
The girl thought she had heard the moan of a repentant birch tree in the distance.
When she opened her eyes, Arsen and her grandmother had vanished. She wanted to call their names, yet nothing but a whisper came out of her mouth.
She madly loved her little brother. There were eleven years between them. Endzela had taken care of him until his last breath.
He was so well-behaved that he passed away without complaining, pretending to fall asleep – though I knew he was dead.
That day, terrified at the thought of his beloved brother being buried, she did not go out to announce his death. Grandpa had no choice but to drag her out of the room against her will.
I hope there is no God up there – if there is, He is definitely too cruel, allowing a child into the world only to suffer.
Apparently, Arsen had been born healthy. His father was euphoric. A boy, just what he wanted! Endzela shuddered at the memory of that day, since the happy event was meant to eventually become a drama. During the first months of his life, the baby made his father proud of his ancestry. Afterward, something went wrong. Arsen did not evolve as expected. Doctors spoke frankly. The child suffered from a rare degenerative condition for which no treatment was available. Endzela’s father began to ignore his own son. When facing the little creature he would look away, and forbade the rest of the family to take him out of the house so they would stay clear of gossip. The boy died at six, four years after the father had abandoned them. I can’t forgive you, dad. Mom became deeply depressed for a long time, admitted on and off to the mental hospital. Endzela and the grandfather feared the worst. They had almost given up on her recovery when something unexpected happened. Endzela became pregnant. It’s kind of funny how the same story can repeat itself in different generations of the same family. My boyfriend abandoned me when I admitted to him my fear that the child might share my brother’s fate. He did not even wait for me to get the results of the medical test. How much anguish I went through until I finally knew that Vasyl would be born healthy!
Endzela felt a sharp pain more acute than that in her ribs. Mom, I definitely don’t want to put you through hell if you lose another child. Vasyl kept you away from the abyss in which you were, and now I’ll try my best to get out of this. My arms need to move on.
She lay on her right side to rest a little before she put her broken leg onto the other. My ribs... I can’t bear this. I really can’t.
The slight movement of her breathy sighing was enough for her to know that the flesh was lacerated inside. She invoked poet Vazha-Pshavela, begging him to breathe strength into her.
Your beautiful words will prodigiously save the life of a fellow countrywoman.
«In haughty pride...»36
Almost subconsciously, she rested her forearms and made an early attempt. It was horrible, yet she was successful. Once again…
«In haughty pride, though wounded sore…»
Yet once again…
«In haughty pride, though wounded sore,
An eagle fought the raven-crow.»
38. Tomorrow
The day before he was scheduled to pay Lina a visit, Brother Lucas tossed and turned in his sleep, as excited as a child on the night preceding their first summer camp ever. The young friar still could not believe he was going to play a piano like that. In the house of a great soloist! Himself, just an ordinary musician! How daring I have been! Oh my God, I can’t explain why I agreed. I feel so embarrassed now…
He instinctively covered his flushed face under the bedsheet. How much I regret accepting the proposal… Brother Pedro put me in an awkward situation.
Brother Lucas was grateful for the interest the custodian took in lifting his spirits. However, following the unpleasant events of recent times, this was no time to indulge oneself, but to mourn.
He nodded worriedly. No, I’m not doing the right thing. Brother Simón just died. And it’s been my fault. It was so naïve of me to think that I, a poor friar, would defeat the serpent. That reptile didn’t even need to coil around my neck – I spun myself until I became trapped. If I go ahead and try to clarify the matter, I will be damning more innocent souls. If I resign, the martyrs will have died in vain, and the evil will have triumphed, once more. Oh, Diego... How accurately you chose your victim! There wasn’t another one as stupid as I am.
His eyes became wet. The words of a guileless voice began to reverberated within the boundaries of friar's faith.
Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.37
“Surely the piano would comfort me, yet I’m not seeking relief but justice.”
The voice went one as if it were a recording.
Blessed are they who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be satisfied.
“'They will burst,' I’d rather say. Brother Simón was honest and died for it.”
The voice ignored his rational arguments.
Blessed are they who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
“I should be happy, but I don’t have enough munificence and worldly emotions to control my soul. I still have a long way inside to go. Brother Simón was more needed here on earth than he was in heaven, wasn’t he?”
Engrossed in such musing, he ventured into a nightmare as he was heading for Lina’s house on his bicycle. The faint sound of the Fazioli filled the scene with Chopin’s Funeral March. Who is playing that? No! No! Someone is trying to draw the fourth horseman with that music.
He speeded up frantically. I need to stop that person from playing any longer. Oh God! Please help me get there promptly.
When he reached the top of the seventh hill and caught sight of Lina’s house, his body was shaken by a chill. A young man was sitting at the piano. This can’t be happening... What is Diego doing here? He made a fuss, screaming and begging his friend to stop playing – yet Diego did not seem to hear. Many people will die. How could that be that he didn’t seem to care?
The area was struck by lightning. Brother Lucas, looking up, saw a green horse on the horizon. It was ridden by Death and accompanied by the Abyss.38
He ran toward the house to prevent the music from guiding them to earth. The young friar was about to arrive when some of the henchmen of Diego’s father came out and grabbed him.
“Let me through! I need to stop the Funeral March!”
The men took him forcibly.
“Diego! Diego!” the friar shouted.
He awoke with a start. The bedclothes coiled up on the floor evoked memories of his childhood. Brother Simón would always throw his hands up in the air in horror when he entered the room to wake him and he had no covers on.
“What a mess! Did you fight against the devil tonight, little creature?” he said in a stupor.
Brother Lucas felt a twinge in his heart. For the first time in his life he had a feeling of spiritual emptiness, the impression that there was no God listening to humanity. He couldn’t
have saved His son’s life, since He can’t actually save anyone. That is the painful truth.
At dawn, just after finishing his prayers, he went to notify the custodian of his decision – he would not be playing at Lina’s due to his terrible state of mind. Brother Pedro replied that was exactly the reason why he should go. I’m sorry if I’m putting pressure on you, but the less time you’re by yourself, the better for you. He needed to try hard to keep his eyes on the Mexican. His almost childlike imploring expression was too touching.
“It’ll be good for you. If you can’t trust me, do it for Him,” he said, turning his kind gaze to the Cross on the wall, and added, “I have a feeling, not to say a conviction, that your life and the pianist’s didn’t cross paths randomly.”
Brother Lucas hunched his back meditatively. The custodian, nodding as though he was able to read his mind, chose a few words from the Bible.
“The works of God are all of them good; in its own time every need is supplied.”39
The young man exhaled with a shrug.
“I think it’s a challenge to play for a soloist with a dubious proficiency like mine. However, I’ll make up for my poor technique by putting my heart into it to make her happy.”
Brother Pedro nodded in satisfaction.
“Least is the bee among winged things, but she reaps the choicest of all harvests.”40
Brother Lucas and Cinnamon headed for Lina’s house. The friar was riding his bicycle while the dog was tied to it so it could learn the way.
“I trust you’re going to behave properly. Do you know what Saint Francis of Assisi said? ‘Let help animals if they need help.’ So you need to learn how to channel all that energy of yours. I know it’s not easy. I’ve been having the same problem. Actually, it’s been happening for years now, but I’m not over it yet – at all. That means, if you exhaust my energy, I’ll just do the same thing with you, you understand?”
“Woof.”
“Good boy.”
When they arrived at the house, Brother Lucas gave him one last warning before knocking on the door. The dog hastened to sit as a token of its refined manners.
“That’s the spirit. I want you to be calm.”
The rascal nodded, feigning self-denial. However, as soon as Rosario opened, he jumped happily on her.
“Hello. You must be Cinnamon. I’ve heard so much about you. I was looking forward to meeting you,” the caretaker said.
When Lina appeared, the young man was afraid that the effusive dog would hurt her hands. To the friar’s surprise, Cinnamon went to the pianist and nuzzled her leg delicately with his snout.
“This animal is amazing. If I hadn’t seen that for myself, I’d never have believed it.”
Rosario served a light lunch so the two guests would regain their strength. Afterward, Lina wanted to show the Mexican the music section in the library. On the shelves, one could find almost any score, all of them arranged in alphabetical order. Overwhelmed by so many pieces, Brother Lucas delegated the choice to the pianist. Lina did not hesitate – since she could not wait to hear him sing, they would get started with some piano-vocal songs.
“Morgen, by Richard Strauss. It’s a lied my father used to dedicate to me when I was a child. And L’heure exquise, by composer Reynaldo Hahn with lyrics by Paul Verlaine. Did you ever hear those?”
Brother Lucas shook his head.
“It doesn’t matter. I fully trust your judgment.”
“I think you’ll like it. It’s so beautiful.”
She printed a copy, so he could write the fingering. They went to the study. The Fazioli had been awaiting them wide-open. For a moment, they stared at each other – they felt touched.
I don’t want to cry, I don’t want to cry..., the pianist said to herself.
Don’t start crying, don’t start crying – if you do, you’ll make me cry too, he said to himself.
Almost simultaneously, they interrupted their emotions by looking away from the Strauss score. A silent reading of Henry Mackay’s letter stirred the fleeting faint flash of the flare showing a stray person their way at night.
Brother Lucas and Lina, two human beings who had found themselves surrounded by misery, fleeing the shadows, together went on a pilgrimage to the harmony of the score. And, for the first time in many days, both felt at peace.
TOMORROW!
And tomorrow the sun will shine again,
And on the way which I shall follow
She will again unite us lucky ones
Amidst this sun-breathing earth.
Slowly, silently, we will climb down
To the wide beach and the blue waves
And mutely gaze in each other’s eyes,
As the mute stillness of happiness will sink upon us.
“It’s the exquisite hour,” she said to herself as she turned her gaze onto the title of the other score.
“‘The exquisite hour…’” he read aloud as if he had read her mind.
The silver moonlight
Glows in the wood;
And from each branch
Sounds a voice
Through leafy sprays…
The voice of my father... she said to herself.
39. The bid
No matter how much he brushed his teeth, François could not get rid of the taste of blood in his mouth. He could not avoid hearing the noise of the iron owl as it hit Endzela’s head. Sometimes that would alternate with the collision of a car, as if Lina’s soul, sensing that he was fragile, was leveraging to take part in the torture.
At least he had succeeded in solving the money issue. Following a bribe payment, an appraiser had verified the forgery as though it was an original copy. It looked so real that the reproduction had accidentally fallen into the hands of drug dealer Chulo Torres, while the authentic one had gone to the Chinese.
François fell exhausted on the still unmade bed. How much tension! I don’t want to walk another tightrope.
He felt a tremendous desire to scream and get it off his chest. As he opened his mouth wide to yawn, the image of Munch’s painting came to his mind.
The Belgian imitated the gesture of the character.
“Will Maercenas offer two million for The Scream of François?”
By the way, how difficult it is to pronounce with your mouth wide open… My jaw hurts.
Aware that he needed to keep his mind busy to avoid these ravings, François searched for an online Vietnamese course. Mai will be in for a surprise! On the website there was a link to watch videos where Tam The41 was taught. He clicked on it. That seemed to be excellent for relaxing, so the apathetic man postponed language learning and spent some time practicing the movements of the universe.
“Mai, Mai... Why do you always slip out like an eel?”
He wondered if the Vietnamese would eat that sort of fish. Let’s see what I can find on the Internet. As he first saw the pictures, he jumped up.
“It’s amazing! Amazing!” the Belgian exclaimed, unable to look away from an eel with the same gesture as the man in Munch’s painting. The exact same gesture!
“What is this coincidence about?”
He mimicked the eel’s jaw-dropping expression.
“Mai, Mai, Mai, Mai, Mai, Mai, Mai, Mai...”
The handsome Apollo sensed that Mai was not indifferent to his charms, that her coldness was actually not due to disinterest. When they were together, the blush on her beautiful, pearly Asian face would shine. How it arouses me to gaze at her childlike chest shaking nervously! Her determination to deter me encourages me more and more.
He put on an informal light-blue-and-gray cotton outfit which looked good on him. The mirror restored the confidence he needed. There’s no way you don’t like me, Miss Vietnamese lady... That’s completely out of the question.
At lunchtime, he drove h
is convertible to the mansion. Mercedes had invited a friend who was a gallery owner, José de Juan.
The Belgian was burning with desire to see Mai, but the girl had closed the kitchen door. Are you silly? The more obstacles you put between the two of us, the more impetuously I will try to bring those down.
William served the menu. The Vietnamese had prepared a sampler of her country’s typical specialties to honor the guest. José de Juan savored everything in sheer delight.
“Your beautiful cook just won my heart. Will you allow me to propose to her?” he said jokingly.
The comment set off François’ alarm. That guy did not deserve Mai. Fortunately, Mercedes did not seem to like the idea either.
“Oh, don’t waste your time. She doesn’t want anything to do with men. The poor girl suffered too much because of them,” the woman answered sharply.
The Belgian saw a chance to find out more about her.
“What happened?”
“It could be said that she had a terrible childhood, so she doesn’t trust males. The only man she mixes with is the butler. Don’t ask me why,” Mercedes said and, bending her head, whispered mischievously, “Maybe she sees him so weird that she assumes he is an alien, not a man.”
From Mercedes’ words, François inferred that when she described Mai’s childhood as terrible she was probably referring to a heavy-drinking, abusive father. Poor little girl... François will protect this gentle spirit from the world and take care of her. In the first place, I’ll take this fool man out of her way. I can outwit my rival. Since he presumed that the gallery owner would become obsessed by the cook if he happened to cross paths with another bidder, the Belgian decided it would be a safer bet to despise the Asian cook.