by Diane Baumer
“Please don’t say those things. I’m just about to be quits with the devil. I’ve been in huge trouble. Now someone is chasing me. I have the feeling something bad is going to happen. You would always help me out. I remember you used to be an amazing person, unable to harbor a grudge. Let me spend the night at your house. You’re always blaming yourself for drawing the angel of death. Well, now you have a chance to defeat it. Save my life. Break the curse. I’m coming home, okay?”
She hesitated as she held the phone in her hand. Lina’s good heart prevented her from abandoning another human being, even someone as despicable as François. But… What if I see him and simply can’t say no to him? What if the nightmare starts over?
She heard a strange sound, like a moan of pain – it was coming from the piano room. The Fazioli is trying to warn me! Is it all in my mind, or is the piano really trying to tell me something?
François took advantage of Lina’s silence to try to persuade her again.
“Miss Spanish lady... I’m coming with you. We need to talk. I know you’ll be glad to see me. I want to apologize for so many things... It will give us both peace of mind. Don’t think too hard. I know your mind is too feeble to make any decisions.”
The words of the Belgian cleared up Lina’s doubts.
“My mind is so strong that it has survived a vampire like you. However, I wish you no harm. I’m immune to your fangs.”
“Don’t talk to me like that... It hurts me. François is too sensitive. Yes, his need for love has caused all this mess. He’s not a bad guy. One problem has led to a bigger problem and another and another... Lina… A woman with a heart of gold… You’re the only one who understands François. Forgive me. I was jealous of your intelligence, of your success. François couldn’t stand that you were better than him. Tell me you don’t hate me.”
“No bond is stronger than hate and I want to be free. I just feel sorry for you.”
The strange echo reappeared. Lina had never heard the despair of the piano strings pleading. The powerful metal sound into which air breathed life was completely heartbreaking. Yes, the Fazioli is weeping for me, for itself, for my hands, for our dignity.... It is afraid to lose me again in case I... However, François is not coming back into my life. I’m going to see him and prove to myself that my dignity already defeated the dependency monster that once dwelt in my bowels.
As he reached the top of the mountain pass, François saw the lights of an approaching vehicle. This isn’t happening! Again? Those aren’t here for a walk. There isn’t usually a soul around this place. I hope this bad feeling is just fear...
“I need to hang up. You are a nice woman. The best one ever…”
The call was cut off.
“François, François?” Lina asked worriedly. She called him several times, but he didn’t pick up the phone.
“Oh, please, I hope he’s safe and sound. His voice sounded alarmed. I feel guilty. Once again! What if Grim Reaper is looking out for him? I just wanted to get over François, but for myself, not like this.”
She tried to calm down and think. He had deceived her in other occasions. François Remy was a very good actor. He knew how to manipulate her. Yes, he had hit the nail on the head. The curse was her weak spot. How stupid she was!
Death isn’t following him. He is using me. What a scoundrel! I hope he doesn’t show up here.
François speeded up to check the reaction of the other car. He became dazzled – behind him the automobile had suddenly accelerated. They’re coming for me, indeed.
Seeing there was no way out for him for the first time in his life, François burst into tears. So much effort put in, so much damage caused… for nothing. I just wanted my parents to be proud of me. To come out a winner. To prove them wrong.
The convertible rushed toward the void as it turned into a fireball.
The assassins brought their car to a halt. One of them took pictures using night-vision goggles.
“It’s burning inside.”
“Well, one down”.
The two exchanged a knowing look.
“Let’s get out of here. It’s forbidden to make a fire in the forest.”
“That's what you are worried about? Crazy bastard…”
At the hospital, Endzela was visited by the police captain.
“Did you arrest him already?” the Georgian asked with a lump in her throat.
The officer nodded.
“François Remy is dead. He was probably murdered by hired killers.”
Endzela could not hold back her tears.
“Don’t cry for someone as nasty,” the inspector said.
“I’m not crying for that – it’s just that I could have been in his place.”
45. Transfer
Brother Lucas joined in Brother Bartolo’s liquor delivery around the region. That way, he would look for a place with public Internet service where he could read the Mexican press.
To his surprise, Diego’s image on all front pages had drastically changed. Headlines differed little – Alfonso Robledo, that was his real name, had voluntarily reported to the police headquarters.
He stands accused of the murders. It takes a great deal of courage to surrender. Did he do it out of regret, pressured by a guilty conscience, or is he simply innocent?
The mugshot showed a worn-out young man. Diego... I wish I could talk to you... However, for the time being, that’s not possible.
Brother Lucas reexamined the facts, just in case he had overlooked any important detail.
First of all, I met Alfonso Robledo in a town near the monastery. He told me his name was Diego and he was studying architecture and intended to graduate with a socially useful dissertation. Secondly, we immediately started to get along. As he became aware of school shortages, he hit the ground running. Thirdly, he gave me some documents which proved that the bishop had been laundering money for a drug dealer. (Now I know that the drug dealer is my friend’s father.) Fourthly, I handed the papers to Brother Simón. He gave them to a judge. Fifthly, I was urgently sent to a faraway monastery in Spain. Sixthly, Diego and the youngsters going with him were kidnapped. All of them were killed, except him. It turned out that he is the son of Chulo Torres. The police issued a search warrant. They accused him of murdering his companions. Seventhly, Brother Simón insisted on speaking to the judge. Shortly afterward, he got killed. Eighthly, Diego (a.k.a. Alfonso Robledo) surrendered to the police.
What was wrong? Something did not fit in. Diego looked transparent. The more Brother Lucas thought about him, the surer he became of his innocence.
Regarding the use of an alias, that can be easily understood if he didn’t want to be linked to his father. As for being an architecture student, Diego had been sincere, since the boys who were killed would attend that school. As far as assisting poor people is concerned, he didn’t lie either. What would he rely on a smoke screen? He worked really hard.
Brother Lucas recalled how his friend had fought to get construction companies to give away their materials.
No. If his father had been involved, he would have asked him for money. There is nothing drug dealers like better than easing their consciences through charity.
The more progress the friar made in his reflections, the more relieved he felt. His heart told him that Diego was a good guy.
Then, there was the issue regarding the documents. Everything had arisen as a result of a spiritual debate. Diego was a convinced atheist. In his view, Brother Lucas lived in deceit. To Diego, the idea of God made no sense whatsoever. The Church was a nest of vipers. The friar had reacted firmly.
“I am also part of the Church. Do I really look like a snake?”
His friend had vehemently argued against that.
“Compadre, in your good faith, you are part of a great power structure that offers eternal life to their unhappy parishioners
in exchange for donations and grants. I’ll try to open your eyes. They instill absurd ideas into us when we are children, since we are unable to tell reality from imagination. It is completely dishonest. Would you still be a Christian if you had been born in a different culture? No, you wouldn’t. When it comes to manipulating people, faith is the crassest invention. You haven’t even been allowed to see anything else. Needless to say, I don’t doubt all the love you’ve been raised with, yet I am sure you’ve been living a lie. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but that’s the way it is. God can’t do what we men don’t do for ourselves. Why? Because He is nowhere.”
Two days later, Diego had shown up with the documents.
“Here you are – so you may see where you are.”
Sitting in the car next to Brother Bartolo, Brother Lucas rubbed his overwhelmed head. I am in an impasse. I just hope nothing else will happen.
“Brother Lucas, I’m going to stop at a gas station. There is a coffee shop inside. How about some coffee?”
As the friars were filling the tank, the two hitmen, sitting at one of the tables, ordered some delicious lunch.
“I'm starving.”
“Greedy pig...”
Brother Bartolo and Brother Lucas entered the place.
“Shall we have a seat here?” the Spanish friar asked as he pointed at a table next to the two men.
As he overheard them, Brother Bartolo spoke enthusiastically.
“Look – these appear to be fellow countrymen of yours!”
That sent a shiver down the spine of Brother Lucas. The appearance of those men was frightening, while the sharp way in which they were staring at him felt worrisome.
“No, they are Mexican and I am Colombian. You probably mistook their accent,” he said as he tried to put on a Bogotá accent and raised his voice so he could be heard loud and clear.
“In the end, I’m going to need a hearing aid. My hearing is getting worse by the minute,” Brother Bartolo said as he played along not knowing what all the fuss was about.
Feigning composure, the friars quickly drank up their coffee and left.
“My son, are you in trouble?” Brother Bartolo said.
“Don’t ask me, please... I didn’t do anything wrong, anyway.”
“I’m certain you didn’t. Is Brother Pedro aware?”
Brother Lucas nodded.
“Let’s get out of here. Don’t be scared. I don’t know who they are – I just smelled something fishy.”
In the coffee shop, one of the assassins made a call.
“Nobody picks up the phone.”
“They are probably sleeping. What should we do? Shall we go after him?”
“The other guy is still warm, pun intended. As for this, we aren’t even sure if he is the Mexican monk. Let’s await orders.”
The friars remained quiet throughout the journey. Brother Bartolo realized that Brother Lucas had been constantly monitoring the road in case they were being followed.
At night, he went to the room of the young Mexican.
“Look, I hope you’ll never need it. Anyway, just in case, I wrote down an address for you. My family lives in Asturias. They will be happy to have you.”
“Will you keep my secret if I need to leave?”
“I give you my word.”
“Thank you, Brother Bartolo... You are so kind!” he exclaimed as he gave him a childlike hug.
46. Mourning
The news regarding the gruesome business which had claimed the life of François Remy appeared in newspapers around the world. However, it was not published on the front page, probably since art was not deemed to deserve such privilege, but rather in the inner pages.
With her eyes, mouth, and newspaper wide open, Mercedes de Arellanos showed the news to William.
“I knew he was a clever fellow – who isn’t in a speculation business? However, how could I have foreseen something as serious? I think I’m the only one around that hasn’t been scammed, yet. I always tried to keep my distance from him. Even so, I can’t understand how I managed to stay out of trouble.”
“Do you remember the worm repellent we sprayed all plants with, milady?”
“Oh, William! Please don’t make me laugh in such a harsh situation!”
Profoundly shaken by the news, Mai stayed in bed for days. William slipped a note under her door. He would not eat anything which had not been cooked by her.
At lunchtime, the girl entered the library haggardly. She carried a tray.
“Cotnish pasty,” she said in broken English.
“Tanks,” William said, imitating the Vietnamese’s mispronunciation as a token of his gratitude. For an Englishman, was there an act of empathy greater than butchering his beloved language?
Lina was home with Belén and Rosario when she learned of François’ death. That’s why he didn’t show up that night. It was scary to see his charred body in the picture. I can’t believe how unscrupulous reporters can be.
“Please leave me alone. I need to go for a walk.”
The pianist thought she would find the Belgian’s petrified body on a rock, on the trunk of a tree, in a shade...
Another dead person around me. Is that me!? He could have wound up in prison. But he is dead! François died as he was on his way to me! I always had the feeling that the scythe would eventually take him away. Everything I touch perishes. Are my hands linked to destruction?
Lina removed the bandages which protected her hands. Look at these scars! Afraid of their appearance, she walked backward with her arms outstretched, trying to stay away from them. Monstrous hands... Capable of killing whoever comes within their reach. I am like Frankenstein... Frankenstein...
Belén’s firm voice stopped her in her tracks.
“Lina! Let’s go home!”
“I asked you to leave me alone. Why do you never respect my wishes?”
“Out of selfishness, my dear friend. The sight of you sick makes me suffer.”
“Don’t say that, please,” Lina replied as she hugged her friend.
“He was asking for it by selling his soul to the devil. End of story. I shudder to think what would have become of you if you hadn’t broken up with him.”
“Why do I always have to blame myself for everything?”
“Because you rely on formal fallacies.”
“Oh, that would be like calling me a gullible fool,” she said wryly.
“Your conclusion is also a formal fallacy,” Belén responded, laughing, and added, “Shall we go home?”
They left, walking side by side.
“Thanks,” Lina said.
“You’re welcome.”
Endzela rented an old tumbledown apartment in a deprived neighborhood. She barely had any cash available until she received the payment for her translation. Madrid was expensive, and her family relied on the money she sent.
Once she had the keys, the Georgian entered it sluggishly, as though she was trying to get used to filth little by little. Mold had freely spread out on the moisture-oozing walls; termites had been helping themselves to doors and furniture; endless small insects were lying dead in the sink, both in the kitchen and the bathroom, as well as on the shower tray. This is definitely much worse than my house back in Georgia. Did I leave my family for this? Her hopes of getting ahead became overshadowed by a cloud of sadness. Had there been a single sanitized corner to lean on, she would have collapsed – yet everything looked so dirty that she could not even drop anywhere.
Endzela opened the window. She was being suffocated by the stench. Fresh air and the outstanding view restored her good spirits. Simply wonderful! I will have this panorama every day. It seems like a prize to make up for the apartment itself. It was located on the tenth floor of the building. From there, nothing stood between her eyes and some of the most iconic monuments in the city
.
Once more, once again, one more time, she decided to overlook the flaws and focus on the potential. I will turn this hole into a completely charming place. A Georgian never gives up.
No sooner said than done. Days later, after putting much effort into it, gallons of disinfectant, several coats of paint, cloth scraps, cardboard, bargains from a dollar store, and a great deal of imagination, she managed to turn the disgusting apartment into a real home.
Endzela went to the kitchen. The menu was going to be special. And she would be cooking for… Herself! I’m going to throw my own party to welcome me to a life run by myself. From now on, I’ll be a free woman!
47. Reconsideration
Rosario and Lina headed for Doctor Ledesma’s house. Doctor Urriza and Álvaro Ledesma agreed on the fact that the surgery had been a success. Now, everything depended on how the patient would progress through rehabilitation. The process was going to be a long one, so persistence was essential, though that should not be a concern for a pianist, whose profession inherently involved handling strict discipline.
Rosario was staying in a small room. Lina and Doctor Ledesma headed toward the office. She took the opportunity to examine the house. The apartment still had the charm of the good old days. High ceilings, cement-tile flooring, wooden windows, a cozy balcony... The furniture was light-colored and simple. She wondered whether its intended purpose may have been to seek the light or avoid the contrast. Either way, she had never imagined Doctor Ledesma living in such a place. It probably was the choice of a couple, or perhaps it was the decorator’s original idea – some owners don’t really care about this kind of things.