An incoming call interrupts his syllogism. He smiles. ‘‘Are you downstairs? I’m opening!’’
He is standing at the door waiting for his guest. A feeling of euphoria floods his body, as he watches the light signals at the lift.
‘‘Good morning!’’ The young man takes the black suitcase out in the corridor and approaches Dima with a bright smile.
‘‘Welcome, Ildar!’’ The heartfelt embrace on the composer’s side expresses his glaring desire to get from his guest even tiny traces of the country he was forced to leave.
‘‘Greek climate feels like summer for us…’’ he comments, pulling his suitcase into the apartment.
The composer looks at the young man with nostalgia as if he saw on him everything he left behind. His city. His family. His job. ‘‘I miss the cold of Moscow. The snow. The theatre. I miss everything a lot.’’
The dancer chooses to keep his silence, as he knows about Dima’s illness. He sits on the couch waiting for his instructions.
‘‘Sorry Ildar…’’ He presses his fingers to the niches of his eyes, preventing tears from descending on his cheek.
The young man raises his eyebrows in surprise. In no case did he wait to see the top composer in this condition. He had never seen tears in his eyes. Even when his father died, he came the next day to work unshakable. Strong. Vulgar and authoritarian.
‘‘As I told you on the phone, I really liked the song,’’ he tries to discharge the moment, directing the discussion to the reason that brought him to Greece.
‘‘Forgive me…’’ he repeats, looking for his self-control in the files of his egoism. ‘‘This is not easy for me…’’ The maintenance of silence on the young man’s part helps him calm down his emotional outburst.
‘‘How are the performances going on in the theatre?’’
‘‘As you know them…’’ Ildar is trying to neutralize the embarrassment that exists between them. ‘‘They are still asking about you.’’
This piece of news rekindles the flame of Dima’s glass world, which is still burning in its core. He is still there. They have not forgotten him. Not yet. ‘‘I know I can trust you. After all these years we have worked together you have proven to me that you are a disciplined professional. There are many good dancers, but few stand out. You have imagination, stubbornness, but above all, you are focused and committed to your goal.’’
‘‘It is not always so easy…’’ Ildar interrupts him, and the embarrassment turns into a shield. ‘‘Sometimes I feel moving in an endless cycle. I can’t distinguish the end. I seek for adventure and I meet it in the same stimuli. I seek for peace and I always find it in the same places. I seek for inspiration and it is already in its place waiting for me. I want to discover the world, but sometimes I don’t see it. There are moments I feel immersed in a never-ending battle with myself, which subtracts energy from my will.’’
‘‘There are definitely times in our lives where we want to give everything up…’’
‘‘Never!’’ the young dancer reassuringly claims. ‘‘Life is a struggle between desires and obligations, acceptance, and prohibition, right and wrong. Whichever path I choose I will give my personal battle. When you try, it is not certain you will be the winner, but at least you will be a fighter. I am not overwhelmed by fear. It’s better to be disappointed than not to try. I have learned to fight for myself and my family. What we have to do and what we want will never be in balance. I know that very well. What I am looking for is the truth within them. I don’t want to get lost in routine recycling emotions. I want to create. To experiment. To take risks’’
The flames in Ildar’s eyes burn the composer’s limbs. The same stimulus again. The same fiery tongues in his eyes. Life and its challenges.
The knocking on the door interrupts the two creators from the pursuit of inner search and Dima introduces his guest to his friends. ‘‘Guys, let me introduce you to Ildar, one of the best professional dancers. Ildar, Ioannis Vasilikos is one of the most talented singers in Greece and Nektarios Giannatos is our talented lyricist.’’
Ildar stands up and extends his hand first to Nektarios and then to Ioannis. ‘‘Nice to meet you both.’’
‘‘We have collaborated many times in shows. He is just twenty years old but he has already acquired a lot of distinctions. In addition, he participated in Eurovision, so his experience will guide us. Today he came to meet you and Victoria, to check the place in which we will work and to give you some first instructions. Tonight, he is returning to Russia, because he has performances in the theatre and on Sunday, he will come back to start the rehearsals intensively,’’ he explains and passes the speech to his guest.
‘‘As Mr. Vladimirov said, I participated with my country in the competition. The truth is that if we don’t have the image of the stage, we can’t define the choreography precisely. I was obliged to make lots of changes to keep up with the director of the competition. I have an initial idea on which we will rely and then we will make any necessary modifications that may be needed.’’
The atmosphere of excitement that should exist has been turned into an awkward silence. The relations between the trinity are still charged from last night’s debate. Dima explained to his associates everything that took place in the police department and he immediately received Ioannis’s support. On the other hand, Nektarios kept a more cautious attitude, a fact which in the end made him clash with Ioannis over lack of affection for his beloved mentor.
‘‘The song talks about the separation of a couple due to the girl’s death. So, I thought to have on stage a high perforated frame, imagine it as a passage, which will symbolize the separation of life from death.’’
Ildar is explaining the scenography and Nektarios is the first to express his interest, posing explanatory questions. Dima is listening carefully, waiting for him to finish his analysis, and the person directly concerned, Ioannis, is uncoordinatedly trying to follow his word.
‘‘You will use a lip phone. In the verse, I thought we put the dancer behind the frame and you in front of it. Until the refrain we will have a copy of simple movements, without you looking at one another, in order to show that the boy is still thinking of his girl and what they did together. Towards the refrain the two worlds will meet, you will approach back-to-back, without touching each other and you will turn face to face. At this point, the girl will make dynamic figures and you will sing addressing her. This phase symbolizes the boy’s despair at her loss. In the bridge of the song, you will turn your back to death and the girl; you will kneel forward stating your present condition and the mourning, while the dancer will repetitively do sharp and dancing movements covered in white smoke. In the last refrain, she will hide in the smoke and will exit the stage while you will do exactly the moves she did earlier. In this way you will show that you will continue to live, doing the things she loved, keeping her alive within you. When the music ends you will push the frame, so that it rotates many times, to state that life is a circle from birth to death which will go on forever.’’
‘‘Now we understand why Dima insisted so much you make the choreography…’’ Nektarios’s comment makes Ildar smile.
‘‘I really have no words… What you said is insanely beautiful…’’ Ioannis is looking at him in a way the others wonder if he is absent-minded and hasn’t heard a word of what Ildar explained to them or if he is just scared of the choreography performance.
‘‘Thank you…’’ The famous dancer is searching with his eyes the opinion of the strictest judge.
Dima extends his hand to Ildar bending his elbow. ‘‘Bravo!’’ The hands seal in a fist and the dancer receives the confirmation he was wishing for. A positive word of the great composer means his total satisfaction.
‘‘Ioannis may wear black clothes to express the mourning and the girl white to embody an angel,’’ Nektarios suggests.
‘‘I have something different in mind. I think both wear torn, worn, dusty clothes, I mean, made i
n such a way that they show they were separated by an accident,’’ Ildar suggests.
‘‘Impressive!’’ Ioannis exclaims.
‘‘I agree with Ildar. Nektarios your proposal is a little outdated,’’ Dima says and turns to the dancer. ‘‘Now the guys will take you to the dance school where you will have the rehearsals. Victoria is waiting for you there. I am going to bring the memory stick with the song.’’ He proceeds to the room to find his red suitcase. He has not arranged his clothes in the new apartment after what happened over the weekend.
Ioannis is observing Ildar as if he is a creature from another world. He is gazing at him, opening his lips a little. ‘‘What do you like more? To dance or to make choreographies?’’ he asks him with smirk eyes, like those of fish that have just come out from water.
‘‘I prefer dancing of course. That’s all my life! But the production of a choreography is something different. It makes me feel creative and I enjoy conveying my feelings to other dancers. Everyone has his own style; it depends on emotions. As the Frenchman painter, Edgar Degas, said art is not what you see, but what you make others see,’’ he replies to him with enthusiasm, passing a blonde tuft behind his ear.
‘‘Let’s see how I will perform it…’’ he comments with a low voice and throws him a bright, like those on toothpaste ads.
Ildar smiles with both his lips and his eyes. Whoever meets Ioannis feels a pleasant mood and a spontaneous need to observe him more carefully. From the moment he entered the apartment he singled out his outfit, thinking that the star of the music scene should be consulting a quirky stylist whom it would be a sane not to take along in the competition. ‘‘I believe you will do great. I am not going to teach you anything difficult…’’ he rejoices him looking at Ioannis’s scarf that reaches his knees.
Nektarios locates the dancer’s inquisitive look. ‘‘Nice scarf, huh? Suitable for a diva.’’
‘‘Everyone has their own taste,’’ Ildar gives a diplomatic answer but silently confirms the lyricist’s comment.
‘‘You will need to try hard with him… He can’t remember even two steps in a row!’’ Nektarios claims, seeking Ioannis’s reaction. ‘‘And his kinesiology is very ungraceful. First of all, you must teach him not to look in this way at the camera. He seems stupid!’’ he laughs out loudly while holding his glasses. Ioannis pretends to be acknowledging his friend’s caustic humor.
The dancer gives the lyricist a codified smile. ‘‘You know, Mr. Giannatos, I believe that behind a loud laughter lies despair, while behind happy eyes, joyfulness.’’
‘‘Or it may simply be a mask. Despair can be hidden well, even behind smiling eyes. You are very young to reach conclusions about life.’’
Ildar lifts his left leg and rests on the right. ‘‘There is no minimum number of experiences required to characterize a person as ‘‘mature.’’ Eyes always write. To know how to read them is all it takes.’’
I see the expressions on his face, and I get lost. The way he chooses to express his pleasure gives me the stimulus to become even bolder. His sighs drive me crazy. His body is burning under my hands, devastating every point of my mind. I smile from excitement and fulfillment.
‘‘Where is the joke, Magda?’’
I dry cough, keeping my balance at the last moment to prevent falling from the chair and I focus on the board which has the word Natalie written on it. He has circled it many times and I suppose that each circle represents the times he called my name without receiving an answer.
He passes behind the desk and comes beside me. He bends over my ear. He places his left hand on my shoulder and with puts my hair aside with his right one. ‘‘May you forget last night for a while and concentrate on what I am saying?’’
I hate him.
‘‘Yes, sorry.’’ I lower my head, seeking a way to reorganize my attention. I lift my hair high with one hand, making air cool my neck.
‘‘A coffee can help you,’’ he replies to the question of my mind. ‘‘No sugar,’’ he adds whispering on my exposed neck.
Antonella takes advantage of his focusing his attention on me and is checking her mobile under the desk.
‘‘What are you doing there? Have you understood that we have taken on a very serious case?’’ he shouts, opening wide his hands and eyes.
‘‘You won’t yell at me, OK? We won’t lose track of the killer if I just check how many likes my photo in Instagram has received, OK? Relax…’’ she advises him and recovers in the chair.
I look at Peter and want to cry from laughter. His eyebrows are raised vertically at his high forehead and his lips depict a faint exclamation. Antonella joined our team, after the commander’s order and we still have not spotted if there is some kind of relationship between them. He never has anything negative to say about her, feeding my husband’s anger. It would be wise of him to make a compromise; we do not put up with people who have been promoted by the authorities.
‘‘So, I repeat.’’ His lips come back. ‘‘Based on the vast research carried out by Antonella on the phone privacy of the last two days, most of Natalie’s calls were to a friend of hers, Victoria. In fact, on the day of her murder, as well as the previous one, Natalie didn’t fail to tell her friend about her happy acquaintance with a man, without revealing to her, however, the Russian’s name. Maybe she didn’t trust her. She told her that she was looking forward to dining with him in her new apartment, so of course, it is obvious we are talking about Dima,’’ he explains to us and he marks the composer’s name in a circle, joining it with that of Natalie’s. ‘‘Therefore, the Russian said the truth about their acquaintance and there is no motive on his side, or at least an obvious one. I don’t want us to spend our time and search for any possible connection from the past, because I am sure we won’t find anything. Time flows and the killer is free. The composer is under constant surveillance. We must now speak with Victoria.’’
I hug a box with two plastics that contain dry caffeine. I follow Peter’s order to put my mind in operation. I am sitting at the co-driver’s seat and we are approaching Victoria Stahious’s apartment.
We arrive at a three storey, newly built apartments building on Dimokratias Street in Zografou. If I start from here on foot, I believe that in, at the most, ten minutes I will be in the University Campus. We approach the entrance and check the names on the bells. The private parking protects us from the aggressive air that decided to raise all the dust of the cement city.
We take the elevator and reach the second floor. A slender brunette opens the door.
‘‘Peter Deligiannis. We are from the police. We would like to ask you a few questions about Natalie Nomikou. Have you got a little time?’’
The young student passes on the side and makes us a gesture to enter. Peter overpasses her without paying any special attention to her, while on the contrary I stare at her. She has a clean bony face with accentuated cheekbones.
The apartment is a studio room; a single space with a door at the background. She has chosen the design carefully, so that everything has a multifaceted reason for existence. My attention is turned to the bookcase, which she has used as a divider for the ‘‘living room’’ and the ‘‘bedroom,’’ placing on the TV on one side and bulky books on the other. One of them writes ‘‘Introduction to Statistics.’’
We sit with Peter on the two-seater purple sofa and she pulls a pink pouf near the round coffee table located in the centre. Her skin is so white as if it has never been exposed to the sunlight and her legs very thin and fit. Maybe she is occupied with dancing or she exercises herself intensively.
‘‘I’m listening. What do you want to know from me?’’
‘‘For how many years have you been friends with Natalie?’’ Peter starts. The place smells of lavender. The smell is so suffocatingly intense, that I have a constant feeling that I will sneeze.
‘‘Almost from the second year, that is about five years.’’
‘‘Are you still studying?�
�’
‘‘I have two more subjects left.’’
I am troubled by the calmness in her eyes, considering the death of her friend. Her voice hides a pleasant sadness, a loss that did not cause her pain. She reminds me of Maniatis’s wife.
‘‘What have you got to tell us about your friend? Something that neither her father nor the rector who signed her degree could tell us…’’ Start of ironic mood by the investigator. Too early.
‘‘Natalie was a difficult character. Absolute, distant, very dynamic, reaching several times the verge of domination over the weakest people,’’ she says in a cautious voice. Every word that comes out of her lips checks the next.
I have the feeling that she too belonged to this group of the ‘‘weakest’’ people. ‘‘Was she a normal friend of yours? I mean…’’ I am trying to find a suitable expression.
She lowers her gaze and then looks at the window with the fuchsia curtain. ‘‘Basically… We hung out, but we were not exactly friends… Basically…’’ she sneaks at Peter, giving me the impression that she would feel more comfortable if he was not next to me. I do not dare ask him something like that, because he is looking at Victoria with such a longing as if he is waiting to hear from her lips the name of the real killer.
‘‘You may talk to us. No need to fear…’’ I try to help her. Really, she doesn’t have to be afraid of anything, apart from Peter.
She folds her legs, bringing her knees under the chest. ‘‘Natalie didn’t make companies at school easily. She considered that everyone was jealous of her due to her name, due to her appearance… I…’’ she lowers her eyes again and turns her hands towards herself. ‘‘Look at me… I am introverted. No one ever spoke to me at school. They never cared about me… Let’s say that Natalie found in me someone to share her ambitious dreams with and I found in her a person to communicate.’’
The Last Symphony Page 12