‘‘Had she ever talked to you about the composer Dima Vladimirov?’’ Peter does not let out of the conversation the object of his search. On the contrary, I would like to hear more about this peculiar friendship of hers with Natalie.
‘‘I don’t remember. She kept talking about composers and violinists. She adored the violin.’’
‘‘Had she recently met a man?’’ Her little eyes play restlessly. ‘‘You must tell us if you know something. It is important,’’ I emphasize to her.
‘‘When she moved, she told me she met someone. She didn’t manage to tell me more… Generally, she had no relationship, at least as far as I knew. She usually had occasional relationships…’’ she stresses the words, and I can understand their sexual nature. ‘‘The boys were afraid of her and didn’t approach her. Neither did they approach me, of course, but for other reasons.’’
‘‘Can you think of anyone she had intensive controversies with? Someone who would hold a grudge?’’ I want to explore every secret corner of information that she is keeping secure. Her speech sounds as if it was prepared. Her words have a rehearsal rhythm.
She silences. She looks at Peter as if she is obliged to give an answer. She seems as if she has a name on her lips. Maybe a friend of theirs? A fellow student? The adrenaline penetrates my cells and diffuses to every part of my body. Damn, speak!
‘‘Her brother.’’
The tattoo of melody
He is unprepared. He is standing in front of the full-body mirror and is trying to convey his body to the upcoming speech. He closes his eyes. He hears the crowd applauding. His skin freezes. He exhales the negative energy and returns to normal temperature. The applause gets louder. He freezes again. An alternation of actions is imprinted on his body, making him unable to control it. He makes every effort to persuade his mind that he is safe. In vain.
He opens his eyelids and meets the reflection of Aris Nomikos with swollen eyes. They are swollen due to the tears because of his sister’s loss. This is what he stated on the cameras. His hair is absolutely disciplined. He grimaces with satisfaction and keeps observing his reflection. He believes that this speech is what the invisible enemy is waiting for. There, in front of everyone; the reporters, the cameras, the possible voters. His father. This is where he will reveal the whole truth.
The possible scenarios spin in his mind and are emerged through a cloud of black smoke. One of these stands out on the edge and represents a successful speech with his father being proud of him. This visual is imagined by his mind as if it was taken from a science fiction film.
He does not have the mental strength to speak to him, being afraid of his disapproval, his disappointment. The main feeling he has gained throughout his life. However, he realizes that he cannot constantly escape. He will look to find Manolis. He will go to America, to the place where everything started, and he will erase every trace that can incriminate him. However, he knows that he cannot manage it on his own.
He stop asking for answers in the mirror and goes downstairs. He takes the path that kills his thoughts. He will try to change the end. He smiles with horror. He will do it. He has no other choice. He moves to the living room and meets his target outside the kitchen. ‘‘Aimilios, I want to have a talk with you.’’
Ioannis is peeking behind the glass door, pushing it inwards. ‘‘Good evening, Aphrodite,’’ he smiles with his whole face and moves on to the bench. ‘‘How are you?’’ His white denture is revealed, making the secretary respond with a smile.
‘‘Hi…’’ She looks at the four men, trying to avoid the singer. ‘‘I’m fine, Ioannis.’’
‘‘These are my partners for the competition,’’ he explains to her and she greets them with her eyes. He puts both palms on the bench and presses them in such a way as if somebody is pulling him from the back to take him outside the dance school.
Dima is indifferent, checking his watch to see if they are late for the rehearsal. Nektarios is observing Ioannis’s rudimentary flirtation in every detail, so that he might make fun of him later, copying his expressions and gestures. Ildar is looking for the dance rooms with a wandering look in a friendly and familiar environment.
‘‘Victoria is waiting for you in the green room.’’ The secretary informs them and throws a suffocating smile at Ioannis.
‘‘Thank you,’’ Nektarios says pulling him from his arm. ‘‘You melted…’’ he whispers to him over his shoulder with the raised pads. ‘‘What did you wear again?’’
‘‘What do you mean?’’
Ioannis’s cinnamon coat touches the floor, fluttering uncontrollably, as it does not have any zippers or buttons to close one lapel with the other. Its special design is intended to highlight the black satin scarf which reaches a palm above the floor.
Ildar enters the green room and approaches Victoria who has already started her warming up.
‘‘Let me introduce you to Ildar. He is the dancer from Russia who will show us the choreography. He has come out with something great! You can’t imagine it…’’ Ioannis opens his eyes widely, with a feverish longing.
‘‘I am glad to meet you, Ildar.’’
‘‘Victoria. I look forward to you showing us what you have thought.’’
Their eyes lock together with a fervent gesture. The girl fixes her high braid and shakes her neck right and left. The singer is in front of them watching their movements.
‘‘I want us to talk…’’ Dima looks at Nektarios with worried eyes. He turns his gaze to Ioannis and returns his eyes to the lyricist. ‘‘…in private.’’
‘‘These will be the first three steps in the verse. You will do exactly the same moves, without looking at each other. Mr. Vasilikos, come next to Victoria. Let’s try it. But please take off this coat and scarf if you can.’’
Ioannis follows Ildar’s instructions, trying to coordinate his clumsy kinesiology with the two dancers’ harmonized movements. His gaze passes through the mirror and looks at the two men who have receded aside in the room.
‘‘Someone has learned that I am here and wants to blackmail me.’’
‘‘Dima, what are you saying? Do you know who he is?’’
‘‘I’ll explain it to you, but I want you to promise that you won’t say anything to Ioannis…’’ The singer smiles to them from afar while trying to make a sharp turn as Ildar is showing him. ‘‘It isn’t that I don’t trust him, but his naivety may destroy me.’’
‘‘I won’t say anything to anyone. You have my word. Tell me what happened!’’
‘‘You’re the only one I trust completely, and I want to tell you the truth. Someone tried to set a trap for me.’’
‘‘I haven’t seen such a quiet baby!’’ Grandma Barbara exclaims and brings the plate with the stifado at the table.
‘‘Didn’t he cry at all last night?’’ Peter asks in an investigative tone.
‘‘A little,’’ she answers and serves the meat in our dishes. ‘‘Magda, I didn’t put red pepper in yours.’’
Fortunately.
‘‘I want those with the pepper!’’ Violeta shouts and she kneels with her knees on the chair. She has acquired the same taste preferences as Peter.
‘‘I want you to tell me the frequency and duration of each cry.’’
‘‘Do you want me to make a diagram as well?’’ his grandmother mocks him only to receive his critical look. I enjoy the fact that he respects her and doesn’t attempt to contradict her. I love his relationship with her. Basically, I love his grandmother’s humor.
Basically, I love the way she flattens him.
‘‘He’s a little extravagant sometimes, but he is the best father!’’ I say and hug him. ‘‘I love you!’’ I complete the manifestation of my love with a kiss on his cheek.
He smiles and serves some grated carrot in Violeta’s dish. I take my frustration away from the table and pay attention to his father’s.
‘‘What about Nomikos’s case?’’
‘‘Th
e situation is confusing, Mr. Harry…’’ I answer and I try to look carefree, neglecting my non-existent acting skills.
I do not want to be oppressive or grumpy, but I can’t bear constantly suppressing my emotions. This is his character, and I cannot change it. This is the agreement I have made with myself, though insecurities are constantly looking for the light and they dodge from the darkness that I hide them in every time.
Why have you never told me ‘‘I love you’’?
The same question challenges the same quarrel since the beginning of our common life. Peter seems to be allergic to this phrase, never answering to the request of it from the right hemisphere of my brain.
It is just a phrase, just three words. I do not want to feel a substitute, nor a less satisfying version of his love for Catherine. I adore his pride, his arrogance, his need to dominate. I love all these because I know that he has a warm heart, and his selfishness is just his defense. But how easy is it to feel that your partner is next to you with both his soul and body? How easy is it to feel that he loves me as I do him?
‘‘Go to bed too, my love.’’
The little one kisses Peter first and then gives to me a big kiss on my cheek and obeys - this time - taking leaps and bounds to her room. Harry is playing with the hanging toy in the crib and I hope he is not in the mood of staying awake tonight.
‘‘Is there anything wrong?’’
I am wearing my pyjamas, giving him a negative answer, since I am not in a mood to argue with him again. It would be better if I never told him these words again, but I fall into the same trap every time due to my spontaneity. Because every time I await for him to say it back.
‘‘Magda…’’ he leaves the criminologist’s strict style and glances at me with a sweet smile. ‘‘Don’t expect to reach the point where you will be able to perceive my every move and remark.’’
He keeps having fun with the situation and that infuriates me even more. ‘‘Goodnight.’’ I turn my back and seal my eyes.
I feel his turmoil struggling with the quilt. His tenseness passes through my backbone like an electric current.
‘‘This is how you understand love; in three words. I will say them to you if that’s all it takes for you to get over it.’’
I turn sharply towards him with a tendency to escape from our bed, but I try to restrain myself, venting my anger on the pillow. ‘‘Get over it?’’ I ask him with a manipulative voice, after the use of the emergency filter in cases of necessary strengthening of my composure.
‘‘Yes… If I say it, I won’t have to keep proving it constantly… I won’t have to worry about you… You won’t need to see the love in my eyes… These three words have more value for you than any other act of mine.’’
The pressure from my fingers is about to tear the pillow. I must not answer. The same talk once again and in the middle of the battle egoism smiles.
‘‘We can say a lot… Some of our words are true while some others are not. But actions are the most concrete evidence of our wills and desires. Words are the instantaneous rendering of our thoughts, Magda.’’
Interpretation of love by Peter Deligiannis.
‘‘I simply note that you are trying to support your opinion with silly arguments! I don’t want you to say it since you don’t feel it, however I don’t want to hide that it hurts me a lot…’’ I turn my back again, having the desire to sleep on the couch more than ever. ‘‘Maybe you haven’t learned to say ‘‘I love you’’…’’ I end the conversation by preventing my tears from touching the pillow.
The apology that comes in response to good morning is something that reassures me temporarily. I do not want to put pressure on him. The fact that he realizes that he is doing something wrong is enough for me. Reasonable syllogisms try to cover my anger. A successful attempt.
I have a headache. I support my head with my hands and I rest my elbows ardently on the desk. Even the slightest whisper may shake the invisible thread of my silent protest.
‘‘Magda, I’m sorry…’’ Andrew passes me holding a plastic that smells natural orange juice. Peter looks up, interrupting his own silent revolution and looks at him in a codified style. In the next few seconds, he should be out of the room, otherwise, the juice will be found on his freshly shampooed black hair.
‘‘I told you I only passed by for a few minutes!’’ Eleftheria also reprimands her husband, accusing him of overprotective behavior. ‘‘I am just pregnant Andrew, stop treating me as if I am ill!’’
She chose to visit us on the worst day. The truth is I miss her a lot in the Department. She was my lifeline when I was angry with Peter. She always brought balance. Her substitute is sitting next to her typing a message on her mobile while smiling cunningly. Maybe some other time I would be curious about what she is writing and to whom, and she has such an expression, but at this moment I simply want to close my eyes and fall asleep on the desk.
The soft features of Andrew’s face relax, even more, hitting the delicate self that I am trying to eliminate. ‘‘OK, don’t yell at him… He cares about you and your baby,’’ I justify him, and his green eyes encourage me silently.
‘‘Magda, thank you… I don’t want to be oppressive, but she needs to take vitamins. The doctor recommended it too. I didn’t tell her to stay closed in the house but…’’
‘‘Oh, thank you, Andrew!’’ she keeps talking to him in the same hard tone.
Knowing both of them well, I suppose Eleftheria is right in this controversy. Andrew can become unbearably annoying with his overprotection. His puppy eyes stand in the way of hurting him, although his wife seems to be unaffected by his sweetness.
‘‘I love you, Eleftheria… And now even more as in three months and twenty days you will become the mother of our child.’’
The most awkward smile that I have ever worn in my life is placed on my lips. I avoid looking at Peter. I do not want to.
‘‘Ok, Andrew, enough with the manifestation of your love… Will you let us work?’’ Andrew’s manifestation of love left lava that burnt Peter and it is slowly burning me who I am still trapped in its ashes.
I close my eyes and gather my nervousness in a ball of thread. I gather all its threads, all the comments I want to make, all the thoughts that spin in my mind and I lock them in the non-operative part of my brain. I swallow the key.
Eleftheria throws the plastic in the bin and puffs and blows. ‘‘Andrew has become unbearably oppressive!’’ she confesses as soon as he leaves the room. She is an extravagant person. ‘‘He has made me a special diet program for me so that I and the baby receive the necessary vitamins, and he constantly checks if I stick to it,’’ she breathes heavily. ‘‘He smothers me, Magda.’’
‘‘Andrew is overprotective. You knew it from the beginning. He doesn’t behave only to you like that. Don’t you remember what he had done for me?’’
‘‘Yes. I fell in love with him because he was different; sweet, gentle, kind, full of kindness. A real gem! However, even the most positive features require some limits, Magda! Kindness needs abstinence. Sweetness needs a bitter balance. I insult him and he isn’t offended!’’ she exclaims in despair. I insist. She is extravagant. ‘‘If you pass by his desk, throw a look in the second drawer. You will find three volumes entitled ‘‘How to become good parents’’; they were on sale in telemarketing. He keeps notes and reads them to me every night. He has also driven me crazy with his love messages, flowers and teddy bears!’’
‘‘He loves you, Eleftheria. This is incredibly beautiful,’’ I state with a floating bitterness.
‘‘Magda, I’m speaking very seriously. He is tiring me! Sometimes I think about divorcing him?’’
‘‘You are extravagant. Andrew loves you! When you lose him, then you will appreciate his love. When you find someone else who won’t care for you, for your emotions, for your longings, then you will miss him…’’ Peter gets my implication, opening and closing his pen nervously.
Antonel
la brings us our coffees and Eleftheria retreats to her husband’s office, while I keep thinking her words. She cannot stand the devotion that I am looking for and I can’t stand the indifference that satisfies her. In our life, we always ask for what we cannot obtain, and we don’t appreciate what we have.
It’s a law.
‘‘Time is running out and we haven’t made any progress in the case. We have to concentrate. First, let’s remove the composer from our target. He didn’t have any motive to kill Natalie. On the contrary…’’ he says and receives a grimace of frustration from Antonella and a semi-warm smile from me. ‘‘…perhaps we should bring Aris to the fore again.’’
My smile gets warmer. From the beginning, his guilt was so obvious for me. Antonella is sipping with a sour style some of her coffee, without showing any reaction to Peter’s words. She must gradually be convinced of the composer’s innocence.
‘‘Natalie is presented by her friend as a spoiled rich girl, a blowhard girl with money, without friends, yet, with a great social circle, due to her name. According to Victoria she was playing with everyone and mainly with her brother. Forgive me for saying that I don’t have a crazy desire to catch her killer…’’
This time I won’t say he is extravagant. He is justifiably outraged by everything Victoria told us. ‘‘Her friend told us that Aris was the only one who had motive to kill her, as she imposed him repeatedly on bullying…’’ I explain to our colleague who is blinking with clear indifference. I suppose she will get excited only if we arrest the composer.
‘‘Bullying… This word is so common nowadays that it has completely lost its value. Attack on weak personalities from other weaker wearing the tyrant’s mask, which conceals their own weakness. In other words, the perpetrators are people more insecure than their victims and attack is the way they have chosen to survive. And you know why? Family is the reason. Family is the primary body of socialization. Nomikos raised two weak children. Instead of teaching them how to gain power, he created a false perpetrator and a real victim.’’
The Last Symphony Page 13