Peter takes off his jacket exposing his white shirt. He is sweating from tension and it has stuck on him. I like this image a lot.
‘‘Did you see him? Did you see him? Fortunately, he didn’t condemn me for going to Moscow without informing him...’’ he puffs and blows expressing his indignation; unjustified rage for the common logic. Absolutely justified considering Peter’s selfishness.
‘‘You know him... I don’t think you were expecting anything more...’’
‘‘Magda...’’ he smiles ironically. I like the charm that victory gives him. ‘‘I expected that he would admit how unfair his last attack was a few days ago. He called me an airy-fairy!’’ he raises his eyebrows.
Oh no!
‘‘He is just so selfish that he doesn’t recognize your value, Peter.’’ Andrew, as always, hurries to praise him and I wonder how come he didn’t bring a red carpet to welcome his idol.
‘‘This case closes here. As far as Apostolos Maniatis is concerned...’’ he says, and I suddenly turn my head. I hope his next words won’t include our re-observing Aris Nomikos. ‘‘As I said the other day, there is no reason to continue the investigation. It was a suicide. I don’t know what kind of differences he had with Aris, but he is incapable of committing a murder...’’ he states with certainty and my pulses return to their normal rhythm.
‘‘I believe the same...’’ Antonella agrees, and a wave of joy and optimism overwhelms me. ‘‘His speech is scheduled for tomorrow.’’
‘‘The truth is I would like to go... Magda, do you want us to go together?’’
I nod indifferently. The last thing I am interested in is to see the non-existent leadership skills of Nomikos. The man can’t become a politician but his father ignores this finding for the sake of glory. Aris is his continuation and he must promote him by all means.
Returning home. The rainbow after the storm came in the colours of Moscow. White, blue, red. If it wasn’t for Ildar, I don’t think we would have ever arrived at the end.
I get into the shower and let the water run on my body. The intensity of the last days has left its marks on me. I am trying to discharge the tension that has overwhelmed me and to enjoy the night with my winner.
I wrap the towel around my chest and pass into the bedroom. I open the lips to react with exclamations to the image I see, but finally, I choose to smile.
‘‘Mrs. Iliopoulou...’’
Peter is waiting for me sitting at the edge of the bed, wearing only a black tracksuit. His abdominals are so distinct that I have a wish to bite them one by one.
‘‘Come closer, Mrs. Iliopoulou...’’
I smile again. He is holding three silk handkerchiefs. I recognize them. He took them from the small suitcase with my accessories. Red, black, white. Regular roulette.
‘‘Choose one.’’
I choose the red.
‘‘Tonight, you will obey my orders,’’ he announces to me with a soft voice, and somehow activates all my senses. So easily. So simply.
‘‘Yes, sir,’’ I respond coloring my voice with notes of sensuality.
‘‘Order number one. You won’t talk. I allow you only to sigh.’’ A half look from his brown eyes and a half opening of his lips and I really feel incapable of uttering a single word.
He gives me his left hand and I follow his urging. He pushes me on my back on the bed, preparing his sexual attack. He leaves me waiting and approaches the desk. In the next second, The Hills by The weekend is sound in the room. He doesn’t need to do anything else to flood the room with fireworks.
He comes above me, supporting his weight on his knees, and brings me face to face with his fit body, which I will never get enough of looking at. I want to kiss him everywhere. He leaves the white and black handkerchief on the pillow and ties my eyes with the red one. I cannot see anything, but in my mind, I have an optical contact with the smile on his lips.
The music alternations sensually pierce my ears and I want to shout, but this is prohibited. He covers my body with his and I feel his breath on my neck. He is breathing on me without touching me. He descends lower and continues the same, torturous movement. I feel his lips exactly one inch above my body, without any contact. The downward route continues, pushing me threateningly to my limits. My mind seems incapable of reacting but is making imaginative plans of revenge. The temperature of my body reaches the colour that the handkerchief tying my eyes.
‘‘Do you want me so much?’’ he asks me, while he has reached my ankles. I do not answer. I am following the rules. ‘‘I’m waiting for you to answer me...’’ he continues and blows up my brain, pulling my waist on him. His erection stops my breathing, making me sigh. ‘‘Very nice...’’ he receives the answer he wanted, and we become one body that is dancing to the rhythm of the music.
Return to the end
I open my eyes and smile with every possible facial contraction of my face. I am alone. The sun rays have taken their place on the bed and they are naturally warming my naked body. I take a shower and go down to the kitchen. Ideally, I would like to enjoy the sequel of last night’s adventure; however, I am preparing myself for a family reunion.
‘‘Good morning, my girl!’’ Grandma Barbara greets me pouring sugar on the pancakes on Violeta’s plate.
I smile mechanically. I want to take the jar of sugar and throw it all over Peter’s naked body. I keep my galloping thoughts for myself and sit next to him modestly.
‘‘The crepes of our leading criminologist are ready...’’ she praises her grandson, and he raises his neck. ‘‘Magda, I brought you the children a bit earlier because I want to get ready. I will attend the Nomikos’s speech in the afternoon and I want to go to the hairdresser’s,’’ she announces to us and Peter has just found a company for the event.
‘‘We will come along,’’ he replies to her and I hope he means Violeta. ‘‘Magda, the children will stay with my father.’’
Perfect!
Taking the idea through second processing, I think it is a nice opportunity for some family time. The last occasion we all went somewhere together was a few months ago at the maternity hospital.
‘‘Will you vote for him?’’ Peter asks her cutting his crepe into smaller pieces.
‘‘If he convinces me...’’ Grandma Barbara declares with a demanding look, making me admire her perspicacity.
It is great to see older people full of optimism, cheerfulness, and liveliness. Maybe these are exactly the features that are lacking in young people; indifference and inaction take more often the positive vote in their preferences.
Peter is spending all day with our children. I doubt if he even glanced at me. He managed to make Harry press the numbers in the right order in the pillow game and he let Violeta win in the word game.
I am sitting in front of the mirror straightening my hair. Black mascara, black pencil, and red lipstick. I am putting on my tight, burgundy dress, my black high heels, and my black coat. Peter is waiting patiently for me to go down to the living room. The event is starting in half an hour. We will be on time if we don’t meet any other car on the road and the traffic lights show us their green smile.
‘‘You didn’t prototype, Mrs. Iliopoulou...’’
I see my beloved next to the door. He is wearing a mask of affectionate understanding. ‘‘You are used to it now, don’t whine...’’ I pass him and proceed to the car. Being late is the first characteristic on my flaws list.
We arrive at the stadium and I am glad that the event has been delayed to start. Grandma Barbara is wearing a long, flowery dress with pleats, representative of the omen of spring, and a grey coat that she has closed up to the neck, noting the first contrast. The second on is placed on the black scarf which falls backwards like a mantle, reaching her waist. I believe that Vasilikos would approve her dressing proposal.
Peter throws a glance at the crowd. Most attendees have already taken their seats, while a few are still roaming around. We ourselves belong to this group. Th
e air conditioning gets more powerful as we get further down, and I want to take off my coat. I see my husband approaching Orpheus Nomikos and I follow him.
‘‘Mr. Deligiannis...’’ a cordial handshake from him to Peter makes me greet him too. I look for Grandma Barbara and I spot her in the left corner of the hall. She makes me a gesture to approach. She found seats just behind the reporters’ row. Exceptional.
‘‘I wish your son and the party good luck.’’
‘‘Thank you for what you did for the case,’’ he tells Peter. He doesn’t even look at me. ‘‘In the end, could you wait for me at the exit? I would like to talk to you.’’
I see Peter nodding positively, while he is pulling me from my waist to move on towards his grandma. ‘‘He probably wants to thank me personally for my success...’’ he whispers in my ear and I agree smiling.
A few minutes later, a man in a suit comes forward asking us to keep quiet, informing us about the start of the event. I sit up in my chair changing cross-legged. The stage is illuminated by a white light that diffuses relatively evenly, focusing a little more in the center. Aris Nomikos comes forward and is applauded.
It seems weird to me that he is not wearing a suit or tie, but a simple T-shirt and jeans. He goes up on stage and takes his place in front of the stand with the microphone.
He lowers his head and looks at the notes. There is silence in the room. We are all awaiting for his first word, while I am wondering why he still hasn’t welcomed the crowd.
He takes the pages in his hands, lifts them at the level of his chest, and tears them in two and then in four to the surprise of all the attendees. I open my eyes widely, trying to guess his next move. He throws the torn sheets at the edge of the stage and approaches one of the reporters in the first row. He kindly asks for his microphone. He takes it in his hand and makes a step backwards. I throw a quick glance at Peter, who cannot take his eyes off Aris. I assume that he is ready to announce his withdrawal from politics.
‘‘Welcome and thank you for coming here tonight...’’ he says and crosses his hands in front of his chest, holding with the microphone with his right one. ‘‘Some of you, probably the most, might have waited to see and hear something different, but I chose to present you with something real... Aris Nomikos.’’
From the first seconds, he has magnetized all the gazes on him. Being aware of his unstable mental condition, I start thinking of an upcoming emotional outburst with collateral damage.
‘‘Since I was a kid, I always had everything I wanted, without asking for it. I grew up in a united family that offered me everything, even what I didn’t need. In exchange, I was always obedient, following the rules strictly and striving for the best result, even when I had already managed it. A few months ago, I was elected as the Democratic Truth party leader. As you understand, being Orpheus Nomikos son, was a determinant factor in my win...’’ he says walking with slow steps among the crowd. ‘‘The truth is that I am not suitable for this field, because I haven’t learned to tell convincing lies...’’ he continues in a steady voice. ‘‘I am not going to help anyone in exchange for his vote.’’
What is he saying?
Not the slightest whisper is heard in the hall. Absolute silence. Dead silence. The only thing heard is Aris Nomikos’s voice.
‘‘Did I tell my first lies? Were my words just meant to manipulate you and make you believe in my solvency?’’ he asks the crowd at the top, while the cameras project close snaps of his to the center slide, above the stage.
‘‘Welcome to the world of politics...’’ he says smiling, letting two curls fall in front of his face. His gaze is impregnated with a crazy perversion. I am trying unsuccessfully to understand his behavior.
‘‘It is amazingly easy to get carried away when we don’t know who we are... When we don’t know what we are worthy of...’’ he declares and descends to the main stage. ‘‘The truth is hidden in the light. This gives the answers. What do you see on my face? Do I seem a capable politician? Probably not...’’ he half closes his eyes with bombast. ‘‘Do you know who I really am? I am an excellent economist who graduated with honors from one of the most difficult universities in the world. I am able to present my own proposals, which will be alternative and innovative for the up to today Greek data. This is my job. This is my value. As for policy...’’ he stops and turns his gaze towards his father. ‘‘I don’t know if I belong here...’’ he says addressing him. ‘‘You will judge this because I will be a candidate in the upcoming elections as the leader of the Democratic Truth party...’’ he smiles and ascends the stage. ‘‘If I get elected, I will come forward, as I did to you tonight and I will support my ideas. The best suggestions will stand out. All I can assure you is that I will give my best to present to Europe a Greece that won’t be afraid to talk... Maybe we have forgotten how strong our country is... How strong we are!’’ he shouts and raises his left hand in the air.
He concludes his speech and everyone spring from their seats and applaud him. Aris smiles and the curls move on his forehead. He makes a gesture to the journalists that he will not answer to any questions and keeps enjoying the crowds’ apotheosis. He lowers his gaze to his father. He is standing on the right corner applauding him proudly. Aris descends from the podium and gets lost in the crowd, the moment the journalists are running behind him for a statement.
What was this?
A shiver runs through my face, lifting my body temperature. Grandma Barbara was probably one of the first to get excited about his speech - if this could be characterized as speech. She is walking among the seats of our row to come out in the central corridor and follow her new political idol. Peter is observing Orpheus Nomikos accepting the journalists’ questions with pleasure.
‘‘Sweeping...’’ he shouts next to my ear. ‘‘Dangerously sweeping...’’ he stresses, and I absolutely agree with him. Aris’s mental world is full of riddles which, however, I have no interest in solving out.
I hope Peter is on the same page.
The reporters that had circled Orpheus Nomikos leave the hall and the latter calls us to approach him at the podium base. He accepts our congratulations and turns to Peter. I wonder if he remembers that I am a police officer as well.
‘‘Will you go to the Department now?’’
‘‘No. Today we have a slightly more relaxing schedule.’’
‘‘Mr. Deligiannis I am really glad you came. This night was especially important for me. For my son... Do you have any children?’’ he asks him and maybe I can recognize an emotion in his eyes that of course is fake. This man cannot convince me that he is capable of feeling any emotion.
‘‘Yes, two.’’
‘‘Sometimes it is difficult to understand them... How can we find out what they really want? I am not good at this... I raised both of my children based on the experience that would lead them to success. This is what I wanted. I wanted them to reach the peak and to look at me with pleasure and me looking back at them with pride.’’
How hypocritical? I cannot bear seeing the mask he has placed carefully on his face to sell us the image of the good father.
‘‘Peter, I will be wait for you outside,’’ I tell him a low voice, hurrying to abandon the theatrical performance.
‘‘Don’t leave, Mrs. Iliopoulou. I want you to listen to what I have to say.’’
A gleam in my eyes is my answer. Does he remember my name?
‘‘Everyone makes mistakes. Sometimes these mistakes are meant to cover other bigger and in this way, we consider them as the right choices, however, it is nothing like that... Truth is always the one that prevails,’’ he continues his encrypted speech. ‘‘Mr. Deligiannis... I want to confess the murder of the lawyer Apostolos Maniatis. I killed him.’’
He breathes in with steady and controlled breathing. He breathes out some notes of calm and mental exultation. He faces his reflection in the mirror. He recognizes this image. This is Dima Vladimirov. One of the most famous composers
in the world with top distinctions and successes. He is an artist who should be grateful for his achievements. He is a son who must be glad he made his mother proud. He is a man who has to live in captivity in the nets of a rare disease which carries an hourglass full of black ashes with it.
But he is also a man who has still many things to learn from life.
‘‘Are you ready, Mr. Vladimirov?’’
‘‘Yes, Ildar, come in’’
The dancer enters the composer's dressing room. He looks at Dima's face and is overwhelmed by a sweet tension. It is not the creative stress he feels before every performance. It is something different. It is an undefined excitement which charges him with crystals that reflect an invisible light. Yes, this is exactly what the composer looks like. An invisible light.
‘‘We'll start in a few minutes, Ildar,’’ he declares with a frantic longing as if it is his first performance.
‘‘Everything is ready, do not worry.’’
‘‘Should I be worried?’’ he throws a warm smile while he is buttoning the gold cufflinks on his white shirt. ‘‘Sometimes when we seek perfection, we miss the point. And do you know what? It is there most of the time. It awaits us in the first row and we do not recognize it because we are looking to find it in the crowd; but remember: beauty always stands out in the chaos. All we need to do is open our eyes to the truth.’’
The invisible light becomes dazzling. ‘‘I agree with you…’’ he raises his head. ‘‘I'm glad for you… I mean I'm glad you're fine now…’’ The last sentence lands with a small question mark on the dancer 's lips.
What does someone say to a person who knows he is going to die but seems to have come to terms with it?
‘‘I'm very well,’’ he claims confidently. ‘‘… because I know what it's like not to be well… The few days I spent in prison taught me what the real meaning of life is: to have a clear conscience. I realized how selfishly I behaved to the people who loved me. To my mother, to Julia, to the audience that loves my compositions. I ran away from them to get rid of more mental pain, which has been growing every minute since I left Moscow. But now I am here, and I am ready to face any challenge just because I am by their side. These people, my family, are my power.’’
The Last Symphony Page 26