Andras: Beyond Good and Evil

by S L Zammit

  Albeit being highly uninformed about the subject of antique books, I appreciate that I’m looking at a collection of artifacts that is probably priceless.

  I finally make my way to a book cabinet containing documents relating to the Knights of Malta, such as old chronicles with exhaustive details of the works carried out by the knights as hospitaliers as well as soldiers of Christianity. Sifting through vessels’ nautical logs, ancient decrees and deeds of land parcels, urban architectural plans, volumes of the minutes of the Order Council meetings, I come across a volume of love letters from Stefano to Isabella Guasconi bound in leather.

  My meticulous undertaking of reviewing the shelves in the cabinet must have taken me all night since I notice that the pitch darkness outside is being replaced by crepuscular twilight through the heavily tinted windows.

  I find a cache of secret documents dealing with communications made by the Order with its spies within Constantinople, the capital of the Ottoman Empire. However, I do not discover anything new about Isabella’s gold box other than the documents the marquis had mentioned in the interview, regarding the council meeting de Valette had convened after Isabella’s murder.

  Outside the library, I hear a flurry of activity accompanied by the sound of agitated voices. I recognize the raised voices of Rosina and Half-naked-fawn-eyes, parting ways in a fashion less than amicable. Having been up all night and most certainly looking the part, I have no intention of getting involved in the heated argument going on outside the room.

  Thankfully, Rosina seems to have forgotten all about me. The absolute silence that follows the incident outside the doors of the library gives me a sense of calmness and seclusion. My eagerness to find some tangible clue to help me unravel this mystery overwhelms me and subdues my need for rest and food, and having discovered a small restroom in the back of the library, I decide to stay and continue my research, which now enthralls me completely.

  I move to the area of the library where the marquis had interviewed me and settle into his chair at the desk. I can’t help envisioning his striking face, his piercing eyes and beautiful mouth and the adorable dimple on his left cheek. I can almost smell his musky smell around the desk. I shake myself out of my daydream and refocus on my work, spending a few more hours going through documents and reading more of Stefano’s love letters. Their contents make me wonder what horrific force had possessed him to transform his obvious loving feelings towards Isabella into heinous ones.

  After some time, I notice that the marquis’ mysterious map is still lying on the desk where it had been on Sunday. Instinctively, I single out Gozo, the island where I was born, and circle its miniscule circumference. An event in particular stands out. It is the attack of the Ottoman fleet on the island in 1551.

  The sultan, Suleiman the Magnificent had spared the knights when his vast fleet and army had driven them out of the island of Rhodes. But when the knights settled in Malta, they continued to attack the Turkish merchant ships that plied the naval routes between their coastal ports in the Mediterranean Sea. In retaliation, he dispatched an armada of 10,000 warriors to attack Malta and teach the knights a lesson. When Dragut, at the head of the fleet landed and marched towards Birgu, the knights’ stronghold, he found the opposition too strong. The Turkish forces re-embarked and Dragut redirected his ships northwards towards the smaller Maltese island of Gozo. The Turkish pirates stormed the small island, looting and pillaging the villages and setting on fire whatever they could not carry. The villagers took refuge in the Citadel, the walled city of the island.

  But the Ottomans breached the city walls and carried off most of the population, including the knights present, as slaves, and sailed off to Tripoli. Apart from the elderly, only a few hundred people managed to escape the raid by climbing down the city walls.

  The people of Gozo were required by decree to return to the Citadel in the evenings and spend the night within the city’s fortified walls to prevent such abduction by corsairs.

  I suddenly feel a wave of nostalgia for my old Zia Marie who brought me up in Gozo and still lives there. Since Aurora and I moved to Malta to attend university, our visits to the smaller island have become shorter and further apart. I imagine old Zia Marie alone in her house on Charity Street.

  Feeling completely exhausted, I decide to rest a while and recoup some energy before heading back home. I spot an exquisitely upholstered chaise lounge in a dark corner of the library and lie down, close my eyes, but can’t shake off the image of Gozo and my Zia Marie.

  In my head I am ten years old again and I’m sitting across from my great-aunt. She is teaching me how to make bobbin lace; a lace pillow balanced on her thighs, she braids and twists lengths of silk thread that are wound on bobbins to manage them. As the work progresses, the weaving is held in place with pins set at the top of the lace pillow, the placement of which is determined by the pattern drawn on a piece of paper stuck to the top of the lace pillow before she starts weaving. The woven threads around the pins take the form of wheatear flowers with rounded petals and a knights’ cross with eight points.

  Outside, the rain pelts against the glazing and forms waves that slide down the panes. The rumbling of distant thunder gets closer as the wind blows about the metal pail hanging from a pulley above the water well making clanking noises.

  It is winter, many years ago. The dark gray sky hangs low above the courtyard; the plants seem oblivious to the shivering cold, their petals droop under the torrential downpour. It has rained all day and I look forward for a break in the stormy weather. Zia Marie mumbles the rosary as she works her lace. She has lost interest in the lesson, and me.

  Outside, the wind howls furiously and blows the rain against the windows. I sit close to Zia Marie and the kerosene heater with its hot scarlet flame, its pungent warmth embracing us.

  Then I hear it over Zia Marie’s mumbling and the crackling of the flames, over the ticking of the grandfather clock. Over the pelting rain and the howling wind, a resonant, echoing crash: a vivid and discernable bang.

  Zia Marie also hears the sound through the shared walls. She drops her bobbins and stands abruptly from her wicker chair. There is an eerie silence, like the storm paused for a long instant, and then we hear the screaming and the door next door open and slam shut and then the soft knocking on our door. We immediately anticipate who it is.

  Aurora is standing in the rain in her pajamas. She is soaking wet and trembling like a leaf.

  “Come, come,” she cries. “Something terrible happened to my dad.”

  Zia Marie ushers Aurora into our house and asks us to wait by the heater while she goes out to investigate.

  Zia Marie finds Tony in his white underpants, his body sprawled on the kitchen floor, his whole anatomy unnaturally twisted into a pretzel. He is rock-solid, frozen-dead. His facial features crumpled in, his eyes squeezed shut, his mouth a grim, thin line. There are pots and pans all around the room collecting water from the leaky roof, making a strange melodic accompaniment to the howling wind.

  Awakened from my slumber by the clawing of fear, I find that I’m staring directly into the luminescent, yellow eyes of the marquis’ black cat. The Siamese is lying on my chest purring softly. Twitching its whiskers, the cat stands on all fours, arches its back and leaps off me.

  The room is pitch dark and freezing. My vivid dream is so realistic and true to what had happened so many years ago, that it almost feels as if I had traveled in time.

  That event had been very traumatic for Aurora. I clearly remember the commotion caused by the ambulance siren and the police stampeding boots descending upon Charity Street.

  But their investigation had not revealed much. The only out of the ordinary things the inspection of the house had turned up, were rats and cockroaches. Questioning Aurora was futile since she had blocked out all details of whatever had transpired and had nothing to share. The coroner deemed that a massive heart attack was the cause of Tony’s death, and since the police didn’t find anything suspic
ious in the house, apart from the strange position of his body, the case had been closed and his death attributed to natural causes.

  Two months after Tony’s death, Zia Marie received a call from the office of a local notary regarding the only thing Tony had left behind, a letter addressed to her. Tony’s written request that Aurora was to be put under the care of Zia Marie was no surprise to anyone since she was the one he always turned to in times of need. All my childhood memories include Aurora in some way or another yet we couldn’t be more dissimilar.

  I decide to head back home to Sliema, as I’m sure Aurora is worried about me.

  Creeping out of the library, I am thankful for the deserted corridor and sneak out of the palazzo and onto Inguanez Street where the sun has already set and night is rapidly creeping in.

  3

  “Where have you been?” yells Aurora as soon as I step into the apartment. “I’ve called you so many times. I thought something must have happened to you!”

  I quickly plug my phone into the wall socket and find that I indeed have multiple messages and missed calls. As I had expected my cell phone battery is still charged, it was just shut off.

  “I started doing some work in the library at the palazzo and time just flew by,” I say. “I didn’t find what I’m looking for, but there’s still so much material to go through.”

  “Your marquis seriously needs to look into this phone reception problem,” she says, rushing out of her bedroom. “Seems to me like he exists in a medieval bubble. Were you guys up all night talking about antiquity and antiques?” Aurora giggles. She is carrying a pile of folded clothes in one arm.

  “He wasn’t even there,” I say indignantly.

  Aurora stops and stares at me. “Oh wow,” she says. “Look at your hair! It’s beautiful, I love it!”

  I had forgotten all about my new hairdo.

  “You look like a minx,” she says smiling. “In a positive way. Like Cleopatra.”

  “I wasn’t so sure about going through with it,” I admit. “Especially since it wasn’t my idea and the stylist was so against such a drastic change. Even though I love how it looks, I still feel weird about changing my appearance for a new employer.”

  “Talking about your new employer,” says Aurora, “I have papers from the office for you to sign.”

  “What papers?” I ask as Aurora rummages through her briefcase and produces a folder of very official looking paperwork.

  I flip through the booklet; scanning over the fine print everything looks like legal mumbo-jumbo to me.

  “Someone phoned the office and when I heard your name being mentioned I got involved. Don’t worry about it,” says Aurora, “I helped draft the document and made sure that everything was okay. It’s a pretty straightforward confidentiality agreement to protect the marquis’ privacy. The anti-disclosure items cover anything that goes on in the house, any business discussed with you or in your presence and the outcome of any project you’re involved in. He asks that you limit your activities to the rooms you’re invited into.”

  “It goes without saying that I have no intention of snooping around the house or discuss his affairs with anyone,” I say indignantly, recalling my trip to Profs’ house and how careful I had been not to indicate that I was working for someone else, let alone the actual person I was working for.

  “I had it worded out in a way where the agreement excludes any reference to myself to eliminate any conflict of interest, although I have the interest of both parties at heart,” says Aurora giggling mischievously.

  “He also goes over your remuneration which is extremely generous,” continues Aurora moving to my side and turning the booklet to the page where it deals with the matter. My indignation dissipates suddenly and I gasp.

  “I know,” says Aurora. “You got really lucky. He also insists that you be available for him at all times and in attendance at all events he requests your presence. What I thought was funny was this part,” she leafs through the pages of the booklet, “he insists that you keep your looks and wardrobe updated and charge all expenses to the charge card that has been provided to you. Can we swap jobs?”

  “I don’t know what to think,” I say.

  “There isn’t much to think about,” says Aurora. “All you need to do is show up looking fabulous and keep everything that happens in that house to yourself.”

  “Is it normal to feel anxious about this?” I ask feeling tightness in my chest. “What if I’m not what he expects?”

  “He took care of that too,” she says going through the booklet. “He reserves the right to terminate your employment at any time without notice. He also made sure to include that you can keep anything and everything purchased during your employ. I think this is a win-win situation for you. I’ve read the whole agreement very carefully and I don’t think there’s anything for you to worry about. You’ve been looking for an opportunity for so long and you’ve been in such a highly stressed state because of this. Now that you’ve finally come across something good you need to stop worrying. Just relax and give it your best.”

  “There are a few things I feel I need to tell you about,” she continues. Aurora has this protective sisterly look on her face and she’s observing me intently. “The marquis has a Saudi Arabian physicist in his employ. From the judge’s comments, I gather she’s very beautiful and Andras has a reputation for hiring beautiful women.”

  “Haifa,” I mutter. “Yes, I know.”

  “So you’ve met her?” asks Aurora.

  “I saw her being removed from the house yesterday,” I say and can’t help grinning.

  “What I’m trying to say,” continues Aurora, “is that this guy sounds like a real piece of work and I don’t want you to get hurt. I know you Graziella. You’re waiting for your Prince Charming and this just isn’t the guy.”

  “Seriously Aurora! Like you said, this is the job I’ve been waiting for and he’s my employer.”

  “I know, I know,” she says. “I haven’t even met him, but I don’t trust him one bit! So please don’t get emotionally involved in any way. You’re so sweet and naive in so many ways. I’m worried about this.”

  “Don’t be,” I assure her. “The first time I was at the palazzo I was let out of the place by a gorgeous, half-naked woman and when I went back she was in the foyer, bags packed being dismissed. I think I know what I’m dealing with.”

  “I’m glad doll,” she says. “I love you so much and all I want is to protect you from all the big bad wolves out there. The conditions of the contract protect the marquis to the extent that he will seek repercussions from your parents, siblings and Zia Marie if you break the terms of his confidentiality agreement. But I wouldn’t be concerned since we don’t have anything to come after,” she giggles. “Just be very discrete.”

  “I find it disconcerting that he looked into my background and brought my whole family into this,” I mumble astonished.

  “I don’t see it that way,” says Aurora. “I think he really wants you around but he still wants to protect his privacy. He’s just making sure you understand he’s serious about keeping his business confidential. I’ve heard talk about his esoteric ways before. I wouldn’t worry.”

  Knowing that Aurora has my best interest in mind, I sign the papers since she has to return them straight away.

  “I’m flying to Rome early tomorrow morning,” she says as I sit at the dining table, pen in hand, signing the appropriate pages of the legal document she indicates.

  I notice that her voice is more high-pitched and excited than normal. “I have an extra ticket offered by the travel agency at this time of year and was hoping you’d come with me. I have a matter to attend to with Dame Esmie in the evening. I was hoping that Mark would accompany me abroad but things didn’t quite work out.” She giggles nervously.

  “I was calling to let you know your new passport was delivered this morning. Please come with me,” she whines, not allowing me to insert a word sideways. “We’d have so muc
h fun! We can shop on Piazza di Spagna for a fabulous new wardrobe for you, and then meet after my work engagement and go out.”

  Aurora doesn’t like being alone when she breaks a relationship. Her hurried speech indicates that this wasn’t an amicable split and I really am in no mood for dealing with the emotional problems of her latest boyfriend while she’s gone.

  Having been exposed to so many of her castoffs, I am aware of how persistent they become, calling incessantly, knocking on the door and waiting for her in the hallway. Moreover, the marquis even mentioned in his contract that I need to update my wardrobe, and Piazza di Spagna is not only a short flight away, but according to Aurora who frequently visits, the most amazing place to shop.

  “Come on,” pleads Aurora. “You know we’ll have a great time! It’s just for a day. We’ll leave tomorrow morning and be back the next day.”

  “I had this really vivid dream about Zia Marie last night,” I say sadly. “I miss her and I think I should go see her instead.”

  “Graziella, I assure you there’s no one in the world I love more than Zia Marie!” says Aurora, pouting as she puts her free arm around my shoulder. “My father was a good-for-nothing drunk who brought a horrible death upon himself, and the last I heard of my mother, who abandoned me as a child to chase after some man, she was in critical condition after some guy beat her almost to death with a shoe! A shoe!”

  She laughs her full-bodied, carefree laugh. I’ve always admired Aurora’s stratagem for survival: a guileless optimism and the candor to see the humor in every situation.

  “Zia Marie is the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” she says. “I promise that if you come with me to Rome tomorrow, when we return I’ll take a whole week off and we can both spend some quality time in Gozo with her!”

  It doesn’t take Aurora long to convince me and before I know it, I’m rushing around the apartment gathering my makeup, shoes and clothes for our day trip.