Andras: Beyond Good and Evil

by S L Zammit

  “I didn’t receive the news I was hoping for,” he continues unfazed, picking up the light from the ground and placing it back in her hand, closing his hand over hers. His skin is freezing to the touch. “But I figure the messenger is just that. A messenger. I’m still here.”

  He moves the light in her hand over the walls of the crypt.

  “This is all mine to collect,” he says. “Centuries of favors I can call in. Both of us can have everything we want.”

  Aurora remembers that the man had interpreted an area of his etchings as an event where he had saved a person from a precarious situation. She also recalls that the events he mentioned happened almost five centuries back.

  “And how do you propose we do that?” she says, trying very hard to tone down the sarcasm in her voice.

  The man’s laughter echoes around the crypt. “To think I was worried about your lack of a guardian,” he says. “You very obviously don’t need one. I’ve spent some time thinking about the ‘how and why’ of things. Both of us are here because we are destined to be here at this time and place. Anchored into this reality, we need each other to realize a way through, to define our new course in a way that accommodates us both. These realties can’t be annihilated,” he gently sweeps the light over the walls, “they’re just changed from one form to another. It’s far from over. What you see on these walls are fragments of existences. Let me worry about the details.”

  “I’m just wondering how you’re going to accomplish that from down here,” presses Aurora cautiously.

  “Of course you’re wondering,” says the man, “you’re a clever girl. How silly of me. I forgot to ask.”

  “Ask what?” says Aurora.

  “May I come in?” he asks. “You know I have to be invited to come in, right? You have to say the words.”

  “Of course,” says Aurora giggling. “You’re so polite.”

  “Say it,” he says quietly, still holding her hand and the flashlight.

  His face almost touching hers, her eyes staring deep into his, his cheeks move as he smiles at her. She feels overcome by a feeling of complete serenity: a relinquishment of will, a complete submission.

  “Of course,” she whispers, in awe of the surge of endorphins inside her, “of course you can come in. You’re welcome everywhere I am. You’re my friend.”

  “That’s great. Thank you dear girl,” he whispers moving away.

  Aurora feels all the energy seep out of her being, leaving her drained. She stumbles forward and grabs the man’s arm. He steadies her and smiles, a dimple forming on his left cheek.

  “You’ve talked about the problems in your life and the things you desire,” he says. “I’m going to need your help.”

  “Yes, of course,” says Aurora feeling dizzy.

  “People get too attached to this world, this transient reality,” he says, his voice sounds far and muffled. Aurora clings to his arm. “But there is always a fragment of this temporary existence trapped into eternity. Things. I need one that belongs to your father. A thing he holds dear, an empowering artifact.”

  Aurora racks her brain. “The problem with father is that he doesn’t have too many things to begin with,” she says, “unless whiskey and cigarettes come into it.” She giggles.

  “Just watch him carefully,” he says. “You’re bound to find something. I’m going to have to leave now that he knows where I am.”

  “Who is he?” asks Aurora. “I thought you said the visitor you were expecting was a good guy, and now, all of a sudden you’re running away from him.”

  “Michael,” says the man. “And it’s not just him. Now that they know where I am, they’ll all follow.”

  “This is so confusing,” says Aurora, unsatisfied with his answer, her frustration evident but still clinging onto his arm. “Who are they that are coming and where will you go?”

  “To think of the wealth and power I could have appropriated and never did,” he says, expressing his rambling thoughts. “The noble families of Europe and formidable military powers I had in my grip, whose fate and immense wealth I was entrusted with to protect. I have contributed so much to the evolvement of humankind and the resolution of historic conflicts on earth – all this and the rewards that ensue, nullified by one weakness.”

  From where she stands, Aurora studies the man’s face. It looks serene, beautiful even. He definitely does not look as insane as he sounds, but from her experience with father’s outbursts when contradicted, she knows to keep quiet and make no comment.

  “Now I’m up for grabs,” he cries. “The righteous have disowned me, or so speaks the messenger, and I expect the other side to start their enticing campaign soon. But I no longer have interest in taking sides. This battle of theirs is no longer my concern and I want no part in it. The biggest punishment is that I’m trapped here in this reality not knowing what is to become of me.”

  ‘He’s bananas,’ thinks Aurora to herself. ‘But he’s all I’ve got, no other adult has ever helped me.’

  “But you have given me a chance,” he continues, lifting her in his arms, surprising her, “and I’ll make sure you get everything your heart desires.”

  Chapter 15

  The Woman in Red

  April 12th 2014

  ‘At least the room looks halfway decent now,’ she thinks to herself from where she stands at the entryway to the reception area. ‘Wouldn’t go as far as saying perfect, but decent.’

  She shudders as she recalls the horrible sight when she walked in. ‘Round tables too small for the chairs, plates too large for the tables, and the garish flower arrangements! Those ghastly purple hydrangea arrangements overpowering the whole setting! I’d better not start on the china and the tablecloths. Good thing I had the sense to come in early and check the work in progress. The entire thing looked tawdry. Why I agreed to hire that bull of a woman to plan this thing I’ll never know.’

  Esmeralda Montfort sighs. ‘Yes, I do know actually! Someone recommended her to Joe! Joe and his obsession to connect with people, his asinine belief that we need to befriend and mingle with everyone. This propensity of his has deteriorated since he was appointed judge. We need the people and their support, he insists. I have to watch him closely! The man seems to be losing his judgment completely, how ironic! That buffalo of a woman, I would have fired her on sight and out with the flowers! Good thing the florist had orchid arrangements for some wedding. Had to pay three times the price for them! Got gouged that’s what I got. But those purple hydrangeas! And the great lengths I had to go to, convincing the florist that purple hydrangeas would be ideal for an ordinary wedding! Relinquish some control, Joe says, you can’t do everything yourself. But that woman! Almost six feet tall, eyes shifty, hands and feet as muscular as a man’s, shoulders of a bricklayer, shows up shrouded in polyester, not an ounce of finesse in her system. And Joe needs to fire whoever recommended her on sight! Good thing I didn’t relinquish control over the menu. God only knows what that oaf of a woman would have put on it. Most likely some ghastly stew and spaghetti piled on top of those huge, awful plates. Every hostess worth her salt knows that the table settings have to complement the menu and that woman didn’t even bother to ask what food was being served. No wonder that the top gastronomes agree that if the ambiance doesn’t pair with the food, the whole thing falls apart. Despite the chef’s pedigree, I went over every item on the menu with him! After careful planning, the guests will be having scallop and caviar salad and lobster mousse puffs, white truffle tortellini with smoked chestnut drizzle and brie, duck comfit with umbels and fennel, milk-fed veal, the strawberry hibiscus torte and the plum and nut billow pudding. I have to make sure that the ambiance is as effective as the food! Well it’s been handled now, not perfect but at least decent and thankfully the guests haven’t started arriving yet.’

  Esmie observes one of the volunteers putting the finishing touches on the rearranged settings. ‘Thank God for volunteers! This one in particular,’ she thinks.

&nbs
p; Esmie has spotted her working exceptionally hard for the past couple of hours, rearranging the disarray in the room. The girl is doing a wonderful job executing her instructions to the letter, placing the new floral arrangements and settings on the tables. ‘Why, I couldn’t have done a better job myself!’

  Esmie recognizes the girl from other benefits and charity events she has hosted. She recalls conversing with her at the Down Syndrome Benefit at the Hilton and the Leukemia Children’s Foundation Ball at the Four Seasons. Esmie knows most of her volunteers intimately, daughters of friends or people who have received donations from her various foundations, but she isn’t sure who this girl is.

  “Thanks my dear,” she says walking towards her. “What’s your name again?”

  “I’m Aurora, madam,” the girl has a soft respectful voice and a pleasant demeanor.

  Esmeralda admires the girl’s youthful beauty, she is wearing very little makeup and her hair is swept back off her face. Her outfit looks inexpensive but tasteful.

  “I would like to thank you for your help,” says Esmie. “I’ve noticed you participated at a few of my events and am very appreciative of your service. You played an important part in turning around an embarrassing situation.”

  “No need to thank me madam,” says the girl. “I have admired you since I was a little girl. I always wanted to grow up and be just like you.”

  Esmie notices an embarrassed flush rise on the girl’s cheeks.

  “I’m sorry if I’m being forward madam,” whispers the girl.

  Esmeralda finds the girl’s timid and respectful demeanor refreshing, a sharp and welcomed contrast to recent encounters she’s had with other young people Aurora’s age.

  “Tell me about yourself Aurora,” she says, wanting to somehow reward the girl’s hard work and politeness. “Who are your parents? What do you do for work?”

  “Oh I wouldn’t want to bore you with details madam,” says the girl shyly. “I know you’re very busy with tonight’s event.”

  “I happen to have some time on my hands since you were so helpful rearranging the awful mess in here,” says Esmie smiling affably at the girl, putting her hand around her shoulders and walking with her out of the room. “Everything looks great now.”

  “My father died when I was young and my mother wasn’t around, but things turned out just fine for me. My guardian Marie brought me up on the island of Gozo. I just finished law school,” says Aurora smiling proudly at Esmie. “I haven’t been able to find work as a lawyer yet, but I’m sure something will come up soon. I haven’t been looking long and I already have several interviews lined up. I’ve been bartending and waitressing to make ends meet.”

  “I’m sure you’ll find a good job,” says Esmie. “You seem to be a very capable young woman and from what I see you have a great work ethic.”

  “I feel most satisfied when I volunteer to participate in your charity events,” says Aurora sweetly.

  “That’s great my dear,” says Esmie, genuinely moved by the girl’s interest in her charitable work, “but I do hope you will find a well paid job soon. I’ll give you my card and if nothing comes up, you can call me. I’ll see what I can do to help you.”

  “Thank you so much madam,” says Aurora. “You really don’t have to. I’m happy to help.”

  “Nonsense girl,” says Esmie fishing in her purse for a card. “Here take this. And now I have to go make myself presentable before the guests arrive and you need to go back there and make sure things are under control.”

  Aurora studies the card. It has Dame Esmeralda Montfort’s personal cell phone as well as her home office numbers listed.

  “This is so kind of you,” gasps Aurora beaming at Esmie.

  “Keep up the good work,” says Esmie smiling at the girl as she lets herself into the restroom.

  Esmeralda Montfort studies her reflection in the mirror and appreciates her athletic yoga-body, her muscles defined but not too large, the type of lean hard-body that looks good in couture.

  She looks exquisite in the elegant and subtle dress her stylist chose for the evening, the makeup flawless, her manicure perfect.

  “See,” she mumbles, “it all hinges delicately on hiring the right people for the job.”

  Her face is smooth and youthful, there is no hint of tears or squinting around her eyes, no sign of frowning on her brow or laughter around her mouth, her lips are a perfect cupid bow, her jawline perfectly contoured, her neck long and smooth. No vestiges of wear and tear. The trick is to plump to the ideal volume without any of the excesses that scream work.

  Esmie’s age is an enigma to all who meet her, time seems to skirt around her. Judge Montfort is complemented about his beautiful daughter on various occasions. Esmie loves to rectify the mistake. She tries to do so with grace. “I’m his wife,” she whispers looking embarrassed. “We met in law school.” We’re the same age, she almost continues giggling, but restrains herself.

  Someone knocks repeatedly on the bathroom door. “Are you in there Esmeralda?” Joe asks with a hint of annoyance in his voice.

  Glancing at her wristwatch, Esmie realizes that she lost track of time and the guests will be arriving soon.

  “The chairs you requested are being carried in. What happened Esmeralda dear? My assistant called in a fluster, saying you fired her sister-in-law. The place looks so elegant dear, everything seems to be in perfect order, I’m sure there’s been a terrible misunderstanding.”

  Gossip about Joe and his assistant has been circling around Esmie’s crowd for years. She has gracefully dealt with the whispers and the rumors and for a long time has chosen to ignore the fact that her husband had hired a highly unqualified woman to run the daily affairs of his legal office.

  But this involvement in her personal work, this invasion of her space, this intrusion in her meticulously constructed world of benevolence, this vulgar attempt at soiling her impeccable image as it is exhibited to the public, is the last straw.

  Feeling the blood gurgle and boil in her veins, Esmie, with the skill of a master yogi, pulls in a couple of deep breaths and calms down completely. She stares at her reflection and regains her composure and serenity.

  “I’ll be out soon Joe dear,” she says poised and collected.

  Biding her time, she leaves the restroom just as people trickle in. Standing at the judge’s side, she greets the guests: politicians, lawyers, judges, priests, architects, doctors and university professors, mingled with club owners and contractors, restaurateurs, hoteliers and real estate investors, a menagerie of prospective contributors.

  Esmie is a seasoned professional when it comes to separating people from their monetary surplus. Many also reach deep into their coffers when their affairs are tight so appealing are her causes: the orphaned, the abused, and those afflicted with a plethora of diseases. Through this woman, the money and souls of contributors are laundered clean.

  Esmeralda inherited her philanthropic characteristics from a long lineage of benefactors dating back almost six centuries.

  After the Knights of St. John took over Malta in 1530, the nobles of the island weren’t too pleased with the overall prevailing situation. Not only did they lose most of their authority over the people, but since many of the knights were still hoping to reclaim and relocate back to the Greek island of Rhodes, some of the nobles felt that the rights and welfare of the Maltese people, especially the indigent, were being neglected.

  The Order of St. John was comprised of military men of noble descent from various countries in Europe, who although bound to the Catholic Church by monastic vows, were fundamentally soldiers. Their interest lay mainly in keeping the ever-expanding power of Muslim forces in check.

  Esmeralda had found documentation about an old ancestor, a wealthy merchant, who formed a clandestine order of men to protect the rights of the least fortunate. Ironically the secret clan was referred to as the Order, more accurately the Order of Seven. His wife, a woman of noble birth, had taken it upon herself to w
ield her high social standing to collect and donate money to the less fortunate dependents of the foundation.

  Since the contributing members of the new Order were usually affluent and powerful, their identities and existence were kept secret, not only to avoid interference and backlash from the knights, but also to enhance integrity and to prevent nepotism in daily transactions among the members themselves.

  In line with this, members of the Order hid their identities during their meetings. Fellows of the Order served for a fixed term and following rigid vetting criteria, new associates replaced them to make up the group of seven, symbolizing the seven virtues: chastity, temperance, charity, diligence, patience, kindness and humility.

  Throughout their extended two-hundred-fifty-year sojourn in Malta, the interests of the clandestine Order of Seven and the Order of the Knights of St. John merged into one. So much so, that during various periods, certain philanthropic knights formed part of the group of seven.

  The existence of the Order of Seven extended throughout the centuries beyond the departure of the knights from the island of Malta.

  Esmeralda’s marriage to Joe was cosmically aligned. He was, like his father before him, one of the Seven, and she was, like her mother and grandmother before her, a maven fundraiser.

  Esmeralda realizes that her impeccable image is vital for the survival of her charitable endeavors. And as she regards her husband’s doughy countenance, she comes to the chilling realization that their works of virtue and importance, their vocations that had been handed down to them through the generations and to which they are eternally pledged, are in grievous peril of becoming horribly derailed.

  Through the corner of her eye, Esmie registers the arrival of her husband’s assistant dressed in bright red. Throughout the evening, she closely follows the movement of the confident body in red as she mingles with the guests.

  She is unnerved by the sudden awareness that the woman in red has integrated herself within the very fabric of her social circle. The red fox is being greeted and is obviously cordially accepted, considering the congenial laughter and chatter among the small groups she approaches.