The Music Trilogy

by Kahn, Denise

  “Ah, you must have been named after St. Gregory of Nareg, the great Armenian mystical writer,” Valentina said. Nareg was even more impressed with this lady. “Tell me, do you write as well?”

  “I am but a paliatzis.”

  “Now, don’t give me that. You might be a roving merchant at the moment, but before the war you must have been doing something else—we all did.”

  Nareg knew she was not only lovely, but educated as well. He had known it from the moment he saw her. This day was turning out to be rather pleasant, reminding him of better days, of culture and happiness before the misery and death of the war.

  “I am a poet.”

  “Ah, you see, I was right—about your namesake as well as your profession. Unfortunately this damned war has curtailed all the best we have to offer. Now we excel at surviving, some of us better than others.” Valentina looked beyond at the walls as if seeing the glory of better times pictured in the blue of the sky overhead.

  “You are very wise, Madame. I wish this war to end very quickly so that we may all be civilized human beings again.”

  “From your mouth to God’s ears, and to St. Gregory’s of Nareg as well.”

  “Amen.”

  “Now, my friend, I need your services. I have an antique I need to sell. My mother, daughter and husband have not had a decent meal in quite a while. I’m thinking the piece will bring in enough food for several weeks. Please, come inside.” Nareg followed her. Valentina ran into her husband at the door. “Oh, hello, my love, meet Mr. Garabedian. He is here to see the vase.” Nico extended his hand to Nareg. “I am Nicolaos, I’m very pleased to meet you.” Nareg stared momentarily at the man, trying not to laugh. He was quite handsome, but he was wearing a pink nightshirt with little flowers everywhere. The gown was obviously too small as it ended in the middle of his thighs. Nico smiled. “It is hot, and I find my wife’s nightgown gives me a lot of cool air.”

  “Sir, it is an ingenious idea. I’ll try it myself. I will ask my wife for one of hers.”

  “Good man, good man,” Nicos said, commending him. “Now, you two go see what Valentina is talking about.” They headed into the house and Nico went to the table in the patio, sat down comfortably with his legs wide open and let the air cool him down, down there. He played and twirled a set of amber worry beads.

  Nareg marveled at the décor. The house was exquisitely furnished with antiques from around the world—Japanese silk screens, French furniture, oriental carpets and in the middle of the living room a shiny piano supporting a Song vase. Nareg’s breath caught in his throat. “This vase is unbelievable, it is absolutely exquisite.” He stared at it, fascinated, almost as if it were speaking to him.

  “Yes, I absolutely adore it. This is the piece. Please try to get a good price for it.”

  Nareg looked at her. It seemed such a pity, although he knew without a doubt that he would make a handsome profit. Her mind was made up and he wouldn’t be able to talk her out of it, yet he must try. “I’m afraid I don’t have that kind of money on me.”

  “That’s alright. Take it with you and when you sell it you can then bring me what you get for it.”

  Nareg looked at her. She was trusting him with a very expensive Chinese antique. It must have broken her heart when she decided to sell it. “I assure you, I will do my very best.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Now, if you will forgive me, I must leave. I thank you for your gracious hospitality.”

  They exited the house and Valentina wrapped the grapes in an old newspaper. Nareg was starving, but she knew he wouldn’t eat any and take the package to his family. She had the knack of analyzing people immediately and was almost never wrong.

  Nareg said goodbye to them and left, thinking what a wonderful handsome couple they were.

  Valentina lovingly massaged Nico’s shoulder, staring after Nareg. “He is a good man.”

  “How do you know?” Nico asked her.

  “I can tell.”

  Nico nodded. That was good enough for him. She was never wrong; after all, she had married him. Valentina turned and stared at her husband, as if she could read his mind and smiled. He smiled back, their smiles reflecting the love and passion of lovers that would last their entire lifetime. “Gliki vrasto?” Sweetly boiled? She asked him.

  “I would love a cafedaki, a small coffee.” Nico knew that the coffee was almost gone and that Valentina kept it for special occasions. He figured that she was trying to keep her mind off the beloved vase. He looked at his wife as she walked into the house, wondering if she was crying. He cursed the war. They had lost their entire fortunes, hers as well as his. The Germans had barged into his publishing house, taken over the business and the building, literally kicked him out, and left him penniless. As for Valentina, all proceeds from her concerts, savings, financial inheritance and assets, were confiscated as well. Now Valentina was fighting for her family’s survival, no matter how much she adored the antique.

  Valentina came back with the coffee. “Thank you, Poulakimou, my little bird,” Nico said. She kissed him on the cheek and massaged his shoulder, a loving routine she had undertaken since the days of the first Great War. Nico’s shoulder bothered him once in a while from where he had been wounded and Valentina would tenderly make it feel better. She took his hand and sat next to the man she had loved since the day she first saw him at the château-hospital near Verdun.

  The gate to the patio opened and a young woman walked in. If God made copies, Melina was it. She looked just like her mother.

  “Agapoulamou, my little love, how are you?” Nico said to his daughter.

  “Hello, Daddy, I’m fine,” she said, kissing her parents lovingly.

  Suddenly a siren shrilled in the distance. “Quick! Grab the coats,” Nico said, “it will be a long cold night.” Melina ran into the house.

  “Mama! Mama!” Valentina shouted. “Hurry, come down!” Although now in her sixties Sela was still spry and youthful. She came running out of the house. “Damn war, never a moment’s peace!” The older woman grunted. “They didn’t learn anything from the First one. Imbeciles!”

  “Hurry, we must get to the shelter. They’re bombing again tonight,” Valentina said. The family ran together and then entered a strong brick building with an enormous basement. They rushed inside the crowded area, and found a spot in a corner. They huddled together trying to keep warm. Nico looked at his daughter and realized something was moving under her coat. He leaned over. “You brought the cat?” Nico whispered.

  “I didn’t want anything to happen to Monsieur Chat,” she answered.

  “He has a better chance of not getting hit by a bomb than by being in this shelter. Someone could very well make him their next supper!” He said, still whispering.

  “He won’t make any noise.”

  “He better not, if he knows what’s good for him.”

  The basement was cold and wet. People were afraid, miserable and hungry. Some women in the back were crying. Most of them tried to comfort each other. Bombs exploded in the distance.

  “They’re bombing the port, they’re bombing Piraeus, those bastards,” one man yelled out.

  The time passed painfully slowly and with each minute of the next two hours the shelter grew colder and more miserable.

  “Wait, listen… I think they’ve stopped! Yes, we can go back to our homes now and warm up.”

  “No,” a woman answered, “we have to stay here tonight.”

  “But why?” The same man retorted.

  “The curfew. It’s too late. If we are spotted outside they will shoot us.”

  “The woman is right,” another stated.

  Valentina stood up. Not only was she bored out of her mind, freezing and miserable, but in her breaking heart she knew she had to something to help her family and her fellow war victims. Even though she was shivering, she took her coat off, and stood very tall. Nico looked at her, a smile on his face that said: ‘I was wondering when you would start.’ Me
lina and Sela, with Monsieur Chat between them, also watched this woman they loved so dearly—Sela, fiercely proud of her daughter; Melina, adoring and constantly in awe of her mother. Valentina stood in front of her ‘audience’. Just by her mere presence she exuded an air of confidence, authority and grandeur. And of course her beauty added to the already majestic portrait. The people, depressed and cold, stared. They wondered who this woman was, and what she was up to. Why was she standing up? Had she no fear? Was she not human and freezing like everybody else? And how was it that she looked like a Goddess in these horrendous conditions?

  Valentina slowly opened her mouth, an opening that showed off her perfectly straight and white teeth, a motion she had done thousands of times, a trained motion—and it got their attention. Valentina remembered her teacher fondly, the powerful Carla Corelli, and followed her instruction, as she had for so many years. Bring it up from deep, very deep inside you and PUSH! Valentina did just that, and a perfectly round note emanated from her entire being. It was not only heard, but also felt in the entire shelter, now her ‘theater’ and her ‘stage’. The people stared mesmerized, their fears and thoughts suddenly gone, their curiosity aroused, and their senses soothed. Valentina turned to Nico and sang the favorite aria that had hypnotized him the very first time he laid eyes on her— Madame Butterfly. Valentina sang to him, to the man she loved. Her dramatic artistry of the piece moved everyone to tears as they saw Cio-Cio San, the Japanese Geisha longing for her lover. But in this version, the Greek bomb shelter-basement one, Cio-Cio San had her man in front of her and her body movements were not in the air, but literally on the man she loved. Her hands caressed him adoringly, and her fingers touched his face in a way that made every man present tremble and understand how much a woman can love a man and the women proud of being women. As Valentina ended the aria with an incredibly long-breathed note her audience just stared hypnotized. Sela smiled, the same smile she had at the Château de la Cocorgnoc, the first time young Valentina had stunned her audience. Again, as at that very first concert, no one clapped, until the now mature Valentina received a kiss from Nico, her very own Pinkerton. It was enough to break the moment, and make the crowd explode into applause. Valentina graciously bowed to her audience.

  “Isn’t that the great soprano, Valentina Vidalis Malandros?” A woman said.

  “Yes, yes. Quiet now, she has the most amazing voice, listen to her,” another man whispered.

  Valentina once again started singing. Only this time it was an old familiar folk song, one that everyone knew. Nico stood up, put the coat on his beloved wife, and sang along with her, as did Melina and every soul in the shelter.

  Valentina sang and sang, from old folk songs to arias. She didn’t waver, kept at it and continued throughout the night, stoically and diligently. She kept the people entertained, helping them temporarily forget their predicament. She was so successful in her endeavor that instead of feeling miserable in a cold damp basement they found themselves at a unique impromptu and heart-warming concert. They sang along with her and thought of how important even one person was, one person that could sooth their soul with hope through music. Valentina and her family gave them a souvenir they would always remember.

  During a break Valentina looked at her daughter and said: “You know, I never really heard you sing before. Do you like to sing?” She asked, very much as her own mother had done when she was her daughter’s age.

  “Oh, yes, very much!”

  “You have a lovely voice, and I’m not saying that because you’re my daughter. Would you like to take lessons?”

  “Really? That would be wonderful. I would be happy if I were even half as good as you.”

  “Actually, I think you would be twice as good,” Valentina said. Melina beamed.

  Daylight drifted in and announced itself. The sun slowly warmed them up and the curfew was over. One by one they filed out of their cramped quarters. Each one thanked Valentina, kissed her, or hugged her. She had given them several hours of joy throughout the long cold night, but most of all, she had given them hope. “O Theos mazi sou! May God be with you,” they each said.

  Nico brought his family out of the basement and they returned home. Melina still had the cat under her coat. He smiled as he remembered his daughter promenading her cat in a baby carriage around the neighborhood when she was still a child. When the people looked inside to see the baby they found Monsieur Chat instead. Some laughed, others gasped in surprise. Melina always did things her way. His daughter was the most independent person Nico had ever known, and knew beyond any doubt that she followed in the footsteps of the women in her family.

  Like her mother and grandmother Melina was passionate about her music. She studied diligently at the Conservatory and also enrolled herself in the prestigious Schiller Institut in Athens—to learn German and to be able to attend free performances, she had said. She convinced her mother to let her attend, and in turn Valentina convinced Nico that it was a good idea and good educational exposure. She knew how important a good education was to Nico and the German Institute was of the highest caliber. Musicians, singers, prominent scholars, poets and some of the best teachers were frequently brought in from Germany. Of course the propaganda specialists came as well. The school was free and the Germans were enthusiastic when the locals signed up. Not only could they keep an eye on the Greeks who attended, they also thought it was a marvelous opportunity to recruit them to their side. But the blood that flowed through young Melina’s thin body was Greek—the blood of warriors dating back centuries to great wars, to unsurpassed resistance fighters and to martyrs who had given up their lives for their country and for freedom. As much as they would have wanted her on their side it would never be. What Nico didn’t know was the real reason his daughter attended the school. Melina was not only learning German and getting a good education, she was also making connections—just in case her family ran into trouble, or were picked up by the Gestapo or by any other enemy. She adored her father and looked up to him. In her young mind there wasn’t anything her Daddy didn’t know, and of course he was a hero from the Great War. He had fought gallantly, been wounded in Verdun and received several medals. What Melina didn’t consciously know, or even the rest of her family, was that in those same genes that ran through her body, she was very much like her father—a survivor and quick-minded.

  “Bye everybody, I’ll see you after school. Love you!” Melina singsonged as she ran out of the house. Valentina waived and blew her a kiss.

  A few minutes later a neighbor came by the house. “Valentina, I have to speak to you, it’s urgent,” the woman said, hurrying up to her.

  “What is it?”

  “They have taken the Eleftheriades’ away, on those trains going to hell!” She crossed herself as she said it.

  “Oh, no!” Valentina exclaimed. She had heard about the camps the trains took people to. They never came back. “What about Rebeka? Did they take her too?”

  “She wasn’t home, thank God. But now what is she going to do?”

  Valentina thought for a moment. “Do you know where she is now?”

  The woman looked at her, a little unsure. “Uh, yes.”

  “Good. This is what we will do. She will stay with us. Melina and Rebeka are good friends and they went to school together.”

  “Are you crazy? She’s Jewish. They will kill you and your family if you hide a Jew. Besides, none of us have any food to eat. And how will you hide her? Or even feed her?”

  “We can each spare a few extra raisins. No one will know. And I know you won’t talk, because if you do, then I will just have to kill you,” Valentina said very slowly, without batting an eyelash. The woman looked at her and took her very seriously. “Bring her to me tonight, just before curfew.” The neighbor nodded and left.

  Valentina hurried into the house and came back out with shears and clippers. She went to an enormous bush located on the side of the villa. It was big and thorny, and stood very close to the kitchen wind
ow. She put gloves on and went to work. She looked at the branches, and then carefully cut the plant exactly the way she wanted it, painstakingly trimming off each thorn with the clippers from the middle of the bush. Valentina went into the kitchen, looked out the window and smiled.

  That night, when the family was all together Valentina told them about Rebeka and that she would be staying with them. She explained her plan in detail. At first Melina was ecstatic. She thought of the companionship, especially since she was an only child, but then realized what the consequences of their hospitality could be. She immediately dismissed her last thought. She would be as brave as her parents.

  “You have done a good thing, Valentina,” Nico said, supporting her completely.

  “Yes, Manoula, we’ll be fine,” Melina answered quickly. She was already thinking of how she could make a little extra money to buy food on the black market. She knew that her parents’ assets had been confiscated and there was no money left. They couldn’t work, besides, there were no jobs. The Malandros’ had used what they had to survive and to help others stay alive. All that was left were a few antiques in the house and some jewelry, which were being bartered piece by piece for an occasional piece of meat, a little oil, or a loaf of bread. Athens was sealed off. Only the farmers outside the city were able to survive off their land and they in turn smuggled in what they could for exorbitant prices. Still, the Malandros’ were a happy family, grateful to be alive and together.

  That night young Rebeka arrived with the neighbor who quickly dropped her off at the Malandros home. Valentina let her in and hugged her.

  “I’m very sorry about your parents, but I want you to know that you can stay with us for as long as you want. We will take care of you. You will be safe here. Is that alright?” The girl was the same age as Melina, and looked very much alike. They were about the same build and height, and had been friends in school and knew each other well. “Come,” Valentina said, “it’s time for dinner.” Rebeka slowly stopped shaking. She had been hiding all day long and had watched her parents being taken away by the SS. She had debated with herself if she should give herself up to be with them, or to stay hidden. The answer came to her when a neighbor, the one who told Valentina about her predicament, came to her rescue.