The Music Trilogy

by Kahn, Denise

  She followed Valentina into the kitchen. Melina jumped up and hugged her friend.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” Melina said.

  “Alright, everybody,” Valentina said, “please sit down. Rebeka, you and Melina will sit on one chair, as if you are only one person. You are both thin and the chair is wide enough.” Too thin, Valentina thought, this war is killing the population by starvation. “You will share the same plate, glass and silverware and you will use the same napkin,” she continued. Basically, the two of you are one. Understood?” The young girls nodded. “One more thing, the most important thing. If for any reason, Rebeka, you need to disappear quickly, like someone coming to the house, you dive out the kitchen window. It is always open, and you will land in the bush outside. I have cut it in such a way that you will not get hurt or scratched and the branches of the bush will cover you up. Is that clear?” Rebeka nodded. Nico was impressed, Melina was proud of her mother. Sela smiled.

  Their evening meal consisted of a small handful of raisins each and a slice of toast (which Valentina had bartered for a bunch of her patio grapes.) “We will have better food very soon,” Valentina said, a little embarrassed.

  “This, this is wonderful, Mrs. Malandros, thank you,” Rebeka said.

  Nico had tears in his eyes. Poor girl, he thought, they have taken her parents and probably hasn’t eaten in days.

  Melina was thinking the same thing and gave Rebeka her slice of toast. “Here, take this, I’m really not hungry.”

  Valentina smiled, proud of her daughter, but deep down she felt her heart tightening as she knew how hungry her own little girl really was. “Alright, now the two of you will sleep in Melina’s bed, it’s large enough. Oh, you’ll know what to do, you’re both responsible and intelligent. Just remember, you are one,” Valentina said.

  “Yes, Manoula, don’t worry. Come on Rebeka, let’s go upstairs.”

  Rebeka silently followed her friend. Melina led her into her room, gave her a pair of pajamas and the girls promptly went to bed. They were practically asleep when Rebeka sat up with a start. “What’s that noise?” She whispered worriedly.

  “What noise?” Melina listened carefully and then started to giggle. “That’s my grandmother playing the piano,” she laughed, “although I never heard it put quite that way. She’s a great concert pianist you know.”

  Rebeka listened a little more and put her face in her hands. “Alright, I’m totally embarrassed—she is absolutely divine. Does she do this often?”

  “All day and all night. Puts me right to sleep, especially when she plays Brahms’ lullaby, like now.”

  “She is truly a beautiful player. How wonderful to fall asleep with little Brahms in the house.”

  Melina laughed again. “We’ve always called her little Mozart, now we’ll add little Brahms.” The girls giggled, forgetting for a few moments that the hands of misery and war were upon them.

  “Bye, Manoula, I’m off to the Schiller. I’ll be back before curfew,” Melina announced, dashing out of the house.

  “Be careful!” Valentina shouted after her.

  “I will. Don’t worry.”

  Melina walked to the Institut. It was a long way, but there was no money to take the trolley. She marveled at her beautiful city. No building was higher than two stories so that wherever you were standing you could see the Acropolis. But as she turned the corner near the school, she gasped and jumped back—a man was lying on the ground. She immediately realized that he was dead. The skin on his face was drawn and gray. He was so thin, she thought, he must have died of hunger. She ran the rest of the way thinking how lucky she and her family were, never contemplating that this fate was a strong possibility.

  “Today, we have a wonderful surprise,” the heavy German headmistress announced with pleasure. “We will all go to the concert hall. An orchestra is here from Berlin and we will hear an opera.”

  “Frau Schneider,” Melina said, “do you know what opera they will be playing?” She asked excitedly, her musical passion awakened.

  “Oh, ja, of course, Wagner! Germany’s best,” she said proudly.

  “Oh, lovely,” Melina answered, realizing that she had never heard anything by the German composer.

  Once the concert was over the guests moved from the theater to the cafeteria, where they were serving little pastries. Melina followed them, feeling as if she had suddenly acquired new weight—she had never heard anything so grave in her life. Coming from a musical family she respected the composer and his genius, but it wasn’t uplifting like the Italians. She suddenly saw the pastries and forgot about the music. One of her classmates, Dimitri, was walking beside her. “Dimitri, look a those pastries! Oh, how I wish… Quick, stand behind me and don’t turn around,” she ordered, and idea having manifested in her young mind.

  “What are you up to?”

  “Sh, just do what I say.”

  “You’re going to get us in trouble!” He whispered.

  “Just be quiet and stand there, I’ll only be a minute.” Melina was wearing a skirt and a blouse with a fashionable wide belt around her tiny waist. She pulled out her shirt a little, opened the top button of her blouse and quickly filled the shirt with handfuls of the pastries. Her bust instantly increased enormously. “Right, let’s go. Walk in front of me and let’s get out. Move!”

  “Alright, alright.”

  Melina and Dimitri walked out of the school and Melina took off. “I’ll see you tomorrow, thanks for your help.” Dimitri stared after her, his mouth wide open. What the devil had she been up to, he wondered.

  Melina quickly walked home, noticing on the way some obvious stares from people in the street. She arrived at her house and her father greeted her in the patio.

  “Melina, my…” He stared at her bust. It had grown several sizes since she left that morning. “What happened?” He asked, his eyes very wide.

  She giggled. “Nothing, Daddy, everything is fine.” She hurried into the house. “Manoula? Where are you?”

  “In the kitchen,” Valentina answered. “What is it?”

  “Get a tablecloth and put it on the table.” Her mother stared at her bust. Now what had her daughter been up to? Nico walked in behind his daughter, more curious than worried. Melina grabbed a chair from under the table and stood on it. She took off her wide belt, pulled her shirt out of her skirt and held it out in front of her. The pastries came tumbling out and fell on the table. “Compliments of Wagner,” Melina said.

  “Humph, Wagner…” Sela said, looking in from the doorway. “His dog made him famous.”

  “Mother! Just because he’s was German…” Valentina retorted, rolling her eyes.

  “No, no, music has no nationality. I don’t care if he’s German, French or Mongolian. Music is international and nobody can take that away from us—not even the Nazis. But what I say is true. When Wagner composed, his dog sat at his feet. He would play his music for the dog. If the dog had no reaction, he knew it wasn’t right. When his dog barked and wagged his tail it became his best work.”

  They all looked at her, not knowing if she was putting them on or not. Sela left the room grumbling. “Nobody ever believes me.”

  “Little Brahms would certainly know,” Rebeka said. Melina giggled. Valentina looked at the girls and Nico threw up his arms. “I’m surrounded by women and badly outnumbered,” he said, also leaving the room. In the background Little Brahms/Mozart was playing the piano.

  The Malandros household ate pastries for five days.

  ♫

  CHAPTER 25

  Two days later Nareg came back. He had the vase with him.

  “What happened?” Valentina asked, seeing the piece she adored. Her feelings were mixed. On the one hand she was thrilled that it was still among them, on the other hand, she worried what she would feed her family.

  “I regret, Madame, but the Nazis are hunting the Armenians down and executing us. If I am killed I would not want you to be missing this exquisite piece.”


  “I would rather you be alive and well.”

  “I knew you would feel this way and that is why I brought it back to you.” Nareg handed her the vase and Valentina put it in its original place on the piano. He pulled out a little package wrapped in newspaper. “I would like you to have this. It is but a small gift, a token of my respect and appreciation for your kind heart. Please know that it contains part of my own heart and that I had the company of the vase next to me the entire time.”

  Valentina looked at him with tears in her eyes. “May I open it now?”

  “It would be an honor.”

  Valentina unwrapped the newspaper. Inside neatly put together was a small dossier of papers. On the first page she read: Poems by Nareg Garabedian. She gasped. “Oh, this is so wonderful! It will be a joy to read these words that I am sure must also have a piece of St. Gregory’s soul in them.”

  Nareg beamed. “I must leave now. If I do not return I am confident you will know what to do. Please give my best to your family. Oh, and tell your husband that the nightgown trick is wonderful!” He delicately kissed her hand. Valentina gave him a hug and whispered in his ear: “You take care of yourself. Be safe. If you need anything at all, come see us.” Nareg smiled, his thanks in his eyes. He walked toward the gate and suddenly stopped and turned. “Aren’t you Valentina Vidalis Malandros, the great soprano?”

  Valentina laughed gaily. “I am, my friend, if you say so.”

  Nareg turned and waved. He had not been mistaken, she was a great lady and in her presence his heart felt a little lighter.

  Melina once again ran home from school. She was excited; she had a package for her family. “Manoula, come quickly, look what I brought!” She exclaimed, bounding into the house.

  Valentina followed her into the kitchen and watched her daughter pull out a beautiful big fresh fish from the bag. She gasped, her eyes tearing. She hadn’t seen anything so impressive since before the war. “My God, where did you get that?” She asked, thrilled, yet somewhat worried.

  “And look…” Melina continued, very proud of herself, “a few potatoes, carrots, baby onions, and…” Valentina covered her mouth and gently, lovingly, caressed the fish and the vegetables. “…And one more surprise,” Melina beamed. The young girl very carefully put her hand in her jacket pocket and slowly pulled out a small bouquet of cilantro, which delicately housed an egg. “I got everything from a fisherman that delivers to the institute.” Her mother looked at her questioningly. “No, I didn’t steal it. I paid for it,” Melina said, anticipating her mother’s questions.

  “With what?” Valentina asked. She knew Melina had no money, nor did anyone else in the family, yet she gave her the benefit of the doubt.

  “I got paid.”

  “For what?”

  “I repaired three dozen hose that had runs, and with the money I bought the food.” Valentina hugged her daughter, holding back tears. She wondered how long it had taken her to stitch every run and how much her eyes must have hurt. “What are you going to make, Manoula?”

  “A feast, agapimou, my love, a feast!” Valentina beamed. That was the least she could do. “Now run along. I’ll call everybody when it’s ready,” Valentina said, already creating the dinner in her mind.

  Valentina immediately went to work. She loved to cook and was ecstatic at the prospect of making a fine meal for the ones she adored. She cleaned the fish and removed every bone, including the minuscule ones with one her favorite kitchen tools—a pair of eyebrow tweezers. Her singing was not the only artistry she was famous for, she was also known as a creative gourmet cook. While she prepared the meal she thought of Rossini who would lock himself in a room while mountains of food were continuously brought in to him. As he gorged himself he would write his divine compositions. Valentina sang as she prepared and cooked the evening’s feast: “Una voce poco fa…” from the Barber of Seville.

  That evening the family and Rebeka were at the dinner table waiting for the feast, both girls sitting on one chair. The table was decorated with lovely antique plates, crystal glasses and Nico’s violets. Ever since Nico and Valentina had been together Nico always brought flowers for his beloved wife. Even when there was no money at all, Nico would find some on the side of the street or in someone’s garden and would pick them. Every other day he would offer them to the love of his life and Valentina lovingly put them in a vase where she could always see them.

  Everyone waited with great anticipation. Valentina made her entrance from the kitchen carrying a large platter. They gasped as they saw her creation. In the center of the dish lay the fish covered with the one egg homemade mayonnaise. The cilantro, meticulously cut and delicately inserted piece by piece with the tweezers into the mayonnaise, looked like scales. The boiled vegetables, all cut the same size, adorned the fish. A piece of carrot was placed over the eye and on the tail wavy lines of mayonnaise made the fish look like it was swimming.

  “Mrs. Malandros, this is a work of art!” Rebeka exclaimed, feeling her taste buds racing.

  “We cannot eat this,” Nico said with severity.

  “Why not?” Valentina asked, not expecting such a strong reaction from the ever-gentle Nico. The others around the table looked at him curiously.

  “Because it is too beautiful, Poulakimou, my little bird,” he said adoringly.

  “Ah, your stomach doesn’t have eyes, so give me your plate,” Valentina commanded. Nico immediately did as she asked. She cut through the fish effortlessly and served the colorful ribbons of white meat and a few of the vegetables to each one at the table. She even gave some to Monsieur Chat, Melina’s beloved cat, who surely must have thought himself in kitty Nirvana. He too suffered along with the family he adored.

  “Not bad, not bad,” Sela said, who hardly said anything anymore.

  “Thank you, Mother, I’m glad you like it.”

  “Enjoy, Musical Note, your daughter has outdone herself,” Nico said to Sela.

  “That she has, Nicolaki, little Nico, that she has.”

  “Why does he call her musical note? Rebeka asked Melina, whispering in her ear.

  “Because that’s her name. That’s what Sela means,” Melina answered.

  They ate slowly and savored every morsel of the incredible gift of food. They also unfortunately knew that the following meals would be the dreaded rationed raisins.

  After dinner Sela sat at the piano and started to play Rigoletto. The others listened. She looked at the vase, happy that it was back where it belonged. Valentina and Melina were ready to sing when suddenly there was a knock on the door. Valentina went to the balcony and looked out. She gasped. It was a German soldier. “I’ll be right down, just one moment please,” she shouted from her perch. Valentina ran to Rebeka who was listening to Sela. “Hurry, dive! You know, the window. It’s a German soldier,” she said, whispering. Rebeka froze, panic striking her.

  “Rebeka, move! Jump into the bush!” Melina said, pushing her friend toward the kitchen. Rebeka finally snapped out of it and went through the window. It worked! The bush covered her completely and perfectly. She held her breath.

  “Mother, don’t stop playing!” Valentina said, as she ran to open the door. “Yes, what can I do for you?” She said to the soldier, as calmly as she could, trying feverishly to control her heartbeat, and absolutely positive that it was showing through her blouse. Nico stood beside his wife, ready to kill the man, if necessary.

  “Knedige Dame, mein Herr,” the soldier said, greeting them and clicking his boots. Nico scowled under his breath, his antipathy rising in his throat. “My name is Heinrich Pommer, I was just passing by and wondered who it was that plays such beautiful piano.” He was in his forties, a little heavy in the stomach, starting to bald, and wearing a corporal’s uniform.

  “Oh, that’s just my mother,” Valentina said nonchalantly.

  “Please congratulate her for me. I am also a musician. It has been a very long time since I have heard such exquisite playing.”

  “Thank
you. I shall.”

  “Will you permit me one day to perhaps play with her? Ja?”

  “If you wish.”

  “Ja, thank you. Pleasant evening to you. Aufwiedersehen.”

  “Good night,” Valentina said, as she watched him leave. She closed the door behind him.

  “Why did you agree to that?” Nico asked, perturbed.

  “What could I say? No, you’ve occupied my country against my wishes, and you’re not invited in my home either. We’re beyond that, don’t you think?”

  Nico grumbled something inaudible. Valentina was sure it wasn’t too polite.

  “Daddy, help me get Rebeka out of the bush!” Melina whispered.

  “Oh, yes, of course.” They carefully pulled her out.

  “Is he gone?” Rebeka asked.

  “Yes,” Melina answered.

  “What did he want? Was he looking for me?”

  “No, he wanted to know if Mozart came back to life and was playing in our living room,” Nico answered.

  “You’re kidding, Mr. Malandros, aren’t you?”

  “Afraid not, my dear. Sela is still the best pianist around.”

  “Our own Little Brahms,” Melina said, taking the worried look off of Rebeka’s face and making her smile.

  Valentina sat in the patio reading the day’s newspaper. Suddenly her hands flew to her mouth and her eyes welled up with tears. She muffled a scream, but Nico heard it. He came out running. “What is it? What’s happened?” He asked.

  Her hands trembled as she pointed to the paper. “They executed him…” She answered sobbing.