The Music Trilogy (16 page)

“Absolutely,” the doctor said looking at the sidearm.

William’s diving career was over. The pressure of the deep was no longer an option. The damage had been done, but he remained on the other teams and coached the divers.

William was interested in the Army Air Corps. He wanted to be a pilot. He took all of the tests and passed each one flawlessly. On the last one they flunked him. His temper rose and he demanded an explanation.

“You have Daltonism,” the test officer said, “we can’t use you.”

“What the hell is Daltonism?”

“In medical terms it is known as protanopia, basically a red blindness. You can’t really distinguish reds from greens.”

“So? You can’t cut me out because of reds and greens.”

“All right, let me give you an example: You’re on a mission. Something happens to the plane, you’ve been shot up, or whatever. You’ve got to land somewhere fast. You see a prairie in front of you, but it turns out to be a forest, not to mention that the lights in your cockpit are flashing red and you think they’re green. Get my drift?”

“Got it.”

Although William’s dream of becoming a pilot was shot down before he even got a chance, he tried different fields and excelled in arms. He was an expert shot, loved communications, had very sensitive hands and a natural sense of engineering. He designed new weapons—small pistols to large airplane guns. He built them and tried them out. He assembled them right on the planes and tested them. William couldn’t fly the aircraft, but at least he was constantly in them. He was also sent out on difficult missions, by plane, on horseback with the cavalry through rough terrain and on small boats in the ocean.

At some point he and another soldier found themselves in the Panamian jungle. They were scouting for locations to build a new base. They walked for days in the heavy humidity. Their uniforms turned from beige to brown from their sweat, and they continuously wiped hundreds of mosquitoes off of their arms. More than once they were bitten and after a while they didn’t even bother.

One night, eating around their campfire, they heard a sound. “Mac, did you hear that?” William asked.

“Yeah, a cat, a big mother of a hungry cat.” They heard another growl.

“Oh, shit,” William said, and slowly got up. “There, look,” he pointed. They saw the glowing eyes in the dark. Mac aimed his rifle and shot. The sound reverberated throughout the jungle and they heard a muffled growl.

“He’s not dead,” William said.

“Yeah, I can tell. We’ve got to follow it. There’s nothing more dangerous than a wounded cat.”

“Yeah, I know. Come on, or we might have some nasty uninvited guest tonight.” William quickly put his boots back on. He felt something crawling inside one of them and pulled it off. A scorpion came out and nonchalantly walked away. William felt the sweat run down his back. Before putting the boot back on he held it upside down and shook it. This would become a ritual he would do completely unconsciously for years. “Walters, come on!” Mac whispered, urging him on. William nodded and the two men cautiously moved deeper into the dense foliage of the jungle to search for the wounded animal.

They tread cautiously through the stifling humidity when suddenly William spotted the jaguar high up in a tree. The piercing fluorescent green eyes stared back at him. He felt a shiver run up his spine. “There!” He whispered to Mac as he nudged him. William aimed his rifle, held back for the briefest of seconds, and felt the sweat running down his face and back. William did not believe in killing unless he was threatened. He knew if necessary he wouldn’t hesitate, but with animals it was somehow different. The rules were different, yet with the imminent threat he knew he had no choice. He exhaled slowly, held his breath, and fired. He shot only once and they waited. No growling, no dying sound, not even a body falling down. That was definitely not a good sign, and they knew it.

“That’s it, I’m outa’ here,” Mac said, running back to their camp.

“Right behind you, Mac.”

The two men ran as fast as they ever had until they reached their campfire. They took turns staying awake until the morning when they would find out what had happened to the jaguar. At dawn they went back to search for the animal. They knew that a wounded cat was the most dangerous of species, and they had to find him. And they did. William’s bullet had penetrated it’s skull between the eyes in the same tree. The jaguar had expired right there without moving an inch.

“Damn good shooting, Walters.”

“Yeah, thanks.” William mumbled.

They walked solemnly through the jungle and headed back to base, when suddenly William heard an alarming whisper next to his ear. He reeled around to see what it was, but it was too late. A ten-foot boa constrictor instantly wrapped itself around him. He tried to pry it loose but it was useless. As quick as lightning the huge snake constricted around his body, suffocating him, pulling the air out of his lungs. He was lifted effortlessly off his feet like a marionette. He didn’t even have enough time to call Mac for help. He could feel the immense reptile tightening itself around him even more. William saw black spots before his eyes. The oxygen was leaving his body. He grappled in his semi-conscious state for his machete, but the snake covered it. William managed to squeeze his hand between his body and the boa’s and pull it out. He found the head and with the last bit of energy left extracted his arm and slashed at the head until it was cut through. The snake uncoiled like a stiff branch and William dropped down hard. Mac who just realized what was happening rushed back. He saw the dead snake and whistled. “Damn, that’s one huge monster!”

“You’re telling me,” William said, gasping.

“You alright?”

William nodded. “Yeah, help me up. Let’s get back to base. I want a shower, food and a bed—in that order.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Mac helped William up, spat on the snake, and the two men marched on to their destination.

When they arrived at the base Mac was practically carrying his partner. Two guards ran to help. William’s skin tone was a faded ochre, and he was shaking and sweating at the same time.

“What’s wrong with him?” One of the soldiers asked.

“The guy kills a jaguar, and the biggest snake you ever saw, and a damned mosquito brings him down! Get him to the dispensary, and fast.”

William spent the next two weeks in and out of consciousness, drinking quinine, sweating and delirious from malaria. At some point, when he was lucid, he thought he should maybe have gone to Alaska. There were no nasty creatures up there, big or small.

When William was discharged from the military he returned to Chicago and found himself back at his regular hangout. Roxanne was thrilled and put a bottle of Scotch in front of him.

“Nope. I’m done with that,” William said.

“You don’t drink any more?”

“Just one or two every once in a while. I overdid it when I was in the Army and didn’t like myself any more.” William remembered waking up one morning in Panama, going to his locker and pulling out a bottle. He drank heavily, blamed it on his father, the tough times and his mother’s passing. It was six o’clock in the morning. He looked at the bottle in his hand and threw it against the wall. That’s ridiculous and that’s enough, he said to himself.

“Okay,” Roxanne said, and poured him just a glass. William nursed it.

“Do you know anyone who needs extra help?”

“Like a job?” William nodded. “See that guy over there? I think he might be looking.

“Thanks Roxanne.” William walked over to the man. He was wearing a suit that was too small, as if it belonged to a younger brother. His belly protruded out and the buttons were begging to burst. His tie looked like he had wiped his last pasta dinner on it and just by looking at the face that only a mother could love William wondered how badly he had been laughed at as a kid. “Would you be looking to hire some extra help?” He asked.

“What can you do?”

“What do you need?”

“You know anything about guns?”

“My specialty,” William answered.

“Like fixing them up?”

“Sure.”

“Okay, come over tomorrow, meet me at this warehouse. Pay’s not bad.” He gave William the address.

William found the warehouse and was immediately put to work. There were pistols and machine guns stacked on several tables. They looked like they’d been through a war. They were scratched, dirty and mishandled. “Looks like gorillas got hold of these. No respect for fine machinery,” William mumbled to himself.

“Can you shape them up?”

“No problem.”

William had a lot of work and he was paid well. He didn’t ask questions and did his job. He would take all the pieces of each weapon apart, meticulously clean them, replace some parts or rebuild them and put them back together. It didn’t matter what weapon it was, he knew them all, from Gatling guns to .45’s. He did this for a while and then got bored. He left the job and later found out that he had been fixing Al Capone’s weapons. He was glad he hadn’t known anything about it any earlier.

William went to Washington D.C. and applied to the State Department. They hired him on the spot. He was fluent in several languages, was an armaments and communications expert and had military intelligence training. When WWII broke out, he was sent to the embassy in Greece as a military attaché.

♫

20
TH
CENTURY

WWII

CHAPTER 24

“Paliatzis! Paliatzis!
I buy new and old! I buy new and old!” The middle-aged man guided his donkey through the once wealthy Athenian neighborhood of Plaka. He was one of the ambulant merchants roaming through the streets trying to make a few pennies; trying to survive the ravages of the German occupation in Greece. Nareg Garabedian was once a poet—refined, educated and a gentleman—until the war. Now, in tattered clothes little better than rags, he bought and sold objects from people’s homes, who in turn were trying to survive by selling their wares to buy a little food. The entire city was sealed off. Food was practically non-existent, except for a few peasants smuggling in what they could from the fields outside of Athens. Raisins, rationed at that, were the only food the Germans allowed the Athenians to stay alive with.

“Over here!” A woman’s voice rang out from her upstairs window. Nareg looked up and above the geraniums hanging from the window box.

“Yes,
Madame
, what can I do for you?”

“Please, come in.”

Nareg attached the donkey to the steel gate and entered the large whitewashed square patio leading to the house. While magnificent, he could tell it had seen better times. He felt comfortable, as he quickly understood that the people living in this home were good, decent people. He could tell by the way the flowers had been lovingly planted and kept. They looked healthy and happy and their perfume gently filled his senses. Above one of the corners of the patio hanging laundry hid a little arbor of succulent grapes hanging from white wooden beams. His mouth watered. He hadn’t seen such beautiful fruit since before the war. The patio was cool and inviting, the atmosphere warm and welcoming. Nareg was already arranging words in his mind for a new poem.

“Kaliméra!”
The woman said, walking out of the doorway and into the patio.

“Good day to you,
Madame
,” Nareg said, taking his hat off. He had not expected such a beautiful woman with fine features. She was middle aged, a classic Mediterranean beauty. Nareg was sure that the older this woman became the more attractive and alluring she would be. She had very black hair that shined almost dark blue, a heart shaped face that framed warm, caring and intelligent eyes, and the most perfect lips and teeth he had ever seen. And she had class.

“Oh, you look very hot! Please sit down, I’ll bring you a big glass of cold water.”

“Please, do not inconvenience yourself.”

“Don’t be silly. Now, sit down. I’ll be right back.” As he watched her go back into the house Nareg couldn’t help thinking that this elegant woman looked familiar. He did as she asked and sat down at a little table covered with a white lace tablecloth. She promptly came back out with a little tray holding a very tall glass of cool water.

“Now, you relax for a while, drink as much as you need and have a bite to eat. I apologize that I do not have anything else to offer you,” she said, lowering the tray onto the table. Nareg almost cried when he saw the batch of grapes on the plate in front of him. “This is too much, Madame, I cannot accept this. I am, though, very grateful.”

“My name is Valentina and if you do not eat this, I shall be very insulted.”

“I would never wish to insult you. You are very kind and I am deeply grateful. This is why I have made my home in Greece, because of people like you, because of your generosity and hospitality. My name is Nareg Garabedian. I am Armenian. I am at your service
, Madame
.”

Valentina knew of the sacrifices the Armenians made. When the Germans invaded Greece the Commander told the Armenians that they would be safe if they joined with the third Reich. The leader said that the Greeks had welcomed them to their country when they were without a homeland and they were proud to be citizens of Greece. They would endure whatever a Greek would. Since then, they had been persecuted just as harshly as the Greeks, sometimes even moreso.

“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.’ Melina and Sela, with
Monsieur Chat
between them, also watched this woman they loved so dearly—
S
ela, 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.