Authors: Denise Kahn
“I think it is time for a promotion,” Manoli said.
“Really?”
“Yes. The sales today were amazing. Never has the store made such a profit in one day. And it is because of your keen perception of what customers want. Also, you are a good businessman. From now on you will run the store.”
“Me?”
“Yes. You know as much about the business as I do, perhaps even more. I trust you, young Nico, and they say I am a good judge of character. You haven’t let me down yet and I don’t believe you ever will. Besides, there is a… well, a lady friend I would like to see more often and spend some time with. She lives on the island of Egina.” He looked at Nico. “So what do you think?”
“Will you include a commission on sales?”
Manoli looked at him, always amazed at his boldness, but that’s what made him a successful businessman. Manoli nodded. “You have a deal young man.”
Nico held his hand out. “It will be my pleasure, and I assure you I will never let you down.”
Manoli shook his hand. “I have no doubts.”
They had more wine and dessert.
In just a few months the shop became very successful. Many of the Athenian elite, as well as regular clientele were putting in large orders for books. That evening Nico closed the shop and walked to the house in Plaka. Between his salary and the commissions he could now afford something better, but he had grown attached to it. When he arrived at the broken mansion he saw a man looking at it. Nico froze. Had they found out he was staying there? Would they denounce him to the police? He hid behind a wall and watched the man some more. He noticed that he was very well dressed in expensive clothes, fine leather shoes, a silk tie and a massive gold watch hanging from a chain on his vest. The man looked at the house and shook his head. Suddenly, from an alley, three men attacked the man. Nico stared in horror and then rushed out to help him. He punched two of the muggers off of the man but the third one thrust a knife into Nico’s stomach. Nico grunted, looked down at the blade sticking out of his body, pulled it out and threw it on the ground. He lunged into the man who had stabbed him. They rolled around for a few moments and then the mugger took off. The other two looked at Nico as if he were the devil incarnated and then followed their partner. They ran down the street and out of sight. The well-dressed man looked at Nico incredulously.
“Aren’t you hurt?” He asked.
“No,” Nico said laughing. He pulled his shirt out of his pants and took out the book he had tucked into them. “I’m fine, but I’m afraid Pericles was the one stabbed,” he said, showing off the hole in the book.
The man looked at it.
The Golden Age of Pericles
. “Quite appropriate, I must say, and the old chap has given me a few more years as well. But you are the real hero, young man. What is your name?”
“Nico.” He didn’t give him the rest of it.
“I am in your debt. How can I repay you?”
“There is nothing to repay. I’m just glad you are alright. But may I ask, what were you staring at?”
“You mean the house?” Nico nodded. “I was thinking that it’s a pile of rubble and I don’t know what to do with it.”
“This is your house?”
“If you can call it that, yes. Why the interest?”
“Well, to be honest, it’s been a haven for me. Forgive me, but when I first came to Athens I had no money and no place to stay. It gave me refuge. I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t have done that. But I have fallen in love with it.”
“Oh, I don’t care. I’m just glad it was good for something.” The man looked at Nico. “How old are you?”
“Sixteen, sir.”
“Do you have a family?”
“No, sir. They died.”
The man looked at the handsome youngster with the deep blue eyes. He pulled a card out of his pocket. “My name is Stavros Koulouris. Could you come by my office tomorrow?”
“Am I in trouble?”
“No, no, not at all. Just come by. I’ll expect you.”
“I work during the day. I can come by in the afternoon.”
“That’s fine. I’ll be waiting for you. Thank you again.” He shook Nico’s hand and left.
As promised, the next afternoon Nico went to the office. It was in the heart of Athens in a handsome building decorated with Corinthian columns. He looked at the plaque on the door:
MINISTRY OF EDUCATION
Nico walked in, a little apprehensive. He saw a receptionist and handed him the card the man had given him. “I’m here to see Mr. Koulouris.”
“Yes. Go right in, the Minister is expecting you.” She showed him the office door.
“Thank you.” Nico knocked on the door.
“Come in,” a voice from inside said.
Nico entered and looked at the office. It was expensively decorated, with French antiques, a cherry wood desk and Persian carpets.
“Ah, Nico,” Koulouris said, getting up from his chair. He greeted Nico and gestured for him to sit down. “Thank you for coming.”
“It’s my pleasure, sir.”
The minister noticed that Nico seemed comfortable in these surroundings, as if he had seen offices like these all his life. “I wanted to thank you once again for your help last night.”
“Please, sir, don’t mention it.”
“I insist. I would like to repay you.”
“That is not necessary. What is important is that you were not hurt.”
“Not hurt? Why, I would have probably been dead if it weren’t for you. If this was the military they would give you a medal.” Nico chuckled. “Well,
I’m
going to give you a medal. It’s not the usual kind of medal. But first, tell me you’re full name.”
“Why do you need that, sir?”
“Are you running from the police?”
“No, sir, of course not!”
“Good. Then there is no problem. Your name?”
“Nicolaos Malandros.”
“Malandros, Malandros, why does that sound familiar?”
“I don’t know, sir.” Nico hoped he wouldn’t make the connection with his father. After all, he had been a well-known ship owner, and was still worried that people were still after his only son. The minister wrote the name down on a large piece of paper. Koulouris called in his secretary. She came in and stood next to him. “Would you please be a witness to the following.”
“Of course, Mr. Minister.”
“Nicolaos Malandros, please stand.” Nico did as he was asked, thinking that the minister was really going to pin a medal on his chest. “For bravery beyond the call of duty, I bequeath you, with honor and gratitude…” He looked at young Nico staring straight ahead and smiled. “…The title to the house in Plaka. It is yours as a token of my thanks.”
Nico’s eyes grew very wide. “You are giving me this house?”
“That’s correct, my boy. You seem to love it and to tell you the truth, I didn’t know what to do with it. You are actually helping
me
out by taking it off my hands. Only you know what you will do with… Just what
are
you going to do with it?” He asked curiously.
“I’m going to fix it up and live in it, sir. I don’t know what to say, but thank you and you are most generous. The house will be beautiful, and I will do all the work myself, I assure you.”
“You’ll have plenty of work to do! Good luck with it, young man.”
“Sir, when I finish, and it will of course be beautiful, won’t you want it back?”
Koulouris laughed. “I might, my boy, I might, but it is yours now. You have the title. You are the owner and no one can take it away from you.” Nico was happy as if he were at a party of the God Dionysus.
At eighteen Nico became the sole owner of the bookstore. He bought Manoli out and expanded. In the last two years, since his acquaintance with the Minister of Education he was able to include schools and universities to his clientele list and the demand for foreign books was booming. He made contacts in Italy, France, England, Egypt and the Unites States. He had good, loyal people working for him and he went on many trips throughout the year to the different countries where his business took him. Through his contacts he found Sylvie and as promised brought her to Athens. She ran his house in Plaka, now beautifully renovated and the loveliest mansion in the neighborhood. Every once in a while he would look at the stars in the sky, wondering if his parents were up there and watching him. Were they proud of him? He wondered.
At twenty years old Nico was a cunning businessman and very well educated—it was said that there wasn’t anything he didn’t know and that he had read every book that arrived in the store. He was happy, handsome, the most sought out bachelor in town, attended all the theaters and concerts he could, and was fond of the arts. Nico had become very wealthy and had the disaster on Oniraki investigated. A saboteur had started the fire in the port. When the man was apprehended he confessed his involvement and cleared the Malandros name of any wrong doings. His parents would indeed have been very proud of him.
♫
CHAPTER 17
The Italian accent shouted the directions: “Push! Harder! From down deep, very deep inside you. Bring it up! Strong! Powerful… yes, that’s it… now open your mouth, wide, big… I want to see the back of your beautiful teeth… good! Now back to O, make your mouth perfectly, perfectly round… and push!
Valentina obeyed and shaped her mouth. She touched her stomach with one hand and could feel her breath being directed exactly as instructed.
When Carla Corelli, the great Italian soprano and now teacher extraordinaire, was first introduced to Valentina, she was apprehensive. The girl was only eleven and she pictured an insecure child hiding behind her famous pianist mother’s skirt—and it was only because of her famous mother did she agree on the meeting. Carla sat in the chair and looked at the girl. She was a lovely young thing, destined to be a beautiful woman, and that was always an asset for a singer, although the greatest divas were not always pretty or thin like this little one. Carla herself was plump and short and had been one of the greats of her time.
“Do you know any songs?”
“Of course, I know all of them,” Valentina answered, very sure of herself.
“All of them… yes, of course,” Carla said, already disliking the little snob. Her mother had probably taken her to every opera house in Europe. “Well, why don’t you sing one for me, anything you want.”
“My mother will accompany me.”
“As you wish,” Carla said, hoping this would be over quickly.
Sela played a few notes on the piano and Valentina closed her eyes. She took a deep breath, concentrated for a moment, and began to sing. Carla was completely unprepared for the magical energy that suddenly manifested itself in front of her. She did not see the young girl, rather she felt
Antonia
from
les Contes d’Hoffmann,
with all the passion, the drama, and the instinctive musicianship.
When both mother and daughter ended their last notes, the one singing, the other on the piano, they looked at the once great diva. Carla was bewildered. She wanted to run up and hug Valentina, to tell her that she would immediately drop all her other students, that the uniqueness of her voice, the dramatic artistry—especially for one so young—would one day move audiences to tears. Instead, very calmly, she said: “The technique needs work, as well as the breathing, stamina and several other things. Oh, yes, you’re French is excellent.”
“As is my Italian, Arabic and of course, Greek,” Valentina retorted, completely unphased by what other young girls of that age would have thought Carla Corelli stricter than a Catholic nun.
“Yes, that’s lovely,” Carla said. That’s all I need—an opera in Arabic, Carla mumbled to herself.
“Thank you,
Signora
Corelli, does that mean that you will take her on?” Sela asked.
“There are conditions.”
“Of course.”
“I expect complete obedience,
diciplina e
respeto
and most of all hard work. I am tough but I deliver if I am followed.”
“Not a problem,” Valentina answered quickly. Carla lifted her eyebrow—Valentina Vidalis would be a challenge.
Now, three years later, at the tender age of fourteen, Valentina never ceased to amaze Carla. And she was becoming such a beauty! Those eyes, blue like the Aegean at dusk. She had heard that they were like Valentina’s father’s and the young woman now also had a shape. A man could almost close his fingers around her waist and her greatest asset was her mouth. It was just the right size for an opera singer—just large enough and perfectly proportioned to her heart-shaped face. Her lips were naturally rouge and her teeth were perfectly straight. She had her mother’s photographic memory and could, incredibly, learn an entire opera in just a few days. She had mastered her breathing technique so that from beginning to ending seemed as if it had been done in one big breath instead of many little ones.
“Bite the note! Attack it! Own it! That’s it,” Carla bellowed, “yes, that’s it,
carrresss
the word, as only you can,
cara mia
.”
Valentina and Carla became the best of friends, not just teacher and student. At first Carla thought that Valentina would be a snobbish little brat and that she would never have the will or drive to compare with her talent. But Carla was thankfully wrong, she mused. The young woman had more drive and stamina than anyone she had ever seen, and she wanted it—she
wanted
to be the greatest diva that ever lived. With Carla’s help the dream could become reality. Valentina turned out to be very mature, open minded, hard working, followed directions without question, and trusted Carla implicitly. She was anything but a snobbish brat.
“Alright, little one,” Carla said, “it’s time to go home.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Valentina said hugging her mentor.
They both put in extraordinary hours and never seemed to tire, although at the end of their long days they truly were exhausted.
Valentina felt the warm evening breeze gently brush her face as she headed home in the old section of Athens, the Plaka. When she walked into the house her mother and grandfather seemed in a daze. Valentina was worried. Was her grandfather alright? Was he ill? “Is something wrong?” She asked. Simeon called her over to him. The big man was sitting in an armchair, Sela next to him on a sofa. She went over to her grandfather and hugged him.
“I can’t believe this!” Sela yelled, making Valentina jump.
“What is it?” The young woman asked frantically.
“War! That’s what it is,” Sela fumed. “Big boys in men’s uniforms trying to prove who is the most powerful, who can be the greatest conqueror, how much they can steal from the other and how miserable they will make all people no matter what side they’re on!
Valentina stared, not quite grasping the notion of what a war entailed. “Does this mean that Granddaddy has to go to war?” She asked frightened.
Simeon smiled. “No, my darling. They wouldn’t take me, I’m too old. I just hope I can stay in retirement and won’t have to be a witness to the inevitable physical cruelties. The war hasn’t reached Greece… yet.”
“Oh,” Valentina gasped, “but do you think it will?”
“There’s no doubt!” Sela said, still ranting. “This world is a mess! Germany has declared war on France and Russia, and invaded Belgium—a neutral country no less. Then of course Britain, Serbia and Montenegro declared war on Germany; Austria declared war on Russia and Belgium; France and Britain declared war on Austria; Russia, France and Britain declared war on Turkey because they’re allies with…”
“I’m confused,” Valentina said.
“My point exactly. I’m afraid it will only be a matter of time because Greece will be thrown into it for sure. For the moment we continue our lives, hope for the best and pray for those poor souls,” Sela said shaking her head in disgust. “You will continue your lessons with Carla. You’re preparing for your first concert, right?” Sela asked. Valentina nodded. “Good. Now, I still have my own concerts here in Athens. I am so glad I wasn’t somewhere else in Europe right now. God, what a mess! Imbeciles!”
“Technique, technique, technique!” Carla shouted. That is the only way you can be heard over a full orchestra and hundreds and hundreds in the theaters. Again! Scales!”
“Do, re, mi, fa, sol, la, si, do… do, si, la, sol, fa, mi, re, do,” Valentina repeated over and over and over again. “Do, si, la, re, do, sol, fa, mi…”
“Remember, this is most, most, most important. It loosens and tightens the muscles in your face, your jaw, your mouth, your throat, your diaphragm, your chest and your bottom,” Carla said, in what Valentina would have sworn was in one single solitary breath.
“Do, re, mi, fa, sol, la, si, do…”
“Breath control, control, control. This is how you allow little breath or much breath to pass through your throat and out your mouth to bring forth the sound that your vocal chords make. This makes volume up or down, makes effect,
dramatic, dramatic
. Makes continue longer, makes rapid effect of short breath for coloratura. When we finish here you go to acting, then music history and then you come back and we polish some more. Now, hold breath, good… longer… yes,
hoooollld
,
looonnnggger
…” Valentina thought she would vomit, but she held her note, and held it, and still held it, until she thought she would pass out. “
Basta! Perfetto.”
Carla said. Now, relax for a moment.” Valentina knew that it would be just that. She took a breath and gratefully felt her blood flow where it was supposed to once again. “And we start …” Valentina thought she would scream, but she also knew that Carla was brilliant and was the best. She followed her every direction without hesitation.
♫