Authors: Denise Kahn
Valentina was shaken; no one was applauding. Wasn’t she any good? She did give it her all, she insisted. After so many years of training and studying was this now the result? She felt a lump welling up her throat. Had it all been in vain? Sela was smiling. She had watched the audience during the performance and the mature woman knew when an artist had gotten through—Valentina had definitely succeeded. Only through years of concerts and artistic professionalism and perhaps because she knew how to control pain, could Sela at this moment restrain herself from crying. No mother or musician could have been prouder. As far as the spectators they were just coming out of their ‘trances’ and stood and applauded enthusiastically—those who could, that is. Valentina finally smiled and learned yet another lesson.
Nico looked at Gaston and said: “I’m going to marry her.”
“
Oui, mon ami,
you and every man here.”
“No. I’m serious. You’ll see.”
“Will you invite me to your wedding?” Gaston asked, chuckling.
“Of course and you had better be there,” Nico said seriously.
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” What did this
beau mec
have in mind? Gaston mused.
Valentina sang several more arias and then Sela picked up the pace and the music became more contemporary. In a few moments the men were singing their favorite songs and the hits of the day. After the end of the concert Nico caught up with the head doctor.
“Doctor! Please wait. I have a favor to ask you,” Nico said.
“What is it?”
“I know that all the men here wish to speak to the ladies but I have a special request.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, you see, I’m Greek and so are they. I would just like to thank them personally. Do you think you could help me? It will only take a minute.”
The doctor looked at him. He knew that any morale boost helped, even just a little. “Come with me. Let’s see what we can do.”
“Thank you, Doctor, you are very kind.”
True to his word the doctor escorted Nico into one of the rooms of the château where Sela and Valentina were relaxing. He couldn’t take his eyes off of the younger woman but he regained his composure quickly. He went to Sela and kissed her hand. “
Kyria
Vidali, it is a great pleasure,” Nico said in Greek. “Thank you for seeing me. I just wanted to personally thank you, for myself and for all the men here. I had the pleasure of seeing your performances in Athens, and I must say you are always superb. And I must also congratulate your lovely daughter—she is truly magnificent and very beautiful! Uh, her voice that is.”
“That is very kind of you, young man. Would you tell us your name?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I am Count Nicolaos Malandros di Fontina,” Nico said, bowing. He walked over to Valentina and kissed her hand, lingering perhaps a little too long.
“Oh course! I buy all my books from your store, it is a wonderful place and an inspiration,” Sela said. “And thank you for your sacrifice. We are very glad you are alive. Not too badly hurt, I hope?”
“You are very kind, no, I’ll be fine.” Nico says, never taking his eyes off of Valentina. He was still holding her hand.
“Uh, may I have my hand back?” Valentina said smiling, trying very hard to suppress a giggle.
“Oh, yes, I’m sorry. May I say that you surely must have the greatest voice that ever existed. I was watching the birds in the trees and they didn’t even sing. They were listening to you, and I’m sure they must be very jealous.”
Valentina laughed. “That is a lovely compliment, thank you. I hope all my critics are as wonderful as you.”
I would love to be your critic, Nico thought.
“Alright, the ladies need to rest. Time to go,” the doctor said.
“Of course. Perhaps we shall meet again.” We shall, and soon, Nico swore to himself.
The two men took their leave.
“Oh, Mother, what a wonderful man!” Valentina said.
“Now, now, don’t go falling in love with the first man who compliments you. Besides he probably hasn’t seen a woman in a long time.”
“And he’s so handsome, too.”
Sela raised her eyebrow. Had her daughter heard a single word of what she’d said?
Nico and Gaston were lying on their cots, recuperating from their wounds. Nico was staring at the ceiling, a thoughtful expression on his face. He could think of nothing but Valentina. She was enchanting and he had fallen hard for her.
“Ah, you must be thinking about the little Greek hummingbird again,” Gaston said, chuckling.
They spent the rest of the days convalescing in the château and drinking the cellar’s wine. They had fun with their buddies, but Nico’s mind was fixated on the young singer.
Nico and Gaston were released the day they signed the armistice—the war was over and they were free. They boarded a train to Paris and a sea of khaki and green uniforms overwhelmed them. “I have never seen so many happy soldiers in one place at one time. I don’t even mind being crammed in these cars like sardines in a can. This is a great day and I wouldn’t have missed this scene for the world!” Gaston said.
“This is rather exciting.”
“I agree. When we get to the Paris we will go straight to my parents’ house. My mother will have prepared the best French meal you have ever tasted,” Gaston said excitedly.
“I can hardly wait. They must be so happy you’re coming home.”
“I sent them a wire, they’re expecting us. The champagne will be flowing continuously!”
“Bring it on!”
The train arrived at the
Gare de L’Est
. Gaston and Nico got on a truck that served as a bus. Now that the war was over Paris bustled with festivities and it seemed that everyone was out in the streets. They were dropped off at the
Arc de Triomphe.
Nico helped his friend out with his good arm and the two men walked down one of the large avenues coming out of the
Étoile.
A few minutes later Gaston turned to a door on the Avenue Foch and rang the bell.
“What are we doing here?” Nico asked. It was the most elegant and expensive neighborhood in Paris.
“I live here!” He said excitedly.
“Here?” Gaston nodded. “I like your style,
mon ami.
” Gaston grinned.
A plump and very well dressed middle-aged woman opened the door. She saw Gaston and fell into his arms. They hugged for a long time, both crying. Gaston gently pulled her back.
“
Maman,
this is Nico,” Gaston said, introducing his comrade.
“
Enchanté, Madame,
” Nico said, kissing her hand.
“Oh, the pleasure is all mine. Welcome to our home and thank you for coming to our rescue.” She grabbed him and kissed him on both cheeks.
“Today we are all French!” Nico replied.
“And today you will eat the best French meal in France. Come, come in you two.” She grabbed their hands and pulled them into the elegant apartment. It was filled with exquisite antiques and the dinner table was set and waiting for them.
“Papa is waiting for you in the
salon
, Gaston,” his mother said.
The Laforets were true to their word. “That was truly the best French meal in the world!” Nico said, complimenting them. They hadn’t eaten any really good food in a very long time.
“I told you, Nico. Now, what do you say we go out on the town?”
“Now there’s an idea. How’s your leg? Can you walk for a while?”
“Are you kidding? Another war couldn’t hold me back. Come on, let’s go. The city awaits us.”
“Go on, you two, go have some fun,” she said with a gleam in her eye.
Nico and Gaston walked along the Champs Elysées. There was an air of happiness, of freedom, of peace, of success and of glorious victory. There were people everywhere; friends drinking in outdoor cafés, old married couples walking hand in hand, lovers kissing, children playing. Everyone’s heart was filled with the prospective bounty of the future, with the grateful acceptance of peace and with the anticipation of dreams to be realized.
“Gaston! Look!” Nico exclaimed, almost screaming.
“What? What is it?” Gaston said, a little worried by his reaction.
Nico pointed to a billboard outside a theater. “They’re here!” Nico was so excited he could hardly contain himself.
“Who’s here? What are you talking about?”
“The Vidalis’! Sela and Valentina Vidalis—in concert! Right here in Paris, right now!”
“
Oh, mon Dieu
, Nico, if you don’t calm down, the police are going to arrest you!” Gaston said, laughing.
“Look!” Nico said again, completely disregarding Gaston. “Do you remember what I told you?”
“About what?”
“Valentina Vidalis.”
“Which part? All you ever do is talk about her.”
“I’m going to marry her.”
“Ah, Nico, whatever you say,
mon ami
, whatever you say.”
Nico was charmingly relentless. He followed Valentina’s performances, went to every theater, every opera, every benefit. He was a constant fixture in front of every one of her stages, and Valentina became accustomed to his presence and considered him somewhat of a good luck charm. Bouquets of flowers, heart boxes filled with chocolates and champagne flowed incessantly into every one of her dressing rooms. And notes—distinguished, admiring, adoring, lovely and loving words accompanied each gift. Nico was irresistible, and Valentina could not deny her love for him any longer. What Nico didn’t know was that Valentina had fallen under his spell, from that very first introduction at the Château de la Cocorgnoc.
♫
20
TH
CENTURY
AMERICA
CHAPTER 23
Wilhelm von Waltherr gently laid a rose on his mother’s casket. Roses had always been her favorite, and as they slowly lowered her into the ground he couldn’t help but wonder what else he could have done to save her. She had fallen ill over the last year and Wilhelm not only took care of her but also managed their home, Wilhelmsschloss, a castle on the outskirts of Berlin. At the same time the young Count finished his schooling at the prestigious University of Berlin with top honors, learned Spanish and French and almost always won his athletic competitions. But it was never good enough for his father. Nothing he did ever pleased or made the older man proud. His parents had separated when he was ten. His mother couldn’t bear her husband’s temper and moodiness and returned to her homeland where she was regarded as the lady and aristocrat that she was. She was also a well-known concert pianist, but one day fell and broke her wrist. She would never play again. Instead, she would ask her son to play for her. Wilhelm did, and he enjoyed their time together and most of all making her happy. He was a good musician and played well, but he knew that the piano wouldn’t be his life’s calling.
Although Wilhelm was born in Chicago, he divided himself between Germany and the United states. He spent his summers with his mother in Germany and his school year in Chicago with his father. It wasn’t until he entered university did he stay in Europe. He had lovingly taken care of his mother, his role model and best friend. Now, with her gone, he swore he would never play the piano again, it would be too painful. Instead he drowned his sorrows in the sea. The Baltic opened her arms to him and Wilhelm swam and swam for hours. He did some diving off of cliffs, rowed with classmates and did some solo sailing to Sweden. Sometimes, on the beach, the young men would spar, a pastime they enjoyed. One day Wilhelm saw a man he didn’t recognize and as was the custom, invited him to box a little.
The man looked at him. “Do you know who I am?” He asked. Wilhem shook his head. “My name is Max.” Both men were young, big, very light on their feet and fairly evenly matched. Their calculated punches landed where they wanted. They danced around each other and threw more punches. Wilhem saw an opening and hit Max squarely on the jaw. Max went down and rolled in the sand. He raised an eyebrow and looked at Wilhelm. “I’m impressed Wilhem.”
“Why’s that, Max?”
“You’re the first man who’s ever knocked me down.”
“Well, if you’re so good, get up. I’ll do it again.”
Max laughed and lightly jumped to his feet. He threw a left hook that Wilhelm never saw and he in turn landed in the sand. Blood oozed out of his nose.
Max was immediately at his side. “Damn, man, I’ve broken your nose,” he said apologetically examining Wilhelm’s face.
“That’s alright, it’s been broken before,” Wilhelm answered.
“It has? By a punch?”
“No,” Wilhelm said grinning, “by an oar.”
“What do you mean?” Max asked, puzzled.
“I was on a rowing team and my teammate was carrying his oar and he turned around. My face happened to be right behind him.”
Max cringed at the thought. “Well, we should stop for today. Lie down and keep your head back.”
“Yea, it’s been fun. What did you say your name was?”
“Max. Max Schmeling.”
“Thanks, Max, it’s been a pleasure.”
“If you say so, Wilhem, if you say so.” The men shook hands and relaxed on the beach. Max went to his girlfriend who had been watching. Wilhelm wiped the blood off his face, put his head back and enjoyed the sun. Years later Wilhelm would smile when he would see Max on television, especially when he won the title of Heavyweight Champion of the world. But he would also be sad remembering how Hitler used him as a propaganda tool. He knew Max had no alternative and he would have liked the world to know him as the kind and gentle man that he actually was.
Nights Wilhelm went to the local dance hall and stayed until it closed. He loved the girls and loved to dance. To Wilhelm it was a magical combination and a great release for his pent up energy. At times he would teach ballroom dancing to earn some extra cash. He even thought about dancing for a living. He could just imagine his father’s ire and he shuddered. No, that could only be hobby, but his love for sport and dancing would be with him his entire life.
Wilhelm returned to America, as his father requested. He respected his father, only because he was his father, but other than that there was no great love between them. His father was a rich man. He had moved to Chicago before the turn of the century to open a furniture factory and would send money back to Germany to his estranged wife and son. He sent just enough to feed them and for the upkeep of the castle. There were absolutely no extras and Wilhelm and his mother struggled through the years. The last one had been the most difficult. She had practically become an invalid and Wilhelm learned to cook, wash, clean the home, administer his mother’s medicine and carried her everywhere. Their love and their music bonded them even more. He blamed his father for his mother’s death. He knew the old man had been mean and selfish and could have provided better for his family.
Upon hearing of his wife’s death the older man sent his son money to bury his mother, hire a groundskeeper and a ticket back to Chicago. Wilhelm returned, not because his father ordered him to, but because he loved his country, the United States of America. He loved the freedom and the American spirit of easiness. He loved that anyone could be anything they wanted and that everyone could be a somebody. Young Count Wilhem von Waltherr left Germany behind and shed his title. He was looking forward to a new life in America. Yes,
William Walters
would be anything he wanted and would be somebody to reckon with. He also knew that his father would have nothing to say in the matter whatsoever.
William arrived in Chicago and went to his father’s house. He stood in front of the door and stared at the knocker, and then stared some more. Do I really want to go in? Do I really need this shit? He asked himself. He was dressed in a dark blue suit and held his suitcase. He just waited and then waited a little while longer. He touched the knocker, hesitated and finally banged it several times against the door. The old man opened it and stood straight and rigid, like a Prussian soldier at attention. William’s stomach turned. He knew this wasn’t going to be good. The older man looked at his son with indifferent eyes, as if staring right through William’s head and beyond. No words were said, just a gesture from the older man waving William into the house. God, how he would have loved to see the older man smile with delight, with pride for his son who had already accomplished so much in his young life, pride for the Nordic flawlessness of his wavy blond hair and the Baltic blue of his eyes, pride for his athletic grace and prowess and his caring character. Instead, as William almost expected, he was greeted in a totally different way.
“You’re a good for nothing nobody!”
William’s blood rushed to his face and his temper flared. He clenched his jaw and balled up his fist. He wanted to punch him, to just flatten him out like a cockroach, but then he remembered his gentle mother. His temper subsided. He silently picked up his bag, turned around and walked away.
“You’re the good for nothing son of a bitch. You didn’t deserve Mother and you sure don’t have me anymore,” he grumbled. He walked into the Chicago night and into the first bar he saw.
“What’ll ya’ have, Mister?” The middle-aged, buxom bartender asked him.
“Scotch. Just ice and bring me a bottle.” The woman raised an eyebrow and brought him exactly what he wanted. “Thank you.”
“Anything else?”
William shook his head. She left him alone. He left some money on the counter and poured himself the first of many drinks.
“Hey, good-lookin’, what are you trying to do?” The redhead bartender asked him some time later.
“Drown myself with a little help from Mr. Ballantine,” William said, slurring his words.
“You know, you’re a little too big for that tiny glass, but there’s a really big lake not too far from here, you’d probably have better luck there.”
“S’too far.”
“Yeah, you got a point. You probably wouldn’t make it there.”
“Can’t make it anywhere.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Ask my father.”
She stared at him, not understanding, but she did know that this guy was hurting. “Come on, a handsome guy like you, you got your life ahead of you. You’ll go places, I can tell. Don’t let anything or anybody get you this down.”
William’s chin sat on the bar, his hands around the glass. He stared at the ice cubes. Only his eyes moved. They looked straight-ahead and then up a little. He smiled at her. “Nice balconies,” he said.
“Wha’?”
William lifted his index finger from the glass and pointed to her bosom and then slid off the chair and passed out.
“Alright guys,” she shouted from behind the bar to some of the other men, “do me a favor and pick him up. He can sleep it off on the couch in the back room.”
William woke to a sledgehammer pounding his skull and the back of his eyes. His body ached and his mouth felt like dry old shoe leather. He opened his eyes very, very slowly for fear they would explode from the banging. When they didn’t he looked around and tried to figure out where he was. Then he remembered, the bar, the redhead with the big boobs and… his father. He felt his blood pressure rise. He closed his eyes again and hoped it was just a dream. When it wouldn’t go away he realized the nightmare was real. He also realized he was hungry. All he had had the day before was the whisky. He tried to get up but his muscles and joints ached and weren’t responding whatsoever. His big body was squeezed around like a curled up shrimp into the small couch. He managed to straighten out and stood up. He teetered a bit until he steadied himself against a wall. He checked his wallet. All he had was a dollar. He was broke.
“Well, if it isn’t Sleeping Beauty!” The redhead said.
William cringed at the sound of the gongs exploding in his head. “Jesus, not so loud, lady.”
“Come on, I’ll make you breakfast.”
“Why?”
“Why what? You’re hungry, aren’t you?”
“Famished, but why are you helping me?”
“Look, you need to put somethin’ in that bod’ of yours and you’re just a guy who could use a little helping hand.” She took his arm and helped him move toward the kitchen. “You seemed kinda’ down last night so I figure you could at least use a good breakfast.” They staggered along. “Oh, and I got big ears if you want to talk, and big shoulders if you want to cry.”
William stared at her. “And big balconies too,” he said.
The redhead laughed boisterously.
William smiled for the first time in days. “You know, you’re beautiful.”
She sighed. “Flattery will get you everywhere.” She took him by the hand and sat him on a chair.
“And probably a good cook.”
“Just wait ‘til you taste my bacon.”
William searched for a job, any job, but didn’t find anything and the bitter Chicago cold made it even more miserable. After hours of searching he went back to his friend at the bar.
“Hi there Will,” she chanted as he sat on the stool in front of her. “How’s it going?”
“Well, I haven’t found anything yet and I’ve got just enough to buy a bowl of chili and a cup of coffee.” William knew that he could eat all the crackers he wanted with the chili. “And that’s what I’ll have.”
“Comin’ right up. Nice and hot.”
The next day William enlisted in the Army. He knew he wouldn’t starve, and he would get away from the damn cold, and his even colder father. With his university degree he could have been an officer but he didn’t want to stay in the military for five years, so he went in as a Private, which was only three.
When he finished boot camp he was given a choice: Alaska or Panama. He went south to the warmth and figured he could practice the Spanish he had learned in school. William loved Panama. The people were friendly, he could understand them, the food was plentiful, the fruit was delicious, and it was hot. He would sneak out of his bunk at night, take his machete and go into the jungle and return with what seemed like an entire tree of beautiful ripe bananas for all of his buddies. On his own time he joined the diving, swimming and water polo teams and he and his teammates won most of their competitions. William excelled and won medal after medal. He came in one one hundredth of a second behind the world record in the breaststroke. On one of his platform dives he slipped and fell awkwardly into the water. It resulted in bursting both his eardrums. By the time he arrived at the dispensary the sides of his face were swollen like a newly inflated balloon. He sat in front of the doctor and looked at him. The doctor wasn’t paying any attention to him. When he finally came over to check the ears William screamed in pain. He removed his pistol and laid it on his lap. “You’re going to be gentle, right Doc?”