Authors: Denise Kahn
“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.
“Who?”
“The poet. Nareg Garabedian.”
“The one who liked my nightshirt…yes, he was a very decent man.”
“And quite the writer. You should read some of his poetry. He was brilliant.”
“Damn war. What a waste. When this is all over I swear I will get the business back on its feet and we will print his poetry. The proceeds will go to his family and to his memory.”
“I hope his family will be alright.”
“We will do what we can for them.” Valentina looked at her husband. She knew they could hardly do for themselves, but she also knew Nico was sincere.
That night the Malandros family, and Rebeka, gathered in the living room. They said a prayer for Nareg.
“Mother,” Valentina said, “would you accompany me on the piano? I would like to dedicate a song to him.”
“Of course,” she said, never hesitating. Sela went and sat at the piano.
“Before I sing I would like to read a piece of one of his poems, in his honor. Nareg said that he had written it with the vase next to him.” They listened silently. Valentina read the words:
…The earth is a palette of colors
People are a symphony of colors
Peace is a rainbow of everyone’s colors…
Valentina closed her eyes, delicately opened her mouth and pushed out the first note of Gounod’s
Ave Maria.
Sela accompanied her
.
Nico looked at his wife, always marveling at her beauty and her talent, more in love with her every day.
The vase was present on the piano and as Valentina finished she gently caressed it. Sela kept playing; the family listened, lost in their thoughts and grief.
The knock on the door brought them out of their reverie. Nico opened it. Standing there was the German musician in his uniform. Nico forced himself not to lunge at the man and strangle him. Instead, thinking of Rebeka he shouted: “Valentina, its Sela’s
German
musician friend. Valentina jumped up from her chair and gave quick orders: “Mother, keep playing. Melina, go around the neighborhood and tell everybody you find to bring a chair. Tell them there is a concert right now, right here. Hurry!” Melina ran off. Valentina cursed out loud. “Damn it, we weren’t paying attention.” She turned to Rebeka. “When you see a neighbor coming in with a chair, grab it and have them sit on the couch in front of the piano. You take the chair to the back, sit down and don’t move. Understood?” Rebeka nodded.
The soldier went to Sela and greeted her with the usual heel clicking. She didn’t stop playing, she just looked at him and finally she said: “So, we are to play together, are we?”