Che Committed Suicide (2 page)

Fanis found me reading the minor pieces on the finance pages with the absorption of an autistic. I was still wearing the cardigan that Adriani had had me wear in the park, not because I was feeling cold, but because I had reached such a state of apathy that I could no longer distinguish cold and heat. I was quite capable of going to bed wearing the cardigan if Adriani didn’t take it off me.

Fanis stood before me and smiled.

‘Are you up for a drive?’

‘How come you’re not on duty?’ I asked him, lifting my eyes from the newspaper.

‘I swapped with a colleague. It suited him to do his shift today.’

I put down the newspaper and got to my feet.

‘Just don’t be late for dinner!’ Adriani shouted from the kitchen. ‘Costas has to eat at nine.’

‘Why, what will to happen to him if he eats at ten?’ asked Fanis with a laugh.

Adriani appeared from the kitchen. ‘Fanis, you’re the doctor. Do you think it’s good for him to sleep on a full stomach while he’s convalescing?’

‘Yes, but you’re the one cooking for him. Even if he eats at
midnight
, he’ll still sleep like a baby.’

‘Let’s be off, it’s getting late,’ I said to Fanis, because I saw she was about to counter him with all her quack remedies and I’d end up missing my outing.

In the past, whenever she saw Fanis, she’d leave whatever she was doing in order to be sociable. Now she opened the door for him and then disappeared into the kitchen. In general, she didn’t look kindly on anyone coming to the house because she thought that it took me away from her complete control. With Fanis, she was reserved and a little suspicious because he was a doctor and she didn’t know what it might come to.

‘Why are you wearing a cardigan? Are you feeling cold?’ Fanis asked me.

‘No.’

‘Take it off, it’s warm outside and it’ll make you sweat.’

I took it off. My wife tells me to wear it, my doctor tells me to take it off, I just obey.

‘Let’s go along the coast road and get a bit of sea air,’ Fanis said, turning from Hymettou Avenue into Vouliagmenis Avenue.

The traffic was light and no one was in a rush. Since the airport was moved to Spata, Vouliagmenis Avenue is not so busy. Fanis drove down Alimou Avenue and turned into Poseidonos Avenue. Crowds of people were squashed into the four feet in front of the stone wall overlooking the sea. The rest of the pavement had been taken over by various Indians, Pakistanis, Egyptians and Sudanese, who had spread out tablecloths and were selling women’s handbags, wallets, euro converters, purses for the new euro coins, binoculars, watches, alarm clocks and plastic flowers. They themselves were squatting next to the tablecloths and chatting to each other, given that the passers-by didn’t seem to care a fig for their merchandise.

It was June. The really hot days hadn’t arrived yet and I could feel the breeze from the Saronic Gulf on my face. There were many people still in the sea or playing rackets on the beach, while some of those fake sailboats that keep sinking and then righting themselves were skidding back and forth in the bay of Faliron. I shut my eyes and emptied my mind of the thought of chicken with noodle soup that made me feel sick, of two months more of autism in the form of convalescence, of the cat that would be waiting for me the
following
evening in the usual place in the park … I tried to think of something else, but I could find nothing.

‘You have to get yourself out of that vicious circle of convalescence.’

Fanis’s voice woke me up and I opened my eyes. We had left Kalamaki behind and were heading towards Elliniko. Fanis went on talking, with his eyes fixed on the road.

‘You know how at first we were always at loggerheads. You had me down as a cold and conceited young doctor and I saw you as a crabby old copper, who thought I had seduced his daughter. Well, I still preferred you even like that to the sop you are now.’

In his attempt to bring me to my senses, Fanis had become
distracted
and had to swerve suddenly to avoid bumping into the back of a Ford cabriolet with a couple inside. The driver had spiked hair, like almost everyone today, as if they had all just had a run-in with Count Dracula. The young girl had a ring through her nostrils.

The fellow with the spiked hair caught up to us at the next red light. He sped up close to let Fanis have a piece of his mind, but then he caught sight of the doctor’s sticker on the windscreen.

‘Doctor, eh? I should have known!’ he shouted triumphantly. ‘With driving like that, you’ve either got to be a doctor or a woman.’

‘Why, what’s wrong with women, Yannis?’ the young girl next to him chipped in angrily.

‘Nothing, honey. It’s just that when you women get behind the wheel you turn into lace murderers.’

‘Oh, so your mother’s a lace murderer, is she? So why are you calling her every five minutes to hear her darling little voice?’

The girl was so furious that the ring in her nostril was shaking. She opened the car door, got out and slammed it behind her.

‘Come back here, Maggie! Where are you going? All right, I’m a fuckhead!’

It was as if she hadn’t heard him. She dodged between the cars and stepped onto the opposite pavement.

‘It’s your fault, you surgeon-butcher!’ the fellow yelled to Fanis.

‘I’m no surgeon,’ Fanis replied, laughing. ‘I’m a cardiologist, and if you go on like that you’ll be needing my services.’

The fellow didn’t hear him, however. The lights had changed to green and he edged forward, honking his horn like a madman to get the girl to come back, while the cars behind him were honking their horns to get him to move on so they could pass.

Fanis was splitting himself laughing. I watched the whole scene impassively and Fanis noticed.

‘You see, in the past you’d have blown your top with the fellow and with me for laughing. Now you just let it pass you by
indifferently
. That’s a feather in the cap for Mrs Haritos. I didn’t think her capable of wrapping you round her finger.’

He pulled up in front of the sports facilities at Aghios Kosmas. By the time he’d found somewhere to park, he had become serious. He turned and looked at me. It was almost dark and we could barely make each other out in the car.

‘Katerina is thinking of giving up on her doctorate and coming back to Athens,’ he said.

‘Why?’

‘To do some restoration work on you. She’s afraid that before long we’ll be spooning you up off the floor.’ He paused a moment, while still facing me. ‘I told her it’s not necessary. You’re a person with a lot of inner strength, all you have to do is get the system up and running.’

‘Is that why you wanted us to go for a drive? To tell me about Katerina?’

‘Because of that, and also because there’s no point in swapping one babysitter for another, for your daughter to take your wife’s place. The point is that you have to do something for yourself.’ He fell silent for a moment, as if weighing up what it was he wanted to say. ‘If you go on like this, there’s no question of your returning to the service. You’ll need more convalescence.’

‘Keep your tongue in your mouth!’ It was the first time my voice hadn’t come out lifeless.

‘Katerina is at the most crucial point in her thesis.’ Again, he halted. He was worried in case he went too far and I took it the wrong way. ‘It’s not the right time to put it on hold. And I can’t stop her. Only you …’

He saw that I wasn’t going to reply and was about to turn the key in the ignition.

‘You’re all of you very kind,’ I said, and he left his hand on the key. ‘My wife, who caters to my every whim, and you, who are always trying to cheer me up, and my daughter, who’s willing to give up her doctorate to come and pamper me. So why do I feel so lousy?’

‘Because you don’t send us all packing and do what you feel like. That’s what I’m trying to explain to you.’

This time he turned the key and the engine started up. He waved goodbye to me in front of the apartment block. I didn’t ask him up because I knew it was time for his evening call to Katerina.

The kitchen table was laid and waiting for me.

‘How was the drive?’ Adriani asked me.

‘Fine. We went along the coast as far as Aghios Kosmas.’

‘In summer, the coastal road is full of life. As soon as you’re well,

I’ll take you for a drive down there in the mornings.’ The message was crystal clear. She would be the one to decide when I was well and she would be the one to take me for a drive. ‘Sit down and I’ll bring you your soup.’

‘I don’t want soup. It’s sizzling outside, people are in the sea and I’m eating noodle soup.’

‘Because you have to get better, Costas dear. It’ll help you to get better.’

‘Which damn quack says that?’ I knew that there was no medical truth behind it – the treatment was her own.

Instead of replying, Adriani took the bowl, filled it with soup and tossed a chicken leg into it. She brought it over and put it in front of me.

‘If you want, eat it, if not, don’t. I’m simply doing my duty,’ she said, going out and leaving me alone in the kitchen.

I clutched at the two corners of the table to pull myself up and let out a few choice words, when suddenly my legs went from under me. My anger deflated like a manometer; all the strength went out of my body and I felt paralysed. I sat down again, took a piece of bread, broke it into pieces and tossed it into the soup. I started to eat the soaked bread like an old man. At the third mouthful, I left the spoon in the bowl and went out of the kitchen.

I was sitting on the couch beside Adriani and watching the
Aquarium
. The
Aquarium
in question is not inhabited by tropical fish, but by the well-known TV hostess, Aspasia Komi, who every week invites various politicians, businessmen, sometimes a footballer or weightlifter, makes accusations, uncovers scandals and, in the end, sends her guests away smiling. In the past, I would turn my nose up at such programmes and leave the room. Now I turn my nose up and watch them, just like nine out of ten other Greeks today.

Komi was sitting in a comfortable armchair facing Jason Favieros, a well-kept fifty-year-old, who was sitting in the other comfortable armchair. If it wasn’t widely known that he had made bags of money in the last twenty years, you would have taken him for a rocker from the seventies who had forgotten to shave and change his jeans. He was the owner of a huge construction company with projects throughout the Balkans, was building a large part of the works for the Olympics, but was wearing faded jeans and a crumpled jacket.

Komi had him with his back to the wall and was questioning him about the accusations that the Olympic works would not be ready in time, but Favieros did not appear to be the slightest bit worried.

‘Put it all down to unfounded rumours, Mrs Komi,’ he said. ‘In undertakings of this kind, a great deal of money is involved, there’s a lot of interest generated and Greece is a small country in business terms. Even if we disagree, it’s only natural that competitors often resort to trying to discredit their opponents or even eliminating them.’

‘So are you telling me that the building projects will be ready on time for the Olympics?’

‘No,’ he replied with a self-confident smile, ‘I’m telling you that they’ll be ready much earlier.’

‘You realise that you have just made a commitment to our viewers, Mr Favieros.’ Komi turned to the camera and was beaming with satisfaction.

‘Of course,’ replied Favieros completely at ease.

‘Yes, I’d just like to see you when we’ve made fools of ourselves before the entire world,’ commented Adriani, who thinks all
assurances
are fraudulent.

Perhaps she is right, but Favieros had brought the discussion to an end with his commitment and Komi was looking for some other ground to do battle.

‘Nevertheless, there’s still an unanswered question in business circles, Mr Favieros,’ she said. ‘How did you manage to create that – albeit by Greek standards – colossal business empire of yours from absolutely nothing in the space of fifteen years?’

‘Because very early on I understood two simple things,’ answered Favieros immediately. ‘First, if I confined myself to Greece, my
businesses
would be condemned to stagnation. And that’s why I opened up in the Balkans. Today, either directly or through my subsidiaries, I’m engaged in projects throughout the Balkans, even in Kosovo. And apart from that, I exploited the traditionally friendly relations that Greece has with a number of Arab countries.’

‘And what was the second thing?’

‘That a businessman shouldn’t have any complexes. A large part of our work is carried out in partnership with other European
companies
, much bigger than mine. I can assure you, Mrs Komi, that I have never been afraid that they would swallow us up.’

‘It seems that you discovered the secrets of globalisation very early, Mr Favieros.’

Favieros broke into laughter. ‘I knew the secrets of globalisation long before globalisation.’

‘How about that, a pioneer then! And how did you come to
discover
them?’

Komi came out with a cute little smile as a kind of down-payment for the amusing reply she was about to hear.

‘From leftist internationalism, Mrs Komi. Globalisation is the last stage of internationalism. Read the
Communist Manifesto
.’

Whereas, until now, he had been completely open and informal, I suddenly discerned in his voice something like pride and
provocation
at the same time. The smile on Komi’s lips had turned into a smile of perplexity. She had no idea what either internationalism or the
Communist Manifesto
was, much less what they had to say. But she was experienced and quickly recovered her composure. She leaned forward to fix him better with her gaze.

‘You might call it internationalism and the
Communist Manifesto
, but others would call it connections with the governing party, Mr Favieros,’ she said in a bland tone. ‘And they also talk of your
dealings
with ministers.’