The Music Trilogy (45 page)

ATHENS

CHAPTER 29

Faydon Koulouris had a reputation for being a brilliant physician and a humanitarian. When his patients were in pain, a part of him hurt with them. If someone needed help, advice or information, he always found the time, and when Faydon in turn asked for the smallest of favors, his co-workers practically ran to help him. He set the tone for the professionalism and the dedication of the staff that the Koulouris Clinic was renown for. Poor villagers from the mountains of Greece, as well as the international elite came here. Some could not pay. For these people, the medical help was free. Those who were wealthy donated generously, especially those who knew the Koulouris family. Writing a check for a million dollars or five million dollars was an act of the heart. The wealthy donors did this with pleasure, whether the final outcome of their treatment at the clinic was a positive one or not.

Prominent doctors from various institutions around the world made visits to the clinic. There was a tacit agreement among them that whenever a new development arose, they would try the new technique or medicine, whatever it was. Being in Greece, they did not have the severe restrictions that were imposed on experimental treatments and medications in other countries such as the United States.

Faydon examined Jean. She had leukemia, a rare form of the disease, so rare that the treatment for this was far from standard. Jean’s white blood cell count was alarmingly high and she had begun to experience episodes of fatigue and nausea. Faydon and his team designed a course of treatment for her. They decided to move cautiously. A bone marrow transplant would be a last resort. They opted to try a new chemotherapy drug in combination with radiation. Because the drug was experimental, Jean would have to stay in the hospital. They would have to watch her very closely.

Davina accompanied Jean to the clinic on the day her treatment was to start. They were led to a private room that looked more like a luxury suite in a hotel. The room was filled with dozens of flowers from Rodrigo, Stefanos and Eleni, and Melina. It perfumed the room with a sweet delicate aroma.

Jean tried to reassure her friend. “I’m okay, really, Davina.”

“I’m glad. Did Faydon tell you they’re on the verge of a major breakthrough?”

“Jean lowered her eyes and held Davina’s hand. “I have a dream. I want to give Rodrigo a son and I want you to be the godmother. If only I could accomplish that before I go, then I’ll know that my life would have been worth something, that I could repay you and Rodrigo for some of the love and happiness you’ve given me. Even if I weren’t around, at least I’d know that a little piece of me still is.”

Davina was shaken. She tried to hold back tears. “Don’t be silly. You’ll probably outlive us all.” She held up the hospital gown to Jean. “Come on, get dressed. Faydon’s waiting.”

The treatments took their toll. That first week, Jean would wake up gagging on her own vomit, or she would be soaked in perspiration and shake uncontrollably. She lost track of the days and the dry-heaves that seemed to tear her stomach to shreds, and the nightmares, and the hell of what her body was going through. She finally just wanted to die, but every time she thought of giving up, there was a new letter from Rodrigo or he was on the telephone. Or Eleni and Melina were on the telephone together talking to her. Or Davina was holding her hand, talking of hope. Or one of the nurses or doctors or Faydon himself was there for her.

Jean had been at the clinic for a week when Faydon told Davina that Jean was making progress. Her white blood cell count had declined dramatically, enough to make the doctors think that she might go into remission. “She is very brave,” Faydon said. “She wants to beat this. You know, one of the strongest medicines is will. She has it. You and Rodrigo seem to have given that to her.”

“Does remission mean cure?”

“We are optimistic.”

“Does Jean know?”

“Yes, I spoke to her this morning, but as I told her, she must follow directions. She must avoid depression and unhappiness. That could put her back to square one and we would have to start from the beginning, without knowing the final results, which might not take effect as well. We really can’t tell from one individual to another or from a previous case of that certain person. It could vary each time, sometimes better, sometimes not. It’s strange, even to doctors, that the mind plays such an important role in the physical well being of the body. You see, we have two battles to fight, and if we defeat one and not the other, we will have lost both and in consequence, the war. I talk too much.”

“Not at all, Faydon. Thank you. Will you be at the concert tonight?”

“Yes. I’m taking Bianca.”

“How nice.”

Of course Jean would not be there. She had another week to go at the clinic. But she had been through the worst. This second part of her stay, Faydon said, would be a “piece of cake.”

Davina spent that afternoon rehearsing for the concert in Athens. When she returned from the Acropolis, she asked the hotel to hold all her calls and got into a bubble bath. She planned to soak for a long time. But within five minutes, she thought she heard Jacques calling her name. She got out of the tub and grabbed a towel.

“
Chérie
! Davina!” he shouted.

Something was up. She could tell by the excitement in Jacques’ voice. He was always so calm.

Jacques was definitely not calm. He walked in on her in the bathroom, oblivious to her nakedness. It was a simple matter for him to enter her room as it adjoined his room.

“I’ve just talked to Charles Charpentier,” Jacques said, almost breathless. “Monique is out of the coma!”

Davina finished wrapping the towel around her and sat down on the toilet seat cover.

“She’s just… about an hour ago,” he said.

"Oh, Jacques, what wonderful news.”

Jacques nodded and then he shook his head. Suddenly, he could not find his tongue. Davina led him out of the bathroom.

“Start from the beginning.”

Jacques was sweating. "The good news is she is out of her coma. She is physically and mentally sound. She woke up an hour ago.”

“Thank God.”

"The bad news is she has amnesia. She doesn't remember anything or anybody. She doesn't even know who she is."

"But won’t she remember, eventually?”

"Yes, he says yes, maybe, he says, maybe.”

"We'll leave right after the show. Jacques, can you arrange everything that fast?"

"Yes, of course."

The Herodus Atticus Theater was at the base of the Acropolis. From the top of the hill, you could look down into the two-thousand-year-old theater and clearly see its columns, most in ruins but still stately, and its semi-circle of stone seats. It was a kind of mini-Coliseum, hewn of the rock of the hill that was so famous. Few entertainers had ever been permitted to sing there. It was usually restricted to symphonies and ballets, and now Davina would join the exclusive group of performers to shine under the lights of the Parthenon, the giant temple of marble built for Athena, the guardian of the city of Athens.

A warm breeze was blowing down the slopes of the Acropolis toward the ancient theater below Athena's temple. Students and others, mostly young people, who could not afford the ticket prices, were allowed to sit on blankets on the slopes of the Acropolis to hear the performance. The stone bleachers of the theater were packed with spectators who could afford the price of a ticket. The lower seats, which were carved out of marble near the stage, were reserved for important personages. The President, Prime Minister, and other prominent Greeks took those seats. Davina’s mother Melina and Eleni and Stefanos, Faydon and Bianca, and Penelope and Eric also sat on the marble stones in the front row.

Soft orange spotlights illuminated the Parthenon and the stage. Slowly the lights dimmed and the curtain opened. The orange gels opened up and softly enveloped Davina who sat on a high round stool. She wore a white dress embroidered in gold, a replica of the ancient Greek toga, one shoulder covered and the other bare. She looked like a goddess. Bianca had designed this costume. It was her idea.

Athena was surely smiling down at Davina from her temple above the theater. Davina stood up slowly. She did not want the mood to change. The orchestra started playing a few soft notes to one of her new songs. The first verse, which was in Greek, was very familiar to much of the audience.
Se gnorizo apo tin kopsi tou spathiou sou ti tromeri… I recognize you from the cut of your tremendous sword… who with force measures the Earth…

It was the first line of the Greek national anthem, which was known primarily for its length (one-hundred and twenty-eight verses). But it was also quite beautiful, which was why Davina incorporated the first line of it into her song. The Greeks loved it. They jumped to their feet applauding.

"
Kalispera
, good evening," Davina said.

The energy of the music, Davina and the audience, and even the ancient venue itself made the night magical. After an hour and a half of virtually non-stop singing, Davina finally stopped. She placed her microphone in its stand, bowed to her audience and walked over to her maestro seated at the piano. The conductor got up from his bench, took Davina’s hand and kissed it.

The crowd was on its feet again, clapping and cheering, but they feared that perhaps this was the end of the concert, and they did not want it to end.

“May I?” Davina’s eyes asked the conductor. This was not in their rehearsals. She was up to something, but he was not worried in the least. Davina was as sure of herself as any entertainer he knew. He went to the side of the backdrop where the audience couldn’t see him, but he was in place and ready for anything.

Davina sat at the piano and placed her hands over the keys. She closed her eyes and lowered her head slightly. The audience didn’t seem to breathe. Davina began to caress the keys. Her entire body swayed to the melody of Schubert’s
Röslein
(Little Rose). After a few bars she opened her eyes and smiled directly at Eleni. The audience suddenly understood. The diva could not refuse the invitation and they knew that what was about to happen would be very special.

The maestro picked up on this cue as well. He went to the edge of the stage and held out his arms toward Eleni who got up from the marble seat and took the conductor’s hands. As he escorted her onto the stage, the audience stood to applaud Eleni, who was arguably the biggest star in all of Greece.

At Davina’s side at the piano, Eleni touched her goddaughter’s cheek. No words passed between them. They weren’t necessary. In a moment, Eleni was singing. She had an enormous range. She was a soprano
baritonale
, which was an unusually deep low voice for a woman, but she could also sing the high notes of the coloratura. She was hailed around the world as the
prima donna assoluta
. A few other women could sing as well as Eleni, but no one had the extraordinary range and dynamic quality of her voice. She could sing any aria from any opera.

The orchestra seamlessly joined Davina’s accompaniment. Eleni’s deep, rich voice effortlessly carried across the Acropolis. It did not seem possible that such sounds could come from a single person, least of all a woman. She sang from her soul, from her heart, from some unknown depth of beauty and magic. She sang first in the original German and then switched to Greek. Now she turned to her beloved Davina. This was her cue, and Davina joined in the singing.

They sang to each other as they had sung when Davina was younger, when they sang duets. These were always special moments for them both. When they finished the song, they immediately started another, this one a local folk song with an entirely different rhythm and tone. The Greeks went wild; they were on the feet, singing with the divas. 
“Ti eine afto pou to lene agapi? Ti eine afto? What is this you call love? What is it? S’agapo, s’agapo, s’agapo. I love you, I love you, I love you…”

At the end of the song, the women embraced and Eleni went to center stage to bow. Davina stood next to the piano and clapped with the rest of Eleni’s admirers. The maestro once again escorted Eleni down to her seat. She turned to the crowd one last time and blew them a kiss.

The lights dimmed and the orange lighting spread over the stage as it had at the start of the concert.

"
Efharisto
, thank you," Davina said. "I would like to dedicate this last song to the civilization that gave light to the western world, to the wonderful hospitable people of Greece, to my mother Melina Malandros Walters and to my godmother Eleni Kerzi, who are part of Greece’s beautiful and amazing history."

As was her trademark, Davina repeated her opening song as her last song.
I recognize you from the cut… Hail, hail, O Freedom!

The audience was electrified. They were in love with the music, with Davina, with Eleni, with the evening, and they were proud of these women who honored them and reminded them of all they had to be proud of.

Jacques thought that Davina got better with every show. When she returned backstage after the last encore, he asked her for the third time if she was sure she wanted to leave for Paris tonight. Yes, of course she was sure.