Lina Read online

  Lina

  Diane Baumer

  Lina

  © 2018, Diane Baumer

  Title of the Spanish version: Lina

  © 2018, Diane Baumer

  Cover photo: SelfPubBookCovers.com/sarahbooks

  All rights reserved. No part of this text may be reproduced in any form without permission. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means is illegal and punishable by law. Don't do to others what you don't want others do to you.'

  To the opposite side.

  Contents

  1. The concert

  2. The urgency

  3. Imaginations

  4. The arrival

  5. Celebration

  6. Mountain walk

  7. Evocation

  8. The gift

  9. Meeting

  10. Poorly healed wounds

  11. The secret

  12. The truth

  13. Questions

  14. Andreas

  15. The piano

  16. The apartment

  17. East

  18. Belén and Sergio

  19. Second meeting

  20. New life

  21. Hospital

  22. Awakening

  23. Fight

  24. The doctor

  25. The message

  26. Return

  27. New fantasies

  28. Mercedes

  29. A cycling trip

  30. Gebre

  31. The little girl

  32. François’ ruminations

  33. The surprise

  34. Birch trees

  35. The visit

  36. Lina and Doctor Ledesma

  37. On the edge of the abyss

  38. Tomorrow

  39. The bid

  40. Reflection

  41. The attack

  42. Yellow

  43. Repetition

  44. Beware!

  45. Transfer

  46. Mourning

  47. Reconsideration

  48. The journey

  49. The Christmas present

  50. Africa

  51. The decision

  52. Diego

  53. Explosion

  54. The end

  Landmarks

  Notas al pie

  Página de copyright

  Dedicatoria

  Parte

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  PART ONE:

  The Loop

  1. The concert

  From the obsessional way she was staring at her cell phone, it could be inferred that Lina Maldonado was determined to make it ring with the power of her mind. François, François, François… Uneasily, the pianist rested her head on the dresser. Something serious must have happened to him; otherwise, he would be here. Anyone in their right mind wouldn’t just disappear, especially François, who is well aware of my mental weakness.

  Five minutes later, she sent a text as distressing as her previous eleven messages – “If you are reading this, I beg you to write back, please. It’s almost time. The concert is about to begin. Where are you? I hope you’re safe and sound. My brain keeps picturing worst-case scenarios. I’m on the verge of a nervous breakdown. I love you. Actually, I love you more than my own life.”

  The attendant knocked on the door of the dressing room. Lina stood with a start. I hope this is François. Please... François, François, François...

  “Hello?”

  “Your audience is already coming in, Miss Maldonado.”

  “I’ll be right out for them. Thank you.”

  She tried to compose herself and get the worst omens out of her mind. It was not the first time he was late. François did not have a reputation for punctuality, especially lately. Little remained of the friendly art market financial advisor she had fallen in love with. He claims to be the same man, just with a greater workload. He keeps saying that everything is nothing but my imagination. However, I have the feeling I should probably be listening to the echoes of an extinct sound. Well, right now that doesn’t really matter. I just hope he is still alive. I don’t want to love another dead person. Didn’t I receive enough punishment for daring to come into this world despite my weakness? I should calm down. I need to. Why do I keep focusing on a worst-case scenario? He may not hear his cell phone because of the traffic noise. François is sick of telling me that I must learn to live without so much drama.

  Her gaze paused at the mirror for a little while. The withered woman with a bitter grin seemed mostly obnoxious. I look so awful… Even myself, I would flee someone looking like that! What did he see in me?

  The pianist rehearsed a smile to welcome him decently as he turned up – sooner or later François would show up, indeed. It was meant to be like this, or else she would go insane. I just can grimace, like a patient in a mental hospital. Imagine my ridiculous facial gestures as my hands are playing… That would be so embarrassing… I still hope it will be otherwise.

  She shared her deepest contempt with the woman in the mirror. You look so lame and pathetic…

  Was there a school where people could learn how to walk around the world happily, no matter what? Could there possibly be a surgeon capable of removing melancholy from the soul? What were the sort of burdens that could really grieve one’s right mind?

  Since I’m unable to banish these insane thoughts, I’d rather ignore them.

  In disbelief, François would react to her endeavors to explain that her discernment was often wandering inevitably toward the edge of sanity. He could not wrap his mind around a successful woman who was unable to keep her absurd ideas at bay.

  His reasoning was undeniable, yet untrue.

  Lina took a deep breath, held the air inside for a few seconds, and, once her muscles released all tension forcibly, gradually emptied her rib cage. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three... Oh no! François! François! Did you have a deadly heart attack? She breathed in. A few seconds’ pause and... Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one... No! No, please! I hope nothing serious happened to him. If so, I would hold on to his lifeless body until I also died.

  She tried to bridle her imagination. I should channel all these negative thoughts. Why couldn’t he possibly be late simply because he is angry?

  Maybe I said something inappropriate before he rushed home. Yes, that must have been the case. Should I text him about it?

  T
he pianist hesitated as she held her cell phone. I just can’t text him, “Hey! Are you not answering because you died, or just trying to give me a little hard time?” That would make me sound pretty awful, like an unbalanced person. To be honest, it makes no sense for him to mess with my sanity just before a concert. After all, François Remy is my manager. Did he really leave home in anger, or was he just faking it to avoid feeling uneasy about myself? Or maybe for none of these reasons? What did I say? It couldn’t have been that bad, right? “Are you going out now? Where? You won’t make it to the auditorium!” François frowned, not answering. He never gives a reason for anything. Who knows if I was already distraught… That’s what stresses him out most. I need to stop. It’s over. I won’t give another single thought to this.

  She held a tranquilizer in her hand, not daring to take it. Sedatives don’t do any good to a musician when it comes to playing. I need to be strong. As soon as he shows up, I will relax, and all this anxiety will be gone.

  Surely enough, François’ speedy leave was a sign that a crucial issue was calling on him. Something compelling and sudden – an hour before that, he had been checking the car ignition as usual. Everything is a little weird. Being such an unpredictable man, yet unforeseen situations get on his nerves.

  The pianist grabbed the pill again, put it under her tongue, hesitated, and eventually regretted it. What if my mind goes blank? I’d better spit it out.

  Her hands were sweating. Deep in her thoughts, Lina began to coat them in talcum powder compulsively. I just didn’t expect him to go away so suddenly. It was almost time to leave for the auditorium! Hence my anxiety. I was barely able to contain myself.

  The powder made her chain-sneeze. She remembered reading somewhere about talcum powder being a good ant repellent. That must be the reason behind my reaction, she told herself using some contemptuous mordacity.

  As the pianist was laying eyes on her whitened hands, an irrational fear overcame her. They look starched. I just need to rinse them, I need to rinse them...

  As she was holding the wastebasket between her legs, Lina poured the bottled mineral water over her hands. “Look at that puddle…” she thought in embarrassment after watering the floor. My hands were just looking like being in a plaster cast, so stiff... I’m not sure what that was. What an awful feeling…

  The wretched woman spread tissues all over the spilled water. I’m in desperate need of him. My mind will go crazy waiting for him, him, HIM…

  Lina wondered if her words had sounded like a reproach. “Are you going out now? Where? You won’t get to the auditorium on time!” Definitely not. Her tone had been rather that of a plea. “You won’t make it to the auditorium!” No, it had not been a supplication either. “Are you going to leave now?” However, it had felt overwhelming. Wow! François Remy hated pathos… She envied the kind of person who would blurt something out to their partner self-confidently. “Are you going out now?” But she was not like that. I’m not funny. No matter how careful I’m with my words, I keep making him mad.

  Her head began to hurt terribly. It doesn’t surprise me. It will end up exploding if I keep stuffing it with so much nonsense. From now on, I forbid myself to think. Thinking remains strictly forbidden. Come hell or high water. Also, there was the possibility that he had arrived late and entered the hall straightaway.

  Somebody knocked on the door again.

  “Hello?” she asked, hoping it was him.

  “Is there anything you need before you come out, Miss Maldonado?”

  Anything? Yes, of course! Hearing from François would be great...

  “No, thanks. I’ll be ready in five minutes.”

  She opened a small black felt box. It contained her parents’ and her grandparents' wedding bands and her first partner’s ring. The pianist used to invoke her dead relatives and beg them for help with the instrument. To Lina, mine was equal to death. François was safe from that. He was not her anything. He hated labels, especially in private, when no one would be around to help the renowned soloist show off.

  Lina was feeling cold. She put on her thick motorcycle gloves to keep her hands warm. I need to leave the dressing room now. What if he fails to show up alive? I don’t even want to think about it…

  When the pianist saw herself standing in the mirror, she started regretting her choice of outfit – a bizarre flower-print long satin dress. I’m too old and odd-looking to wear this. I may need to put on some weight, though... My nervousness, however, makes me lose more and more pounds. On the day of my death, I’ll be a skeleton by the time I reach my grave. Lina Maldonado, you have the looks of a vine shoot, a spring vine shoot. The effect is grotesque. She made a gesture of disapproval as she checked her neckline. Too much for such a short haircut…

  The unhappy woman took a deep breath, held it for some seconds, and breathed out slowly. I think forced relaxation is mostly unsettling to me. Anyway, here we go.

  She was about to leave when she distractedly stepped on the wet handkerchiefs and slipped. “Don’t put your hands out, Lina!” she said to herself as she fell to the ground.

  Initially, she thought she had broken something – her left side was in great pain. I can’t move… I definitely can’t... However, the telephone rang, which caused the unlucky woman to get up in a hurry to answer. François, François, François...

  “We are calling to offer a special on...”

  No sooner did she hang up than her pain increased. I hope the anti-inflammatory kicks in fast. I need to collect myself. Thankfully, my hands didn’t suffer any damage. As for my fingers, I can easily move them.

  She wondered where she would put her purse. Normally François would keep it. I have no choice but to leave it here. With my cell phone in it? The pianist hesitated. Once onstage, she would no longer be able to talk to him. Damn dress! It did not even have a pocket. Anyway, even if I decided to carry my phone, I’d have to silence it. So it stays here. The die is cast. Either he is already in the room, or this concert will be the end of my career.

  She left the dressing room. I see stars every time I step on my right foot. This looks too bad…

  “Lock the door and hold on to the key, please. My agent isn’t here yet,” she asked the attendant.

  Lina regretted allowing François to be in charge of her affairs.

  “Is everything okay, Miss Maldonado? You are limping,” the man asked.

  “Don’t worry. Heading for the piano this way usually brings me good luck. Some little quirks of mine, you know...”

  The man sighed as he shrugged. Artist stuff... Wouldn’t she play alike if instead she decided to walk as usual?

  Lina advanced through the corridor in pain. She was frightened that her imagination would eventually run amok, afraid of bad fortune or not seeing François anymore, or rather seeing him one last time – dead. Fearing he no longer loved her as before or, even worse, at all. Frightened in case he had decided to abandon her. Afraid of collapsing onstage and ruining her career or, at the very least, making a fool of herself. Dreading the thought of ending up in a mental hospital and suffering from her thoughts for the rest of her life…

  I wish I knew how to turn off my brain... I seem predestined to bear a heavy cross…

  The wife of a Culture division member approached her in ecstasy.

  “‘Unbeatable at the Piano,’ I happened to read the other day on the front page of The Times, following your concert in London. Though it would seem against the English nature to praise a Spaniard! You are a pride for us all, your fellow citizens.”

  “Thank you.”

  “My fellow citizens…” You don’t even know what you’re saying, ma’am. My is equal to death, death, nothing but death... Just listen to me play, but never become anything of mine. I’m telling you for your own good.

  The pianist made a gesture to let her know she intended to leave, yet the woman went on.
>
  “I am touched when I happen to think about how hard it must have been for you to move forward after becoming an orphan. Your story is an example of courage.”

  “Thank you.”

  Courage, myself? Are you sure you know me at all? I don’t even know what that word means.

  “May I have your autograph, please? I beg you. I will put it on the shelf, next to your records.”

  Lina used to think poorly of people approaching her just before a concert. A soloist needed some peace. Does nobody consider my own needs? Suddenly, she saw a pen pointing at her.

  Ma’am, if I take off my gloves, my hands will get cold. If you care so much about my music, you’d better wait until the end of the concert.

  “Here?”

  She proceeded on her way, eager to check whether François was already sitting in the orchestra. A gentleman approached her smiling.

  “Is it a con moto1 composition?” he asked in the irritating tone of those who consider themselves to be funny even if they are not.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Since you are wearing those gloves... Con moto! I was wondering if the tempo would be motorized…”

  “Wow...”

  “Miss Maldonado, it is my pleasure and pride to meet you in person.”

  I suck in person.

  Fortunately, the man did not continue to waste her time.

  “Take me off! Raise my spirits! Take me to paradise!” he exclaimed as he started to walk away.

  Lina breathed a sigh of relief when she finally reached the stage door. The first thing she saw through the slot was the black Bechstein grand piano. Look at me wearing this flashy pattern. It’s so embarrassing… People won’t be able to avert their eyes from my dress.

  The orchestra had begun to fill up. In dismay, she noted that the seat reserved for him was empty. She had to overcome the urge to run away and look for her cell phone – her turn was approaching.

  “Look at that spring dress you are wearing, Miss Maldonado!” the man said as he passed by.

  She looked at herself in shame.

  Is he laughing at me? On top of the dreadful sight, let’s suppose François doesn’t come... I’ve put on this colorful eyesore to please him.