TS 2 Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Guntram de Lisle's Diary

May 5^th, 2009

This morning I took a flight to Paris after I got rid of Konrad, behaving worse than a jealous cat, almost not letting me sleep the whole night and using me as a pillow later. I swear I almost had a heart attack with all the gym he wanted to do. No complaints from me, but I'm glad to have three days of rest ahead of me now.

The boys were very happy to find Papa in my bed and I nearly had my third heart attack right there. When they ran away to get dressed, I pushed him out of my bed and he laughed like a big child at my embarrassment. Close well the tie because you have a bite there and I wonder what could Ferdinand tell you.

In a way, I felt a bit lost to be alone in the airport. No one (visible) to hold my hand. As I'm a big boy now, I was able to find my way to the lounge and be at the boarding gate on time.

One stewardess gave me a copy of The Evening Star even if I didn't want one and I started to read it. There, on the Police Section was the account of a horrible murder in London, at an Ilchester's Place mansion of a Russian billionaire woman and my heart stopped. I gasped and read the article again. There were no names, but the address and the house description looked very much like Constantin's. Not many have a large garden or such size. The fifty something woman had been found with her throat slit inside the house and there were no signs of violence or robbery. All the valuable artworks were in the house and the police was baffled. She was a widow and left four children.

I had no doubts the victim was Olga Fedorovna, but who could have done it? Who hated her so much? She was out and had almost no money as Constantin had left everything into lawyers' custody, according to Malchenko. First, I had screwed up her chances to make some cash and now, she was murdered.

I felt truly bad about her even if I knew she had been using me in her war with Constantin.

Poor Sofia, Constantin, Vladimir and Ivan! Orphans at such an early age! Oblomov's wife is Constantin's cousin and perhaps she takes care of them. She seemed to be an elegant and kind lady when I saw her at Mountpleasant's.

The stewardess had to tell me that we had landed and the people in the tourist class wanted to leave the plane too. I excused myself and dashed out, taking along my cabin bag with me. A young lady, dressed as a secretary was waiting for me at the gate and told me to accompany her to the car and the chauffeur drove us to a large flat on the Île de Saint Louis, at the Place Dauphine. I never thought that people could live there; that it was just for officials or tourists, but Sybille owned the three last stores of a building with a fantastic view. She was not there, but she was expected to return at four o'clock so I decided to go for a walk as I needed to clear my mind.

I went to the Sainte Chapelle to watch the vitraux and the soft light coming through them eased my nerves just a bit. My mind was in turmoil as I crossed the Pont Neuf and walked along the Seine direction to Les Invalides.

Funny how we always return to the scene of crime. If I understood correctly, Konrad saw me in Notre Dame and followed me to the Army Museum, asking the Director to find my name out. I sneered at the memory and leaned myself against the parapet overlooking the river, watching the tawny waters run below me. I turned around and looked at the elegant buildings realising that the large open in between spaces made them look just perfect. I stifled a giggle when I also realised that I was not paranoiac as I used to believe when I had that funny feeling of being watched all the time.

A simple Mass on a December 24^th changed my life and I didn't know what to do next. True I love Konrad, but I have more and more reserves about “resuming my Consort duties”. Did the old man at Les Invalides have any clue of how his folder was going to change our lives? Knowing Konrad as I do now, I'm sure he had the story of my life dug out from that small piece of paper by nightfall. By the next morning, he had up to my school grades and Michael Dähler had found where was the pencil box I've lost in the fifth class. The memory of our “first date” in Venice seemed to me now like an interrogatory as he was looking for wholes in my story or for a deception.

Coming to think, it certainly looked like a deception. From his point of view, of course. The lover who looks exactly as the previous one, but in a “softer and sweeter” version. No wonder Ferdinand was so defensive.

Our meeting tested all logics.

Why on earth did I go to Mass?

I mean, I like attending the ceremony and I was doing it also in Buenos Aires, but my French was very bad at that time and I would have had many troubles to follow it. Why did I go? Why did I risk Fedérico's scorn just to go there?

And I remembered it. My lawyer, Chano had told me to go just before I was flying to Paris. “Go on the 24^th because it's your chance to see the Christendom Greatest Show without many people around. Paris vaut bien une messe, Guntram. On the 24^th is total madness and they only let the French in.”

Since when, Chano, the biggest atheist I've ever met, cared shit about religion? Could he really speak French? I didn't realise at the time, but I'm sure that he spoke French when he was always telling me he couldn't say a word and my father had to bring a translator along.

Chano and Nicholas knew each other for a long time and Nicholas was a Mason, small detail to leave out of the picture if you know that your best friend is part of a brotherhood like the Opus Dei. Had they just sent me there like a lamb to the sacrifice?

Everything makes sense now.

It was a set up for all of us since the beginning. God had nothing to do with this.

How does Chano used to say? “Fighting or ordering you is useless Guntram. I can only suggest you what to do and hope that you have enough common sense as to follow my advice. You can be stubborn like a mule.”

How to push the stupid Guntram in the right direction? Mock his beliefs and his “rebel streak” will surface and he will hit you with the crucifix. “The Christendom Greatest Show” are not nice words to tell to a teenager believer.

Shit! I'm in the Conservative Rebel Category! I would have sided with La Vendée.

“Que je suis con!” I bellowed and a pedestrian looked at me shocked. “Excusez-moi,” I added in haste, blushing at my outburst.

I started to walk back to the flat, lost about what to do and I realised the second thing. Sybille was on Nicholas' side as she was Konrad's adversary. I don't believe for a second that Michel Lacroix is an innocent bystander lawyer; that's a contradiction of terms. He most probably is a Mason too and of a higher grade as he is Nicholas' superior. I couldn't return to them.

But I couldn't tell it to Konrad. What if I was wrong and my mind was playing tricks on me? How would I tell it? “Hi, my love. You know what? You were right since the beginning. I was planted in your life to turn it into a living hell. We are both screwed up. Big time.”

Even if I would ever find the best diplomatic approach -and diplomacy was never my forte- Konrad would react like the psycho I know, killing Nicholas, Chano and his family, Michel, Sybille and who knows how many more in one of his “killing sprees” as Constantin used to call them.

I saw a Metro entrance and I took it to Père Lachaise.

I also learned today that a cemetery has street names. My parents' small vault was at Ave. Bion according to the “reception desk”. I walked the quiet cobblestone streets, with the large trees looming over me till I reached the vault, in far away corner, away from the tourist or the famous people. It was a small, non descript construction, big enough for two graves, without any kind of decoration or statues. Not even crucifixes or angels. Only my parents' names engraved at the top, without any kind of dates. I noticed that there were some fresh flowers on my mother's side, daisies.

I never felt so lonely and lost in my life than when I touched the frozen stone.

'Comment tu me manques, papa,' I sighed and caressed his name, dead since twenty years but I was still missing him like the first day. My papa had been the only human being I had grew attached to until Konrad arrived to my life. I longed to hear his footsteps on the foyer of our flat, but one day they ceased to be heard and I was alone.

More alone than I wanted to admit to myself.

Alone, alone, all, all alone,
Alone on a wide wide sea!
And never a saint took pity on
My soul in agony.

Coleridge was damn right and I don't know why the verses hit me so much, but I realised also there that I was on my own and my father was just a ghost of a distant past that was still shaping my future.

I can't let ghosts rule my whole life. How did my friend Coco used to say back in school? “Stay away from churchyards. Only dead relatives willing to get a bony hand out of the grave and cast a spell upon you. Look what they did to me: Coriolano Cosme. Do you think I will ever get a girlfriend with this name?”

I have to break free of them and make my own decisions. They are not here. I am here and I will answer to them when my time comes.

I took the small sketch pad I always carry with me and started to write to him. I told him how much I had mourned him and how sorry I was for not telling good bye to him, but that I had chosen my own path; that I had two wonderful children and I loved a man no matter how many pitfalls we had faced in the past. That I was sorry for all the pain Konrad had caused him, but in a way he had saved my own life. That before I met him, I was thinking I was going to jump out of a window because I couldn't stand the loneliness and misery of my grey existence. Even during our darkest times together, I had never considered suicide like I used to do before meeting Konrad. He made me feel alive, although there were times I wanted to smash something against his head for lying or cheating on me.

“You always told me you loved my mother beyond the grave. It is the same for Konrad and I. He is my life and I am his. Forgive me, papa for not being the son you expected. I can not change and I do not wish to do so. I love you, Guntram.”

I folded the paper and slid it through the slabs and I felt much better.

I knew what to do next: leave Paris. There is nothing for me in here. Only troubles and deceptions.

* * *

May 5^th, 2009

Paris

“What does it mean you lost him?” Lacroix growled and the large man flinched at the voice.

“The boy walked toward Les Invalides. He stopped to look at the river and jumped into the metro at Assemblée Nationale. I lost him at Les Halles. He has no idea where he's going and that makes almost impossible to predict his moves.”

'Typically Guntram,' Michel thought furiously. “Find him out!”

“Yes sir,” the man answered sheepishly and left the large room.

'I'll drown him myself in the Seine if he was running back to Lintorff! What happened to him now? He came and was happy to meet Sybille. He was not so... crazy when he was a small child. He always stayed put, drawing with his pencils. He never gave me a single headache till he fell in love like a dodo! What was he thinking? Why God had to punish me like this? Of all people, Guntram had to fall for the worst kind of trash that ever walked upon this earth!'

'The only thing Chano had to do was to keep my boy away from Europe and what's the first thing he does? He flies to Paris and lands in the middle of the Order's Christmas' Celebration!' His fist hit the brilliant wooden surface but the pain didn't alleviate his righteous fury. God's idea of punishment was sadistic to say the least. His betrayal to that decrepit Order and Church had been punished by the rapt of his only child by those two institutions. “Lintorff brainwashed my child and made him believe all his lies. Guntram never cared about money or power; he only wanted to be a good person and rise a family and now he's Lintorff's perfect puppet, unknowingly helping him to consolidate his power now that the devil is convinced that God is on his side.”

“Crazy crusader!” Michel swore and poured himself another glass of cognac. 'I'm going to finally get that pancreatic cancer if I continue to drink like this,' he mused and did his best to calm himself down. It was about 7 p.m. So he could consider himself “officially worried” as the boy had not showed up for his interview at four. He dialled Guntram's number and was surprised that he answered almost immediately. “This is Michel Lacroix, Guntram. How are you?” He said casually and could hear his boy's gasp.

“Hello Michel.”

“Sybille just phoned me and told me you missed your appointment with her. Are you all right? Did you get lost in Paris?” Michel asked, wishing that it was the reason behind his son's disappearance.

“No, I'm fine. Could you please offer her my excuses? Something came up and I need to catch a plane now.”

“Are your children sick?” Michel felt his blood starting to boil.

“No, they're fine. I just need to go away to visit a friend,” Guntram answered slowly and Michel thought he had heard the faint sound of a plane as background noise.

“I simply don't understand your change of heart, Guntram. I am concerned about you.”

“Please don't be. I was at my father's grave and I realised that I have to end everything now. I'm going to visit another person now.”

“Guntram, this makes no sense at all. Where are you?”

“At Charles de Gaulle Airport. The boarding starts in twenty minutes. I'm flying to Moscow and Smolensk. This is something I have to do on my own and this is my chance.”

“Guntram this is nonsense!” Michel yelled and forced to calm himself down. “You can't fly to Russia. It's a very long journey and do you even have your medications with you?”

“I have pills for a whole week. I'll get some things on the way. It's just for three or four days. I just want to visit Constantin and make my peace with him, just as I did with my father.”

Michel was in shock. His son's mental stability was much worse than he had ever imagined. “Guntram, flying to Russia might be exhausting for you. Stay where you are and I'll pick you up and we will speak about your father.”

“No, thank you. I don't believe in Masons' lies. Send my greetings to Nicholas and tell him I will never speak with him in my life. I don't like to be deceived or used like a pawn. I'm a person, not a tool or a weapon. Good bye, Michel.” Guntram said and switched off his mobile.

Michel swore colourfully and dialled Malchenko's number. He was well aware that there was no way he could stop Guntram now, but at least he will warn the other and force him to look after his son in his quest for a mobster's grave.

'At least his affection for Repin was true. A sane mobster as boyfriend would have been a hundred times better than a deranged, obsessive sociopath.'

* * *

Guntram de Lisle's Diary.

May 5^th (cont.)

I took the metro back to Ètoile and from there one of the buses, Navettes, that go to the CDG Airport. I went to the information desk and bought a ticket to Moscow by Aeroflot. I've never been in that airline and the nice girl told me that the plane was almost empty and that I could board it in four hours and I would be there in another four. The price for a business class was not too expensive, less than €3.000 when I'm normally charged that for less. I didn't want to risk to be in the “couch class” because of my heart condition and she told me that it's quite crowded and noisy there.

At the time of my meeting with Sybille I was making the check in queue, surprised that there was no preferential counter. I advanced toward the flight attendant and I showed her my ticket. She asked me for my visa and I was shocked. Idiot me forgot that you need a visa to fly to Russia!

“All right, sir, it will be €200 cash please,” she told me without bating an eyelash.

“I beg you pardon?”

“Normally it costs €30 if you make it a week in advance or €100 for six hours. In your case would be €200 cash as we are in a hurry.” After such a speech you can only pay and be mute. When I was giving her the notes and my passport, which she handed over to another Russian who in turn went to another desk and stamped it noisily.

“You have seventy-two hours to register your visa upon your arrival. Do it at hotel, sir.”

“Thank you,” I said and got the paper to go to the business lounge. I was very tired and almost didn't realise that someone had grabbed me by the arm on my way out.

“Argentino, no?” A man in his thirties told me. “Pibe, con los rusos es como en casa.” “Kid, with Russians is just like back home. Juan López and this is Carlos Arredondo. We are flying to Moscow too. Business, but normal class,” he chuckled.

“Do you come all the way from Buenos Aires?” I asked shocked. Do I look so Argentinean? How the hell does an Argentinean look?

“Yup, Fourteen hours flight plus seven hours more waiting for the next flight. We're dead and we are going to upgrade ourselves. See you later.” “All right,” I said and didn't give much thought to it. Michel phoned me and he sounded genuinely concerned but I didn't want to have any more contacts with them and tried to evade him. I'm very nervous about all this and I would like to speak with someone sensible like Goran. He would listen to me, shout me for being an idiot and then help me. I swear I didn't realise till now.

In a way, I feel bad for standing Michel up. I can't explain it, but I always felt like he was like a father to me. It's something I feel in my guts. Yes, right Guntram, the boss of the Masons has fatherly intentions toward you.

I am an asshole.

I sat in the lounge and as expected the two Argentineans didn't show up. As if you could upgrade your ticket without paying a lot of money!

I had to eat my words once I was sitting in the plane, almost alone except for a couple of Russian businessmen two rows ahead of me. I heard some cheering and the gauchos were in, taking the places next to me. It was the first time they were flying to Russia and were into the meat export business, from Santa Fe. They had bribed the stewardess for €200 each and been promoted to business class. They were shocked when the stewardess offered me a glass of Veuve Cliquot and I refused it.

“Hey, you won't get another chance!” Carlos told me and I explained him that I had a heart condition. I took my mobile to switch it off and he whistled.

“Mobster?” he laughed and I almost fainted. “Isn't that a military smartphone like Obama's?”

“I guess so,” I said.

“What do you do?”

“I paint,” I answered and both laughed like crazy.

“Mobster, no doubt.”

“If I were you, I wouldn't joke about it in Russia,” I said a bit stronger than necessary. “Russians are very sensitive and not all of them are into murky business.”

“They're like us. Look ten minutes and we bribed already someone. Just like home.”

“Be very careful. Russians are not what they seem and much cleverer than you.” Hell, Constantin would have had those two for breakfast. “You will not fool a Russian very easily.”

“You seem to know them.”

“I met a few. Be always as straightforward as you can. They hate lies.”

“We'll keep it in mind. Where are you staying?”

“I'll look for a hotel upon my arrival or fly to St. Petersburg,” I answered curtly.

“We are at the Marriot Aurora. Do you know it?”

“I was never in Russia too,” and Konrad never spoke about it. Coming to think I have no idea where he stays every time he goes there. Maybe he has a house or a flat.

Fortunately dinner was served and they remained quiet and left me alone till the landing. When I was walking toward the customs office, my mobile rang and it was Konrad, pissed off -no, beyond furious- at me.

“This morning you ran to Paris and where the hell are you now?”

“Russia. Moscow.” I said in German and he swore in a way that expanded my vocabulary. Germans are quite graphic in their curses.

“What are you doing there? Are you crazy or just stupid?” He bellowed, returning to his charming and more appropriate ways.

“Honestly, I don't know, Konrad. I will be back in four days maximum. I took a detour.”

“A detour? Get in the next plane back to Zurich!”

“I'll ask Oblomov for his permission to be here.”

“It does not work like that! Where are you staying?”

“No idea. Any recommendations?”

“Go to the Ararat Park Hyatt and stay there. We have an account with them. Monika will make the arrangements and tomorrow morning you take the first plane back to Zurich or I will drag you back home!”

I switched off the phone because it was my turn to face the customs officer and doing it with your German boyfriend yelling like a madman can't give a good impression to the man. I told him I was here to visit the Tretyakov Gallery and he bought my story after he took a look at my golden credit card. I asked the Argentineans their hotel's name and decided to stay there.

The hotel was very impressive and the staff friendly. They even explained me how to get the train to Smolensk in the morning and where to exchange euros into roubles and I almost had a heart attack when €400 transformed themselves into 15.000 roubles. Obviously, I'm not used to use such numbers regarding everyday money. I had one more coffee with them and we spoke about Argentina and how things were going fine for everyone, except for the high inflation, but the growth rates were pretty good and a commodities bull market was a true blessing for all.

“Where do you live?”

“At the moment in Zurich. In four days, I don't know,” I said nervously. “My boss was upset that I flew to Russia without his permission.”

“That sounds bad,” one of them said sympathetically. “Is it a good job?”

“It has its days, believe me.”

* * *

May 6^th, 2009

I'm almost dead on my feet. I took the train very early in the morning and they were not joking about the seven hours. I arrived at four and with a lot of troubles and using English, French, German and my “Russian in Fifty Words” dictionary told the taxi driver to take me to the cemetery.

The train trip gave me a lot of time to think about what I would tell to Constantin and after many doubts I was able to write him a letter.

My dearest friend,

It's been a long time since I embraced you for the last time. I meant to visit you much earlier but it was not easy for me to find the way to come from Switzerland. Perhaps I also didn't want to acknowledge your departure.

I feel responsible for it as Konrad told me he used your inattention to give the material to your wife. I spoke with Malchenko and he told me that all was a lie to discredit you and I feel horrible for you because you didn't deserve such a cruel fate.

Your life was not an example of goodness but I can only remember the good things about you, the many artists you helped, asking anything in return; how you stood by me even if this could and would be your downfall; the talks or letters we shared and how I enjoyed your friendship over the years.

I was terrified of you at the beginning but you turned out to be one of my best friends and I still think about you almost everyday, specially when I paint and remember your suggestions or critics. You helped me to mature as an artist and I'm who I am now thanks to you.

I couldn't love you in the way you wanted but I loved you as a friend and a mentor. Sometimes I think that it hadn't been for Konrad or the twins, I would have gone with you if we would have just talked in Buenos Aires. I used to believe that I would have never accepted your world, but I accepted Konrad's, and they are not so different in their methodologies.

I found out about your wife's death yesterday and I'm sorry for her too. Olga Fedorovna didn't like me but I understand her; she was defending her children. I hope she has found peace.

I will pray for you, my friend and have faith in our Saviour's infinite kindness to forgive you and that you can forgive me for the wrongness I unwillingly caused you.

Rest in peace my friend and I hope we see each other in the afterlife.

With love,

Guntram

I folded the letter and put it in an envelope I had bought at the train station. I walked to the office in the cemetery, hoping that the clerks would be helpful like the French had been.

I entered the dingy room and two men were sitting with faces depicting perfectly the word boredom. The checked me from head to toe with eyes that look like scans and it drove me nervous. I still have a few years ahead of me and those two were already calculating the size of the coffin and how much they should dig.

“Priviet,” I said and then the other great phrase I know; “Gabarite pa anglisky?”

“Niet,” the larger told me and looked at me dispassionately.

“I am looking for a grave.” I felt like an idiot playing Pictionary because I took my note pad and quickly drove one. With great effort I tried to remember the few Russian lessons I got from Alexei and wrote “Репин” and added Constantin Ivanovich with a “gde?”

Both men went livid and I realised they had understood me perfectly. “Smolensk State Prison. Died a year ago.”

“Go home, kid.” The smaller one said in perfect English. “Nothing for you here.”

“Please, I just want to pay my respects to him. Tell me where is his grave and I'll go away before closing time.”

“Bad man, go home.”

I thought they were dribbling to get a better price and I took five thousand roubles from my wallet and offered them. “I understand this is a big favour” but they still refused to move from behind their desks. I doubled the bet to ten thousand with a “just write the address in the paper and how to get there.”

“NO, bad business for us. He's dead, leave him there. Mafia. Go home.”

I thought hard and found a solution. “This watch is an original Patek Philippe, a Calatrava. It costs over ten thousand euros as second hand. It's yours if you show me the grave.”

They looked at each other and I knew they had swallowed the hook whole. “It's from China!” the smaller man said.

“No, it's original.” I removed from my wrist and gave it to him so he could inspect it closely. “Check on the inside if you don't believe me. It's white gold and sapphire crystal. Nothing made in China, all in Geneva and it costed me several months of work. Please, help me. I came from very far away.” Yes, I bought it with my own money and just because I had put away the noble watch Konrad had given me, when we broke up. A friend in the University told me about a dealer going out of business and I bought it for a very good price.

“We are not helping you. Bad person, go away. Lots of enemies,” the larger spoke and the other shouted with him in Russian. They argued for some minutes and I couldn't understand a single word of what was being said.

The small one, I guess he was the boss, stopped the argument and told me that he would take me to the grave, but I they would not register my visit as it was mandatory. “Only fifteen minutes and you're out,” he said and his friend slid the watch into his jacket's interior pocket. “Come, I'll show you.”

We walked to the farthest corner, almost abandoned and I noticed that there were almost no tombstones in this area or Orthodox crosses. At some point he stopped and showed me a grave with only a piece of rotten wood with the name Constantin Repin carved and nothing else.

“Is that it?” I asked shocked.

“Political prisoners, no one wants them. Two years here and then to the general ossuary. It's rented.”

“Political prisoner? No, there's a mistake, he was charged of tax fraud but it was a falsehood.”

“You get tax fraud if you bother the wrong people at the Kremlim: political prisoner. Do what you have to do and let's go away.” He took several steps backwards to allow me some privacy and I knelt at Constantin's grave, feeling utterly sad because he didn't deserve this. Not even his own family had bothered to buy him a decent grave. Oblomov for old times sake, could have spent a few roubles to let him rest in peace and not be discarded into the trashcan after two years. Not even a single tombstone was there for him.

“Hello, my friend, I'm here,” I whispered and after a quick look at the man, with his back turned at me (when a Russian doesn't want to find something out, they simply don't do it. Alexei told me that it was a survival skill you learned at a very early age) I left the letter under a rock that was there. I caressed the piece of wood and felt very sad for Constantin. “Please forgive me, if you can. You were not as bad as everybody told me.”

I rose and walked toward the man and he asked me if I felt all right. I said yes, and asked him how much will it cost to buy a grave.

“No sales; you can rent one up to fifty years. There is nothing left after that.”

“How much will it be?”

“You can't. Only direct family.”

“Please, I'm sure that something could be done, like a wrong entry in your books. After all, forgery was a minor offence in the old times.”

“Two years for lying in your reports, life for failing to fulfil your quota. I can help you but it won't be cheap.” He momentarily cracked a smile and I hoped. “The ring you wear.”

“It's not mine, belongs to another organization,” I said softly and he took a good look at me and placed me in the “Mafia” category. “I can give you 15.000 roubles if you sign the lease for fifty years.

“Twenty five years and 25.000 roubles,”

“Forty years and you can have the 25.000 roubles.”

“No, this is a hot body. Too risky,” he changed his mind.

“Ever seen a Sectera Smartphone? You can't hack them, I'm sure you can sell it for a good price. I'll give it to you without the chip.”

“Why do you care about this man? Dead is dead.”

“I have my reasons. Do we have a deal? Leave your friend out as you seem to the the boss.”

“All right, I'll sign the lease but I need 10.000 roubles to pay for the first ten years. No one cares if you pay or not later. He stays there, we don't dig him out.”

“Of course. Seven thousand more would be enough for a tombstone? Just his name and data. I should be ready by tomorrow at this hour and I want a copy of the papers.”

“Why?”

“To put you in the grave next to Constantin Repin if you dare to lie to me.” I said with that whispered voice that only Goran can make and you really pee on yourself. Fortunately it worked because the man nodded and gulped at the same time.

We returned to the office and there was a large man, dressed in a dark suit who addressed me in English, telling me that he was representing Mr. Boris Malchenko and I swear both clerks looked like dead bodies- and he wanted to have a word with me. “Tomorrow you'll get the rest after I see everything is to my liking,” I told the man before following the ape.

At the cemetery gate was a large car and inside was Boris who smiled at me and shook hands. “You almost shocked to death two of my people. This is not Paris, you don't use a Patek Philippe to bribe them; it creates a bad habit in my people.”

“I'm sorry if I interfered with your territory. I had no idea that this was your land too.”

“Here you have it. Nice piece indeed,” he told me and gave me back my watch. “My people has to learn to be nicer to tourists. What are you doing so far away from home?”

“I only came to present my respects to Constantin. I will leave tomorrow morning or tonight if you prefer, sir.”

“Constantin would kill me if I let you go just like this. Stay at my house for a few days and then, return to your country. I appreciate that you came all the way just to visit him.”

“How do you know I was here?”

“The man in the office told my people that someone wanted to visit Mr. Repin's grave and had given them a very expensive watch as payment. I imagined it was you as our enemies use roubles or shoot.”

“Do you make business in here?” I asked puzzled.

“Death is a very profitable business, Guntram.”

“I rented Constantin's grave for forty years and asked for a tombstone for him. Is that all right?”

“Thank you very much. I'm most obliged with you. I can't do it as the authorities control everything related to him and they're like crazy after someone killed the witch. Not my doing, perhaps Lintorff as she had placed a contract over your head in the last weeks. Stupid and greedy woman! Attacking you! I'm glad our Griffin took matters into his hands. Russia is a mess since Constantin's departure.”

I was silent while he elaborated more on the local gangsters internal problems and I couldn't care less. It seems Constantin had been a great leader for them and the vacuum power has caused a bloody internal war.

Boris had a very large mansion in the outskirts of the city. French style and I believe it was a noble house that had been restored in the past years with very good taste. The Arseniev in them, as Konrad would say. Nothing cheap or flashy.

I met there a very young and beautiful woman, almost looking like a porcelain doll and she had a cute and rubicund baby with her; Boris' son, Constantin. I'm not sure but I think Elena, the woman was not his official wife, but his mistress. If I remember correctly, Boris told me his wife was American. Anyway, who am I to ask such things? She told me she had been a ballet dancer until the baby was born and now was retired and starting a dance academy in the city. She showed me her photo album when she had been on tour with a Russian Ballet company all over Europe and America, playing the classics.

The baby was only ten months old and he was crawling everywhere at full speed. I found him very funny and he found me also entertaining.

“You are good with kids. Why don't you get your own?” Boris asked me and it took me a lot of willpower to crack a smile.

“I have more in my hands than I can take.”

“No, I mean children of your own.”

“I need a wife for that, and I see no one willing at the moment.”

“Not always. Lintorff doesn't have one. It would be good for you to have children. Who knows, maybe they paint also!” He joked.

“Would you allow me to make a portrait of Elena and your son? I would like to give it to you.” I said quickly, hoping to change the subject and he was taken aback.

“I would be honoured to have it. I always liked your style, but I don't know if you can keep my son in one place for more than a second.”

“It's all right, I've seen him long enough. I would have to ask you for some paper. I only have a small pad with me.”

“You can work tomorrow, Guntram. I understand you want to visit the graveyard again.”

“If it doesn't pose an inconvenience for you.”

“None at all. You're a foreigner, the services will not bother you. I thank you in Constantin's name.”

“It's the less I can do for him. Why didn't you tell me before?”

“You live far away and this is not your business. Let us solve our problems. He was very happy with you.”

We had dinner together and I slept at his house. In the morning I had an A3 sketch pad of good paper and I made several sketches before deciding to use sanguine to make it. Elena was very happy with the results and asked me if she could keep the sketches of her son.

Around five, Boris accompanied me to the cemetery and checked that everything was in order. I had more money with me but he didn't let me give them a compensation for the lost watch or the phone. “No, they have to respect me and you're my guest.” The tombstone was ordinary looking but it was better than nothing. I looked for the letter but it was nowhere to be found. Boris told me that the workers might have stolen it and would throw it to the trash as it contained no money or gold. Seems there is the tradition of giving money to the departed ones. I suppose that is for paying Charon for crossing you the Styx river. “It's not as if Repin could read it, Guntram,” he told me.

I spent a second night in his house and there was a meeting with several Russians and I evaded them and stayed with Elena. One of them was looking at me rather insistently, but I ignored him although his face was somehow familiar to me. The less I need is more troubles with another Russian mobster.

Today I took the train back to Moscow and I got a nice ape to accompany me. “Things are complicate between me and Oblomov. He wouldn't dare to touch you, but some of his underlings could be stupid enough as to try something,” Malchenko told me. Gorilla accompanied me to the airport and put me on the plane back to Zurich.

Konrad must be pretty mad at me, but I needed to do this.

* * *

Ferdinand von Kleist's Diary

May 9^th, 2009

Once more we took a walk on what Michael calls the “Guntram Zone”. It's a scary place where logic, codes and perhaps Copernican laws cease to exist. In a way, Guntram in his own “mousy” way can shake things much more than Armin and his gang on a Saturday night. That is nothing that you cannot fix with the police or a judge.

No, our Guntram plays in the big leagues. He plays with Russian mobsters.

This time, for some unknown reason (I don't want to hear it) he decided just to take a plane to Moscow, disobey a direct order from his Griffin and Consort, endanger his life by travelling seven hours in a train and spend the night with the butcher from Smolensk, telling Konrad that Arseniev is a very “educated man” Surely he can recite Horatio while he cuts you into pieces. Even Oblomov keeps distance from him!

Nevertheless he left flowers on Repin's grave, made a portrait of Arseniev's mistress and his baby, spent two nights at his house and took another train back to Moscow and a flight back to Zurich.

He was here four days later, exactly as he had told Konrad he would be, fresh as a rose and oblivious of all the turmoil he had caused. Oblomov almost had an ulcer when Konrad threatened him with war if a single hair of Guntram was touched. Arseniev would have killed the boy just to see Konrad cut Oblomov into pieces!

What did our Guntram say when we explained the situation to him? “Nonsense, Boris is a gentleman. We can't say the same of Oblomov who is a well known traitor.”

Konrad slammed the door when he left the room just to prevent himself from strangling Guntram. Five minutes later he returned when Goran and I were shouting with the lad and only shouted: “If you are such an idiot and irresponsible person, you're not worthy of having my children at your home! You will not seen them ever again at your flat! Resume your duties or resign! I will not endanger my children's lives by betting them on your idiocy!”

“Konrad!” Guntram shouted but he was slamming the door again.

“Guntram, he's serious this time, my friend. Go home, now. I'll take you there,” I told the stubborn lad.

“No, Ferdinand, I will drive Guntram to the Castle,” said Goran.

“Don't bother gentlemen. I can walk home. You have heard your Duke and I don't take blackmailing well. Should I present my resignation to you, Ferdinand?”

“It doesn't work like this, Guntram. You have to wait till the next meeting and then, I will announce that you step down from your duties as Tutor and someone else will replace you.” I explained him slowly, complicating the process as much as I could. After all, Guntram hates papers and this could be my chance to convince him to behave nicely.

“Very well, Ferdinand. Here you have the seal. Return it to the Griffin,” and I got the thing in my hand. “Good day, gentlemen. Goran, there's something I need to discuss with you in private. Please tell me when I could meet with you.”

“Guntram, he didn't mean it!” I shouted.

“I don't care about his intentions Ferdinand. I'm sick of his threats and violence. He didn't ask for my reasons to do it or heard me at all. The Order needs someone with more experience than I, someone who knows the rules better. I'm not Friederich Elsässer.”

“You can't go away like this!”

“I was thinking to return to Argentina for a few months and perhaps stay there permanently. I will transfer the property to the children as soon as I buy something there.”

“Little brother, the Duke is not serious. Let him calm down, go back to the castle and speak with him. He was very nervous with all this and just exploded. He will forgive you.”

“The thing is Goran, that I don't want to forgive him.” Guntram told us with that particular voice he has and reminds me of the old Vicomte as it's truly terrifying. He left the room and I did the only logical thing; send Goran to pacify him.

“Can you speak with him? If he apologises and behaves Konrad will forgive him. He's just sore because Guntram visited Repin.”

“It's useless. The Duke stomped over his honour and pride. Guntram will not forget this easily. This time our Griffin burned down all his ships.”