vivaldi's viola
Presented by THE SERIAL NOVELS
Antonio Vivaldi was an eminent Venetian musician who is known to be an outstanding violinist all over the world. We have taken cue from his life and times to craft a crime thriller. All stories, events and entities associated with him, that have been mentioned in this novel, are imaginary. Any resemblance with any real events or incidents is purely coincidental.
...this cryptic game of hide-and-seek is what makes it one of the greatest historical mysteries
Anish and Shehnaz were hovering near the San Marco Campanile in the evening on the same day as Giovanni was informed by Elio about Luigi’s body. They were ignorant about the progress of the ongoing investigations. There is a strange camaraderie between two people who are bound to be together for a long while even if they do not trust each other completely; they are mutually conscious of their coexistence. They can share a few words, a bit of laughter now and then, get used to each other’s smell, and once or twice get overwhelmed by their carnal desires so as to ignore their emotional dilemma. Some marriages start working like that. Anish and Shehnaz were hovering there too.
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What is important is to spread confusion, not eliminate it.
Giovanni woke up startled to a digital cacophony filling up his bedroom. The phone in his apartment was ringing, both his mobile phones were buzzing away, and his alarm clock was crackling away as well. Giovanni felt disoriented, he could not even remember when was the last time he had woken up in his own bedroom. He fumbled with the alarm clock and somehow managed to snooze it. On his personal mobile phone, he was getting a call from an unknown number. On his office-issued phone, he noticed Elio’s name flashing. He stood next to a window and answered Elio’s call. Giovanni knew whatever it was, it could not be good. Elio spoke in an animated fashion, “Colonnello, have you seen the papers yet or tuned into the local news yet?”. Dead men are heavier than broken hearts
Giovanni’s first encounter with the cesspool that the world of crime is, was over two decades ago. Since then he had dealt with innumerable cases of varying complexity as he moved up the rungs of his career; quite successfully so. But for the first time, he was more flabbergasted about a case than he had ever imagined he would be. Time seemed to spill out of his clenched fist like loose sand as he desperately tried to hold on to every moment. He could feel the web of mysteries around him growing more complex, and it suffocated and tormented his own brain. Who hears music feels his solitude peopled at once
The poster for the musical concert was put up in the foyer of the hotel and Anish looked deeply and for an unusually long stretch of time. Mehfoos Hussain's picture, flickering a set of neatly arranged row of teeth in between the thick stubble below and moustache above, smiled back at him. "An evening with the Indian musical legend: Mehfoos Hussain”, it said. Hussain had a very pleasant and graceful countenance with glittering eyes. He seemed to perpetually sparkle with unique and innovative ideas. Anish was fond of such people. There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact
Colonel Giovanni Spadolini was not expecting Anish Chatterjee at the wee hours. He was initially not amused but surprised and curious nonetheless by an Indian man who seemed to be a typical tourist but driven by curiosity, took the trouble of finding out the nearest Carabinierri office at 4AM in the morning. A couple of phone calls later, Giovanni was satisfied that Anish's self introduction, that he served on the board of directors of an MNC and was based in Bangalore, was nothing short of true. Secrets, silent, stony sit in the dark palaces of both our hearts: secrets weary of their tyranny: tyrants willing to be dethroned
There was a long pause in between Shehnaz’s act of folding her arms while putting up a formidable expression and her first words, ever since she had exclaimed on the discovery of the theft. Her demeanor changed quite magically and took Anish by surprise. “Did you take it or move it to somewhere? Tell me frankly. You will be in grave danger otherwise and I don’t want to put you into that.” Shehnaz asked firmly. Anish furrowed his brows and looked intently at her for a second. His probing eyes quickly gave way to an innocent expression of surprise and disappointment at such an accusation. Anish had always been conscious of his expressions and in most cases knew instinctively what to let out and what to hold back. Within moments his face was so awash with helplessness, that one could never ever forgive oneself for suspecting him. The way Anish looked at Shehnaz, she couldn’t help but feel a deep empathy towards the victimization of an innocuous person. O, that way madness lies; let me shun that;
No more of that. The next few days went by in a jiffy as Shehnaz and Anish, as they had decided, spent their times like typical tourists. They went on gondola rides, enjoyed extended dinners at restaurants along Riva del Vin, spent a day each at the colorful islands of Burano and Murano, and also managed to squeeze in a trip to Verona. It was in Verona that for the first time since they had let each other into their lives, Anish felt that Shehnaz had put up a guard and had closed a certain chapter of an otherwise open book that she had presented herself as to Anish. The art of our necessities is strange
That can make vile things precious. The human mind is a complex introspective labyrinth of channels carrying impulses and fostering such feelings that sometime titillate it in unprecedented ways; the minds which are not engaged in the usual chores of life, like loving people and investing itself to a great extent into the love, are the most susceptible ones to such unwarranted titillation. Shehnaz had an unusual mind as well. She had a fondness for everything larger than life, everything that would instill a sense of thrill. As they climbed up the clock tower in San Marco square, she blabbered in her mind, “what if I jump from the top, that cold breeze passing by my ears, that sense of falling, giving in to gravity...how would that be?” Tell me where is fancy bred,
Or in the heart, or in the head? How begot, how nourished? The champagne flowed in superfluous extravagance. Amidst the myriad of happy faces and congratulatory exchanges, stood the newlyweds, their eyes gleaming in the revelry. Anish Chatterjee looked suave, as he often did. He was clad in a Canali suit and the hem of his collar, which was upright on his shoulder, seemed to squint at the crowd around, in a trance of arrogance. His smile was as charming as ever. The bride, Shehnaz Mistry, was a poised beauty, carrying the sublime radiance of the morning sun. As the celebratory gaiety seemed to be reaching a crescendo, Anish and Shehnaz looked at each other so tenderly that the friends and families could not take their eyes off them. Marital bliss and desire seemed to overwhelm their hearts and take refuge in their eyes with easy candor. “A match made in heaven”, they said. “Ma il mio mistero è chiuso in me;
il nome mio nessun saprà!” (But my secret is hidden within me; no one will know my name!) hummed Luigi deep under his breath as he turned his water taxi off the Grand Canal, shimmering under the sinister glow of the sky, into a smaller canal. “Ed il mio bacio scioglierà il silenzio che ti fa mia!” (And my kiss will dissolve the silence that makes you mine!) |