The Nightmare

109

Axel opens the leather folder on the table. All the export documents are there. All the paperwork necessary to clear M/S Icelus from Gothenburg Harbor with its huge cargo of ammunition.

All that is missing is his signature.

Raphael Guidi’s son comes back into the room. His face is pale and withdrawn. He’s carrying a beautiful violin: a reddish brown instrument with a gently curved body. Axel recognizes an Amati immediately, and one in superb shape after so many years.

“I have already told you I demand certain music to accompany the deal we are about to make,” Raphael says softly. “This violin belonged to the boy’s mother… and much earlier, Niccolò Paganini played it.”

“It was fashioned in 1657,” Peter says. Absentmindedly he empties his pockets of his keys and cell phone as if to prepare for a great event. He discards them on the table before he puts the instrument to his shoulder.

The boy lays the bow gently on the strings, and soon he begins to play as if he is falling into a dream. Axel immediately recognizes the introduction to Paganini’s most famous piece: Caprice no. 24. It is considered the most difficult violin piece ever written. The boy plays like he’s swimming underwater; it moves much too slowly.

“Our contract would be very advantageous,” Raphael says.

It’s still light outside. The wide windows allow great light into the salon.

Axel thinks about Beverly and how she came to him and crept into his bed when he was in the psychiatric ward. She’d whispered, I saw there was light in this room. You’re giving off light.

“Are you finished thinking it over?” Raphael demands.

Axel can’t bear to look at him. He looks down instead and picks up the pen from the table in front of him. He listens to his heart race. He tries to disguise his quickened breathing.

This time he can’t draw a cartoon figure saying “Hi!” He will be forced to sign his name and then pray to God that Raphael Guidi will be content and let him return to Sweden.

Axel feels the pen shake. He steadies one hand with the other, takes a deep breath, and puts the tip of the pen to the empty line on the contract.

“Wait one moment,” Raphael Guidi says abruptly. “Before you sign, I need to know that I own you… that I own your loyalty.”

Axel looks into Guidi’s eyes.

“If you are truly prepared to possibly reap your nightmare if our contract is broken, you must show your faith. You must demonstrate it by kissing my hand.”

“What?”

“We enter into a contract, do we not?”

“We do,” Axel replies.

“Then it will be sealed by a kiss on my hand,” Raphael says in a voice so twisted he could be the idiot in an ancient play.

Raphael’s son plays more and more slowly as he tries to force his fingers to obey. He awkwardly shifts position but stumbles during the rapid runs. He mangles the passage again and then he gives up.

“Continue,” Raphael demands without a glance his way.

“It’s too difficult. It doesn’t sound good.”

“Peter, it’s wrong to give up before you’ve really tried-”

“Then play it yourself,” his son says with a pout.

Raphael’s face stiffens so that his features are as hard as a rock formation.

“Do as I say,” he says with chilling calm.

The boy doesn’t move, just looks at the ground. Raphael’s right hand goes toward the chain on his gym shorts.

“Peter, I thought it sounded fine enough to continue,” Raphael says menacingly.

“The bridge is crooked,” Axel breaks in with a voice barely above a whisper.

Peter looks at the violin and blushes.

“Can you adjust it?” he asks.

“Of course. It’s easy enough, and I can do it for you if you want me to,” Axel says.

“Will it take a long time?” asks Raphael.

“No,” Axel says.

Axel puts down the pen and takes the violin from the boy. He turns it over and feels how light it is. He’s never held an Amati before, let alone one the master Paganini had played.

Raphael’s phone rings. He looks at it and then stands straight up while he listens.

“That can’t be true!” he’s exclaiming with a savage expression.

A twisted smile plays across his lips. He barks something to his bodyguards, and together they turn to head up the stairs.

Peter watches Axel loosen the strings. The violin creaks. The dry sound of Axel’s fingers brushing against the instrument vibrates through the sensitive sound box. Axel carefully adjusts the bridge a fraction and then tightens the strings again.

“Did that work?” asks Peter.

“Of course,” Axel says as he tunes the strings. “Try it now and see.”

“Thanks,” Peter says.

Axel is sharply aware of Peter’s cell phone on the table behind him as he says, “Start again. You’ve just finished the first run, and next comes the pizzicato movement.”

“I feel embarrassed,” Peter says, and turns away.

Axel leans back on the table, reaching behind him, finding the phone and trying to pick it up. It slides around a little on the smooth surface.

Peter has his back to Axel. He’s lifting the violin to his shoulder and setting the bow to the strings.

Axel manages to get the phone in his fingers and keeps it hidden in his hand as he moves slightly to one side.

Peter draws the bow in only one note. Then he stops. He turns around and looks past Axel.

“Hey, wasn’t my phone there?”

Axel lets the phone slide out of his hand before he turns and picks it up.

“Do I have any messages?” Peter asks.

Axel glances at the telephone. There is full coverage, even though they’re out at sea. He realizes that the ship must have satellite transmission.

“No messages,” he says, and puts the phone back down.

“Thanks.”

Axel remains next to the table as Peter begins again to play Caprice no. 24. It’s much too slow, and more and more out of rhythm.

Peter has some talent and it’s easy to tell he’s practiced a great deal, but this piece is beyond him. Still, the sound of the Amati is so wonderful that Axel would have enjoyed listening even if a small child plucked the strings.

Peter plows through the music but he’s finally so lost he stops. He tries again. Axel decides he will try for the phone again and saunters to one side. He doesn’t have enough time as Peter hits a false note, stops playing, and turns back to Axel.

“This is very hard,” he exclaims. But he’s ready to try again.

He starts, but it’s still all wrong.

“It’s not working,” he says as he lowers the violin.

“Keep your third finger on the A string. It’s easier to reach-”

“Can’t you just show me?”

Axel looks at the phone on the table. A reflection from the sun sparkles outside and Axel turns toward the panoramic window. The sea has become remarkably calm and smooth. He can hear thudding sounds from the engine room, a constant noise he’s surprised to notice now.

Peter hands Axel the violin. Axel puts it to his shoulder, tightens the bow slightly, and then starts the piece from the very beginning. Its flowing, sorrowful introduction pours at high speed into the room. The Amati’s voice is not strong, but it is wonderfully soft and clear. Paganini’s music sings out, circling in higher and higher reaches as one melody chases another.

“Oh my God,” Peter whispers.

The voice changes to sound in a hissing prestissimo. It’s playfully beautiful and at the same time filled with difficult fingerings and quick jumps between octaves.

The music already lives in Axel’s mind. All he has to do is let it out. Not every note is perfect, but his fingers instinctively know the way and dance quickly over the fingerboard and the strings.

Vaguely he hears Raphael yelling something from the captain’s bridge and there’s a thud overhead that shakes the crystal chandelier. Axel continues to play-the quivering notes are like sparks of sunlight over the sea.

Steps come thudding down the staircase. When Axel sees Raphael with sweat pouring down his face and a bloody military knife in his hand, he stops playing abruptly. The gray-haired bodyguard runs behind Raphael with his rifle up and ready. It’s a Belgian Fabrique Nationale SCAR.