The Winner Stands Alone (12 page)

They make a secret pact with themselves never to think about the future. They spend much
of what they earn on beauty products promising eternal youth. They adore shoes, but theyre
so expensive; nevertheless, they sometimes treat themselves and buy a pair of the very
best. They get clothes from friends in the fashion world at half the usual price. They
share a small apartment with their parents, a brother whos at university and a sister whos
chosen to be a librarian or a sci- entist. Everyone assumes the girls must be earning a
fortune and fre- quently ask them for loans, to which the girls agree because they want to
appear important, rich, generous, and different from other mortals. When they go to the
bank, though, their account is always in the red and theyve overshot their credit card
limit.

They acquire hundreds of business cards, meet well-dressed men who make proposals of work
they know to be false, but they phone them now and then to keep in touch, conscious that
they might need help one day, even though that help comes at a price. They all fall into
the same traps. They all dream of easy success, only to realize that it doesnt exist. By
seventeen, they have all suffered innumerable disap- pointments, betrayals, humiliations,
and yet still they believe. They sleep badly because of the various pills they take. They listen to stories about
anorexiathe commonest illness in their world, a kind of mental disturbance caused by an
obsession with weight and ones physical appearance, and which culminates in the body
rejecting all nourishment. They say it wont ever happen to them, but never notice when the
first symptoms appear.

They step out of childhood straight into a world of glitz and glam- our, without passing
through adolescence. When asked what their plans are for the future, they always have the
answer on the tip of their tongue: Im going to study philosophy. Im just working to pay
for my studies.

They know this isnt true. Or rather, they know that something about these words doesnt
ring true, but they cant quite put their finger on what it is. Do they really want a
degree? Do they really need that money for their studies? They dont have time for college
because theres always a casting session in the morning, a photo shoot in the afternoon, a
cocktail party before dark, then another party they have to go to in order to be seen,
admired, and desired.

To other people, they seem to lead a fairy-tale existence. And, for a while, they, too,
believe that this is the real meaning of life; after all, they have almost everything they
once envied in the girls who ap- peared in magazines and cosmetic ads. With a little
discipline, they can even save a little money, until, after a careful, daily examination
of their skin, they discover the first mark left by age. After that, they know its only a
matter of time before a designer or a photographer notices the same thing. Their days are
numbered.

I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.

Instead of going back to her book, Jasmine gets up, fills her glass with champagne (its
always there, but rarely drunk), picks up a hot dog, and goes over to the window. She
stands there in silence, looking out at the sea. Her story is different.

He wakes up bathed in sweat. When he looks at the clock on the bed- side table, he
realizes that hes only been asleep for forty minutes. Hes exhausted, frightened, in a
state of panic. He had always thought him- self incapable of harming anyone, and yet this
morning he has already killed two innocent people. It isnt the first time hes destroyed a
world, but, before, he had always had good reasons for doing so.

He dreamed that the girl on the bench near the beach came to see him and instead of
condemning him, blessed him. He lay in her lap, weeping and begging her to forgive him,
but she seemed not to care about that, and simply stroked his hair and told him not to
upset him- self. Olivia, the image of generosity and forgiveness. He wonders now if his
love for Ewa is worth what he is doing.

He prefers to believe that it is. The fact that Olivia is on his side, that he met with
her on a higher plane closer to the Divine, and that everything has been so much easier
than he imagined, all this indicates that there must be a reason behind what is happening.

It hadnt been difficult to
evadethevigilanteyesofJavitss friends. He knew that such men, as well as being physically
prepared to react rapidly and precisely, were trained to memorize each face, follow every
movement, second-guess any danger. They probably knew he was armed, which is why they watched him for a while, but relaxed when they realized he
didnt constitute a threat. They might even have thought he was in the same line of work
and had gone to the tent to check out the place and see if it was safe for his own boss.

He had no boss. And he was a threat. The moment he went into the tent and decided who
would be his next victim, there was no turning back, or only at the risk of losing all
self-respect. He saw that the ramp leading into the tent was guarded, but that it was
perfectly easy to slip out onto the beach. He left ten minutes after he had arrived,
hoping that Javitss friends would notice that he had gone. He then walked round the tent
and came back up the ramp reserved for guests at the Hotel Martinez (he had to show his
key card) and into the area reserved for the lunch. Walking on sand in ones shoes wasnt
the pleasantest thing in the world, and Igor noticed that he was still feeling tired from
the flight, from the fear that his plan might prove impossible to achieve, and from the
tension he felt after destroying the universe and future generations of that poor young
vendor of craftwork. Nevertheless, he had to go on.

Before returning to the tent,
he took from his pocket the drinking straw that he had made a point of keeping. He opened
the small glass flask he had shown to Olivia. It did not, as he had told her, contain
petrol, but something quite insignificant: a needle and a piece of cork. Using a thin
metal blade, he made a hole in the cork the same diameter as the straw.

Then he rejoined the party,
which, by then, was full of guests strolling around, kissing and embracing, giving little
yelps of recognition, clutching cocktails of every possible hue just to have something to
do with their hands and to keep a check on their anxi- ety, as they waited for the buffet
to open. They could eat then, in moderation, of course, because there were diets and
plastic surgery to be considered and suppers at the end of the day, where they would have to eat even though they werent hungry because that was what etiquette required.

Most of the guests were older people, which meant that this was an event for
professionals. The age of the guests further favored his plan, since almost all of them
would need glasses. Needless to say, no one was wearing them because tired eyes are a sign
of age. There, every- one had to dress and behave like people in the prime of life, young
at heart and in excellent health, and to pretend that they were indiffer- ent to what was
going on around them because they were preoccupied with other things, when the truth was
that they couldnt actually see. Their contact lenses meant that they could just about
identify a person a few yards away, and, besides, they would find out soon enough who it
was they were talking to.

Only two of the guests noticed everything and everyoneJavitss friends. This time, however,
they were the ones being observed.

Igor placed the needle inside the straw, and pretended to put it back in his drink.

A group of pretty girls standing near Javitss table appeared to be listening, entranced,
to the extraordinary tales told by a Jamaican man. In fact, each girl was plotting how to
get rid of her rivals and carry the man off to bed because Jamaicans have such a
reputation as studs.

Igor moved closer to Javits, took the straw from the glass, and blew through it,
projecting the needle inside in the direction of his victim. He stayed only long enough to
see Javits put his hand to his back. Then he left and went straight back to the hotel to
try and get some sleep.

Curare, originally used by South
American Indians for hunting with darts, can also be found in European hospitals because,
under controlled conditions, it can be used to paralyze certain muscles, thus facilitating
the surgeons work. A fatal doselike that on the point of the needle he had shot into
Javitss backcould kill a bird in just two minutes. Boar, on the other hand, take fifteen
minutes to die, and large mammalsa man, for exampletwenty.

As soon as it gets into the bloodstream, the nervous fibers of the body relax, then stop functioning altogether, causing gradual asphyxia. The strangest
thingor the worst, some might sayis that the victim remains conscious throughout, but
cannot move in order to ask for help nor stop the slow process of paralysis overtaking his
body.

If someone cuts his finger on a poisoned dart or arrow during a hunting expedition in the
jungle, the Indians know exactly what to do. They use mouth-to-mouth resuscitation and an
herbal antidote that they always carry with them because such accidents are commonplace.
In cities, the paramedics can do nothing because they think theyre dealing with a heart
attack.

Igor did not look back as he walked to the hotel. He knew that just then one of the two
friends would be frantically searching out the perpetrator, while the other would be
ringing for an ambulance, which would arrive quickly enough, but the crew would have
little idea what was going on. They would be wearing colorful uniforms and high-vis-
ibility jackets, and carrying a defibrillatorto apply a series of shocks to the heartand a
portable electrocardiogram. In the case of curare, the heart seems to be the last muscle
affected and continues beating even after brain death has occurred.

The paramedics would notice nothing strange about his heartbeat, and so would put him on a
drip, assuming he was suffering from some form of heat stroke or food poisoning, although
they would still take all the usual measures, even applying an oxygen mask. By then, the
twenty minutes would be up, and although the body might still be alive, it would now be in
a vegetative state.

Yes, he had planned everything.
He had used his pri- vate plane so that he could enter France with an unregistered gun and
with the various poisons he had obtained via his connections with the Chechen mafia
working in Moscow. Each step, each move had been carefully studied and rehearsed, as if he
were planning a business meet- ing. He had made a list of victims in his head. Apart from
the one he had met and talked to, the others were all to be of different classes, ages,
and nationalities. He had spent months analyzing the lives of serial killers, using a computer program that was very popular with terrorists and which
left no record of any searches you made. He had taken all the necessary steps to escape
unnoticed once he had carried out his mission.

He is sweating. No, its not remorseperhaps Ewa really does de- serve such a sacrificebut
the thought of the possible futility of the project. He needed the woman he most loved to
know he was capable of doing anything for her, including destroying universes, but was it
really worth it? Or is it sometimes necessary to accept fate and allow things to develop
in their own way and simply wait for people to come to their senses in their own time?

Hes tired. He cant think straight anymore and, who knows, per- haps martyrdom was better
than murder, surrendering himself and thus making a greater sacrifice, offering up his own
life for love. Jesus was the best example of that. When his enemies saw Jesus defeated and
hung upon a cross, they thought it was all over. They felt proud of what they, the
victors, had done, convinced that they had put paid to the problem once and for all.

Igor is confused. His intention was to destroy universes, not re- linquish his freedom out
of love. In his dream, the girl with the dark eyebrows had resembled Notre Dame de PiŽtat;
the mother with her son in her arms, at once proud and long-suffering.

He goes into the bathroom, puts his head under the shower, and turns on the cold water.
Perhaps its lack of sleep, being in a strange place, in a different time zone, or the fact
that he was actually doing the thing he had planned to do, but never thought he would. He
remem- bers the promise he made before the relics of St. Mary Magdalene in Moscow. But is
what hes doing right? He needs a sign.

Sacrifice. Yes, he should have thought of that, but perhaps he needed the experience of
destroying those two worlds this morning to be able to see more clearly what is going on.
The redemption of love through total surrender. His body will be handed over to the
executioners who judge only ones gestures and who forget about the intentions and rea-
sons that lie behind any act that society considers insane. Jesus (who understands that
love merits any amount of sacrifice) will receive his spirit, and Ewa will have his soul. She will know what he was capable of: surrender,
self-immolation, and all for the sake of one person. He wont be condemned to death because
the guillotine was abolished in France decades ago, but he might spend many years in
prison. Ewa will repent of her sins. Shell come to see him, bring him food, theyll have
time to talk, reflect, love, and even though their bodies do not touch, their souls will
be closer than ever. Even if they have to wait years before they can live in the house he
intends to build on the shores of Lake Baikal, that period of waiting will purify and
bless them.

Yes, sacrifice. He turns off the shower, looks at his face in the mirror for a moment, and
sees not himself, but the Lamb prepared to be slaugh- tered once again. He puts on the
same clothes he was wearing this morn- ing, goes out into the street, heads for the place
where the little street vendor used to sit, and goes up to the first policeman he meets.

I killed the girl who used to work here.

The policeman looks at him and sees a well-dressed man with di- sheveled hair and dark
circles under his eyes.

The one who used to sell craftwork? Igor nods. The policeman doesnt take much notice of
him. He greets a couple who are walking by, laden with shopping. You should get a maid! If youll pay her wages,
retorts the woman, smiling. You just cant get the staff these days! Oh, come on, money cant be the reason. You have a different
dia-

mond on your finger every week. Igor cannot understand whats going on. He has just
confessed to a murder. Did you hear what I said? Look, its very hot. Go and lie down for a bit. Cannes
has a lot to offer its visitors. But what about the girl? Did you know her? Id never seen her before in
my life. She was here this morning.

I...

. . . you saw the ambulance arrive and someone being taken away and concluded shed been
murdered. I dont know where youre from, sir, I dont know if youve got children yourself,
but just watch out for drugs. People say theyre not as bad as all that, but look what
happened to that poor girl.

And the policeman moves away without waiting for a response.

Should Igor have insisted, given more details? Then would the po- liceman have taken him
seriously? But, of course, its impossible to kill someone in broad daylight and on the
main street in Cannes. He had even been ready to own up to the other world he had
destroyed at a party packed with people.

But the representative of law and order and good manners hadnt wanted to listen to him.
What kind of world was he living in? Would he have to take the gun out of his pocket and
start firing in all direc- tions for them to believe him? Would he have to behave like a
barbar- ian who kills for no reason before they would finally listen to him?

Igor watches the policeman cross the road and go into a snack bar. He decides to wait for
a while, just in case he should change his mind, get further information from the police
station and come back and ask him for more details of the crime.

However, hes pretty certain that wont happen. He remembers the policemans remark to the
woman about the diamond on her finger. Did he perhaps know where it came from? Of course
not; if he did, he would have taken her straight to the police station and charged her
with handling criminal property.

As far as the woman was concerned, the diamond had magically ap- peared in some high-class
shop, havingas the shop assistants always saidfirst been cut by Dutch or Belgian jewelers.
It would be classi- fied according to cut, color, clarity, and carat weight. The price
could vary from a few hundred euros to something most mere mortals would consider truly
outrageous.

A diamond, or brilliant to give it its other name, is, as everyone knows, just a piece of
coal that has been worked on by heat and time. Since it contains no organic matter, it is
impossible to know how long it takes for its structure to change, although geologists
estimate some- thing between three hundred million and a billion years. Diamonds generally form ninety
miles below the Earths crust and gradually rise to the surface, where they can be mined.

Diamond is the hardest and most resistant of natural materials, and it takes a diamond to
cut another diamond. The particles produced by this process are used in machines made for
polishing and cutting. The real importance of diamonds lies in their use as jewels. A
diamond is the supreme manifestation of human vanity.