Che Committed Suicide

the space of fifteen years?’

‘Because very early on I understood two simple things,’ answered Favieros immediately. ‘First, if I confined myself to Greece, my businesses would be condemned to stagnation. And that’s why I opened up in the Balkans. Today, either directly or through my subsidiaries, I’m engaged in projects throughout the Balkans, even in Kosovo. And apart from that, I exploited the traditionally friendly relations that Greece has with a number of Arab countries.’

‘And what was the second thing?’

‘That a businessman shouldn’t have any complexes. A large part of our work is carried out in partnership with other European companies, much bigger than mine. I can assure you, Mrs Komi, that I have never been afraid that they would swallow us up.’

‘It seems that you discovered the secrets of globalisation very early, Mr Favieros.’

Favieros broke into laughter. ‘I knew the secrets of globalisation long before globalisation.’

‘How about that, a pioneer then! And how did you come to discover them?’

Komi came out with a cute little smile as a kind of down-payment for the amusing reply she was about to hear.

‘From leftist internationalism, Mrs Komi. Globalisation is the last stage of internationalism. Read the Communist Manifesto.’

Whereas, until now, he had been completely open and informal, I suddenly discerned in his voice something like pride and provocation at the same time. The smile on Komi’s lips had turned into a smile of perplexity. She had no idea what either internationalism or the Communist Manifesto was, much less what they had to say. But she was experienced and quickly recovered her composure. She leaned forward to fix him better with her gaze.

‘You might call it internationalism and the Communist Manifesto, but others would call it connections with the governing party, Mr Favieros,’ she said in a bland tone. ‘And they also talk of your dealings with ministers.’

‘Not only with the governing party but with all the parties. Do you know any businessman who doesn’t have contacts with the parties, Mrs Komi?’

‘But we’re not talking just about contacts here. We’re talking about close personal relations. Only the other day, you were seen eating with a government minister at a well-known and very fashionable restaurant.’

‘What are you implying? That the Minister and I were plotting in public and in a restaurant of all places?’ said Favieros laughing. Then he suddenly grew serious. ‘Don’t forget that I am acquainted with many of the ministers in the government since the time of the military Junta, when we were students together.’

‘Nevertheless, there are more than a few who claim that the rapid growth of your businesses is due to the fact that you have the favour of the government,’ said Komi. ‘Perhaps because you were once comrades-in-arms,’ she added caustically.

‘My business success is due to proper planning, the right investments and sheer hard work, Mrs Komi,’ said Favieros gravely. ‘And that will be proven beyond a shadow of doubt, and very soon too.’ He stressed the last phrase, as if it were about to happen.

Komi opened a folder lying in her lap, took out a sheet of paper and handed it to Favieros.

‘Do you recognise this letter?’ she asked him. ‘It is a letter of protest from five construction consortiums to the Minister of Town Planning and Public Works. They are protesting because the contract for the construction of three junctions was not awarded and will be re-advertised simply to allow your company, which wasn’t ready, to take part.’

Favieros glanced at the letter and slowly lifted his head

‘Yes, I had heard something, but it hadn’t been brought to my attention.’

‘As you can see, here we’re dealing with very specific accusations. Is there any basis to them?’

‘Let me answer you,’ said Favieros calmly.

Slowly, his hand went to the inside pocket of his jacket. Komi clutched hold of the armchair, fixed her gaze on Favieros and waited. Through her body language, she was trying to transmit the electrified atmosphere to the viewers, but the staging stank from here to Mesoghia, where the channel was located.

Favieros withdrew his hand from his pocket, but he wasn’t holding a paper or even a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his brow. In his hand was a small Beretta pistol, which he turned towards Komi.

‘Heavens above, he’s going to shoot her!’ shouted Adriani, jumping to her feet.

Komi stared at the pistol as if mesmerised. I don’t know if it was her terror that had paralysed her or the fascination that the murder weapon has for the victim, something I’ve noticed on numerous occasions. At any rate, when she came out of her momentary torpor, she started to get to her feet terrified, except that her legs didn’t obey her and she collapsed back into the armchair. She opened her mouth to say something, but her tongue had entered into an alliance with her legs and refused to obey.

‘Mr Favieros,’ said a voice off set, trying to pacify him, yet trembling with fear. ‘Mr Favieros, put the gun away … Please … We’re on the air, Mr Favieros.’

Favieros paid no attention. He went on holding the pistol and staring at Komi.

‘Switch to the adverts, switch to the adverts,’ the same voice cried.

‘No adverts!’ The voice heard now was categorical, allowing no room for objection. ‘Stay with it. I’m the boss here!’

‘Mr Valsamakis!’ shouted the first voice. ‘We’ll end up in prison!’

‘How often do you think you’ll get an opportunity like this, you dimwit. Do you want to spend all your life on news bulletins and game shows or do you want CNN to fall at your feet and beg you? Well, do you or don’t you!’

‘Patroklos, give me a close-up of Favieros! I want a close-up of Favieros!’ shouted the director.

‘Aspasia, say something to him! You’re on the air, talk to him!’ Again the voice of the boss was heard.

Komi made no effort to hide her panic.

‘Mr Favieros,’ she mumbled. ‘Don’t … please …’

As Patroklos was zooming in, Favieros made three lightning-quick moves: he turned the gun on himself, pushed the barrel into his mouth and squeezed the trigger. The shot was heard together with Komi’s scream. A red fountain gushed from Favieros’s head, while his brains splattered onto the scenery, which depicted a huge aquarium with variously coloured tropical fish. Favieros’s body slumped forward as if he had suddenly fallen asleep in the armchair.

Komi had leapt to her feet and was retreating almost mechanically towards the exit on set, but the voice of the boss stopped her in her tracks.

‘Stay where you are, Aspasia!’ he shouted to her. ‘Just think that at this very moment we’re writing history! The first live suicide on TV!’ Komi hesitated for a moment, then turned to the camera, so as to allow a close-up of her face and also to avoid seeing Favieros.

Beside me, Adriani had put her hands over her eyes and, swaying to and fro as if keening, whispered:

‘No, dear God, no … No, dear God, no …’

‘Aspasia, talk to the camera!’ Again the voice of the boss was heard. And on cue the voice of the director: ‘Miltos, zoom in on Aspasia!’

‘Dear viewers.’ This time is was Aspasia’s voice that was heard, but instead of her, what appeared was a blurred image with blood and splatters.

‘Miltos, wipe your lens! I don’t have an image!’ shouted the director.

‘What can I wipe it with?’

‘Your sleeve for all I care. I want an image.’

‘Which imbecile left the intercom on? Switch to insert.’

The voices and sound cut out and on the bottom right of the screen appeared the words ‘unedited footage’.

‘Turn it off!’ Adriani screamed angrily. ‘Their only problem is that it’s unedited. Have they no conscience!’

‘I’ll turn it off,’ I said, ‘but you can bet you’ll see the suicide on all the news bulletins for the next week at least, like a trailer for a new film.’

‘And as for him, what on earth was he thinking of to commit suicide in front of the camera?’