That’s my story, in a nutshell. A tale of beautiful, well-intentioned failure—ending in death. Which is a pretty good metaphor for life, isn’t it?
Well—my life, anyway.
There we have it. I’m aware this has been a lengthy aside. It is, however, integral to my narrative.
But that’s not up to me, is it? It’s what you think that counts.
And you don’t say anything, do you? You just sit there, listening, silently judging. I’m so conscious of your judgment. I don’t want to bore you, or lose your interest. Not when you’ve given me so much of your time already.
Which reminds me of something Tennessee Williams used to say. His writing advice to aspiring dramatists:
Don’t be boring, baby, he’d say. Do whatever it takes to keep the thing going. Blow up a bomb onstage, if you have to. But don’t be boring.
Okay, baby—so here comes that bomb.
14
Let us return to the island—and the night of the murder.
Just after midnight, there were three gunshots in the ruin.
A few minutes afterward, we all arrived at the clearing. A chaotic scene followed, as I tried to take Lana’s pulse, and to disentangle her from Leo’s arms. Jason gave Agathi his phone—to call an ambulance, and the police.
Jason went back to the house to get a gun. He was followed by Kate, then Leo. Agathi and I were alone.
This much you know.
What you don’t know is what happened next.
Agathi was in shock. She had gone completely pale, like she might faint. Remembering the phone in her hand, she lifted it up, to call the police.
“No.” I stopped her. “Not yet.”
“What?” Agathi looked at me blankly.
“Wait.”
Agathi looked confused—then she looked at Lana’s body.
For a split second, did Agathi think of her grandmother—and wish she were here now? And that the old witch would shut her eyes and sway and mutter an incantation; an ancient magical spell to resurrect Lana, to make her live again—and return from death?
Lana, please, Agathi prayed silently, please be alive—please live—live— Then, as in a dream or a nightmare—or on hallucinatory drugs—reality began to distort itself at Agathi’s command …
And Lana’s body began to move.
15
One of Lana’s limbs twitched, ever so slightly, of its own accord.
The blue eyes opened.
And her body began to sit up.
Agathi went to scream. I grabbed hold of her.
“Shh,” I whispered. “Shh. It’s okay. It’s okay.”
Agathi squirmed and threw me off. She seemed about to lose her balance. But she managed to stay upright, unsteadily, breathing hard.
“Agathi,” I said. “Listen. It’s okay. It’s a game. That’s all. A play. We’re acting. See?”
Agathi, slowly, fearfully, moved her eyes past me. She looked over my shoulder, at Lana’s body. The dead woman was now on her feet, holding out her arms for an embrace.
“Agathi,” said the voice she thought she’d never again hear. “Darling, come here.”
Lana wasn’t dead. Judging by the sparkle in her eyes, she’d never felt more alive. Agathi was overcome with emotion. She wanted to fall into Lana’s arms, sob with joy and relief, hold Lana tight. But she didn’t.
Instead, she found herself staring at Lana with increasing anger.
“A game—？”
“Agathi, listen—”
“What kind of game?”
“I can explain,” said Lana.
“Not now,” I said. “There isn’t time. We’ll explain later. Right now, we need you to play along.”
Agathi’s eyes welled up with tears. She shook her head, unable to bear it any longer. She turned and marched off, disappearing in the trees.
“Wait,” Lana called after her. “Agathi—”
“Shh, keep quiet,” I said. “I’ll deal with it. I’ll talk to her.”
Lana looked doubtful. I could tell her resolve was wavering. I tried again, more forcefully: “Lana, please don’t. You’ll ruin everything. Lana—”
Lana ignored me. She ran after Agathi into the olive grove.
I watched her go, aghast.
I don’t know if I’m saying this with the benefit of hindsight—or if I had some inkling of it at the time—but at this precise moment my perfect plan began to unravel.
And everything went to hell.
ACT IV
Truth or illusion, George: you don’t know the difference.