0:19 PM

Hamid turns off his mobile phone. He isnt the slightest bit interested in whats going on in the rest of the world, and in the last half hour, his phone has been inundated with grim messages.

Its a sign that he should ditch the whole absurd idea of producing a film. He had clearly allowed himself to be carried away by vanity in- stead of listening to the advice of the sheikh and of his own wife. Hes starting to lose touch with himself; the world of luxury and glamour is beginning to poison him, something he had always believed would never happen.

Tomorrow, when things have calmed down, hell call a press con- ference for the world media present in Cannes and tell them that, de- spite having already invested a large amount of money in the project, hes decided to pull out because it was a dream shared by all those involved, one of whom is no longer with us. A journalist is bound to ask if he has other projects in mind, and hell reply that its still too early to discuss such things and that we need to respect the memory of the departed.

Like anyone with even a minimum of decency, he deeply regrets the fact that the actor who was going to appear in his first film should have died of poisoning and that his chosen director is still in hospital although not now in danger of losing his lifebut both these events carry a clear message: keep away from cinema. It isnt his world and hes bound to lose money and gain nothing in return.

Leave cinema to the filmmakers, music to the musicians, and lit- erature to the writers. Ever since he first embarked on this adventure two months before, he has met with nothing but problems: wrestling with gigantic egos, rejecting outlandish budgets, editing a script that seemed to get worse with every new version, and putting up with con- descending producers who treated him as if he knew absolutely noth- ing about films.

His intentions had been impeccable: to make a film about the cul- ture of his home country, about the beauty of the desert and the Bed- ouins ancient wisdom and code of honor. He felt he owed this to his tribe, although the sheikh had warned him not to stray from his origi- nal path.

People get lost in the desert because theyre taken in by mirages. Youre doing an excellent job as a couturier; focus all your energies on that.

Hamid, however, wanted to go further, to show that he could still surprise people, go higher, take risks. He had committed the sin of pride, but that wouldnt happen again.

The journalists bombard him with questionsnews, it seems, is traveling even faster than usual. He says he doesnt yet know any details, but that hell make a full statement tomorrow. He repeats the same answer over and over, until one of his own security guards comes to his aid and asks the press to leave the couple alone.

He summons an assistant and asks him to find Jasmine in the crowd of people in the garden and bring her to him. They need to have a few photos taken together, a new press release confirming the deal, and a good PR person to keep the issue alive until October and the Fashion Week in Paris. Later on, hell try to persuade the Belgian de- signer to join him; he genuinely liked her work and is sure she would bring money and prestige to his group; however, he knows that, at the moment, shell be thinking that he was only trying to buy her because he wanted her principal model. Approaching her now would not only up the price, it would seem inelegant. To everything its proper time; it would be best to wait for the right moment.

Ewa appears troubled by the journalists questions. She says: I think we should leave. Absolutely not. Im not hard-hearted, as you know, but I cant get upset over something that only confirms what you always told me, that I shouldnt get involved in cinema. Now, though, were at a party, and were going to stay here until the end.

His voice sounds sterner than he intended, but Ewa doesnt appear to notice, as if she were as indifferent to his love as to his hate. In a more equitable tone of voice, he adds:

This partys just perfect, dont you think? Our host must be spend- ing a fortune to be here in Cannes, what with the travel and accommo- dation expenses of the celebrities whove all been specially selected to be present at this lavish gala supper. But you can be sure that all the free publicity will send his profits soaring: full-page spreads in magazines and newspapers, TV airtime and hours of coverage on the cable chan- nels that have nothing else to show. Women will associate his jewels with glamour; men will wear his watches as proof that theyre powerful and wealthy; and young people will flick through the fashion pages and think: One day, I want to be there too, wearing exactly that.

Please, lets leave now. I just have a really bad feeling about this party.

This was the last straw. Hes put up with his wifes bad mood all day without complaint. She keeps turning on her mobile phone to see if theres another text message, and now hes beginning to think that there really is something strange going on. Another man perhaps? Her ex-husband, who he saw in the hotel bar, and who is perhaps doing ev- erything he can to arrange a meeting? If thats the case, though, why doesnt she just tell him what shes feeling instead of withdrawing into herself?

Dont talk to me about bad feelings. Im trying to explain to you why people put on parties like this. If you ever decide to go into fashion as you always dreamed of doing or of once again owning a shop selling haute-couture clothes, you could learn something. By the way, when I told you that Id seen your ex-husband in the bar last night, you told me that was impossible. Is he the reason you keep checking your mobile phone ?

Why on earth would he be here? she says, when what she feels like saying is: I know who ruined your film project. And I know that hes capable of far worse. Were in danger here; please, lets leave.

You didnt answer my question.

The answer is yes. Thats why I keep checking my mobile phone because I know him, and I know hes here somewhere, and Im afraid.

Hamid laughs. But Im here too. Ewa picks up a glass of champagne and drinks it down in one. He says nothing, feeling that shes simply being provocative. He looks around him, trying to forget the recent news that flashed up on his phone, and still hoping for a chance to have a few photos taken with Jasmine before theyre all called into the room where supper will be served. The death of the actor couldnt have come at a worse moment. Now no one is asking about the big contract hes signed with an unknown model, and yet, half an hour earlier, it was all the press were interested in. Not anymore. Despite his many years of working in this glamorous world, he still has a lot to learn: the contract he signed has been quickly forgotten, but the host of this party has managed to keep the media interest alive. None of the photographers and journalists present has left the party to go to the police station or the hospital to find out exactly what has happened. They are, admittedly, fashion journalists, but their editors wouldnt have dared order them to leave, for the simple reason that murders dont appear on the same pages as social events.

Makers of expensive jewelry dont get themselves mixed up in cin- ematographic adventures. Big promoters know that regardless of how much blood is being spilled in the world right now, people will always prefer photos depicting an ideal and inaccessible life of luxury.

Murders can take place next door or out in the street, but parties like this only occur at the very top of society. What could be of more interest to mere mortals than this perfect party, which would have been advertised months before in press releases, confirming that the jeweler would be holding his usual event in Cannes, and that all the invitations had already gone out. Not quite true; at the time, half of the guests would have received a kind of memorandum, politely asking them to keep the date free.

They would, of course, respond at once and reserve the date and buy their plane tickets and book their hotel room for twelve days, even if theyre only staying for forty-eight hours. They need to prove to everyone that theyre still members of the Superclass, membership of which is invaluable in making business deals, opening doors, and feed- ing egos.

The lavish invitation card would arrive two months later. The women would start worrying about which dress to wear for the oc- casion, and the men would contact a few acquaintances to ask if they could meet in the bar to discuss business before supper. This was the male way of saying: Ive been invited to the party. Have you? Even if the acquaintance claimed he was too busy and wasnt sure hed be able to travel to Cannes on that date, the message had been sent loud and clear: that full diary was just an excuse for not yet having been invited.

Minutes later, that very busy man would start mobilizing friends, advisors, and associates to wangle him an invitation. This meant that the host could then choose the second half of his guest list, basing him- self on three things: power, money, contacts.

The perfect party.

A professional team of caterers would be signed up. On the day itself, the order will go out to serve as much alcohol as possible, prefer- ably plenty of Frances legendary and unbeatable champagne. Guests from other countries dont realize that theyre being served a drink produced in the country itself and which is, therefore, much cheaper than they might think. The women feelas even does Ewa at that mo- mentthat the golden liquid in the glass is the best possible comple- ment to dress, shoes, and bag. The men are all holding a glass as well, but they drink much less; theyve come to make peace with a competi- tor, to cement relationships with a supplier, or to meet a potential dis- tributor of their products. Hundreds of business cards are exchanged on such nights, most of them among professionals. A few, of course, are given to pretty women, who know theyre not worth the paper theyre printed on; no one has come here hoping to find the love of their life, but to make deals, to shine, and, possibly, to enjoy themselves a little. Enjoying yourself is optional and not of great importance.

The people here tonight come from three points of an imaginary triangle. At one point are those who have it all and spend their days playing golf or having lunch or hanging out at some exclusive club, and who, when they go into a shop, can buy anything they want without first asking the price. Having reached the top, they have realized some- thing that had never even occurred to them before: they cannot bear to be alone. They cant stand the company of their husband or wife and they need to be on the go all the time, in the belief that they can still make a difference to humanity, although theyve discovered, since they retired, that their day-to-day life is as dull as that of any other middle- class person: eat breakfast, read the newspapers, eat lunch, take a nap, eat supper, watch TV. They accept most of the supper invitations they receive. They go to social and sporting events at the weekend. They spend their holidays in fashionable places (even though they no longer work, they still believe in something called holidays).

At the second point on the triangle are those who havent yet achieved anything and who are doing their best to row in very choppy waters, to break the resistance of the have-it-alls, to look happy even if one of their parents happens to be in hospital, and they are having to sell off things they dont even own.

Finally, at the apex, is the Superclass.

This is the ideal mixture for a party. Those who have reached the top and yet carry on life as normal may well have enough money stashed away for several generations, but their influence has waned and they have realized, too late, that power is actually more important than wealth. Those who havent yet reached the top put all their energy and enthusiasm into making the party go with a swing, thinking that theyre making a really good impression, only to discover, in the weeks that follow, that no one phones them despite all the business cards they handed out. Finally, there are those who wobble about on the apex, knowing that its very windy up there and that the slightest gust could blow them off into the abyss below.

People keep coming over to talk to him, although no one mentions the murder, either because they dont know about it, since they live in a world where such things dont happen, or out of polite- ness, which he very much doubts. He looks around him and sees the thing he hates most in the fashion world: middle-aged women who dress as if they were still twenty. Havent they noticed that its time they changed their style? He speaks to one person, smiles at another, thanks someone else for a kind remark, introduces Ewa to the few who still dont know her. He has, however, only one thought in his mind: to find Jasmine within the next five minutes and pose for the photog- raphers.

An industrialist and his wife are telling him in detail about the last time they met, a meeting of which Hamid has no recollection, although he nods wisely. They talk about trips theyve made, people theyve met, and projects theyre involved in. No one touches on genuinely interest- ing topics like Are you happy? or After all weve been through, what does victory actually feel like? They are part of the Superclass and therefore obliged to behave as if they were contented and fulfilled, even if theyre actually asking themselves: What shall I do with my future, now that I have everything I ever dreamed of?

A squalid creature in tight trousers and an Indian top approaches, looking like something out of a comic strip.

Mr. Hussein, Im terribly sorry . . . Who are you? I work for you, sir. How absurd.

Look, Im busy right now, and I know everything I need to know about tonights sad events, so theres no need for you to worry. The creature, however, stays where he is. Hamid begins to feel em- barrassed by his presence, mainly because friends nearby will have heard those dreadful words: I work for you, sir. Whatever will they think?

Mr. Hussein, Im just about to bring over the actress whos going to be appearing in your film. I had to leave her for a moment because I got a phone message, but . . .

Later. At the moment, Im waiting to meet Jasmine Tiger.

The strange creature leaves. The actress whos going to be appear- ing in his film! Poor girl: signed up and dismissed all in one day.

Ewa is holding a champagne glass in one hand and her mobile phone and an extinguished cigarette in the other. The industrialist takes a gold lighter out of his pocket and offers to light her cigarette.

No, thank you, its all right, I can do it myself, she says. Im de- liberately keeping both hands occupied in an attempt to smoke less.

She would like to say: Im holding my mobile so as to protect this idiot, who refuses to believe me and who has never shown the slightest interest in my life or what Ive been through. If I get another message, Ill make a scene and hell be forced to leave and take me with him, whether he wants to or not. Even if he tells me off afterward, at least I can console myself with the thought that I saved his life. I know who the killer is. I can feel the presence of Absolute Evil very near.

A receptionist starts asking the guests to go into the main dining area. Hamid Hussein is prepared to accept his fate without complaint. The photo can wait until tomorrow when he goes up the steps with her. Just then, one of his assistants appears.

Jasmine Tiger isnt here. She must have left.

Never mind. Perhaps they forgot to tell her that we were supposed to meet.

He looks very calm, like someone accustomed to dealing with such situations. Inside, though, his blood is boiling. Shes left the party? Who does she think she is?

Its so easy to die. The human body may well be one of the most efficient mechanisms in creation, but all it takes is a small metal projectile to enter and cut through it at a certain speed, and thats that. Death, according to the dictionary, is the end of a life (although life also needs to be properly defined), the permanent paralysis of the bodys vital functions, like brain activity, breathing, blood flow to and from the heart. Only two things resist this permanent paralysisthe hair and the nails, which continue to grow for a few days or weeks. The definition changes when it comes to religions: for some, death means moving to a higher state, while others believe that it is merely a temporary condition and that the soul inhabiting the body will return later on, either to pay for its sins or to enjoy in the next life the blessings denied it during the previous incarnation. The young woman is standing very still by his side. Either the champagne has taken full effect or its effects have passed, and she now realizes that she knows no one, that this could be both her first and last invitation to such a party, and that dreams sometimes turn into night- mares. When he moved away for a moment with the other sadder girl, he noticed a few men approach the actress, but it seems she felt uncom- fortable with all of them. When she saw him reappear, she asked him to stay with her for the rest of the party. She also asked if he had transport because she has no money and it doesnt look as if her companion will be coming back.

Yes, of course, Ill be glad to take you home.

This wasnt in his plans, but having spotted the policeman observ- ing the guests, he knows its best to look as if hes with someone, that hes just another of the important, anonymous people there, proud to have a pretty, much younger woman with him, one who so perfectly fits the norm in that particular place.

Dont you think we should go in?

Yes, but I know how these things work. Its best to wait until ev- eryone else is seated. Several of the tables will have places reserved at them for certain people, and we dont want to find ourselves in the embarrassing position of sitting down where we shouldnt.

He notices that, for a moment, the girl looks slightly disappointed that he doesnt have one of those reserved places.

The waiters are collecting the empty glasses scattered around the garden. The models have stepped down from their ridiculous pedestals where their gyrations have persuaded the male guests at the party that life can still be interesting and reminded the female guests that they really must get some more liposuction, Botox, silicone, or plastic sur- gery.

Please, lets go in. I need to eat. Ill get sick if I dont.

She takes his arm and they walk toward the room on the upper floor. It would seem that his last message to Ewa has been received and discarded, but then he knows now what to expect from a woman as corrupt as his ex-wife. The angel with the dark eyebrows contin- ues by his side; she was the one who had made him turn round at the right moment and notice the plainclothes policeman, when, in theory, he should have been concentrating on the arrival of the famous coutu- rier.

All right, well go in.

They walk up the steps and into the dining room. As they do so, he asks her politely to let go of his arm, in case any friends there should misinterpret the situation.

Are you married, then? No, divorced.

Yes, Ewa is thinking, she had been right, her intuition was correct, the problems they have encountered so far this evening are as nothing compared with what she has just seen. Since Igor can have no professional reason for being at a film festival, his presence there can have only one possible motive.

Igor! Hamid says.

The man, accompanied by a much younger woman, looks straight at him. Ewas heart starts pounding. She says to Hamid:

What are you doing?

Hamid has already got up from the table. He has no idea what hes doing. Hes walking toward Absolute Limitless Evil, capable of any- thing. Hamid assumes that Igor is just another adult and that he can confront him with either physical force or logical argument. What he doesnt know is that Absolute Evil has the heart of a child and takes no responsibility for its actions and is convinced that its right. And when it doesnt get what it wants, its not afraid to use all possible means to satisfy its desires. Now she understands how it was that the Angel changed so quickly into a Devil: because he has always nursed vengeance and rancor in his heart, even though he claimed to have grown up and overcome all his traumas; because hes unbeatable when it comes to succeeding in life, thus confirming his belief in his own om- nipotence; because he doesnt know how to give up, having survived the worst possible torments through which he walked without so much as a backward glance, all the while repeating to himself: One day, Ill be back, and then youll see what Im capable of.

Apparently, hes found someone more interesting to talk to than us, says a former Miss Europe, who is also sitting at the top table, along with another two celebrities and the host of the party.

Ewa tries to conceal her unease, but she doesnt know what to do. The host seems almost amused and is waiting for some explanation.

Im sorry. Hes an old friend of mine.

Hamid goes over to Igor, who looks suddenly uncertain. The girl with him says loudly:

Hello, Mr. Hussein. Im your new actress!

People at the other tables turn round to see whats happening. The host smiles. Its always good to have something unusual happen at a party; it will give his guests plenty to talk about. Hamid is now stand- ing in front of the man; the host realizes that all is not well and says to Ewa:

I think youd better retrieve Hamid, or, if you like, we can get another chair for your friend. His companion will, Im afraid, have to sit elsewhere.

The guests have turned their attention back to their food and their conversations about yachts, private planes, and the stock market. Only the host keeps a watchful eye on whats going on.

Go and talk to them, he says. Ewa, however, isnt there. Her thoughts are thousands of miles away in a restaurant in Irkutsk, near Lake Baikal. The scene was dif- ferent then, with Igor leading another man outside. Making an enor- mous effort, she gets to her feet and joins the two men.

Go back to the table, says Hamid quietly. Were going outside to talk.

That is the most stupid thing he could possibly do. She grabs his arm and, smiling, pretends to be happy to be meeting someone she hasnt seen in a long time. With great aplomb, she says:

But suppers only just beginning!

She doesnt add my love; she doesnt want to open the doors of hell.

Shes right. Wed be better off talking here.

Did Igor say that? Perhaps shes been imagining things and it isnt at all as she thought? Has the child finally grown into a responsible adult? Has the Devil been forgiven for his arrogance and returned to the Kingdom of Heaven?

She so wants to be wrong, but the two men are still staring at each other. Hamid can see something deeply perverse behind those blue eyes and, for a moment, a shudder runs through him. The young woman is holding out her hand.

Pleased to meet you. My names Gabriela . . . He doesnt return her greeting. The other mans eyes are shining. Theres a table over in the corner. Why dont we all go and sit down there, says Ewa. A table in the corner? Is his wife going to leave her place of honor at the top table and sit at a table in a corner? Ewa has already linked arms with both men and is leading them toward the only free table, near the door through which the waiters come and go. The actress follows behind. Hamid detaches himself for a moment and goes back to his host to apologize.

Ive just met a childhood friend. He has to leave tomorrow, and I wouldnt want to miss this chance to talk a little. Please, dont wait for us, I cant say how long well be.

No one will steal your places, says the host, smiling, knowing full well that the two chairs will remain empty.

I thought he was your wifes childhood friend, says the former Miss Europe waspishly.

Hamid, however, is already walking back to the worst table in the room, reserved for the celebrities assistants, who, despite all precau- tions, often manage to slip in where theyre not supposed to be.

Hamids a good man, thinks the host, as he watches the coutu- rier walk away, head held high. But the night hasnt got off to a very happy start for him.

They all sit down at the corner table. Gabriela understands that this is her one chance, yet another of those many one chances that have happened today. She says how pleased she was to receive the invitation and that shell do all she can not to disappoint.

I trust you, she says. I even signed the contract without reading it.

The other three people dont say a word; they just look at each other. Is something wrong? Can it be the effect of the champagne? Best to keep talking.

Im particularly happy because, contrary to what people usually say, the selection process was very fair. There were no special requests, no favors. I did the test this morning, and they didnt even let me finish reading the text they gave me. They just asked me to go to a yacht to talk to the director. That sets an excellent example, Mr. Hussein, I mean, treating people with dignity and honesty when it comes to choosing who youre going to be working with. People think that in the world of cinema the only thing that really counts is . . .

She was about to say sleeping with the producer, but the producer is sitting next to his wife.

. . . is what a person looks like.

The waiter brings the entrŽes and launches into his usual mono- logue: Tonights entrŽes are artichoke hearts in a Dijon mustard sauce, drizzled with a little olive oil, flavored with fines herbes and served with slivers of Pyrenean goats cheese . . .

Only the young woman smiles and listens to what hes saying. He realizes that he isnt welcome and leaves.

It looks delicious! she says. Then she glances round at the others, none of whom has made a move to pick up knife or fork. Something is very wrong here.

Look, you obviously need to talk. Perhaps I should sit somewhere else.

Yes, says Hamid. No, stay here, says the woman. What should she do now? Do you like your companion? the woman asks. Ive only just met Gunther. Gunther. Hamid and Ewa look at the impassive Igor sitting beside her. And what does Gunther do? Arent you friends of his? Yes, and we know what he does. But we dont know how much you know about his life. Gabriela turns to Igor. Why doesnt he help her? A waiter arrives to ask what wine they would like to drink. White or red? Saved by a stranger! Red for everyone, says Hamid. You still havent told us what Gunther does? She hasnt been saved. He works with heavy machinery, I think. We hardly know each other really. The only thing we have in common is that we were both waiting for friends who never turned up.

A good answer, thinks Gabriela. Perhaps that woman is having a secret affair with her new partner or else an affair that her husband has just found out aboutthat would explain the tension in the air.

His name is Igor, announces the woman. He owns one of the biggest mobile phone companies in Russia. Thats far more important than selling heavy machinery.

If this is true, why did he lie? She decides to say nothing.

I was hoping to meet you here, Igor, the woman says, addressing Gunther now.

I came looking for you, but Ive changed my mind now, comes the blunt reply.

Gabriela suddenly gives her paper-stuffed handbag a squeeze and adopts a surprised expression.

Oh, my phones ringing. I think my friend must have arrived, so Id better go and find him. Im so sorry, but hes come a long way just to be with me, and since he doesnt know anyone else here, I feel kind of responsible for him.

She gets up. Etiquette dictates that one shouldnt shake hands with someone when he or she is eating, although the others havent even touched the food. The wineglasses, however, are already empty. And the man who, up until two minutes ago, was called Gunther has just ordered a whole bottle.

I hope you got my messages, says Igor. I received three. Perhaps the telephone network here is worse than the one you developed. Im not talking about telephones. Then I dont know what you are talking about, she says, but what she wants to say is: I know youre not. Just as Igor must know that, during the first year she was with Hamid, she waited for a phone call or a message, for some mutual friend to tell her how much Igor was missing her. She didnt want him near her, but she knew that hurting him would be the worst thing she could do; she needed to placate her own personal Fury and pretend that one day, they would be good friends. One afternoon, when shed had a bit to drink and finally summoned up the nerve to call him, she found that hed changed his mobile number. When she phoned him at the office, she was told he was in a meeting. When she rang on subsequent occasionsalways with the help of a little Dutch courageshe was told that Igor was traveling or would phone her back at once, which, of course, he never did.

And she began to see ghosts everywhere, to feel that she was being watched, that soon she would suffer the same fate as the beggar and the others whose promotions to a better life Igor had hinted at. Mean- while, Hamid never asked her about her past, alleging that everyone has a right to keep his or her life locked up and private in the subter- ranean tunnels of memory. He did all he could to make her happy and to help her feel safe and protected; he even told her that his life had only begun to make any sense since meeting her.

Then one day, Absolute Evil rang the doorbell of their apartment building in London. Hamid was at home and sent him away. Nothing else happened in the months that followed.

Gradually, she succeeded in deceiving herself. Yes, she had made the right choice; the moment we choose a path, all other paths disap- pear. It was childish of her to think that she could be married to one man and friends with her ex-husband, that was only possible between well-balanced people, and Igor was not well-balanced. It was best to believe that an invisible hand had saved her from Absolute Evil. She was enough of a woman to make the new man at her side feel depen- dent on her and to help him as much as she could, as lover, advisor, wife, and sister, and she channeled all her energy into doing just that.

During this period, she had only one real friend, who disappeared as suddenly as she had appeared. She was Russian too, but unlike her, had been abandoned by her husband and didnt really know what she was doing in England. They spoke almost every day.

I left it all behind, Ewa told her once. And I dont regret it one bit. I would have done the same even if Hamidagainst my wishes hadnt bought a beautiful estate in Spain and put it in my name. I would have made the same decision if Igor, my ex-husband, had offered me half his fortune, because I need to live without fear. And if one of the most desirable men in the world wants to be by my side, then Im obvi- ously a better person than I thought.

It was all lies. She wasnt trying to convince her only confidante, but herself. It was all a front. Inside the strong woman sitting at that table with two powerful and important men was a little girl afraid of being left alone and poor, never having experienced what it was to be a mother. Had she simply got used to all the luxury and the glamour? No. She was always preparing herself to lose everything from one day to the next, when her present companion finally found out that she wasnt what he thought and was incapable of meeting others expectations.

Did she know how to manipulate men? Yes. They all thought she was strong and confident, mistress of her own destiny, that she was capable of leaving any man, however important or eligible. And the worst thing was that men believed it. Men like Igor and like Hamid. Because she knew how to pretend, because she never said exactly what she was thinking, because she was the best actress in the world and knew better than anyone how to hide her vulnerable side.

What do you want? he asks in Russian. More wine. He sounded as if he didnt much care what answer she gave; he had already said what he wanted. Before you left, I said something to you, but I think you must have forgotten. He had said so many things: I promise that Ill change and start working less, Youre the only woman I love, If you leave, it will destroy me, words familiar to everyone and which are utterly devoid of meaning.

I said: If you leave me, Ill destroy a world.

She couldnt remember him saying this, but it was perfectly pos- sible. Igor had always been a very bad loser.

But what does that mean? she asks in Russian. At least be polite enough to speak in English, says Hamid. Igor turns to face him. I will speak English, not out of politeness, but because I want you to understand. And turning back to Ewa, he says: I said I would destroy a whole world to get you back. I started doing that, but was saved by an angel. I realized that you didnt deserve it. Youre a selfish, implacable woman, interested only in acquiring more fame and more money. You refused all the good things I offered you because a house deep in the Russian countryside didnt fit in with your dream world, a world, by the way, to which you dont belong and never will.

I sacrificed myself and others for your sake, and thats not right. I need to go to the very end, so that I can return to the world of the living with a sense of duty done and mission completed. Now, as we speak, Im in the world of the dead.

This mans eyes are filled with a look of Absolute Evil, thinks Hamid, as he listens to this absurd conversation, full of long silences. Fine, hell let things go to the very end, as Igor suggests, as long as that doesnt mean him losing the woman he loves. Even better for him, Ewas ex-husband has not only turned up accompanied by some vulgar woman, he has insulted Ewa to her face. Hell allow him to go on a little longer and will know when to bring the conversation to a halt, when its too late for Igor to apologize or to beg forgiveness.

Ewa must be seeing the same thing: a blind hatred for everything and everyone, simply because one person didnt do as he wished. He wonders what he would have done were he that man who is now appar- ently fighting for the woman he loves.

He would, he thinks, be capable of killing for her. The waiter reappears and notices that the plates are all untouched. Is anything wrong with the food? he asks. No one answers. The waiter understands: the husband must have caught his wife in flagrante with her lover in Cannes, and this is the final confrontation. Hes seen it all before, and it usually ends in a fight or a row.

Another bottle of wine, says one of the men.

You dont deserve anything, says the other man, his eyes fixed on the woman. You used me just as youre using that idiot beside you. You were the biggest mistake of my life.

The waiter decides to check with the host before bringing them that other bottle of wine, but one of the men has just got to his feet, saying to the woman:

Thats enough. Were leaving.

Yes, lets all leave, lets go outside, says the other man. I want to see how far you would go to defend a person who doesnt know the meaning of the words honor and dignity.

Two males fighting over a female. The woman asks them not to go outside, but to return to the table. The man with her, however, seems ready to respond to the insult. The waiter considers warning the se- curity guards that a fight might ensue, but the head waiter is already complaining that the service is too slow, so what is he doing hanging around there? He has other tables to serve. Hes right, of course. What happens outside isnt his problem. And if he admits to listening in on a conversation, hell get told off. Hes being paid to wait at tables, not to save the world.

The three of them cross the garden where the cocktails had been served and which is now undergoing a rapid transformation. When the guests come down from supper, theyll find a dance floor lit with special lights, a seating area furnished with armchairs, and sev- eral small bars all serving free drinks.

Igor walks ahead in silence. Ewa follows, and Hamid brings up the rear. There is a small metal gate at the top of the steps down to the beach. Igor opens it and asks them to go first. Ewa refuses, but he seems not to mind and goes down the many flights of steps that lead to the sea below. He knows that Hamid will not prove to be a coward. Until he met him at the party, he had considered him to be nothing but an unscrupulous couturier, a seducer of married women, and a manipu- lator of other peoples vanity. Now, however, he secretly admires him. Hes a real man, capable of fighting to the end for someone he believes to be important, even though Igor knows that Ewa hasnt one iota of the talent of the young actress he met tonight. She cant disguise her feelings at all; he can sense her fear, he knows that shes sweating, won-

dering whom to call, how to ask for help.

When they reach the sand, Igor walks right to the end of the beach and sits down close to some rocks. He asks the others to do the same. He knows that despite her terror, Ewa is also thinking: Im going to spoil my dress. Im going to get my shoes dirty. But she sits down beside him. The other man asks her to move over a little, so that he can sit there, but she wont budge.

He doesnt insist. There they are, the three of them, as if they were old acquaintances in search of a moments peace in which to contem- plate the rising of the full moon before they go back up the steps to listen to the infernal racket of the discotheque.

Hamid promises himself that he willgiveIgortenminutes, time enough for him to say everything thats on his mind, to vent his rage and then go back where he came from. If he turns violent, hell be the loser because Hamid is physically stronger and, as a Bedouin, trained to respond swiftly and precisely to any attack. He doesnt want to cause a scene at the party, but the Russian should be under no illu- sion: he is prepared for anything.

When they go back up, hell apologize to their host and explain that the situation has been resolved. He knows he can speak openly to him. Hell tell him that his wifes ex-husband had turned up without warning and that hed felt it best to remove him before he caused any trouble. If the man doesnt leave as soon as they return to the party, hell summon one of his own bodyguards to expel him. Igor may well be rich and own one of the largest mobile phone companies in Russia, but hes being a nuisance.

You betrayed me, not just during the two years youve spent with this man, but during all the years we spent together.

Ewa says nothing.

What would you be capable of doing in order to keep her? he asks Hamid.

Hamid wonders whether he should answer or not. Ewa isnt a piece of merchandise to be haggled over.

Can you rephrase the question? OK. Would you give your life for the woman beside you? There is pure evil in the mans eyes. Even if Igor had managed to steal a knife from the restaurant (Hamid hadnt noticed him doing so, but he must consider all possibilities), he will have no problem disarm- ing him. No, he wouldnt give his life for anyone, except God and the chief of his tribe, but he must say something.

I would fight for her and, if it came to it, I think I would be capable of killing for her.

Ewa can stand the pressure no longer; she would like to say ev- erything she knows about the man on her right. She is sure that he murdered the actor and destroyed her new companions long-cherished dream of becoming a film producer.

Lets go back up.

What she really wants to say is: Please, lets get out of here now. Youre talking to a psychopath.

Igor appears not to hear what she said.

Youd be capable of killing for her, so that means youd be capable of dying for her too.

If I fought and lost, yes, I think I would. But lets not start a fight here on the beach.

I want to go back up to the party, says Ewa again.

Hamid, however, feels his male pride is in question. He cant leave there like a coward. The ancient dance performed by maleshumans and animalsin order to impress the female is just beginning.

When you left, I somehow couldnt be myself, says Igor, as if he were alone on the beach. My business was prospering, and I could keep control of myself during the day, but at night, I would plunge into black depression. I had lost a part of myself I could never recover. I thought I might be able to do that by coming here to Cannes, but when I arrived, I realized that the part of me that had died couldnt and shouldnt be resuscitated. Ill never take you back, not even if you came to me on bended knee, begging forgiveness and threaten- ing suicide.

Ewa breathed easier; at least there wouldnt be a fight.

You didnt understand my messages. I said I would be capable of destroying whole worlds, and you didnt get it. Or if you did, you couldnt believe it. What does it mean to destroy a world?

He puts his hand in his trouser pocket and takes out a small gun. He doesnt point it at anyone, though; his eyes remain fixed on the sea and the moon. The blood starts to flow faster in Hamids veins. Igor either wants to frighten and humiliate them or this really is a fight to the death. But will he kill them there, at the party, knowing that hell be arrested as soon as he goes back up the steps? He cant be that mad; if he were, he could never have achieved all he has achieved in life.

Enough distractions. He is a warrior trained to defend himself and to attack. He must stay absolutely still because, although the other man isnt looking directly at him, he knows that his senses will be alert to any gesture.

The only part of his body he can safely move is his eyes, and he can see that there is no one else on the beach. Up above, the band is just beginning to tune their instruments, preparing for the most enjoyable segment of the party. Hamid isnt thinking, his instincts are now fo- cused on acting without the interference of his brain.

Ewa is sitting between him and Igor, and she seems hypnotized by the sight of the gun. If he tries anything, Igor will turn and shoot and she might get hit.

Yes, perhaps his first hypothesis was correct. Igor just wants to frighten them, to force Hamid to show himself to be a coward and lose his honor. If he really wanted to shoot them, he wouldnt be holding the gun in that casual manner. It would be best to talk and try to get him to relax a little, while he thinks of some way out.

What does destroying a world mean? he asks.

Destroying a life. A whole universe gone. Everything that person saw and experienced; all the good and the bad that came his way; all his dreams, hopes, defeats, and victories ceasing to exist. As chil- dren, we learned by heart a passage which I only later found out came from a Protestant priest. He said something like: When the sea bears away into its depths a single grain of sand, the whole of Europe grows smaller. We dont notice, of course. After all, its just a grain of sand, but at that very moment the continent is diminished.

Igor pauses. Hes starting to feel irritated with the noise from up above; the sound of the waves was so calming, allowing him to treat this moment with the respect it deserves. The angel with the dark eye- brows is watching and is happy with what she sees.

It was supposed to teach us that we were responsible for creating the perfect society, namely Communism, he goes on. We were all brothers and sisters, they said, but, in fact, we were spies trained to betray each other.

He becomes calm and thoughtful again. I cant quite hear you. This will give him a reason to move. Of course you can. You know that I have a gun in my hand and you want to come closer to see if you can grab it off me. Youre trying to engage me in conversation in order to distract me while you consider what to do. Please, dont move. The moment hasnt yet come.

Igor, lets just drop the whole thing, Ewa says in Russian. I love you. Lets go away together.

Speak in English. Your companion here needs to understand what youre saying.

Yes, he would understand, and later on, he would thank her for it.

I love you, she says again, in English this time. I never received your messages. If I had, I would have come running back. I tried sev- eral times to phone you, but never got through. I left many messages with your secretary, but you never called me.

Thats true. Ever since I started getting your messages today, Ive been long- ing to see you again. I didnt know where you were, but I knew that you would come and find me. I know you dont want to forgive me, but at least allow me to live by your side. I can be your servant, your cleaner, Ill look after you and your lover, should you ever decide to take one. All I want is to be with you.

Shell explain everything to Hamid later. She has to say something, anything, just to get them out of there and back up the steps to the real world, where there are policemen who can stop Absolute Evil from revealing its hatred.

Id like to believe that, or, rather, Id like to believe that I love you too and want you back, but I dont. Besides, I think youre lying and that you always lied.

Hamid isnt listening to what either of them is saying; his mind is far away with his warrior ancestors, asking for inspiration to make the right move.

You could have told me that our marriage wasnt working out as we both hoped. We had built so much together; couldnt we have found a solution? Theres always a way of allowing happiness in, but for that to happen, both partners have to acknowledge there are problems. I would have listened to what you had to say. Our marriage would have regained all its initial excitement and joy. But you didnt want to do that, you chose the easy way out.

I was always afraid of you, and now, seeing you with that gun in your hand, Im even more afraid.

Hamid is brought abruptly back to earth by Ewas last comment. His soul is no longer somewhere in space, asking advice from the war- riors of the desert, trying to find out how he should act.

She cant have said that. Shes handing over power to the enemy; now hell know that hes capable of terrifying her.

I would like to have invited you to supper one day and tell you that I felt so alone, despite all the banquets, jewels, journeys, and meetings with kings and presidents, Ewa says. Do you know something else? You always brought me really expensive presents, but never the sim- plest gift of allflowers.

This is turning into a marital argument. Ill leave you two to talk. Igor says nothing. His eyes are still fixed on the sea, but hes still pointing the gun at him, indicating that he should stay where he is. The man is mad, and his apparent calm is more dangerous than if he were screaming threats at them.

Anyway, he says, as if unperturbed either by her words or by Hamids attempt to move, you chose the easiest way out. You left me. You didnt give me a chance; you didnt understand that everything I was doing was for you and because of you.

And yet, despite all the injustices and humiliations, I would have done anything to have you backuntil today. Until I sent you those messages, and you pretended not to have received them. In other words, even the sacrifice of those other people didnt move you; you just couldnt get enough of power and luxury.

The Star who was poisoned and the director whose life still hangs by a thread: is Hamid imagining the unimaginable? Then he under- stands something even more serious: with that confession, the man beside him has just signed their death warrant. He must either commit suicide there and then or put an end to the lives of two people who now know far too much.

Perhaps, Hamid thinks, he himself is going mad or simply misun- derstanding the situation, but he knows that time is running out.

He looks at the gun in the mans hand. Its a small caliber. If it doesnt hit certain critical points in the body, it wont do much harm. He cant be very experienced; if he were, he would have chosen some- thing more powerful. He obviously doesnt know what hes doing; he must have bought the first thing he was offered, something that fired bullets and could kill.

The band has started playing up above. Dont they realize that the noise of the music will mask the sound of a shot? Then again, would they know the difference between a gunshot and one of the many other artificial noises that are currently infestingyes, thats the word, in- festing, polluting, plaguingthe atmosphere? Igor has gone quiet again, and that is far more dangerous than if he were to continue talking, emptying his heart of some of his bitterness and bile. Hamid again weighs up the possibilities; if hes going to act, he needs to do so in the next few seconds. He could throw himself across Ewa and grab the gun while its lying casually in Igors lap, even though Igors finger is on the trigger. He could reach out to him with both arms, forcing Igor to draw back in fright, and then Ewa would be out of the line of fire. Igor would point the gun in his direc- tion, but by then, he would be close enough to grab his wrist. It would all take only a second.

Now.

Maybe this silence is a positive sign; perhaps Igors lost concentra- tion. Or it might be the beginning of the end, meaning that hes said all he has to say.

Now.

In the first fraction of a second, the muscle in his left thigh tenses, propelling him furiously forward in the direction of Absolute Evil; the area of his body shrinks as he hurls himself over Ewas lap, arms outstretched. The first second continues, and he sees the gun being pointed directly at his head; the man moves more quickly than he had expected.

His body is still flying toward the gun. They should have talked before. Ewa has never said much about her ex-husband, as if he be- longed to a past she preferred not to think aboutever. Even though everything is happening in slow motion, the man draws back as nimbly as a cat. The gun in his hand is perfectly steady.

The first second is just reaching its end. He sees a finger move, but there is no sound, only the feeling of something crushing the bone in the middle of his forehead. His universe is extinguished and with it the memories of the young man who dreamed of being someone, his arrival in Paris, his fathers shop, the sheikh, his battle to gain a place in the sun, the fashion shows, the trips abroad, meeting the woman he loves, the days of wine and roses, the laughter and the tears, the last moon on the rise, the eyes of Absolute Evil, the look of terror in his wifes eyes, all disappear.

Dont cry out. Dont say a word. Keep calm. Of course she isnt going to cry out, nor does she need to be told to keep calm. Shes in a state of shock like the animal she is, despite her fine jewelry and her expensive dress. Her blood is no long circulating at its normal speed, her face grows pale, her voice vanishes, her blood pressure plummets. He knows exactly what shes feeling; he once expe- rienced the same when he saw the rifle of an Afghan warrior pointing at his chest. Total immobility and a complete inability to react. He was only saved because a colleague fired first. He was still grateful to the man who had saved his life; everyone thought he was just his chauf- feur, when, in fact, he owned many shares in the company, and he and Igor often talked; indeed, they had spoken that very afternoon when Igor had phoned to ask if Ewa had shown any sign of having received his messages. Ewa, poor Ewa, sitting there with a man dying in her lap. Human beings are unpredictable; sometimes they react as that fool reacted, knowing that he had no chance of beating him. Weapons are unpre- dictable too. He expected the bullet to come out the other side of the mans head, blowing away the top part of the brain, but, given the angle of the shot, it must have pierced the brain, bounced off a bone, and entered the thorax because hes trembling uncontrollably, but with no sign of any blood.

It must be the trembling, not the shot, that has so shocked Ewa. With one foot, Igor pushes the body to the ground and puts a bullet through the back of the mans neck. The tremors cease. The man deserves a dignified death; he was, after all, valiant to the end. They are alone now on the beach. He kneels down in front of her and places the barrel of the gun against her breast. Ewa doesnt move.

He had imagined a very different ending to this story, with her un- derstanding his messages and giving the two of them a new chance of happiness. He had thought of all the things he would say when they were finally alone again like this, looking out at the calm Mediterra- nean Sea, smiling and chatting.

He doesnt want to live with those words stuck in his throat, even if those words are useless now.

I always thought that one day, wed walk hand in hand through a park again or along the seashore, finally saying those long-postponed words of love. We would eat out once a week, travel together to places wed never been to simply for the pleasure of discovering new things in each others company.

While youve been away, Ive been copying poems out in a book so that I could whisper them to you as you fell asleep. Ive written let- ters telling you how I felt, letters I would leave where you could find them and then youd know that I never forgot younot for a single day, not for a single moment. We would discuss plans for the house you wanted on the shores of Lake Baikaljust for us. I know you had a lot of ideas for that. I planned to have a private airport built there, and, of course, Id leave the decoration of the house to your good taste, to you, the woman who justified my life and gave it meaning.

Ewa says nothing, but stares out at the sea before her.

I came here because of you, only to realize that it was all point- less.

He squeezes the trigger.

There was almost no sound because the barrel of the gun was pressed against her body. The bullet entered at precisely the right place, and her heart immediately stopped beating. Despite all the pain she had caused him, he didnt want her to suffer.

If there was a life after death, both of themthe woman who betrayed him and the man who encouraged herwere now walking along, hold- ing hands, in the moonlight fringing the shoreline. They would meet the angel with the dark eyebrows, who would explain everything that had happened and put an end to any feelings of rancor or hatred; at some point, everyone has to leave this planet known as Earth. And, besides, love justifies acts that mere human beings cannot understand, unless they happen to be experiencing what he has experienced.

Ewas eyes remain open, but her body grows limp and falls to the sand. He leaves both bodies there, goes over to the rocks, carefully wipes any fingerprints from the gun, and throws it into the sea, as far as possible from the place where they had been sitting contemplating the moon. He goes back up the steps, finds a litter bin on the way, and drops the silencer in. He hadnt really needed it; the music had reached a crescendo at just the right moment.