The Winner Stands Alone

"Ever since I started getting your messages today, I've been longing to see you again. I didn't know where you were, but I knew that you would come and find me. I know you don't want to forgive me, but at least allow me to live by your side. I can be your servant, your cleaner, I'll look after you and your lover, should you ever decide to take one. All I want is to be with you."

She'll 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.

"I'd like to believe that, or, rather, I'd like to believe that I love you too and want you back, but I don't. Besides, I think you're lying and that you always lied."

Hamid isn't 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 wasn't working out as we both hoped. We had built so much together; couldn't we have found a solution? There's 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 didn't 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, I'm even more afraid."

Hamid is brought abruptly back to earth by Ewa's

last comment. His soul is no longer somewhere in space, asking advice from the warriors of the desert, trying to find out how he should act.

She can't have said that. She's handing over power to the enemy; now he'll know that he's 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 simplest gift of all--flowers."

This is turning into a marital argument.

"I'll leave you two to talk."

Igor says nothing. His eyes are still fixed on the sea, but he's 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 Hamid's attempt to move, "you chose the easiest way out. You left me. You didn't give me a chance; you didn't 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 back--until 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 didn't move you; you just couldn't 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 understands 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 misunderstanding the situation, but he knows that time is running out.

He looks at the gun in the man's hand. It's a small caliber. If it doesn't hit certain critical points in the body, it won't do much harm. He can't be very experienced; if he were, he would have chosen something more powerful. He obviously doesn't know what he's 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. Don't 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 infesting--yes, that's the word, infesting, polluting, plaguing--the 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 he's going to act, he needs to do so in the next few seconds. He could throw himself across Ewa and grab the gun while it's lying casually in Igor's lap, even though Igor's 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 direction, 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 Igor's lost concentration. Or it might be the beginning of the end, meaning that he's 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 Ewa's 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 belonged to a past she preferred not to think about--ever. 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 father's 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 wife's eyes, all disappear.

"DON'T CRY OUT. DON'T SAY a word. Keep calm."

Of course she isn't going to cry out, nor does she need to be told to keep calm. She's 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 she's feeling; he once experienced 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 chauffeur, 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 unpredictable too. He expected the bullet to come out the other side of the man's 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 he's 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 man's neck. The tremors cease. The man deserves a dignified death; he was, after all, valiant to the end.