Through Phantom Eyes: Volume Five - Christine

by Theodora Bruns

  She frowned again, “I don’t understand.”

  “Remember when you were a child and you had a trip planned to go to the beach with your father?”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  “When you went to bed the night before the trip and closed your eyes, where did you see yourself the next day, and what were you doing there?”

  Her face softened and a contented smile appeared. “I saw myself and my father on the beach, running and laughing.”

  “Didn’t you also see yourself picking up broken shells, dusting the sand off them, then holding them up to the sun and watching them shimmer in its light?”

  Her eyes popped open. “Why, yes. But how did you know that?”

  “I know many things, Christine. Now, close your eyes again and listen to my voice.”

  Again she obeyed willingly, so I continued. “You saw yourself on that beach down to the smallest details, because you believed, beyond all doubt, that your father would be true to his word and take you there. So I want you to tell me where you want to be in the days ahead so I can help you get there. More than anywhere else in the world, where do you want to be?”

  She was silent and then slightly shook her head and responded timidly, “I’m not sure.”

  I could see my line of reasoning wasn’t clear enough to have her follow it, so I directed her thinking. “More than anything else in the world, don’t you want to see yourself center stage and in a beautiful gown while singing the pivotal aria in an opera?”

  She nodded slightly. “Yes, that would be too wonderful for words. But what I want more than that is to be back in my father’s embrace.”

  Her response took me completely by surprise, and I quickly struggled to find my way back to where I wanted her thoughts to go. “That’s by far the noblest quest in anyone’s life. A beautiful relationship with those you love and those who love you is assuredly the highest of goals that anyone could reach for. But I’m your Angel of Music, my dear, not an angel of resurrections. While my powers are many and strong, I’m impotent against the forces guarding death’s door. Therefore, other than your desire to be with your father again, what would you want most out of this life?”

  She took a deep breath and nodded while saying, “Just what you said. I want to be a great singer and someday have my voice appreciated.”

  That might have been what her lips spoke, but, if I hadn’t already read her diary, I wouldn’t have believed it was her heart’s desire. The lack of conviction in her voice was betraying her. Therefore, I lowered my voice and became the strength she needed.

  “I’m very near to you right now, Christine, and I barely heard your words. If you want the world to notice your voice then you have to make it heard. So tell me that again, only this time tell me with fervor exactly what you want. Don’t be shy. Remember, I already know what’s in your heart, so don’t be afraid to express its desires to me.”

  She responded with more strength, but still her voice was weak and unsure. “I want to be center stage singing alone before an audience.”

  “Remember the beach, Christine. You must believe that I can take you to center stage before you can get there, just as you believed your father would take you to the shores of Perros. Now open your eyes and look at yourself in the mirror again, and tell yourself that you will be center stage.”

  She opened her eyes and focused on herself in the mirror, but didn’t say anything, so I continued to encourage her. “You must believe it, Christine.”

  She nodded but still didn’t respond; in fact, she even looked embarrassed. I was beginning to feel frustration mounting in me, and I was questioning her desire, but then I recalled her continual pleas recorded in her journal. Perhaps she needed a stronger hand, I thought. Therefore, my next words were stronger and almost harsh.

  “There are many in this world who are waiting for the chance to have me tutor them. Am I wasting my time on you, Christine? Answer me! Shall I go to them and leave you to ponder your current condition on your own?”

  “No!” she nearly screamed. Then her eyes began to fill with tears again as she demanded, “Don’t leave me!”

  Letting my voice boom across her room, I came back quickly. “Now that’s what I call conviction. That’s how you need to feel about your ability to perform your music center stage. That’s how I want you to speak to yourself in the mirror each time you enter this room. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes,” she responded.

  Unfortunately, her voice had sunk back to its original hiding place, and I wanted to scream. But then I realized I needed time to think through what I was doing, before I did even more damage to that injured soul in need of my tender care.

  Therefore, with my voice still strong but also soft, I encouraged her. “I want you to go back to the ballet instructor and prove to him that you have what it takes to be in front of a paying audience.”

  “Yes. I’ll go straight away,” she responded, while wiping the remainder of the tears from her cheeks. “I’ll do as you say.”

  I watched her go to the door, but then she stopped and looked around. “When will I meet you again?”

  “As long as you’re in my house of music, Christine, I’ll be close to you. Whenever you wish to speak to me, come to your room. We’ll start your voice lessons tomorrow morning at eight o’clock sharp. Now, tell me, my dear, what production are you rehearsing?”

  “We’re preparing for a gala to be presented 15 March in honor of Messieurs Debienne’s and Poligny’s retirement.”

  What! I screamed within myself. My managers are retiring? No! I had just gotten them trained so well. They can’t leave!

  “Angel? Are you still here?”

  Trying to clear my thoughts quickly, I answered her, “Yes, Christine, I’m here and I always will be. We’ll start tomorrow morning, and by 15 March you’ll be standing center stage in several of your own solo arias. We have much work do, so don’t be late.”

  “Oh,” she responded, with her spread fingers pressed under her ribs. “Do you really think I can be ready that soon?”

  I smiled at her innocence. “Don’t forget—you’re speaking to your Angel of Music, and, with him, anything is possible. Now go and prove your worth to Gabriel.”

  “Yes,” she answered with a wide, yet hesitant, smile. Then she turned and was gone from me.

  I was left alone again, but, this time, I was filled with hope. Even though a plate of glass separated us, and it was only my voice she knew, she, at least, knew me, and we had our first connection. I felt warm inside in a way that was completely foreign to what I’d known before. That girl did something to me that I was still at a loss for words to describe.

  I again followed her to the ballet studio and watched from the mirror. She did show more confidence, not as much as I wanted to see in her, but it was a start. I followed her until she left for the day, and then I returned to my abode with new and hopeful ideas taking over my mind.

  I spent another sleepless night in anticipation of our next clandestine encounter. Then, the last few hours before eight o’clock, I again paced in the narrow passage behind her mirror. All night I’d spent in deep thought. How could I help her release the fears that held her in their grip? Something was preventing her from expressing what I believed was inside her, and I needed to find out what it was and release it.

  As I waited, I also thought about the face that prevented me from becoming a real man to her. I searched for ways that I could make a mask that might look even more human than the ones I’d already made. I even considered going to a doctor and having a prosthetic nose made, which was a challenge for me on a much different level. Then the moment came when she was once again in front of me, and I could pretend she was looking at me and not at her reflection.

  “Close your eyes, Christine,” I said calmly, slowly, and deeply. “Listen carefully to my voice and nothing else. Shut out everything else from your mind and listen to my voice alone. Now picture the shores of Perros. Hear the call
of the gulls as they glide over your head and then out to sea. Listen to the rhythmic crash of the waves on the rocks, one right after the other.

  “Feel the ocean breeze on your face and neck. Without the restraints of heavy clothing, feel the power of the breeze as it flows past your body. Feel it press against you. Feel it as it moves every tendril of hair away from your face. Feel your freedom from all the restraints that bind you. Feel your freedom, Christine. Feel your body turning in circles. Feel the wet sand beneath your feet as you walk along the shoreline. Feel your freedom to run with nothing around you except the gulls and the waves.

  “You’re alone and vulnerable, but you have no fear, for there’s nothing there to harm you. Everything is your friend; the gulls, the waves, and the air are all your friends. No one is there to hurt you, and you’re free as never before.

  “Take a deep breath of the salty air and hold it inside you. Picture it in your lungs, loosening all the unwanted and stale air of the conservatory. Now, let it out slowly and feel it remove all the restrictive criticism of your former instructors. Again, take a deep breath, and let the salty air heal the wounds of a lifetime. Let it all out, and, with it, release all your fears. Watch the air currents carry them out over the sea. Feel the waves washing against your feet, pulling your concerns out to the deep waters. Picture the waves pounding your fears against the rocks, destroying them completely.

  “Now take another breath and listen to my voice as it takes over the sounds of the waves on the rocks. Follow my voice, Christine, wherever it goes. Follow me. There’s nothing to hold you back as you follow me. There’s no restrictive clothing and no harmful memories of the past. There’s only my voice and nothing else around you. My voice is in the waves at your feet, and my voice is in the call of the gulls above you, and my voice is within you in the very air you breathe. Listen to my voice and follow me.”

  Up to that point, she’d done everything I’d asked of her. She opened and closed her eyes on command. She took breaths when I commanded, and she raised her arms away from her sides, all exactly as I’d instructed. But the real test was yet to come. I sang in a continual soft middle C while gently and firmly encouraging her.

  “Follow me, Christine. Take a deep breath, and follow me.”

  I continued softly with a sustained middle C, and she followed my lead. I increased my volume.

  “Follow me, Christine.”

  While watching her face closely, I started climbing the register, and she followed my every transition.

  “Again, Christine. Take a deep breath and follow me.”

  As her face showed the freedom she was feeling, I smiled through the notes escaping my lips. I kept climbing the register and increasing in volume, while my words continued to encourage her to follow me. Once I reached the top of my register, I told her to continue on her own and she did. I kept encouraging her as she climbed higher and higher. I told her to climb like the gulls and glide on the air, free from all the cares in the world.

  She was flawless. She had everything in her that I thought she had and even more. Her voice was exceptional and was only hidden beneath layers of restrictive rules and regulations. Those regulations were laid down by stupid men in their arrogance, just so they could control others with their own preconceived ideas of what was proper.

  I watched her face closely as she climbed each note with my instruction. She was exquisite, and the moments were breathtaking. I almost had myself convinced we were alone on the beach and that the musty air inside my passage had turned into the salty breeze. I could actually smell it.

  Once I felt she was straining too hard, I stopped her. Then I listened to the room fill with silence, and, in the moments that followed, I felt my heart fill with pride for the woman’s voice that had just escaped from the frightened child.

  Four

  Her chest rose and fell quickly, and I could feel her excitement when she began to realize what she’d done.

  “Open your eyes, Christine, and see your world in the light of a new day over which you, and you alone, will be the mistress.”

  Almost cautiously, her fingers spread across her chest and then slowly to her throat, while her wide eyes searched the room.

  “Angel?”

  The smile on my lips could be heard in my next words. “Yes, my child.”

  “Was that me?” her returning timid voice asked.

  “Yes, my child.”

  “Everything was so beautiful there. I wish I could have stayed there forever, with the surf and the birds and the music. I felt safe there. I felt I could do anything there. But I don’t feel that way here. I don’t feel it was even me singing, now that I’m back in my room. It had to be someone else inside me. It couldn’t have been me.”

  “Why not, Christine? Why not you?”

  She stepped back and wrapped her arms around herself. Then her eyes filled with fear. “Because, I’ve never sung like that before. I must have been imagining someone else on a beach. It couldn’t have been me. How could it have been me?” By that time, she’d turned away from me. “Was it you, my angel? Was it you inside of me that I heard and felt?”

  “Christine, don’t turn away from your reflection. There’s nothing to fear. Turn back.”

  When she did, she looked like a frightened rabbit cornered by a wolf, and I wanted so badly to comfort her in my embrace. But the only comfort I could give her was with my voice. So I spoke, softly and yet firmly.

  “Why are you so frightened? Did you not ask for the Angel of Music to visit you and teach you? What did you expect an angel to do—teach you how to be mediocre? Should not the instruction of an angel produce angelic results? You are angelic, and you’ve just proven that. You must believe that all I did was free you temporarily from the burdens of years at the conservatory, years of being told you couldn’t succeed, whether those words were from someone else or from you. The talent is within you, Christine. You only needed to set it free, as free as the gulls on the ocean’s breeze. Do you believe me?”

  With parted lips and wide eyes she shyly nodded. “I want to.”

  I waited a moment, not certain how far to push her, since I’d just witnessed her fast return to that safe place where harsh criticism was silent. The hands on her dressing table clock told me she had 20 minutes before her ballet rehearsals began, so we started over again.

  “We’re back on the shores of Perros, Christine. Close your eyes and follow me.”

  We went through the same routine again. But, again, once she’d conquered every note and then opened her eyes to the reality of her dressing room, she slid back into that comfortable place of non-commitment. Since she was out of time, and I was nearly out of patience, I dismissed her with another word of praise.

  “Very well done, Christine. I’ll be here when you return.”

  After she left, I felt exhilarated, yet frustrated and perplexed. I was excited by her natural ability, but I wasn’t sure what more I could do to help her realize the special gift she’d been given. Perhaps after enough of our sessions, she’d believe in herself and soar on her own, I tried to convince myself.

  However, I had to do more than teach her to believe in her voice; I also had to remove the years of untruths she’d been taught at the conservatory. It looked as if it was going to take all my patience to help her get to where she wanted to be—where I wanted her to be.

  While walking through my passage toward the rehearsal studio, I had a disturbing thought. While I wanted her to believe in her ability and confidently express herself with her voice, once she did, she would no longer need her angel. She would no longer need me. What was I to do then? I shook off that selfish feeling and watched her, and her critical instructor, as she went through her rehearsal routine.

  When Gabriel dismissed them, I rushed back to the mirror. If possible, I always wanted my voice to be waiting for her when she entered her dressing room and called for her angel. I wanted her to learn to rely on me and trust me. When she returned, we talked again, and
then she left for the remainder of the day until it was time to get into makeup for that night’s production.

  The next morning before our scheduled lesson, I purchased three red roses and bound them together with a gold metallic ribbon. Once in her dressing room, I placed them in a slender cut-crystal vase and set them on her dressing table. Then I attached a small envelope to the roses, and on it I wrote her name in my best hand. Inside the envelope I put a card with a simple thought written on it: three roses—your past, your present, your future.

  I sat in her chair for a moment, running my fingers over the ribbon and thinking of how appropriate the gold was for Christine. Gold was the most precious metal known to man. With its purity and brilliance unmatched by any other substance, it stood alone without competition. Perhaps that’s why I’d always been so drawn to it. Perhaps that’s why I was so drawn to Christine. To me she was the most precious woman known and stood unmatched in her purity and brilliance.

  With a sigh, I returned to the passage behind the mirror and waited for her to appear.

  As soon as she entered the room, she turned up her lamp, locked her door, and then, leaning back against it, she asked, “Angel, are you here?”

  “I’m always here, my dear,” I replied as a warm rush surged through me.

  Her pink lips smiled broadly. “I dreamt of you last night. Or was it a dream? Were you there in my room or was I dreaming?”

  I wasn’t certain how to answer. I’d already told her I would always be with her to protect her from harm, so how could I tell her I wasn’t there? And yet, if I started her thinking I would always be there to talk with her, then I was putting myself in a difficult situation. It would be nearly impossible to pull off and still remain an unseen angel.

  I thought for a few more moments, prompting her to ask, “My angel, are you still here? Please, speak to me.”

  “Remember, Christine, I’m your Angel of Music; therefore, the laws I have to obey are written on the notes of music. If I’m to remain in control of my power, I must remain within the walls of music. I’ll always be with you, no matter where you go outside the opera house, as long as you keep my voice in your heart. My words are powerful and can go wherever you go, but they’re only as powerful as your belief in them. So continue your belief in me, and my voice will always be in your head and heart.”