Book Read Free

Through Phantom Eyes: Volume Five - Christine

Page 7

by Theodora Bruns


  She sighed, “Well, I’m always glad to be here with you, but tonight something special happened during the performance. I saw someone I once knew sitting in the audience, and I think he must have recognized me because he smiled at me—at me! Oh!” she exclaimed, as she pressed her hands over her heart. “He’s making my heart race. I’m so excited! What will I do with myself?”

  Words failed me, and I didn’t know which emotion was stronger at that moment; anger or pain. But, in either case, my jaws and heart tightened as I watched her turning in circles.

  Then, with schoolgirl excitement, and just as if she were speaking to Meg, she asked, “Aren’t you terribly happy for me?”

  At that question, my words exploded from me with the roar of a thousand cannons. “No! Not at all, you stupid, silly child. How absolutely and utterly stupid could you be? Now I know I’m wasting my time with you. Leave me—you foolish and senseless urchin! Leave me at once!”

  I glared at her through the red haze over my eyes. I fumed pure hatred for that friend, whom I didn’t even know. My fists were clenching, and I was ready to slam one of them through the mirror. But then I looked closely at Christine’s face and realized that, in my anger, I hadn’t projected my voice properly. She was looking straight at me, with an expression that told me she suspected where the voice might be coming from. But, at that moment, I didn’t care.

  She withered right before my eyes, just as that rose had done. In an instant, she slithered back into that frightened child I’d first met weeks in the past. But I was so furious and filled with unfamiliar jealousy that my heart wasn’t allowed to play a part in what was happening to her. My jaws began to ache as I ground my teeth with murderous venom and glared down at her. She instantly broke into tears, but my anger, mixed with my fear of losing her, was so great that her tears didn’t even begin to penetrate my hardened exterior.

  “I’m sorry,” she whimpered. “What did I do wrong? Please don’t leave me. Please don’t send me away.”

  Huffing, I turned and stormed down the passage, while envisioning my hands wrapped around her friend’s neck. My heart was so full of animosity that it was unwilling to listen to her pleas. All it could see was that intruder mysteriously disappearing.

  Under any other circumstances, I couldn’t imagine I would do such a hateful thing to Christine. I loved her so much and would have given my life to protect hers. Yet, in an instant, I’d crushed her because of my own insecurities.

  I didn’t know what to do. I was a novice at that game of love I was playing, and I simply didn’t know what my next move should be. I had competition for the first time in my life, and I was unprepared to handle that unthinkable scenario. I’d always been the best at anything and everything I tried to do. I had confidence that I could always outmaneuver and outsmart any opponent on any field of battle.

  But the ground I was walking on was new to me, and I realized I was the inferior one in that heart-driven drama I’d become a part of. That person she spoke of, I’m sure, would have a handsome face and not live underground like a mole. How could I possibly spar with that new threat in my life?

  I felt completely helpless and with nowhere to turn. There was absolutely no one I could go to for advice. I couldn’t go to Oded. He would have a royal heart attack if he even suspected I was deceiving Christine by impersonating her Angel of Music. I shuddered to think of him sinking his daroga teeth into me and ruthlessly tearing me to bits. No, I couldn’t go to him for advice on how to contend with my untrained and uncontrolled emotions.

  The knowledge I had on the subject of love was limited at best. I’d only begun to learn its mysterious ways when I lost Vashti, and even then it was her heart that was tied up in love—not mine. After that, my tutors were the imaginations of the novelists’ or lyricists’ words written between the notes on a score. The only thing I knew for certain about the path of love was that it was a delicate and slippery road. Other than that, I was totally ignorant. I felt like a lost child in a foreign land, desperately searching for something familiar to give him stability.

  César! He was my stabilizing force, the one source I could turn to for comfort. Not that he could answer my questions about love and jealousy, but he could help me vent my frustration and anger. And that night I didn’t even care if I was seen. I needed him, so that’s where I headed. I only momentarily gave consideration to any poor souls I might come across in the process of reaching him.

  As I rounded the last corner and entered the stable, I saw two grooms working with a horse at the far end of the stalls. So, without taking the time or effort to put them to sleep, I opened César’s gate and swung up on his back. Then, with my whispered encouragement, we moved slowly into the first corridor without being seen.

  We knew each other well, which was a good thing since I didn’t have a halter or lead rope on him. It took only the right word or placement of my hand on his neck for him to know what I wanted him to do, and he willingly obeyed. I might not have been able to take him to the Seine River to work off my anger, but by the time we reached the lake I was already in more control of my temper. Once there, I sat on him, thinking about what I’d just done to poor Christine and what that new situation in my life was going to bring to us both.

  I was there with him for several hours, either on his back or sitting beside him, and his closeness did its work completely. Thankfully, I’d calmed down enough to realize I couldn’t go looking for my opponent and permanently end his threat to my goal of making Christine love me.

  Becoming so angry with her told me two things: first, I needed to control my temper while in her presence. I’d frightened her terribly, and the thought of her tears tore at my heart. I would have apologized right then, but I knew she was gone from the opera house. Second, I knew I had to become a real man of flesh and blood to her. She had to know my feelings for her were more than a teacher’s. Also, considering I had competition, I couldn’t wait too long before telling her the truth.

  But then, I didn’t want her concentration disturbed before the gala. She was making good progress, and an upset such as that could destroy all our work. My only option was to put a halt to any relationship she might have with that intruder, at least until the gala, and then I’d have to think of something else.

  Once I felt I was in control, I rode César back toward the stable. Before we got there, I heard an argument between the two grooms. They were blaming each other for César’s disappearance and felt for sure that one of them was going to get sacked. I’d been so focused on Christine and my new rival that I hadn’t thought through the consequences of my actions on those around me. But, at that moment, I felt my problems took priority over their silly jobs, so I didn’t feel guilty one bit.

  Knowing I couldn’t ride him farther, I slid off his back. Then, running my hand under his mane and up around his soft ear for one last touch, I whispered, “You’re wanted by many, my friend. Time to go home.”

  I motioned toward the stable, and he tossed his head, nickered softly, and slowly started walking through the passage. Then I heard excited voices calling his name and exclamations about his ability to unlatch gates. I smiled and began my walk back in the other direction.

  My time with César helped me realize I had to maintain both an angelic composure and the stern hand of an instructor if I were to succeed. That’s what I could expect from me, but I didn’t know what to expect from Christine. What was she thinking after she’d heard her Angel of Music in such a rage?

  While I waited for morning and Christine’s return, I went to the roof and counted street lights, dogs’ barks, stars, and anything else to keep my mind busy. I couldn’t allow myself to think that I’d just destroyed everything, or I might have jumped off that roof.

  When morning finally came and I was in the passageway behind her mirror, I gasped and my stomach jumped when I heard her key in the lock. As usual, she leaned against the door, and I waited for her to ask if I was there, but she didn’t. She lit her wall lamp and
then leaned against the door again, cautiously looking around her room. My heart sank when I saw her face. She was terribly frightened and I felt simply horrible. She was even afraid to ask if I was still there, and I knew I had to rescue her from the fear I’d caused.

  “Christine,” I managed to say, but it wasn’t with the controlled strength of her angel that I’d prepared to use. It was the sound of a desperate man in need of forgiveness for the hurt he’d caused the woman he loved.

  “Oh!” she whimpered.

  Her hands instantly covered her face, her knees went to the floor, and she fell in a heap amid her royal blue cloak. Her shoulders quivered with her sobs, bringing uncontrolled tears to my eyes. I had to fight with all my might not to open the mirror and hold her tightly in my arms.

  “Christine, my child, don’t cry.”

  Her head shook, and, without raising it, she lamented, “I was so afraid you would never come back to me. I was so afraid. My father told me that the Angel of Music would not come to those who were bad. I was so afraid.”

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, trying to control my voice. “I apologize for my actions last night. I was wrong. We angels are never to lose control of our feelings. But you must understand that we can feel, just as you do. We have happy times and sad times, and we can also become angry about what we see and hear. But we are always to be in command of those emotions. I lost control last night, so I ask for your forgiveness.”

  When I finished, she wiped her cheek with the edge of her cloak and looked around the room. “Forgive you? How can I? I’m a mere sinful human. How can I forgive you—a perfect angel? That’s not possible. You can do no wrong.”

  “Yes, we can, and we do. Don’t forget the fallen angels of days gone by and their demise. We’re not perfect in that regard, and we can fall short of our assigned roles. I fell short last night by becoming angry with you, so please forgive me.”

  “I can’t say those words to my angel—I simply can’t,” she insisted.

  Fearful of her answer, I asked, “Does that mean that you can’t forgive me?”

  “No, it’s not that. You did nothing to warrant forgiveness. I committed the wrong, not you.”

  Oh, my heart was tearing out of my chest. She was so humble. What had I done to her? Her actions were purely innocent and nothing that would upset any real angel. She’d done nothing wrong, and I had to help her understand that without jeopardizing my position or my goals.

  I couldn’t tell her that her actions had made me insanely jealous, for an angel of music would have no interest in her love life, as long as it didn’t interfere with her music. And from what I’d seen of her excitement as she’d entered her room the prior night, a love interest would only improve her ability to sing a love song with true and deep passion. How was I to respond after my cruel words spoken in haste?

  “Christine, you were innocent of any wrongdoing. You were merely excited over seeing someone you once knew. How could that be wrong? The failure was mine. I should have told you from the start about the conditions under which I could teach you. The only condition I gave you was to listen to my voice, and you’ve done that perfectly. My voice failed you when I withheld the rest of the conditions.”

  She rose to her feet and pleaded with renewed hope. “Then, please, tell me them now. Please tell me, so I won’t anger you again. I can’t bear to hear you angry again.”

  Lowering the hood of her cloak, she waited for my reply. She was so beautiful, even with her reddened nose and tear-streaked cheeks. The dark blue of her cloak against the gold of her hair only intensified the blue of her eyes. I wanted so badly to hold her in my arms and beg her not only to forgive me but also to love me.

  Control, Erik. Control, I demanded. I wanted my words to come out with the strength and compassion of her angel. But I’m afraid the man I was inside, who feared losing her, came through instead.

  “I became angry because I saw in an instant that you were throwing away all we’d accomplished. I should have instructed you earlier about your private life and how closely it’s related to your success.

  “We only have a few weeks remaining before the gala, and you must not let anything or anyone distract you from your work. You must focus intently on what you’re doing. You must not go out in the evening with friends and stay up late. It’s not good for your health, and it’s not good for your concentration. It would be such a shame if you were to work all this time only to be overtaken by an illness at the last moment before your triumph.

  “But it’s ultimately your life and your choice. If you feel the need to give your heart to a mortal man on this earth instead of to divine music, then there’s nothing more your Angel of Music can do for you. If that’s your choice, then I must go to the other poor souls who are crying for my help. Is that what you wish me to do, Christine?”

  “Oh, no, my angel. No!” she responded quickly. Then her eyes filled with more tears. “Please, don’t leave me. I won’t do it again, I promise.”

  Closing my eyes against the pitiful sight, I turned from her and pressed my forehead against the cold wall. What have I done? What was I doing? Was I trying to destroy it all—our hard work, her faithful obedience, and, most of all, her fragile heart?

  “Angel, are you still here?”

  “Yes,” I responded while turning back toward her. “If you still want my instruction, then you must do as I say and never go anywhere other than your home to rest and this opera house to work. Do you agree?”

  “Yes, my Angel of Music. I’ll do anything you ask. I’m truly sorry. Please, forgive me.”

  Even though it was difficult for me to say, I knew it was what she needed to hear, so I tried to sound encouraging. “You’re forgiven, my precious child. Now, look at yourself in the mirror.”

  When she turned and faced me, I saw the remains of her tears on her cheeks, and I crumbled completely. Her tears melted what was left of my composure as surely as the noonday sun melts a new-fallen snowflake. Her vision blurred through my tears, and I had to hold my breath to keep her from hearing my moans.

  I lowered my head to my hands and fell back against the wall, whispering to myself, “Oh, Christine, I’m so sorry. I love you so. Please, forgive me.”

  Once I realized what I’d said, and that I hadn’t completely concealed my voice, I looked up quickly, while hoping the whispers of my heart hadn’t been heard by her. She’d taken a few steps back and was frowning at the mirror. Then when her hand covered her heart, mine quickened.

  I was struggling to think my way out of the predicament I’d brought us into, when I saw her lips silently say, “Angel?”

  Swallowing hard, I brought my voice back under control and scattered my next words around the room. “It’s all right now, Christine. It’s over. We can go on from here. Start your warm-up.”

  She hesitated for a moment, and then, with another word of encouragement from me, she started her vocal exercises. As I watched and listened to her, I had time to recover my composure, and my thoughts turned to my poor Vashti and the strength I then recognized she’d had.

  If she’d felt true love for me, I could finally understand what she’d been going through. I knew why she’d dropped that tray, and spilled the tea on me, and ran from me so often when I looked at her or touched her hand. With that understanding, I gained new respect for her that day.

  At age 45, I was learning that love can be extremely frightening, as well as confusing. It was even so to me, who’d fought and won battles against the formidable Persian power. In addition, the love I was feeling for Christine was a greater source of fear than anything I’d ever encountered. It stripped me of my power to control my thinking and my conduct.

  On more than one occasion, I’d come close to opening the mirror and revealing the true identity of her Angel of Music. Right then, I could see myself falling at her feet and begging her to forgive me and to love me—the man who loved her. I would gladly give everything I had and more just to have her tell me she
loved me. But, I didn’t, and we survived that day and many more.

  As I listened to Christine smoothly transition from one note to another, I thought about that mighty Persian power and Vashti and my struggles with both of them. Then, unwanted images and feelings flashed before me. I felt my heart race and my breaths come in gasps. I stepped forward, and, while studying Christine’s face, I placed my palm on the mirror and wrinkled my brow.

  “No,” I whispered.

  What was I thinking? What was I doing? My years of being separated from the affairs of the men above ground must have dulled my senses. I would never forget my time in Persia or my time with Vashti, but somehow I’d forgotten my involvement in her horrible death. How could I forget?

  Panic filled my heart when I looked at Christine’s perfect face. Then, when I saw what could happen to it, I closed my eyes and turned away from her. I was living under the Paris Opera House for a good reason—to protect others from my curse. Yet, there I was, drawing that innocent beauty into my web of certain devastation.

  “No,” I whispered again. “Nothing can happen to my Christine.”

  “Angel, do I practice those pieces now? Angel, are you still here? Oh, no! Angel! Have you left me again?”

  It was only the panic in her voice that rescued me from those horrifying visions, and I stumbled over my words while trying to return to the present.

  “Yes, my dear, let’s practice those pieces now.”

  After that near breakdown, the days passed without any further traumatic events. I continued to instruct Christine, while making my final arrangements for her most important night. First, I prepared for Carlotta’s illness that would unexpectedly overtake her the day of the gala. Second, I designed Christine’s gown and gloves for her debut and delivered the sketch and a sample of the desired material to the costume department. Third, I went to the jewelers with another sketch of the jewelry I wanted for her solo performance. In my mind, I could already see the sapphires and diamonds around her neck. I wasn’t sure who would be more excited when she opened the box, her or me.

 

‹ Prev