As her fists slammed down to her sides, she answered quickly, “Angel, no! Why would you even think that? What have I done that causes you to speak to me this way?”
Then I let out the reason for my distrust with a commanding resonance. “You toy with the affections of your young lover, and you know that’s forbidden.”
“No!” she insisted. “He isn’t my lover! He’s just an old friend—that’s all. I think of him as a brother.”
“A friend, you say? A brother? Those words he spoke to you didn’t sound like the words of merely a friend or brother, and that didn’t look like the gaze of only a friend or a brother when he watched you.”
With that, she jumped and turned around several times, as if she was searching for something. From the way she looked, I suspected it was the first time she’d given thought to the idea that I could not only hear her but also see her.
“Where are you?” she demanded. “Show yourself to me.”
“Perhaps, in time, Christine. For now, I need to know if you still want my instructions. If you do, then you must not see this young man again or you’ll lose all that you’ve gained. If I leave you, then so will your voice. Do you want that?”
For the first time she didn’t respond to my threat with a pleading no. I was shot through with a terrible pain in my chest that rivaled the pain in my leg, with the thought that I was going to lose her despite all my efforts to win her over. I was losing a hold on my reliable power play, and, from the amount of anger I saw rising in her eyes, I wasn’t sure what to do without it.
“You can obviously see me, right? Well, then, you have to know that I haven’t been seeing Raoul, although, I admit, I’ve wanted to. I miss him and our talks and walks. I miss having a friend other than Meg. Raoul was with me, and my father, during the happiest parts of my life, and I miss him. I haven’t been seeing him because of you, but, from your reaction, it was all for naught, because you’re angry with me anyway. So why did I bother to ignore him and hurt him?”
As if I hadn’t made a big enough shambles out of the evening, I continued in a direction that was only going to put her anger for me on a straight and secure path.
“He only wants your body, Christine. He cares nothing for your spirit or your soul. He cares nothing for what you truly want, your music. He only came to you once you were on the stage and on your way to fame. Where was he when you were in the depths of despair? Where was he when you cried in this very room all alone? Where was he, Christine, and where was I? Was I not here for you when he was not? He was probably off with some rich debutante. It was only I who was here to help you in your time of need. Remember that, Christine. It was only I, your Angel of Music, who was here. Don’t ever forget that or the one who gave you your voice.
“Your father saw the talent that lay within you, and that’s why he sent me to you. Are you going to disappoint him and give this all up? Are you not going to fight for your gift? I didn’t make your voice blossom only to have you waste it on a flirtatious and spoiled aristocrat who wants to have his way with a beautiful singer.
“You can’t have both worlds, Christine. You can’t have the common world of a young lover and the heavenly world of an angel’s voice. I refuse to keep my spirit in you if you choose the common and ordinary way of life. Do you want to dash the hopes of your father and try to sing without my spirit?”
By then she’d sat down in her chair and was watching her fingers running over those same lavender ribbons. Then she responded softly, “Why do you do this to me? You frighten me, and I’m not sure I want to do this any longer.”
My words came back quickly but compassionately. “You’re not sure you want to do what? Have beautiful music fill your soul? Music is the only thing that no one can take from you once you have it securely in your heart. It’s the only thing that can fill your soul with something bigger than life itself. Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you, Christine? You just experienced what it’s like to stand center stage. Do you want to give it all up?”
She shook her head slightly without a verbal response.
“Then you must concentrate solely on your music, Christine. You must love your music more than anything else, and you must love the one who can give it to you more than anyone else—you must love me.”
She nodded her head and then raised it, revealing her tear-filled eyes again. Then she spoke softly, “I do love my music, and I do love you. You have to believe me when I tell you that I sang only for you this night. I poured out my soul for only you.”
I was torn between extreme feelings, one of glad relief that she was back under my control, and then sad remorse for what I’d had to do to get her there, and finally anger at myself for pushing so hard that she took a step away from me to hold her ground. But, in my stupidity, I couldn’t leave it there; I had to push harder.
“Then no more encounters with that young and rich de Chagny. You must quit playing this game with him. You must tell him, outright, that you want nothing to do with him and to leave you alone. You must not play into his hands and end up in his bed. Do you understand me, Christine?”
Then, in an instant and right before my eyes, I saw the death of the frightened young chorus girl I once knew and her resurrection into a strong and determined woman. She took a slow, deliberate breath, rose to her feet, her shoulders went back, and her jaw set before she spoke with defiant conviction in her voice.
“I understand what you’re saying, but I disagree. Raoul is not like that. You know nothing about him or his values. He would never treat me as you say. He’s kind and good. It’s pure cruelty for you to speak about him the way you are when he’s not here to defend himself. My father knew Raoul, and he liked him, and I don’t believe my father would disapprove of what I want. No, it’s more than a want—it’s a need.”
She took another breath and then told me, without hesitation, the way it was going to be. “In three days it will be the anniversary of my father’s death, and tomorrow I’m going to Perros to be with him. I haven’t been looking forward to making this trip alone, because I don’t like to travel alone. But now I realize what I need to do.
“I’m going to ask Raoul to accompany me there. You claim to know my heart. If that’s true, then you know this is something I need to do for myself, and you won’t berate me for it or suspect me, or Raoul, of wrongdoing.
“I’m clinging right now onto the kind angel I’ve known, the one who says he wants what’s best for my future and for me. I’m clinging onto his words spoken so softly and gently, and I hope he’ll grant me this wish without reprisals.”
She stopped for a moment, while she glanced around the room, and I staggered on my feet at the powerful sincerity I’d just heard in the woman’s heart.
“I believe my angel to be one of love. I’ve heard it in his voice often, and my own heart is filled with love for my angel when he speaks to me that way. I can’t let myself believe that you would withhold your music from me just because I desire this one thing. I’m going to Perros even if you disapprove and become angry again, because this is something I have to do. Will you withhold your love from me, your music from me, when I do this?”
A few moments earlier I’d felt powerful knowing I had her back under my control, but then within a few seconds our roles were reversed and she had me right where she wanted me, begging for any morsels she might throw in my direction. I crumbled and would have done anything she asked of me. She said she loved me. She said she loved me! It might have been only the angel she loved, but she loved me, and I could refuse her nothing.
With a spirit that revealed the true condition of my heart, I answered her. “I’ll refuse you nothing, my dear. You may go to Perros with your friend and with my blessing. However, I’ll also go. I’ll play for you and your father. I’ll raise the bow to the strings at the stroke of midnight and make your heart entranced. I’ll fill the trees with the music that he loved, and I’ll do it for you, my Christine—my lovely Christine.”
That was a turning point in our relationship. Christine never went back to that totally dependent and frightened child I first met. She lost some of her innocence that night. I believe I’d finally pushed her to her breaking point. That, coupled with the power she felt while she poured out her heart on the stage, gave her the strength she needed to leave that frightened young bird in the nest and take to flight. She no longer appeared as a child to me. She was a woman in every respect, a wonderfully strong and passionate woman in full force. And, strangely enough, that power I saw in her only drew me closer to her.
From that point on, our conversations were almost like those of two friends talking by a fireside, and I never again deliberately used against her the power of the position I was playing. That’s not to say that I never got angry, but my temper was maintained, and I never allowed myself to hurt her in that way again—well, almost never.
I presume the one word that describes the change I felt for her was respect. I respected her for standing up to me the way she did and putting her priorities in the right order. While I always felt that music was the cure of all cures, she was right, and, without human relationships, music can fall short of providing a fulfilling life. I knew that from my own personal experience.
We talked calmly for some time after that violent outburst. She told me what time she’d be leaving on the train the next day and the hotel she planned to stay in once she got there.
Then I asked her. “What was your father’s favorite violin piece?”
With a faraway gaze in her eyes, she replied softly, “‘The Resurrection of Lazarus’”
“Then that will be the perfect piece to share with him. It’s one of my favorites as well.” She nodded, and I added another thought. “I know your father is very proud of you this evening; just as I am. I’ve never had the privilege of teaching one as phenomenal as you, Christine. No matter how hard I pushed you, you pushed back harder and harder and your spirit rose higher and higher. There’s nothing you can’t attain with that spirit. You captured the hearts of many this night, including mine. You made this angel, as well as a multitude of other heavenly creatures, cry. You are my own Angel of Music.”
And, assuredly, I tried in my strange angel’s way to apologize for my conduct—again.
She turned out her lamp and was standing with one arm and hand against the edge of the open door as we prepared to say goodnight. She sighed and laid her cheek against the back of her hand as she gazed at the mirror again with that strange expression. I didn’t want to let her go, even though I was barely on my feet by then. In addition, I had a performance of my own that I had to execute before I could rest.
I watched her with only the low light from the corridor lighting her silhouette, and knew I was in trouble on so many fronts. Not only was my health failing but I also knew Raoul was going to be a more serious threat than I’d once thought. And, in my mind, I was already preparing how I could hamper his efforts to be with her in Perros.
But the feeling that threatened me the most was what I was feeling for Christine. After every encounter with that woman, my feelings grew stronger. My very being was somehow intertwined with her, and my soul cried out in a desperate plea to have her in my life. I was frightened as never before.
I talked softly to her, trying not to let her leave me alone, especially considering I felt Raoul was still in the hallway waiting for her. I was close to revealing myself to her right then and there, and in many ways it would be perfect timing. She was strong and not afraid of me.
So as my finger lay over the latch to the mirror, I pictured myself walking into her room without her screaming. I envisioned us sitting on her divan and talking like any normal couple. I saw us walking into that graveyard in Perros together as a couple, where we could visit the graves of our respective fathers.
I was so tempted, but then I was in such bad condition physically. I was sweaty and chilled from the pain and fever. The last two days had been tough on me, and I hadn’t been taking care of myself, which meant I was carrying a two-day beard and my clothes were dirty and bloody. On top of that, my prosthetic nose was still in my pocket and not on my face where I wanted it to be when I met her face to face. So, as she said goodnight for the last time, I lowered my hand from the latch, told her to sleep well, and watched the room darken when the door closed.
I moved away from the mirror as fast as my throbbing leg would allow. If Raoul was still in the hall, I needed to see what happened when they met. I also wanted to hamper her effort to have him go to Perros with her, although I didn’t know how I was going to accomplish that task.
I wasn’t even to the end of my passage when I heard the door to her dressing room open again. So I headed back to the mirror, thinking she must have forgotten something. Before I reached the mirror, I could see the light come up in her room and I automatically smiled with pleasure. But then, as I caught sight of the form moving around in her room, my smile quickly turned to a grimace. It was Raoul.
He was looking around, behind the curtains, behind the divan, and inside her armoire. He was looking everywhere for something or someone. He finally stopped his search and stood still with his back to the door, just as Christine always did. But his reason for doing so was much different; he was trying to prevent me from leaving.
When he started speaking, it was obvious he must have been out in the hall the entire time and heard us talking. He must have heard my voice, a man’s voice, and he was jealous. I smiled, again, thinking someone was actually jealous of me, a man without a nose. Then he started questioning me with a tone that would have instantly put him on my bad side if he wasn’t already there.
“Where are you? I know you’re in here, so stop being a sheepish coward and show yourself. I won’t let you out of this room until you do.”
At first I almost laughed. As if he could stop me from doing anything. What a joke. But then I felt my eyes narrow with instant loathing for him and his ignorant arrogance. He wanted me to show myself; well, at that moment, that’s exactly what I wanted to do, show myself and then wrap my fingers around his insolent throat and escort him out of my house—one way or the other.
My finger again lay over the mirror’s latch, and my temptation to open it and end his interference for good became incredibly strong. My left hand was empty, without the coil that I usually held whenever I was threatened. Instead, I felt the tips of my fingers with my thumb, thinking, if I was going to end his intrusion, I wanted to feel his throat under my hands.
It would be so easy, and it would be over before he had a chance to think. I could take him down to the lake and bury him by the well with the rest of the ones buried there. Then there would be no more of his meddling in my plans for Christine. No one would ever think to look for him there. He would simply vanish.
Ten
Yes, it would be so easy. No one would ever know what had happened to him—no one except me, that is.
Up until that day, I’d managed to keep from feeling what I was then feeling. It had been a long time since I’d used my physical skills, instead of my mental skills, to remove threats to my wishes. It had been so long that I thought those feeling might be gone altogether. But, apparently not, according to the way I felt toward Buquet and Raoul. It was then that I realized how easily Raoul brought out the worst in me.
We both stood in the silence for a few more moments, Raoul, looking for the man he’d heard, and me, staring at my newest threat and contemplating his fate. With a hushed sigh, I lowered my hand and watched him. I knew, as badly as I wanted to remove him from my life, I couldn’t live with myself or look Christine in the eyes if I did something to hurt her friend. That one act would end any hope I had of a relationship with her. Therefore, it was my love for Christine that saved that young fool’s life that night—and many more nights to come.
Once he finished his futile search for my voice, he left and so did I. I followed him through the corridors until a procession of people crossing our path made me stop and seek concealm
ent. It consisted of several police officers and two men carrying Joseph Buquet’s body on a stretcher.
I slipped away as they got closer, but not before I heard one of the officers say, “I don’t have enough evidence to rule it anything other than a suicide.”
I was relieved to hear that declaration, until I heard a group of chorus girls talking as they divided up a rope they’d mistakenly thought had strangled Joseph. For some peculiar reason, they felt it would protect them from “the Persian’s wicked eye.” I was curious about what they meant by that strange statement, but not enough to stay and listen, considering I still had a lot to do before I could rest. And knowing the girls the way I did, I knew they’d be talking about Buquet’s death for many months to come, so I could catch up on their gossip at another time.
Since I’d lost sight of Raoul, I headed for the side entrance where Christine usually found a brougham. But the number of people in the corridors and my physical condition made it difficult to do so quickly. When I finally reached it, there was no sign of that young intruder, so I leaned against a tree trunk, pondering his odd behavior. The conclusion: I had to find out what his carriage and horses looked like so I could spot him on a dark and crowded street if necessary.
I looked at the opera house and groaned, knowing I had to trek all the way down to my home and then back up again. If that evening wasn’t offering me such a perfect chance to finish my experiment, I would have simply gone home and slept, but I couldn’t pass up an opportunity laid in my lap. Therefore, I was soon filling my tub and stripping off my sweaty and bloody clothes.
As I lowered my stressed body under the water, my wound stung horribly, reminding me about Doctor Leglise’s warning to keep it dry. But, regardless of the discomfort or his advice, I had to clean the grime off my body.
Within the hour, I’d bathed, shaved, redressed my wound, and was putting on my fine evening attire. Knowing what lay ahead of me, I gave myself another dose of morphine. Then, with shaking hands and my small shaving mirror, I prepared to attach my nose. But, once it was in place and my reflection looked back at me, I wasn’t impressed one bit. In fact, I was horrified.
Through Phantom Eyes: Volume Five - Christine Page 13
