“I believe she missed you more than she missed her father. As the years went by, she couldn’t remember that much about him, but she remembered everything about you. She even remembered the last conversation she had with you in her room the night you left. She told me several times it was your words to her that night, about keeping up her drawings, that kept her going at times.”
She squeezed my shoulder, got up, and went back to her chair. “I can still see her sitting at that window behind you with her sketchbook. She spent a lot of time there, drawing from memory. I think it was good medicine for her and helped her through the loss of all three members of her family in such a brief period of time. In only three short months, she’d lost her father, her mother, and her brother, who in her eyes was also her best friend. She came to live with us at that time, so she also lost the security of her own room and familiar home. That’s a lot for a four-year-old to lose.”
Again my jaw began to ache and my eyes to burn. I maneuvered uncomfortably on the sofa, trying to think of some way to change the subject gracefully before my guilt over my selfish and self-centered thoughts during those years made me break completely. I’d never once given any thought to Gigi and how she would be affected during that extremely dark period in my life.
Just to give my hands and mouth something to do while my mind worked on finding my way out of her house, I laid her drawings down, drank my tea in one swallow, and grabbed two cookies. She chuckled at my unusual and abrupt action, and I think she was trying to lighten the mood with her next words.
“But everything worked out well for her in the end. Even though you weren’t here physically, your relationship with her while you were here made a large impression on her young heart and gave her courage.”
Swallowing the last of the cookie, I responded, “Well, I’m not sure about that, but I am glad she made it to a good art school.”
“That was also because of you, Erik. Even though she only wanted to get married and have her own children, we convinced her to wait until she was older and told her it was always a good idea to have a backup in case she was left without a husband the way her mother was. When we talked about additional schooling, Charles and I knew we couldn’t afford it. We talked with Gigi about selling your house to pay for it, and she told us the only reason she would let go of the house was because you’d always told her to follow her dream and not let anything stand in her way. And, if that was the only way she could follow it, she would agree.”
“I would like to acknowledge those kind words without argument, Celeste, but I can’t take credit for them. I was only mimicking my father’s words to me. They weren’t my thoughts; they were his. I’m sure in time he would have spoken them to her, if he hadn’t died first.”
She honestly smiled while filling up my teacup again. “Yes, I know you’re right about that. Everyone in the town knew what a good father he was, and everyone was so saddened by what happened to your family. It was a good thing that Luca and Peter were sent to prison. I think that helped a lot of people put the horrible events of that winter to rest.”
I nearly dropped the teacup from my hands, and my heart began to race as I responded to that unexpected comment. “They sent them to prison? They really did?”
Sixteen
I wanted to say more than that, but I had a lady sitting in my presence, and the words that were swimming around in my mind weren’t ones I should speak while in her company. In fact, they were thoughts that shouldn’t be shared in any ones company.
“Yes,” she replied. “As it turned out, they found someone who witnessed everything, so they knew it was Luca who’d thrown the lantern. And, since Peter was also a part of it, they were both sent to prison. But they didn’t spend nearly enough time there to pay for their wicked deed. Luca was killed in prison during a knife fight only three months later, and Peter also died in prison of a fever almost two years after that.”
Again my thoughts were not gentlemanly, so, through clenched teeth, I used only a few of them to ask, “And their boys?”
“I don’t remember hearing too much about them after that time. I know Franco was sent to a reformatory, I don’t remember why, and I don’t know what happened to him after that. And Pete Jr., I never heard anything about him, and I never saw him around either.”
I was trying frantically to find something uplifting to say to erase those pictures from my mind. Visions of Luca throwing that lantern at my father kept flashing through my thoughts, and I struggled hard for a few moments to clear them and replace them with something more pleasant.
Finally, I blurted out, “I have to be thankful for men like your Charles who came to my sister’s rescue. I’m thankful you were there for her, both you and Charles. That was most generous of him to open his home to her. How is Charles?”
The words weren’t even out of my mouth when I knew they were the wrong ones, and I instantly feared her answer.
She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly before she answered, “I lost my Charles going on two years now. In fact, it will be two years in just two weeks. Then, only two months after his passing, our good Doctor Faure also passed away. We lost two special men in only two months. It was a sad time for many people in this town. I still miss them both. Naturally, I miss my Charles the most. But we did get to celebrate out fiftieth wedding anniversary first.”
“I’m so sorry, Celeste. Charles was always so kind to me, and that kindness helped me. He was a good man.”
She smiled softly, nodded, and replied, “Yes, that he was, and I miss him so, especially at night. I have plenty to keep me busy during the day, since there’s always someone who’s getting married, or having a baby, or who’s sick and needs my help. But the nights get depressingly lonely. After having someone to talk to, to eat meals with, and to sleep next to for fifty years, it’s extremely hard to be without him.”
I would have liked to tell her that I understood her loneliness, feeling I was an expert on that subject, but, then, perhaps I wasn’t. I was lonely, but without that same point of reference, whereas she knew what she was missing, which had to multiply her loneliness. It seemed my attempt to keep the conversation uplifting was turning out to be a dismal failure, so I tried taking a safe ground.
“You haven’t told me how Gigi ended up in Madrid.”
“Well, she was in Venice . . . oh, by the way, Erik, she looked for you often while she was there, but, as you know, she never found you. Did you not stay in Venice long?”
It appeared that attempt also failed, and I thought, how am I going to answer that question? “When did she get there?”
“Well, let’s see. She was fourteen when she left here, so that would make the year . . .”
“If she was fourteen when she left then I was twenty. No, I was no longer in Venice at that time. By then I was in Persia.”
“Persia? What in the name of God were you doing in Persia?”
I had to smirk at her reaction. “I was commissioned to build the Shah of Persia a palace, so I was there for about five years.”
“Oh, my!” she exclaimed as she sat forward and placed her petite hand over her lips. “Erik, that’s such a wonderful thing to hear. Oh, my! Your father would have been so proud.”
Her excitement over that little bit of news made me smile. “I hope so. While I was building it, the thought of his being proud of me encouraged me to do my best. In fact, my father’s words have guided me through all my projects, and the credit for everything I’ve accomplished goes to him.”
“A palace in Persia. I can’t believe it. You’ll have to take me to see it. I would love to see it, Erik.”
I laughed at that, thinking I would never be allowed back in Persia, not unless I was ready to forfeit my life, so I just shrugged it off. “Persia is far away, you know that don’t you, Celeste? There are other buildings I’ve worked on that are much closer. Perhaps you could see one of them someday.”
“Yes, Erik, I know Persia is far away, but I’d love to see it
anyway. It must be truly remarkable.”
“Well, the Shah was pleased with it, and, since he was the one who paid me for my efforts, I suppose that’s what matters.” Wanting to get away from the subject of Persia, I tried again. “You still haven’t told me how Gigi got to Madrid.”
“Like I said, she was in Venice and doing well. I think she was there about three years when she fell in love with a fellow student. Since that was her main desire in life, to be married and have children, it was only a matter of months before they were married. After leaving school, they tried to start a gallery there in Venice. But, as life would have it, she came to be with child.
“It was about that time that Alfonso received an offer of a teaching position in Madrid, which is where he was from. So, under the circumstances, they moved there. They now have three children, all beautiful girls, Erika, Florence, and Anna. Yes, she named her first child after you, Erik. That should tell you how much you meant to her.”
I tried to smile and acknowledge what should have been a positive comment, but my thoughts automatically traveled down that road toward Persia and the other child that had the unfortunate distinction of carrying the burden of my name. I could only hope that my sister’s child wouldn’t maintain my curse along with my name.
“Erik. Erik! Erik! Is something wrong?”
“Uhhh, no,” I replied while shaking those old cobwebs out of my mind. “Go on.”
“Gigi and Alfonso were finally able to open a gallery just last year. Alfonso is a wonderful and kind man, Erik. I’m sure you’ll like him.”
I nodded, “I’m sure I will. Perhaps someday I’ll travel there and see her. I would love to see her gallery, and it’s comforting to know she continued with her dream. Tell me, did she keep up with the piano?”
“Oh, no,” she responded with a slight chuckle. “She remembered what you’d taught her and she would play from time to time, but, after you, Erik, all music sounded hollow.”
“She should have continued anyway, Celeste. Making music is a wonderful thing to experience.”
“Not everyone can play, Erik, not like you. You should know that by now. One of her daughters plays, though. She made sure all three girls had piano lessons. We went to visit her a few years back, and, even though we were there visiting, she wouldn’t let them forget about their practicing.” She smiled. “I remember her telling them that they had to practice well because someday their Uncle Erik would want to hear them play.”
An uncle. I’d never given any thought to being an uncle. “Are any of them any good?”
“From what I could observe and hear, two of them were doing just what they’d been told and would practice faithfully. But Florence, the middle child, had some talent. Even I could tell she wasn’t just doing it because she was told to. After watching your face express your love for music as you played, I could tell she loved what she was doing. But, let’s face it, when you eventually hear them, don’t be too disappointed because there’s only one Erik, and he alone can make the piano speak so perfectly.”
I thanked her, I hope graciously, and was trying to find the words to tell her I needed to leave, when her eyes lit up, and she exclaimed, “Erik, I almost forgot! We still have your piano.”
She jumped to her feet and grabbed me by the arm before I had a chance to fully digest what she’d said.
Dragging me into her parlor, she burst out, “Look! It’s right there.”
Sure enough, there it was. I walked to it, and ran my fingers over its top as memories both pleasant and painful swept over me. I could hear the sound of it fill our home. I could see my small fingers stretching over the keys. I could see myself at two sitting by the fireplace listening to my mother play. I saw my father sitting on the bench next to me with his ever-ready smile.
“Erik.” Her voice halted my memories mid-stream. “Would you like to have it?”
I was still reeling from the shock of seeing it, so I couldn’t even think about answering that question.
I shook my head. “I don’t know. Right now, it wouldn’t be possible, but maybe in the future. I really don’t know.”
“Is your home not big enough?” she asked with a tone of surprise.
My mouth was open, but I didn’t have a chance to respond before she started again with her exuberance. “Oh, my goodness, Erik, you’ve told me hardly anything about yourself or where you’re living now.”
Grabbing my arm again, she led me back by the fire and filled my cup one more time. I was still standing as I took out my watch, and, as usual, I gently ran my finger over the horse heads. Then I checked the time, making sure I wouldn’t miss the train.
She looked over at me, set the teapot down, and moved toward me. Evidently, that gesture prompted more questions from my special hostess. She took my hands in hers, and then looked up into my eyes with a certain strange look, and her lips barely moved into a smile. She looked back at my hands and ran her fingers over the back of them. Not wanting to question her peculiar actions, I waited for her to explain herself, while several uncomfortable moments passed in silence.
Finally, she looked back up at me and murmured, “I thought I was looking at your father’s hands right then. He had a way of doing that exact same thing with his watch. It’s his watch, isn’t it?”
I could only nod and take a deep breath.
“And this ring, it’s his also, isn’t it?” she asked as she ran her eyes and her finger over it.
Again, I could only nod.
Looking intently into my eyes, she smiled. “I thought it was you who’d taken them. You deserved them.”
She looked back down and again ran her fingers over mine. Then she spoke with such tenderness you would think she was speaking to a newborn infant.
“Your hands are identical to your fathers, but then you’re just like your father. You have his same beautiful smile, and your gestures; it’s like watching your father all over again. Even your hair is like his.”
With that statement, I raised my eyebrows with a question mark, and again she smiled. “Well, maybe not the color, but definitely the texture and wave, and even the way you have it cut. But those eyes, they’re not his. I see your mother in your eyes. The same warm, rich, dark brown—yes, definitely your mother’s Spanish eyes.”
I was beginning to feel too much like a science specimen and started to tell her I had to leave, but she insisted that I have just one more cup of tea and one more cookie before I left.
“I’m sorry, Erik. I’ve been jabbering your ear off, and I really want to know what you’ve been doing all these years. So tell me, what are you doing now? Are you still playing? Oh, that’s a silly question; certainly you’re still playing. Tell me, what are you doing now?”
How could I tell her I resided as a resident ghost and spent my days conjuring ways to torment people with fiendish delight, and that I receive my pay by extortion? I couldn’t tell her that I was pretending to be an angel just so I could steal a woman away from her childhood sweetheart. No, that wouldn’t do at all. I couldn’t tell her the truth.
I looked at her honest face and knew it was impossible to tell her the facts of what I did for a living, and that made me feel sick through and through. My existence right then was nothing like what Papa had wanted for me, or that she expected of me. I was so glad that he wasn’t around to see what I’d done with my life.
I fixed my gaze on the fireplace. I couldn’t look her straight in the eye and begin my outlandish lies, not to that most sincere and honest woman. I simply couldn’t. I had to tell her something, though, so I told her the closest version of the truth that I could without destroying her happy thoughts about me.
“I’m a teacher, Celeste. I teach voice, and I run an opera company here in France. Right now, I have a student who has great potential. She had her debut just this week, and she’s the talk of Paris.”
Her eyes widened and she took a deep breath. “That’s so exciting to hear, but I’m not surprised. That’s exactly what I tho
ught you’d be doing. Do you perform also?”
Thinking that my performances consist of writing notes of threats and frightening chorus girls, I simply answered with my eyes looking down at my hands, “No, I only teach.”
“Oh, Erik, that’s such a shame. Your voice is one that should not be kept silent.”
“You’d think that, wouldn’t you?” I said without thinking. Then, to give her what she wanted to hear, I added, “I did travel around the eastern part of Europe and Russia for several years, singing and playing my violin. I made good money doing that, and it was most enjoyable. Right now, I sing mostly for myself and my pupil. But I have some plans on the drawing board, and if all works out well, perhaps I’ll be doing more entertaining in the near future.”
“Well, that’s what I like to hear. And what about composing? Do you still compose?”
Now, with that question I could almost be truthful. “Yes, that I do. I’ve written many pieces over the years, and right now I’m almost finished with my first opera.”
“An opera? Oh, Erik! I’m so proud of you.”
Her words were cutting right through me. It might have sounded like something beautiful, but my opera was about a subject that would, I’m sure, make her turn every shade of red and run from the room. And the circumstances under which it was being composed were not romantic in the least. I pictured myself in my dark and lonely home beneath the streets of Paris, being driven by hatred, anger, and loneliness, while she, more than likely, pictured me sitting in a brightly-lit studio in a good neighborhood, with a magnificent shiny black grand piano in front of a large window.
Suddenly, I saw my home, along with my living conditions and everything I thought I had a measure of pride in, in a totally different light. Suddenly, I became everything Raoul suggested I was and more: a sleazy, dark, deranged man with nothing but selfish motives.
Through Phantom Eyes: Volume Five - Christine Page 22
