I was really feeling terrible physically by then, so I laid my head back on the divan and closed my eyes while waiting for a response from her. The room became quiet. Then she gently squeezed my knee before covering my leg with the blanket. When she got to her feet, I opened my eyes and watched her.
“No response?” I questioned.
“Not now. You’ve given me a lot to think about. So much has happened, and I need to process it all before I can respond. You’re a fascinating man, and there’s much more I want to know about you. But we can talk tomorrow. You need your rest.”
She then picked up all my medical supplies and started for the kitchen.
“I can clean this up, Christine. You really should go to bed now. I thank you for your understanding and all your help.”
She looked over her shoulder at me. “Certainly you can, and you’re welcome,” but she kept going.
I was glad she didn’t listen to me. I really didn’t know what would happen if I tried to stand up at that moment. She might have fainted in my arms, but I certainly would hate to faint in hers. Spending so much emotional energy that day had left me without any strength to spare. In addition, I was sick to my stomach and my head was throbbing.
Once she was back, she stood at my feet and looked down at me.
“That’s the worst wound I’ve ever seen. It’s much worse than Mummy’s dog bite. I don’t understand how you’re still alive. You’re a seriously ill man, Erik, and you need lots of rest and proper care. I hope you’ll put away your pride for a few days and let me help you while I’m here.”
“Very well. I surrender,” I responded with a smile while holding my hands up.
“Good. Now tell me where you keep your bedding.”
“You don’t . . .”
“Erik! Please don’t be stubborn and make this harder on me.”
That was my last attempt to take care of myself. I gave in to her and soon she had a comfortable bed made for me on the divan, and I was lying in it. She set a glass of water on the table beside me and gave me instructions on the importance of drinking a lot of water. Then she tilted her head and looked at me in thought. I started to tell her again to go back to bed when she asked me a question that no one had asked me before.
“Is what happened to your nose another attempt on your life?”
With that question, I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and nestled my head in the pillow. “No. I was born without certain wayward cells that would have been my nose. They’re probably still wandering around somewhere. Too bad it wasn’t wayward ear cells. A missing ear would be much easier to hide.”
“You have an unusual sense of humor. Do you mind my asking you these questions?”
“Not at all, Christine.” I spread my arms out wide. “I’m an open book. Ask away.”
“Not now. You really do need to sleep. I can ask them tomorrow. I hope you can sleep well. I feel bad about your sleeping out here though. You should be in your bed.”
I turned my head and looked up at her. “Don’t be silly. I’m used to sleeping almost anywhere. I’ll be fine. Now, go to bed.”
I finally convinced her to retire, and then I lay there, thinking about our conversation and smiling with the warmest feeling inside me. While it was a strange conversation, it was an informative and honest one for both of us. As it turned out, during the next few days, the times when she took care of my leg were the times when we had the most interesting conversations and learned a lot about each other.
I sighed in the silence, thinking that one day was gone and I had only three more left to spend with my Christine.
Even though I was on the divan, I had a good night’s sleep, but I woke abruptly when I heard a loud whistle. I barely cracked my eyes opened in time to see Christine streak through the parlor and into the kitchen. The whistle stopped, and then I saw her slowly peek around the kitchen door. She was so cute and childlike at times, and she made me smile often.
“Oh, Erik, I’m so sorry for waking you,” she began while coming back into the parlor. “I wanted to have some tea and your compress ready for you when you woke up, but I really didn’t want you to wake until you were ready. I’m sorry. I got distracted by your library.”
I chuckled, stretched, and rubbed my two-day old beard with my fingers. “It’s all right. I don’t want to sleep away my time with you. What time is it anyway?”
“A little past noon,” she replied while looking at the tall clock.
I groaned. “It’s past time for me to get up,” I said as I tried to maneuver into a sitting position.
“No, you stay put. I’ll bring the tea and your compress water and what little food we have left.” She hesitated and added, “If I promise to return, will you let me go shopping for some food? We’re going to get really hungry soon.”
“No need,” I said with a twinkle. “My elves will be delivering it soon. Then we’ll have plenty to eat.”
“Elves?”
“Yes. You know what elves are, don’t you? Those busy little creatures?”
“Certainly, but they’re not real.”
“Oh, you with little faith,” I teased. “Yes, they are. I talked to them in my dreams and gave them our food order. It sounds scrumptious.”
“You’re teasing me, Erik.”
“Am I? Watch! They’ll bring it to our door in less than two hours.”
She looked around. “What door?”
“My door.”
“Where?”
“Right there,” I replied as I pointed behind her.
“I don’t see a door.”
“You’re not supposed to.”
“Why not?”
“Because, you might escape, my curious Christine.”
“Erik, please stop teasing me. Be serious. We need food,” she insisted, while placing her hands on her hips.
I chuckled. “Seriously then. All my doors are invisible. All 56 of them, and I’m the only one who can open them. That’s the only way I can survive. And, seriously, our food will be delivered to my wharf in two hours. I arranged for our needs before this began. Any other questions?”
“No. That answers them. But why couldn’t you just say that to begin with?”
“Because it wouldn’t have been nearly as much fun.”
“For you, maybe,” she said with her hands still on her hips.
“I’m sorry, Christine. It seems I do have a weird sense of humor. I’m sorry.”
She only nodded and turned to get our tea and sparse food. I think she was irritated with me, so when I asked for permission to use her bath for a minute, her only response was a wave of her hand.
While she treated my wound, she eventually talked to me again, so our food wasn’t eaten in silence. Before long, everything had been cleaned up and she went to my bookshelf.
“There’s a book here I’d like to look at. I have a few ideas, so do you mind if I take it to my room and look through it? I’ll bring it back.”
“That’s why they’re there, so be my guest.”
She left and I sat in the quiet for a moment, thinking about my lack of privacy. Then I decided to use the time while she was reading to clean up and give myself a shave. So, after I built a fire, I gathered everything I needed from my armoire and went to the kitchen. I had my trousers on but not my shirt as I bathed my upper body.
I put my shaving mirror on the edge of an open cupboard, took my mask off, and had the lathered brush in one hand and the razor in the other. Then I heard a loud pop from the fireplace. Not wanting a hole burnt in my rug, I turned and started for the parlor. But I’d only taken one step when I saw Christine standing in the dining room, watching me. I was embarrassed and began stumbling over my words and fumbling with my mask and shirt to get them on quickly.
“I’m sorry, Christine. I thought you’d take longer than that.”
“No, wait,” she said while rushing toward me.
After placing the book on the counter, she took my shirt and mask from my hands an
d then stood there, staring at my chest and shoulders. Then her eyes traveled to my face.
“You didn’t get enough of my beauty yesterday? You want a repeat? You certainly are a curious little glutton, now aren’t you?” I said sarcastically, but then I tried to cover my naked face with my fingers and nearly begged, “Please, Christine.”
While gently pulling my hand down, she explained, “You’re asking me to stay with you forever. You’re asking me to marry you. Will I never be able to see the face and body of my husband? You want me to know you—to understand you.” She gestured to my chest. “I can’t help but think that this is partly what has shaped the man you are.” She raised her hand to touch my face, but asked first. “Do you mind if I touch you? Do the scars hurt?”
“They happened a long time ago. They don’t hurt. In fact, I hardly notice them anymore.”
“Not even inside?” she asked with compassion.
“I can’t live in the past,” I replied, while placing my knuckle under her chin. “My future is what really counts, especially now that you might be in it.”
That’s what I told her, but the truth was that they did hurt inside, and my nightmares were proof that each strike could still feel new. And even though it was emotionally painful, I acquiesced to her wishes, so she ran her finger over the scars on my cheek and forehead that were normally hidden by my mask. Then she touched the scratches that her nails had caused.
“I’m sorry, Erik, to have caused you more hurt.”
“Don’t be. It was my fault,” I faintly responded with closed eyes.
Then she ran her hands over my exposed ribs.
“I know.” I tried to explain. “I look like a skeleton, but I don’t normally. If I don’t eat properly, I lose weight quickly, but I also put it on quickly. I’m sorry you had to see me like this.”
“I’m not looking at your lack of weight, Erik.”
She then ran her fingers over a few of the scars on my chest and neck. Under different circumstances, her touch would have excited me, but, at that time, I was too embarrassed, too anxious. I wasn’t prepared for what she was doing, so I was nearly frozen in fear while waiting for her response to the scared and deformed man she was examining.
She looked up into my eyes, and the sorrow and compassion I saw in hers touched my heart and eased my fears. She then moved around to my back and did the same. Her fingers hesitated a moment longer over the scar from the bullet wound on my right side. When she came around the other side, she touched the deep gash from the dagger in my left side and again looked up in my eyes.
“Who whipped you like this, Erik? What kind of a man could do this to another man? Who could be this heartless?”
“He didn’t do it to a man; he did it to a child,” I responded, with my emotional scars surfacing in my tone.
She shook her head. “A child? How old were you?”
“10—11.”
She looked deep into my eyes. “Was it your father?”
“No, not my father,” I answered adamantly. “He would never . . .”
“He may not have caused this but he didn’t prevent it either.”
I took a breath and tried to bury more of those emotional scars before replying to her harsh appraisal of my father. “He had no control over it. He was dead. I was kidnapped and then sold to the owner of a traveling circus where I was kept in a cage like the rest of his animals.”
“That’s horrible!” she gasped. “A child?” she looked deep into my eyes while tears formed in hers. “How could they do that to you—a child?” Her brow furrowed and her fingers gently brushed the lash mark on my neck. “Oh, Erik, how could you survive such an ordeal at such a young age?”
“Stubborn determination, I suppose. I don’t like to be forced to do anything by any man.”
Once more, she ran her fingers across the scars on my chest and shoulder. “If I wasn’t looking right at them, I don’t know if I could believe you. It’s all so hard to understand. How could he do this to a child?”
“Believe me—it happened, and as I told you before, many don’t consider me human. They see me as an animal and often treat me as one. In this particular case, I wouldn’t submit to him treating me like one of his animals or one of his oddities, so he tried to force me into submission. But I don’t want your pity. It was a long time ago, and I lived through it.”
“Perhaps, but not completely.” Her head shook again when she looked back up at me. “Even if you were an animal, how could they do this? I couldn’t do this to an animal.”
“You’re cut from a different cloth than most, Christine. That’s one reason why I love you so much.”
“I still don’t understand how anyone could do this.”
She looked up into my eyes again and I looked down into hers with so much love swelling in my heart. I was somewhere in deep thought about her purity when she interrupted my thoughts.
“Erik?”
“Oh! Yes! I apologize. You mesmerize me.”
“I would say quite to the contrary. Now that I can really see your eyes—without the mask—I can understand something else I heard about the Opera Ghost. I’ve heard that he . . . that you have the power to hypnotize people. So with your voice and these eyes, I now understand how. They are . . .” She intently focused on them. “They’re . . . I’ve never seen eyes like yours. They’re captivating and I guess hypnotic. They’re beautiful. I wish you wouldn’t wear that mask. I can’t see your eyes that well with it on. I love your eyes—especially when you smile.”
At first, I didn’t know how to respond to her, so I just stared down into her deep blue pools until the perfect and honest response came to me.
“I could say the same about yours. They’re what captivated me that first night on the stage.” I brushed the back of my fingers across her temple and into her hair. “I know you’re probably so tired of hearing me say this, but I love you so much, and I love you more each time I learn something new about you. What you’ve just done makes my heart swell.” Then fearing what she was going to ask next, I added. “But I can’t go without my mask. Not yet anyway.”
“I’m not asking you to—not yet anyway,” she said with a teasing smile. “Back to this power you have with your eyes. Is this how you got free from the cage? Did you hypnotize that cruel man?”
Another moment of truth was upon us, so I closed my eyes and lowered my head. I didn’t want to tell her the truth, but when I looked back into her concerned eyes, I knew I had to.
“No, unfortunately. That would have been nice, but it wasn’t that easy. I tried to escape many times, but, each time, I was caught and thrown back in the cage. Then, one day, something happened that made me go mad.” I looked toward my music room. “Mad like I did when you removed my mask. Only . . . .” I had to breathe a moment before I could finish. “I managed not to kill you yesterday, but my captor wasn’t as fortunate.” I lowered my head again and closed my eyes. “I’m sorry to say, he was my first victim. My freedom cost him his life.”
“I now understand a lot. I know this had to be hard for you to discuss, but, again, I thank you for being honest with me.” I nodded, and she smiled while turning toward the door. “I’ll leave you alone to finish what you were doing. Oh,” she added while turning halfway back toward me. “You don’t have to shave on my account. I like what I see.”
She spoke with such unabashed flirtation that it left me dumbfounded, and I couldn’t respond to her. I almost followed her to question her; however, I was so emotionally drained by her examination that I had to lean on the counter to support myself before I did anything. But, after thinking more about her last comment, I didn’t bother to shave.
As I was buttoning my shirt, I heard her humming, and, at first, I smiled, but then I recognized the melody and took off at a full run toward my music room. When I saw her, she was standing with her back to me and facing my organ. She had my score of Don Juan Triumphant in her hands and was humming softly. Without saying anything, I reached around he
r and took it from her hands. Her eyes showed surprise along with a bit of shock.
“It’s not finished, Christine, you must be patient.”
“You wrote that? Then another rumor is true. You’re also a composer.”
I nodded while putting the score in a folder. “Yes, but it’s not ready for anyone to see or hear just yet. It’s not ready for you, Christine, and you’re not ready for it.”
“You thought I was ready enough for the gala,” she responded while leaning back against the wall. “Are you saying your work is better than Gounod’s, that I couldn’t sing it?”
I looked at her for a moment, trying to find the right words that would be honest and yet not send her screaming from the room again. “No, I’m not saying that at all. But just as you needed special tutoring to sing Marguerite’s and Juliette’s roles, you’ll also need special training to perform the part of my heroine in this opera.”
“Will you also tutor me for that part when you’re finished?” she asked with a slight smile.
Oh, what a loaded question she asked, and if she knew exactly what she was asking me, I don’t believe she would have asked it.
So while turning my back to her and placing my score on a shelf, I answered her honestly, “That’s just what I look forward to doing in the near future, my dear.”
With innocence, she asked, “When do you think it’ll be ready?”
“Well, that’s hard to say,” I began as I turned around to face her. “I still have much work to do on it, and, at the rate I am going, by the time it’s full grown, I’ll probably be ready to crawl into my coffin,” I snickered, while looking at my tapestry-covered casket.
“If that’s the case, then I never want you to finish it, Erik.”
I looked at her, wondering if she took me seriously, or if she was serious, or if we were just playing word games with each other. Then she moved away from the wall and toward the bust of Molly, stroking its nose as if it was a real horse.
Then she asked, “I’ve never spoken to a composer before. How long does it take to write an opera? How long have you been working on yours?”
Through Phantom Eyes: Volume Five - Christine Page 37
