“You do what you think is right for you, Christine. You shouldn’t be pressured by his domineering ways.”
“Oh, you’re a fine one to talk. You’re the one who kidnapped me and held me in bondage for four days.”
“Christine, are you serious or are you joking?”
She looked up at me. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I guess I’m still upset with Raoul.”
“Am I domineering?”
“You were, but you’re not now.”
“I’m sorry. Perhaps I should have tried a different approach, something other than kidnapping you.—No! What am I saying? I wasn’t kidnapping you. It wasn’t supposed to be that way. You were supposed to see and know who I was and then go willingly with me. So, in my mind, I wasn’t kidnapping you. I was offering you a chance to come to know me for who I really was.”
She said she understood and the conversation became lighthearted and we even laughed. The hours ticked by until she yawned.
“I guess I’m sleepy. It’s been a long day. I think I’ll retire. Thank you for helping me and encouraging me. I feel much better now.”
She hesitated for a moment when she neared my chair, and I looked up at her and told her she was welcome. She was looking at my hair and moved a few strands from my forehead, and then she let her fingertips run across my temples. By her forthcoming question, she must have been looking at the gray streaks at my temples.
“How old are you, Erik?”
“Of what relevance is an instructor’s age to his pupil’s age?” I asked nonchalantly.
“None. It’s just that . . .”
“Yes, it’s just what, Christine?”
“Meg said the ghost, or what she now knows is my angel, is old enough to be my father.”
“Then Meg is right. I am. Does that bother you?”
“No, not really,” she replied.
“Did Meg say something else that did bother you?”
“She said it isn’t right for a man of your age to be in love with a girl my age.”
“How does she know I’m in love with you?”
“I guess I sort of told her,” she replied as she lowered her head, looking like a little girl who’d just been caught using her mother’s perfume.
Then I asked guardedly while studying her eyes, “Does that bother you? That I’m older and in love with you?”
She shrugged her shoulders slowly before replying, “Not if I don’t think about it for too long.”
Then, abruptly, that conversation that could have led somewhere important, changed with the changing of her womanly attitude into one of a perky schoolgirl.
“Well, I’m off to bed.” She then darted behind my chair and headed toward her room. “Goodnight, Erik.”
I turned halfway in my chair and watched her leave. “Goodnight, Christine.”
Her door closed and I shook my head. She so often perplexed me. I was turning to sit back when her door opened again, so I looked over my shoulder at her door just when her head peeked around the doorframe. Then the face I saw and the voice I heard had once again changed, that time into the soft seductive voice of a woman that can melt a man instantly.
“And, Erik, I choose not to think about it.”
She smiled for a second and then once more disappeared and her door closed again. I didn’t move that time. I stared at her closed door wondering, what was she telling me? Did she mean the thought was too disturbing to think about or that she disagreed with Meg and our age difference didn’t matter to her? Was she saying she was developing feelings for me regardless of our age difference?
Perplexed didn’t come close to describing my feelings right then. When she ran to me and asked me to hold her, she clung to me like a child would cling to a father. Was that what I was becoming to her? Was I merely taking the place of her absent father? If that was so, then how could I explain that look she’d given me several times, that look that sent sensations through my body, that look that positively said, “kiss me?”
I groaned and looked into the fire. That woman was driving me crazy. Am I to be her father or her lover?
Thirty-Four
Sleep didn’t come easily for me that night; most of it was spent trying to understand Christine’s quick change in moods. But I did manage to fall asleep for a while, and, by the time Christine was awake, I’d finished my morning routine and was at my piano playing softly. Even though she was frustrating me completely, I couldn’t help but smile when she entered the room, still in her nightclothes and wrapped in a blanket.
“Good morning, my sweet. Did you sleep well?”
“Yes, but I’m freezing. My room is cold, so I thought I’d leave the door open until it gets warm enough in there to take a bath.”
“Cold? It shouldn’t be cold,” I replied while getting to my feet and heading for the heat vent in her room. When I found it closed, I asked, “This shouldn’t be closed. Did you close it?”
“Yes, but that was days ago. There was cold air coming from it so I closed it. Was I not supposed to?”
I opened the small vent, and asked her, “Was that the day you got up before me?”
“Maybe. I don’t remember.”
I put my hand over the vent and then asked her to do the same.
“It’s warm,” she said with surprise.
Then I explained, “There’s one of these vents in every room. They’re connected to a main tube that runs against the sheet metal in the fireplace. When the fire is lit, it heats the air in the tube and carries it to every room. It usually keeps my home comfortable, but since you got up before me that day, I hadn’t started a fire yet. I apologize for not explaining this to you sooner. Did you close the one in your bath also?”
She nodded and headed for her bath. “There, that one is open now. Until it warms up in here, would you finish playing the piece you were just playing? I’ve never heard it before. I like the rhythm.”
“Certainly, I like the rhythm also,” I replied, as I headed back to my piano. “It was inspired by a horse. That’s the rhythm you hear.”
By then I was sitting at my piano and starting to play, and she was asking me questions. “Was it César?”
“No, not César,” I answered with a smile. “This particular horse I named Molly, and she came into my life when I was about five and then left it when I was 24. She was my only companion for many years, and we had a special bond. She liked to steal handkerchiefs from my pocket and wait for me to chase her. She made me laugh often.”
“I can hear that in the music,” she offered.
“That bust of the horse beside you is the likeness of Molly.”
“Really?” she responded, while reaching over and running her fingers over Molly’s nose. “How did you find one just like her?”
“I actually didn’t. Someone made it for me.”
“Someone made it? Whoever it was is extremely talented.”
“I agree. He was and still is talented. His entire family is exceptional. I consider it an honor to know them.” I stopped playing and gazed at Christine. “They’re the type of people you would find so fascinating. Would you like to meet them? We could go for another ride this evening and stop by to see them. I know you’ll fall in love with them and them with you.”
“I’d like that, Erik. Let me take my bath, and then you can tell me all about them over breakfast.”
She took off for her bath and I headed for the kitchen to get breakfast started. By the time she came out of her room, the table was set, the water was hot for the tea, and I was just finishing the sweet cakes. We sat down and began eating and she began questioning me.
“So tell me, how long have you known this family?”
“Well, Dominick, the oldest boy, began working with me when I first started working on this opera house. That was in 1862, and I met his family almost a year later. They impressed me so much. Dominick had 8 siblings, and all 11 of them lived in a small, one-bedroom home in a poverty stricken area on the south side of Paris.
The father had been paralyzed in an accident, and his only means of supporting his family was to carve likenesses of animals and sell them. The mother took in washing, ironing, and mending to help.”
I shook my head. “They were such an inspiration to me. They helped me to be content with what I had.”
“I can’t wait to meet them.”
I smiled with excitement at the thought.
We finished eating, took care of my leg, and then began her lessons.
“I believe they’re planning to do Faust again soon, so we’d better add those pieces to your lessons to keep you well prepared to sing Marguerite.”
“But they have Carlotta slated for that role.”
“No, I’m certain you’ll be in the lead this time. It appears Carlotta has refused to sing ever again. I suppose losing her voice like that really crushed her confidence. What happened to her is a singer’s worst nightmare, as you’re probably aware, and it’s such a shame that she didn’t heed any warning signs and rest her voice when she had the chance.
“Let that be a warning to you, Christine. Your voice is a valuable instrument, and you must take extreme care of it and never take it for granted. Not all are privileged to have what you possess.”
I thumbed through my sheet music while her fingers traced the lines in Molly’s mane. Then she added another comment to the subject.
“It was the strangest thing. Did you hear it?”
While trying not to smile too broadly, I responded, “Yes.”
She frowned ever so slightly. “I’ve never heard a soprano release such a deep sound from her throat before. It was most unreal.”
Hiding my smile, I turned from her and pretended to be looking through more sheet music. “As I said, let that be a warning to us all. The vocal chords can do strange things when not protected. They can embarrass a rich baritone with the squeaky sounds of mice, or the sweet sound of a soprano with the hoarse sound of a toad.”
There was a moment of silence before she started again. “It’s interesting that you should use that description, ‘toad.’ A short while ago, Carlotta used the same word to describe my voice. She told the press that my voice was like a toad’s croaking.”
“Is that right?” I asked as I sat down on the bench. “Well, perhaps karma has caught up with our diva. Perhaps, if she’s superstitious enough, that episode might teach her a lesson—she needs to watch her viper’s tongue.”
“It really hurt and made me afraid to sing. I knew Carlotta had been in the business for a long time and must have known what she was talking about. She had me convinced that my angel had heard me with the ears of a heavenly creature, while those here on earth could hear the truth—I was worse than nothing.
“I actually felt relieved when I was cast as part of the chorus during that production of Faust. I felt safe there. Especially when I couldn’t find you, I thought for sure I’d lost everything. I felt like such a failure and disappointment to my father and such a failure to you. I’d lost all confidence in myself; even though I knew you wanted me to have that confidence, it was all gone.”
The look in her eyes and the sound of true sorrow in her voice only increased what I was feeling toward the Opera Populaire’s lead soprano, and my next words expressed just how I felt.
“Carlotta is an arrogant fool. She’s grown too old and too comfortable with her past laurels. She’s neglected to remember the beautiful tale of the princess and the frog. Everything isn’t always what it seems, Christine, remember that. What’s beauty in one’s eyes is ugliness in another’s.
“Carlotta sees through eyes of jealousy. She sees how you’ve improved, and she fears you’ll take what she thinks is her place center stage. Well, in her arrogance, and by her own mouth, she’s cast a spell on herself, and now you’ll sing Marguerite in place of her—mark my words.”
I believe my tone had sparked a hint of suspicion, so I tried to give her something else to think about, something other than my possible involvement in Carlotta’s downfall.
“If you want to be a great singer, you must develop a tougher skin, Christine. It was once said that, the closer you are to the fire, the more you’ll feel the heat. Well, the same goes for the stage. The closer you are to center stage, the more you’ll feel others’ jealousy and hear their bitter words. But that’s all they are, my dear, just words. They can’t hurt you if you don’t let them. You’ll be twice the star that Carlotta has ever been, and you’ll shine twice as brightly, I guarantee it. Now, you must stop your doubting.”
“I know you’re right, and I’ll try. Thank you. You always manage to make me feel better.”
We began her lesson, and I watched her expression and movements closely for any signs of insecurity, but I didn’t see any. I was grateful for that, and I knew, as long as she was with me, I could keep her feeling confident, but I was still concerned about what would happen the first time she had a confrontation with Carlotta. I would just have to watch her closely and intercede if necessary.
We talked until it was time for me to meet the boys at the dock, and then I left. When I returned, I left her boxes in the docking room until I could get them inside without her seeing me. So, when I entered the parlor, I was carrying only our bags of food. I smiled when I saw her walking toward the fire, but the smile quickly left my lips when I saw what was in her hand. I gasped, dropped the bags on the floor, and rushed toward her, causing her to jump and drop the small bag on the floor, the small bag containing the keys to the black boxes.
“Oh! Erik! You startled me.”
“Likewise, my dear,” I said as I picked up the bag. My teeth were clamped tightly, and I glared at her while shaking my head. “Christine, you must control your curiosity or it might be the end of us all. Didn’t I tell you not to touch this bag?”
“I don’t think so. You took it away from me, but that’s all I remember.”
I glanced at the innocent looking bag in my hand and then at her. “What were you planning to do with this?”
“I was curious and . . .”
“Oh,” I growled. “You and your curiosity. Christine! Please, don’t ever experiment with anything in my home. You have no idea what could happen. If you’re curious, ask me about anything you want, but restrain yourself from trying to figure things out on your own. These . . .” I stammered as I tried to explain the keys. “These aren’t . . .”
“What is it, Erik? I know they’re keys. They look like they could go to those black boxes. Do they?”
I tossed the bag in one hand a few times, still shaking my head. “Very well, you want to see what these unlock?”
I took her by the shoulders and moved her close enough to the fireplace to see into the boxes but far enough away so she couldn’t touch them. Then I held her hands behind her back.
“Here, hold your hands. Don’t move them, and don’t try to touch what’s in the boxes. Do you understand?” she nodded. “Do you agree not to touch them?”
“Yes, but why are you being so cautious? Whatever’s in those boxes can’t be that dangerous.”
I chuckled and unlocked the boxes. “A scorpion can kill, and it could also fit in that box?”
“But it couldn’t stay alive in there,” she rebutted with a slight frown.
“Perhaps, but remember what I told you earlier about things not always being what they seem. So just don’t try to touch it.”
“You’re acting so strange, Erik. You’re almost frightening me.”
“Good,” I replied as I moved behind her, preparing to grab her arms if she moved them. “In this situation, being frightened is a good thing” Then I reached around her and opened the boxes. “Now you can see what’s in my black boxes, but be careful. They both hold great power.”
She turned her head and looked up at me. “Maybe I no longer want to see.”
“Will your curiosity be appeased if you don’t? Will you no longer want to know what’s in those curious little black boxes?” She didn’t answer. “That’s what I thought.
You started this, Christine, now I’m going to finish it, once and for all. Just look inside. As long as you don’t touch them, they can’t hurt you.” I nudged her gently and she leaned forward.
“Oh! They’re delightful, Erik.”
I felt her arms start to move forward and I grabbed them. “No, Christine, don’t touch.”
“I don’t understand. They’re nothing more than metal replicas. They’re not alive so how can they hurt anyone?” She looked up at me again. “You’re teasing me again, aren’t you? There was never anything dangerous in there, was there?”
I took a deep breath, moved her to the divan and sat her down. Then I started to lock the boxes.
“Erik, are you going to answer me?”
I turned and looked at her. “Christine, you know only a small part of what my life has been like. And this . . . . Perhaps you don’t want to know about it. Perhaps you don’t need to know or perhaps you do need to know, since it involves who I am or at least who I was or could be.”
“You’re not making any sense, Erik.”
I put the bag of keys in my pocket, with the intention of hiding it somewhere that she couldn’t go. She was much too curious for the good of either of us. Then I sat in my chair and began my strange story.
“During the war with Prussia, I was living right here. It was a dark time for Paris and for me. This opera house was used by the military, and death was a daily occurrence. Death not caused by me, by the way. I was sick of the death, and I was sick of the men who were causing it.
“But when the communes took over this house, it was even worse. They brought in hundreds of barrels of gunpowder and it angered me terribly. I pictured them, or the next power to be, blowing up my home that I’d worked on for years, and possibly killing me in the process. If they did succeed in destroying the opera house, they would also be destroying my childhood dream.
“I wasn’t going to let that happen, so I took those barrels and hid them all around the foundation of this place. Therefore, I would be in control, and if I discovered they were going to take this place down, I would do it first.
Through Phantom Eyes: Volume Five - Christine Page 48
