"Erik, you can't stay down here and wallow in self pity for the rest of your life."
"Oh, can't I? Watch."
"I knew you'd never leave as long as Christine was at the Opera, but now it's time you moved on, my friend. You need to return to the world."
"I'm staying here, Daroga. Give me a cigarette, will you?"
"What? But your voice!"
"Who gives a damn about my voice anymore? I don't have Christine; there's nothing to sing about."
"Come; you say that now, but in time—"
"Are you going to give me a cigarette or not?"
"Here, ruin your voice, you wretch."
"Thank you. I need a drink, too. Would you like a drink? What about a bottle. Let's get drunk."
"What shall we drink to, my friend? Your matchless gift for melodrama?"
"Shut up. Let's drink the gallant Comte de Chagny; vapid and beautiful. What more could a woman want? She's probably in that vile creature's clutches at this very moment, Reza!"
"Likely so, and a good thing, too; if you ask me--"
"Funny, I don't recall asking you…"
"--if you had her in your clutches, you wouldn't know what to do with her."
"I'd damn well figure out what to do with her, and have a marvelous time while I did! You're a fine one to talk; when's the last time you sampled a woman's charms?"
"Point taken, Erik. I do hope you feel better now. Listen, I think you should come and stay with Darius and me."
"No. I'm happy here."
"Now you're simply lying. You're not happy anywhere."
"So my dungeon is as good a place as any other."
"What would you like to bring with you?"
"Nothing. I'm staying here."
"Alright, but just say you were coming, what would you bring? Indulge me."
"Coffin. Piano. Music, books…"
"Wouldn't you rather bring your mother's furniture and sleep in a proper bed?"
"NO. What do I need a proper bed for?"
"As usual, you're irredeemable. Well, we'll bring your mother's furniture anyway."
"We're not bringing anything; I told you, I'm not coming."
"Erik, I happen to know of a construction project that might interest you."
"I can't do that nonsense anymore. I'm old."
"You can design and supervise; and you're not that old. You know, it would be a tremendous help if you did come and stay with me. I'm tired of being alone."
"You have Darius, and I don't want to move in with you."
"What about if I promise to marry you?"
"Oh, well, that's different then, if you intend to make me respectable. I'll be moved in tomorrow."
My Persian friend got me interested in the construction job; that's what did it. He was absolutely correct, of course, that I needed something to occupy my mind, but I was not about to ever give him the satisfaction of admitting it. The job was perfect for me; it consisted of designing and constructing storage vaults under the Louvre to protect that portion of their collection which was not on display. As it happened, I learned that only a fraction of their holdings are actually on display at any time. When I read the request for proposals and bids, I positively salivated, I wanted the job that much. I set to work on sketches and forgot about food and sleep, just as I do when I compose.
The daroga plied me with food and wine when I was exhausted, and by these devious means, managed to convince me that he could take much better care of me if I came up to his house to complete my proposal. So it was no great surprise when I staggered into my bedroom one day and fell over into my mother's bed.
"Good morning, my friend. Did you sleep well for a change in a proper bed?"
"Hm. Coffee. Thank you, Darius."
"You look a sight, I must say."
"I always look a sight, you cretin."
"More than usual. I think you should take more sun."
"I think you should take more arsenic."
"You're perfectly delightful in the morning, Erik. I'm so glad you're here."
"Reza. Had I realized what an insufferable chatterbox you are at this time of day, I'd never have come."
"Now, now. Haven't you heard that friendship is all about compromise?"
"I am compromising. I have not strangled you to death. Unh. This coffee is not working. I'm going back to bed."
"But you just got up! You haven't got a woman in there with you, eh?"
"Two."
We were taking tea one afternoon—well, cognac—when Darius advised that we had a lady caller. A glance between Reza and I was all that we needed to confirm to ourselves that such a thing was impossible. Darius proffered the tray with the calling card. The daroga glanced at it and gestured toward me.
"The lady is here for you, my friend."
Darius moved closer so I could read the name on the card: 'Christine, Comtesse de Chagny'.
Then she was in the doorway, looking small, nervous, and sinfully beautiful.
"Please come in and make yourself comfortable, Comtesse," the daroga was doing better than I; he was still able to speak. Christine handed her coat to Darius and perched on the sofa like a little green bird. Her suit was of exquisite emerald moiré silk with bronze soutache trim; the wardrobe of a comtesse.
"I hope you'll forgive my abrupt departure, but I have a prior engagement," my Persian friend lied, and none too well. I gave him my best Don't Leave Me look, to no avail.
"I had a hard time to find you here…" she opened. Her eyes darted nervously and she couldn't look at me.
"What are you doing here, Comtesse?"
"I need your help!" she blurted out.
I laughed bitterly. "You need me? What could I possibly do for you that your rank and money won't?"
"I want to leave my husband…I have nowhere to go. You're the only friend I have, Erik!" She looked at me then; her eyes were bright and wet. I laughed again, softly to myself, because I knew I was doomed. I sat close to her on the sofa, though I knew it was a mistake.
"What happened, Christine?" She fell against my shoulder. The same fragrance in her hair; the same sweet, tender weight against me.
"I don't like being married…" she twisted the green moiré in her fingers fretfully. "You know about …being married, don't you, Erik?" I wasn't certain what she meant, but I thought I would take a chance on saying that I did.
"I don't like it. It hurts, and it's ugly, and bad enough once, but he expects me to submit to him over and over again! I can't anymore!' She threw herself into my arms and sobbed. I let her cry until she was spent. I had absolutely no idea what to say to her, so it was just as well to let her cry.
"Can I stay here with you?" she snuffled at last.
If I had felt at a loss for words before, now it was doubly true. I resorted to blathering inanely about propriety, spewing words like 'scandal' and 'reputation'.
"Christine, what of your reputation, my Dear? Have you any idea of the scandal? It is notorious enough that a Comtesse should leave her husband, let alone living openly with two old bachelors to whom she is unrelated! Christine, you mustn't even imagine such a thing!" For myself, I care nothing for the moral façade these shameless hypocrites parade. I would flout their conventions for the sheer delight of it, but I cannot think of Christine being subjected to censure.
"I don't care about my reputation! What reputation will I have if I throw myself into the Seine? For I shall, if I must, anything but return to my marriage!" She said this with all the melodrama of which a twenty-year-old innocent is capable, but still her words struck terror into my heart.
"W-well, Christine, you see, it's not my home. I don't know how the daroga would feel…" I wavered.
"You're my only hope, Erik!" she wailed. "Take me back below the Opera!"
"Christine," I began, treading very cautiously, "you know, it's not…" I was about to argue on the Comte's behalf. No. Yes; I had to try. It was theoretically possible that someday my conscience might bother me if I didn't.
"Of course, I would never want you to do anything which makes you unhappy, Angel. But you must know that…this is the sort of thing that all married couples get up to."
"Yes, that is just what Raoul told me, too," Now I can die a happy man, I thought; Raoul and I are sounding alike.
"But it wouldn't be like that if you and I were married! You'd never—your love has always been so beautiful, so kind and gentle…that is what I want, the noble love that we share." Christine stroked my face tenderly. God: I was her Sir Galahad…Christine looked at me desperately.
"You still love me, don't you Erik?"
"Of course, Angel. Always," I confessed. Christine kissed me then; long and lingering. She was here, saying that she wanted to stay with me: she was holding out to me all I'd dreamed of…except touching her, loving her. In a second, I decided that I could be more than satisfied with what remained.
"It's just that I remember how happy you were, how excited about your new life. You loved him, Christine." Embedding and twisting the knife in one's own heart is a novel sensation, I discovered.
"But that's not the life I got, don't you see? It's nothing like what I dreamed! I did love him; but not anymore, not after all this! He was so considerate before we were married. He spoke with me, sought my opinion. Now, he treats me as though I am his property, speaking for me, telling me what to think, what to do! It isn't just to do with…his rights as my husband. But, Erik, I don't see why anyone would agree to such a thing—and just to have babies? Anyway, I don't have to do something just because everyone does."
"No. No, of course not," I agreed. I could not think of any reason why Christine should still be feeling such pain and distaste after four months of marital bliss.
"I wonder, have you spoken to your doctor about it?"
"Erik, if you don't want me anymore, just say so, but stop telling me I must return to Raoul! Even if you turn me out into the street, I shall not return to Raoul! I cannot," she cried. I was telling her to return to Raoul?
"No, Angel, it's your decision, of course. Whatever you want, I'll help you in any way I can, always," I vowed. At least I could say that with a completely full heart.
"Then I can stay here with you? You'll speak to—"
"The daroga?"
"Yes, you'll speak to Mr Daroga and make it alright. Oh, but Erik, you won't tell him…anything, will you? I'd die of shame…" What a beautiful little paradox my beloved is.
"Of course not, Darling. I'll find something to say to him; never fear." I smiled. "You go back home and collect your things, and—"
"Oh, I brought my things. My bags are in the hall," she blinked.
I see. "Well, let me talk to the daroga and see what can be arranged. Would you like some tea?"
"I thought Mr Daroga had an appointment."
"Oh, yes, quite so, but it was a brief one. No doubt he's returned and just…giving you and me some privacy—knowing that we're old friends."
I excused myself and asked Darius to set the Comtesse up with some tea and chocolates. My Persian friend studied me surreptitiously over the newspaper he pretended to read. I poured myself tea and joined him at the kitchen table.
"Don't insult my intelligence: put the paper down. We must talk."
"Really? How is the Comtesse?" the daroga grinned.
"Get ahold of yourself, my friend. She wishes to leave her husband; at least, that is what she currently believes. She wants me—us—to take her in. Here." I let the idea settle as I sipped my tea. Reza was thunderstruck.
"God in heaven. You're joking."
"I wish I could tell you so. Naturally I told her that it was not my decision to make; that you have your reputation to think of…a comely young comtesse, estranged from her husband, living openly with not one, but two dashing bachelors…"
"What a delicious scandal, Erik. I never knew you had it in you," my Persian friend gazed at me in undisguised admiration.
"Don't be absurd, please. She is not running to me; she is running away from the bestial boy. She put it most eloquently, 'You're the only friend I have, Erik!' I call your attention to the word 'friend'."
"Hm. Still, absence does make the heart grow fonder. And what has the Comte done to fall so far from grace in so short a time?" Thankfully, Darius was elsewhere. I leaned forward and the daroga bent toward me, conspiratorially.
"We are not having this conversation." I raised my eyebrows; he nodded.
"The Comtesse has not warmed to the realities of married life. For one, she seems to have anticipated that her marriage would be more of a relationship of equals than it has actually turned out to be. Secondly, she takes exception to the Comte's...vigorous fulfillment of his marital obligation. Her precise words were painful and ugly…and it was bad enough once, but over and over again is simply more than she can bear," I delivered this homily as solemnly as I could.
"And what does she expect if she throws in with you?" Reza wondered.
"Nothing so sordid, to be sure. My love is beautiful, noble, kind, and gentle," I rinsed the acrid taste from my mouth with a swish of tea.
"Is it indeed?"
"So she says. It would never be like that if she and I were married, she is sure of it." My friend was silent for some time.
"What do you think of all this, Erik? What have you to say to me?" he asked softly.
"I say to you that I cannot refuse her anything. If she wishes to stay while she sorts things out, I can bear it," I shrugged. "It is delightful to see her again. Anyway, she won't stay. I give her three days at most before she returns breathlessly to her naughty Comte. She may have my room; I don't sleep much."
"It is not the details of the sleeping arrangements which concern me," the daroga said, meaningfully.
"I know. I know. Don't worry," I sighed. His face told me he didn't believe a word of it.
"Thank you, old friend. I will relay this news of your generosity to the Comtesse."
Christine was sipping tea when I entered; she put her teacup down and approached me anxiously.
"My friend says that you are welcome here."
Christine threw her arms around my neck with such enthusiasm I feared I might topple over.
"What did you tell him?" she worried, searching my eyes.
"Well, I…said that…you husband was not the man you thought he was…and that you felt my absence more keenly as time went by...He seems to actually believe that I might have captured your heart," I smiled weakly. The tale was so preposterous that it even made me queasy.
"Erik, you have saved me! I shall be in your debt forever," she wept as I held her gently. This warm, fragrant girl in my hands was entrusting herself wholly to my care. My mind was reeling with the enormity of these events. I shuddered, realizing the depth of her trust in me; the weight of my awesome obligation to her. I may have offered a silent prayer; as if the Almighty, who had utterly abandoned me even before I was born, might be persuaded for Christine's sake to have mercy and grant me strength for the task that loomed before me. Perhaps the Omniscient One knew what lay ahead; surely I did not.