They walked for a long time before either of them spoke. Occasionally Costanza would glance up at him in wonderment, as though he were a saint. She was no longer alone. That thought filled her mind. For the first time in her life, there was someone there beside her.
"Can I ask a question?" she asked at last.
"I cannot stop you from asking. Whether I will choose to answer, however, is another story."
"Oh," she said.
"What did you want to ask?" he prodded.
"Are you God?" she asked, quite disarmingly.
He laughed. "Not remotely."
"Oh," she said again.
"Where did you get such a notion?" he asked.
"The priest said people die if they see the face of God," she explained. "So I thought maybe that's why you hide your face."
"Ah." Well, if people saw my face, they might die of fright! "I suppose your reasoning is sound, as far as it goes. But there are other reasons people wear masks."
"Why do you wear one?"
"It is not your concern," he said.
"You're not a thief, are you?'
"No." He decided it was acceptable to say that. After all, it had been years since he'd stolen anything.
"Good," she said. "I didn't think you were. Thieves are bad. And you're kind."
When they reached the town, he made only one brief stop, to purchase a sack of bread rolls at a nearby bakery. When he saw a shelf of cakes, on an impulse he bought one for the little girl. When he handed it to her, she gazed at it for several seconds in awe, cradling it in her hands as reverently as though it were made of gold. He guessed she'd never seen such a treat in her life. When she finally ventured to put it to her lips, her face lit up, and she devoured it in a manner that was more reminiscent of a hungry wolf than a child.
When they arrived at the hotel, the moon was directly overheard, lighting up the street. "This is where we'll be staying tonight," he said. "Tomorrow we'll go to Milan."
Though the hotel was a relatively modest establishment, Costanza stared wide-eyed at the building as though she'd never seen such luxury. He had to tug her through the door, for she was sure there had been some mistake and they'd come to the wrong place.
When he stopped at the desk, he found a telegram waiting for him.
Epifania Toloni died on the twenty-first, it said rather abruptly.
He crumpled the note in his hand and plunged it into his pocket.
"What is it?" Costanza asked.
"Never mind," Erik said heavily.
He plodded towards his suite, shock flooding through him. He had no experience delivering bad news to people, and the thought of inadvertently wounding this little child horrified him.
He waited until they were settled in the suite and she'd finished her meager supper before telling her.
"Costanza, I'm afraid your Mama has d- has gone to the Holy Virgin," he said simply. "I'm sorry."
"Oh." Costanza barely reacted to the news. She had no memory of her mother. A part of her almost doubted if she existed. She had never really expected to see her again. Besides, she was happy with this man who had rescued her.
Erik was not surprised by her indifference. He'd never felt one moment's affection for his own mother and, though he knew most people generally loved their parents to some greater or lesser degree, it seemed natural to him not to. He didn't have the faintest idea what familial tenderness might be like.
"Where will I go?" Costanza asked at length. "I don't want to go back to the tavern."
She was all practical. He understood- it wasn't that she didn't have the capacity to be tenderhearted, it was just that she didn't have the luxury of indulging her emotions. Very like him as a child.
"I shall make sure you are provided for," he said.
"Will I stay with you?" she asked, without any hint of being upset by the idea.
This shocked him so much he nearly staggered. "I shall find a suitable place for you to live," he said at last, trying to maintain his composure.
This seemed to reassure her. She clambered onto an armchair and curled up comfortably, like a sleepy cat.
Erik had noted by now that she was a girl of few words. As he busied himself preparing a return message to telegraph to the hospital, she sat in silence, as though reflecting to herself. But the main question on her mind had been addressed, and soon fatigue overtook her other concerns. Her head began to droop, and within a few minutes, she was asleep, exhausted by their journey and the change that had taken place in her life.
Erik abandoned the message for the moment and stood gazing down at her in silence. What in God's name was he going do?
Chapter 3 to be continued
He let her sleep late the next morning. There was no reason to hurry now. After a leisurely breakfast, they began their trip back to Milan.
As they walked to the stable yard for their carriage, Costanza's hand spontaneously shot out and took his. The gesture, the trust it conveyed, shook him to his core.
As they watched the miles roll by, bringing them closer to Milan, Costanza ventured occasional questions. He answered them briefly, but thoughtfully. Slowly, encouraged by his gentleness, she began to speak more and more, until she became quite as talkative as other children her age. He was glad for that. He was too preoccupied to do much talking himself, and her prattle comfortably filled the silence.
Though Erik didn't know it, Costanza was inexpressibly happy. Above all, she was ecstatic to be leaving the Tempestas, but she was also happy to be with him. She loved how he never either shouted or laughed at her, but listened, his eyes grave and kind, to everything she had to say. That was a completely new experience for her.
"Like all children, who resemble young shoots of the vine, which cling to everything", she had tried to love before in her life. It hadn't gone well. Every human being she'd known had recoiled from her, scorned her, despised her. Her heart had nearly gone cold. It wasn't her fault; it wasn't the capacity to love that she'd lacked, but the opportunity. And now, finally, here was this man who never pushed her away or treated her like a burden. Thus, almost from the very first hour, without yet quite realizing it, she had begun to love him.
If Erik had known any of this, his thoughts might have been more agreeably engaged. But unfortunately for him, he didn't, and so his mind was mired in gloomy thoughts.
When they arrived back at his apartment in Milan that evening he made up a bed for Costanza on the sofa, and left her there quite happily occupied in playing with her rabbit.
He needed to think, and so he did was he always did when he was uncertain: he turned to music. He went into his bedroom, shut the door, and began to play his violin. Sad and sweet, the music quieted the pain of his tortured heart, easing his fear, helping him reflect. At last his tangled thoughts began to straighten out. Finally he realized the truth: It was not the thought of having to look after Costanza that troubled him. No. Quite the opposite, in fact.
When he'd found that sad, shy little girl, when he'd rescued her from the Thenardiers, he'd felt his heart moved within him. Something new had come into his soul. Against his will, all the dormant affection within him had awoken and rushed towards towards her.
And that frightened him. More than he could express.
Because he was certain that anything this innocent and precious could never love him. He could keep her with him for now. He could pretend to be normal. But his dealings with Christine Daae had made him realize that sort of thing wasn't sustainable. Human beings had been the same way since the Garden of Eden: They couldn't leave a secret alone, no matter how dangerous it was. Someday, the little girl's curiosity would get the better of her. It was inevitable. She would demand to know.
Costanza would see his wretched, accursed face. That was as certain as death itself. And when she did, it would all be over. He would lose her. She would never want anything to do with him again. If she'd seen his face, she would never have come with him in the first place.
