Chapter IV.

Time passed so fast. After Christmas, there came the New Year of 1886, with a peaceful and silent New Year's Eve, and they suddenly realize it was April again. Mahtab was already 5 months old, and healthy just as her parents wished her to be.

Erik, slowly and steady made peace with her, he took part more and more in his daughter's nursing. He would spend time with her on his lap, as now she could sit if he sat her against something, he sat in his favorite armchair with her, softly humming to her. Mahtab loved her father's voice. It comforted her when she was scared of something, and Erik used his angelic singing and speaking voice to comfort the child – however well they started to get along, he still wasn't a fan of a baby's cry, so he did not really want to listen to it for a long time.

Christine was so happy for the couple – father and daughter – together that she left them the most possible. She often caught Erik "taking care of Mahtab" ended up in he went to his study with the child under his arm, just as he was carrying a violin case, then as she took a peek in through the slightly open door, she could see Erik sitting at his desk, composing on a work, holding Mahtab on his lap with his right hand, while Mahtab was babbling about something on baby language. Erik did not seem to mind or even notice Mahtab's little monologues.

The first warm Sunday came since Mahtab's birth. They were ready for their walk, Erik put the baby in the pram and took the tiny mask out of his pocket, where he was hiding it and tried to put it on his daughter's head, carefully, not to hurt her or accidentally put a finger in her nose- hole when Christine appeared in the hallway.

- What are you doing, Erik? – She asked annoyed.

- What it looks like? – Erik replied with a question that was something that made Christine mad always. – You could come here and help Erik, so she could stop moving her head. Erik is afraid he will hurt her. See that is why I told you earlier we should put the mask on her from time to time… now she doesn't know it.

Mahtab got tired of the process and started to whine then cry.

- You are hurting her. – Christine picked Mahtab out of the pram and hugged her. – Ssssssssh!

- No, I am not. – Erik answered. – Just trying to dress her.

- I have already told you I don't want her to wear a mask.

- Then how we should protect her, Christine, please tell me a better way if you can. I am open to more ideas, if you are so very experienced in that matter, my love, please don't hesitate to give Erik a clue how to solve this. – Erik added a bit of sarcastically.

- You could give her a fake nose instead of a mask. – Christine suggested.

- Not a suitable solution for a baby at her age. It closes up her nose and she will have breathing problems. And you can believe Erik that the fake nose isn't that pleasant to wear, it will be long until she gets mature enough to bear the discomfort. And don't forget that a baby works other way than an adult – it will be all messy always and if not kept clean enough – which is hard with such a tiny child – it can be a great place for bacteria which leads to endless nasal infections.

- You are… right… I guess. – Christine backed off in the argument a little bit.

- Erik is right, Christine, he wishes he did not know so much about fake noses. But he knows it all too well, Christine… - he sighed and laughed bitterly.

- Erik, I still don't want her to wear a mask.

- As you wish. – Erik let out a tired sigh.

- I am also afraid of people will look weird at her….

- They will, for sure.

- No, not because of her face… her name… Erik, for God's sake, why did you have to give her a Persian name…? It is beautiful, but it isolates her even more from European people and she will always be…

- What did you say…? – Erik looked at Christine with a sudden interest.

- I asked… why you gave her a Persian name…

- Persian… yes… the solution… it was right in front of Erik's NOSE!

- What? – She gasped. – Erik what on Earth are you talking about…?

- My dear Christine… could you give me Mahtab a little?

- What do you want to do to her, Erik…? We were supposed to go for a walk in the park as usual…

- Oh no, no, no, dear Christine… Erik is sorry he has to cancel this for today as he has to take Mahtab to visit someone.

- Who? – Christine asked nervously when Erik gently took Mahtab out of her arms, and hugged her in his right arm.

- Her… Godfather if you like this name.

- But… she doesn't have one… we were talking about religion before, but…

- She will, soon, my dear… she will. Now, come my sweet little daughter, we should take a short trip to Papa's study… and after, we leave and visit your dear old Godfather. He is a nice fellow, Mahtab, dear, you shall not fear him.

- Erik… Erik where are you going?

Christine could not move from shock as Erik just walked out of the house with their child in his arms, and she had to sit down to take some deep breaths… she was so scared. It never meant any good when Erik had a sudden change in his behavior….

"Who this might be on Sunday?" – He had an uncomfortable feeling as he rose from his chair as he heard the doorbell ring. A visitor on Sunday here in France does not mean any good. His manservant knocked and nervously peeked in the door.

- A man is here to talk to you, Master.

- Who is it? – He asked worriedly.

- I don't know, Master… he did not say his name.

- Is he wearing a mask? – The man's voice became higher pitched from fear.

- No, Master. – The servant replied.

- No?

- No. He is an ordinary man with a very nice voice

- Allah above… let him in… but please stay near if… I'd need help.

- As you wish. – The servant left and there came the visitor with the baby in hand. The other man did not look at the door – he did not dare to. He sat back in his chair and waited for the worst to happen, with the bell within his reach to be able to call Darius if needed.

- Good morning, Daroga! – a cheerful, angelic male voice startled him as his visitor arrived behind his back and without any further invitation, he jumped into the chair that faced the Daroga.

Yes, it was Erik, but he had a normal looking face with thin, not too big nose, a mustache and greenish – blue eyes that lit a bit of otherworldly, covered with a pair of glasses of the latest fashion, but other than that, he did not look anything like the old version of himself. He did not even wear black this time, he had a light grey suit with red cravat. Only his shoulder length dark brown hair gave him away that he kept braided if he left home. His bony skeletal hands were covered by black gloves. He looked like any other Frenchman on the streets. The Persian had to admit he looked handsome compared to his real face and his age.

- Erik, I… did not even recognize you… just by your voice.

- So you like my new mask. – He stated, and let out a small laugh.

- What is… in your hand…? – The Daroga asked with surprise, examining Erik.

- It is my daughter, Daroga. I came here to talk about you and her.

- Daughter? – The Daroga exclaimed.

- Yes, Daroga, Erik is a father. And I came to you to ask if you have thought about a way to repay Erik for saving your life.

- For saving my life? You aren't talking about the Torture Chamber, are you?

- Be quiet, you wake her up. – He silenced the Persian coldly. – No. Erik is talking about the little favor he is doing to you… for ages… for decades.

- What favor?

- You already forgot? – Erik shook his head. – Tisk, tisk… Daroga… hmmm…. Well… how much does the rent of this nice apartment cost for you my friend…?

- Why do you want to know?

- Just to know… how much money do you owe Erik a month.

- I am not paying you, Erik.

- No, no. He doesn't need your money. He needs your service… otherwise Erik would tell the Persian government… our little secret. Just a little letter, and they get to know Erik is still here… alive.

- They won't believe you.

Erik took a small paper out of his pocket and handed it to the Persian.

- Here is, Daroga, a sketch of the part of the blueprints… later modified…. Of the Palace Mazandaran. Erik just has to include it with his letter to prove his words… as no one but the original designer can have this. They can even compare my handwriting – the same on the sketch and now. Erik has a very unique cursive, you know…

The Daroga took a deep breath and with shaking fingers he held the chair. He closed his eyes and on a soft voice he whispered:

- Erik what do you want of me still? You asked me to be your best man on your wedding and promised me you will lead a good life. What service do you need now? Why are you blackmailing me with our past still? I got my punishment in Persia already for that…

- Oh no, Daroga. You got your punishment for losing Erik. But he was found dead later… or as they thought… they put you to prison because I "fled", but if they knew that you helped Erik escape and he was still alive… they would not pay you a dime from now on, and you could go live under "Pont Alexandre III".

- You would not do that. You have a family they would kill you. – The Persian tried to stay calm.

- I would do it for my family, Daroga. I'd rather die than suffer with my daughter about something she can do nothing about.

- What do you mean…?

- I want you to be the role model for my daughter in religion.

- What? Why?

- Because she will have to cover her face in public if that is the case. – Erik looked down to the floor, and fought back some tears. – You won't have much to do, Daroga… you really won't. Just show up with the girl from time to time, so everyone knows you are her "Godfather". She shall have Islam as her religion so that she can live in peace…

- Erik… is she… ? Is she… deformed….? That's why she has to hide her face…?

Erik, without an answer, showed the child's uncovered tiny face to the Daroga, who made a little terrified gasp, but other than that he remained a gentleman.

- See? – Erik asked silently. – Christine doesn't want her to wear a mask as she sees it as a sign of hatred or unacceptance from Erik. But Erik only wants to protect her, Daroga, and would do anything for her.

- Why didn't you ask me normally, Erik, instead of starting your old tricks and trying to scare me?

- Because I did not think you would say yes to Erik any other way. No one wants a mondter child… Erik himself had wished her dead many times in her first weeks, Daroga… how should he expect someone else to accept her if he was repulsed by her tiny face as well?

The Daroga wiped some tears out of the corner of his eyes then put his hand on Erik's shoulder. He rarely touched Erik, but now he wanted to show support and compassion to that desperate father.

- I am honored to give the gift of Islam to your little daughter, Erik.

Erik let out a relieved sigh and wiped his forehead with his handkerchief.

- She even has a name that is suitable for her religion. – Erik continued after some pause.

- What is her name?

- Mahtab.

Silence. Awkward and long silence fell between the two men and they could hear Mahtab's breathing as well.

- Erik why…?

- You know why, Dsroga.

- You still… could not get over it?

- No. And never will.

- It wasn't your fault, Erik… she made that decision herself… she could have said otherwise…

- Enough, Daroga. I gave my daughter the name of the only woman ever loved Erik. – He sighed. – And who was my first and only love before I married my wife. My dead wife gives her name to my living child.

- As you wish. – The Persian nodded. – Do you want a tea? – He added comfortingly.

- No, thank you. – Erik shook his head. – Come to us next week to… talk about the details to Christine, please. Here is my address. – Erik placed a tiny card on the table in front of the Daroga, who curiously picked it up.

- Spöke? – He read out loud. – Erik Spöke? Is it your name….? Finally! Are you… German, Erik?

- No. You know well I was born near Rouen. It isn't in German anyway.

- Then?

- Swedish. It is just a name I took when I married Christine. She did not take "my" last name as in the Opera, she is well – known by the name 'Daaé". It is just the name I took so we at least resemble a normal family.

- What does it mean?

- Ghost. – Erik laughed. – Oh, Daroga… one more word… please… we tell the public we know each other from your country where you did me a great favor and that is why I asked you to be my daughter's religious father. Technically we don't even lie.

- We just leave out some unnecessary details. – the Daroga nodded.

They both smiled. It was always Erik's reaction when the Persian caught him lying about something " I did not lie, Daroga, just left out some unnecessary details."

- You could call me by my real name. – He added after some pause. – If we are nearly family now.

Erik hesitantly placed Mahtab down in the chair to free up his right hand then reached out for a friendly handshake:

- Salâm, Mohammed- Ismâel.

- Salâm, Erik. – He shook Erik's hand, and in his heart, he was thankful the man wore gloves. His touch was extremely cold, and he wasn't very fond of it.

- You know… - Erik looked at the Persian as he picked up Mahtab from the chair. – I am happy you will be a role model for my daughter, as she won't turn out that wicked as Erik is… despite her looks. She will have good influence all over her… you and my dear Christine.

The Persian was so touched he could not say anything to this, just bowed his head. Erik cleared his throat, and took a few steps towards the door, but then he turned back.

- Thank you, Dar…. Well… Mohammed… and don't eat anything next Sunday… you are coming for lunch.

- Thank you Erik. I will be there. – He smiled.

Erik left the room and the Persian let out a relieved sigh and rang for Darius:

- Darius, please make tea.