- - -
The following night I waited on the roof for her to appear. I assumed from the numerous encounters that I had already had with her that she came up here just as frequently as I did and it would only be a matter of time until she appeared.
I didn't have to wait long; she appeared at 10:32 with a thin shawl wrapped around her shoulders. I scowled at her inappropriate clothing and congratulated myself on my decision to help her. She wandered to the edge and stared at the view for awhile taking deep breaths. I realized she was trying to keep herself from crying and felt a pang for her. Poor girl.
I stayed in the shadows, hidden from her eyes and watched. I was not entirely sure why I was compelled to stare at her in such a manner except that I thought she might fling herself from the roof if my eyes did not keep her pinned to the ground. Funny how not long ago I contemplated the same act I was afraid that she would now commit. But it seemed like an injustice for the world to be left without this precious girl.
She turned suddenly, her rich curling hair flying around her face and even from far away I could see her gleaming eyes. They startled me badly. For, once again I felt the need to go to her.
I tore my gaze from her and stared at my feet breathing hard. This was madness! What was it in her eyes that kept wrenching these painful feelings from my chest? Was it that I thought she shared some semblance of pain with me? It was foolish to think even if I did go to her that she would accept my feeble attempts at empathy. She was innocence incarnate and I was not even worthy enough to touch the hem of her garments.
I kept my eyes downcast for a moment longer gathering my scattered thoughts together when quite suddenly the night was filled with the sweetest voice in the world.
"Wishing you were somehow here again. Wishing you were somehow near. Sometimes it seemed, if I just dreamed, somehow you would be here…" I had to cover my ears. My heart raced.
Her voice was incredible, lacking in strength and devoid of any actually emotion except for sorrow, but its clarity rang true and it was perfectly pitched. I goggled incredulously at her. How could so much beauty and pain come from one young girl? How could such an angelic looking creature be made to suffer so greatly? Anger coursed into me for her sake and I ranted silently at the heavens.
You take her father and leave her helpless and alone. You tear her from her home and leave her to cope in this strange environment. You parade her before me, so I can see all of her beauty and innocence first hand and then close your fist around her heart watching to see if the abomination you created will care enough to step in. I growled under my breath wishing I had something, someone to tear to pieces.
I had such a weakness for pretty things. Still surrounded myself with all kinds of pretty pieces, even though my childish dreams of stealing their beauty had long since vanished. I knew I could not steal this child's beauty but the dream flared to life inside me.
How easy would it be to spirit her away to my underground home and tell her I really was the angel she thought me to be. I could mend her broken wings and then teach her voice to fly again. I could bask in the innocence she exuded, enjoy her stunning radiance and perhaps she could teach me to feel again. She began to weep brokenly and my dream evaporated. I turned fully ready to leave this roof and never return. Such madness would have me hunted down and killed by whoever would miss this girl if I gave in to the absurdity I was thinking.
I almost tripped over the parcel lying at my feet. I took a deep breath to control myself. Perhaps I was finally going mad and need not worry about the new house I was to create.
I glanced around to see where she was and saw she was trying to compose herself by the edge again. Quickly, I dropped silently from my platform and placed the package where I was sure she would practically trip on it herself and then I made to leave. Before I'd even taken two steps I sighed and climbed back up to my perch. I just wanted to make sure she got the gift.
When she finally came around the corner she stopped at the sight of the large paper wrapped parcel. She looked around and turned a quick circle.
"Hello?" her eyes came back to the package and then she walked quickly around searching the roof for anyone. "Hello?" her voice echoed around us briefly before getting lost in the wind. Her eyes contemplated the parcel for a few moments and then she leaned down and plucked the card from beneath the strings.
I pondered for a long time what to write in that card. In the end I wrote only, "You seem rather ill prepared for the winter climate in the city. Do try to take care of yourself and keep warm." I signed it O.G. because though I knew signing it as Angel would let her know precisely who had given her this gift, it would not do for everyone in the opera to think they were haunted by a phantom and an angel.
She knelt down by the package as I chastised silently 'Don't kneel on the cold stone'. She proceeded to work the knot with dainty fingers until the paper fell away and she pulled out the cloak. It was only the best quality I could purchase on such short notice but she gawked at it like it was lined with gold. Her mouth opened and closed comically as she stood to hold it up completely. The length of fine, lined wool uncurled gracefully and she stared for a moment before clutching it to her chest and looking around again.
"Please, if you are still here, please speak to me," she pleaded to the quiet night around her. "Why…," she swallowed her question and instead just repeated, "Please", with the most heartbreaking intensity. I looked away from her. I could not grant her that wish. Not tonight, a part of me whispered and I trampled it firmly.
Not ever.
"Please," she begged once more, very quietly as if she already knew her wish could not be granted. Could I really make that desperate tone in her voice disappear just by appearing before her? No, crazy fool.
I was not man enough to go to her. I was only a ghost.
- - -
Christine
- - -
I spent the next day doing anything I could to occupy my mind. My masked guardian had said to not get consumed by grief and the only way I could accomplish that was by not stopping for a second. The morning was spent dancing on stage, practicing hard and Mme Giry rewarded me with a nod and a sharp "Better". I wasn't really sure if she was saying I was better or she wanted me to do better. I tried to keep my mind from thinking certain thoughts by talking to some of the other girls, asking for help and trying to make friends finally. I washed my hair after the afternoon practice and combed it out thoroughly, which takes a lot of time. I tidied my room and started thinking about going up to the roof after dinner.
I was determined to figure out who this odd man was who kept appearing to help me. Upon further thought he could not be an angel for angels were never as rude as he. I didn't think he was a demon either because why would one take the time to give me handkerchief and say 'do not cry' so beautifully in French instead of just stealing my soul? That left only one other option. He was just a man.
A man who must live in the opera house for him to have been on the roof all of those nights. Was he a scenery technician? A member of the chorus? A janitor? I laughed at that thought, not in the opera suit he wore. Perhaps he was a patron…
I pulled out the cloak from my closet. It was a beautiful piece of clothing, lined for warmth and style, the wool a deep forest green. I felt like a princess when I draped it around my shoulders and tied it at my throat. Whoever left it for me had expensive taste. I thought of the impeccably dressed specter in the mask and wondered if he was O.G. for the hundredth time. Who else could have done it? Who else would have?
I stepped out into the hall and was stopped by Meg and some of her friends.
"Bonsoir, Christine, where are you going?" Meg was the leader of the chorus, by right of course. She was a beautiful dancer and pushy, so she easily became leader without her mother's sway.
"Just up to the roof for a bit. Fresh air before bed helps me sleep," I smiled at the other girls and tried to remember their names.
"Is this new?" Meg inquired fingering the cloak with a hint of jealousy in her eyes.
"Yes, someone gave it to me," I glanced down at the garment trying to make light of it but it practically screamed expensive.
"A patron?" she sounded disbelieving.
"Actually, would you believe it if I said I'm not really sure who gave it to me?" The other two girls started tittering amongst themselves but I kept my eyes on Meg, wanting to keep the tenuous bond we'd made secure. She was the only girl who'd gone out of her way to be nice and she'd shared the loss of her father with me as well.
"How do you know it was for you then?" she crossed her arms saucily.
"My name was on the parcel," the lie spilled from my mouth without thought and I immediately wished I could snatch it back. I never lied! Why would I lie for something as silly as this cloak? It didn't have my name on it but I was the only person on that roof last night, who else would the note and package have been for? Surely Meg would understand if I explained it but it was too late.
"C'est le Phantom!" one of the girls, Julie?, said and then giggled nervously as Meg rolled her eyes.
"All of a sudden, the Phantom is Masked Pere Noel? Don't be stupid, Julie!" they seemed about to move on but I grabbed Meg. She said masked…
"Who wears a mask?" besides my otherworldly guardian. She looked at me sort of surprised.
"Have we not told you of the Phantom?"
"A Phantom, like a ghost?" but his handkerchief was real and who else but him would have left me a cloak and said to keep warm. Could ghosts do those sorts of things?
"Well, we can not be certain of his existence because no one has ever spoken to him." Meg put some eerie emphasis on her words wiggling her fingers spookily. "He lurks on the roof and in the halls and has claimed Box 5 as his. He promises to punish us all if the theatre is not run to his standards." She finished with a flourish and a laugh not taking it seriously but the other girls clutched at my sleeves.
"They say he is deformed and mad," Julie spoke quickly.
"He wears a mask to cover a hole where he has no nose!" was her name Margaret, or Marjorie…
"Yes, yes," Meg flipped her hand, "and when he sings he entrances birds and girls alike with the voice of an angel. Really, Christine, it's only a story." She sounded so sure but I had proof and kept silent.
"Seems like quite a tale," I managed.
Marg scrunched up her face at me, "C'est vrai, Christine. If not where did you get the cloak? None of the patrons have seen you, since you have not debuted." The girl had a good point, who else would know of my presence here except for the resident ghost.
"Perhaps, Monsieur Phantom is in love with you?" Julie's eyes were wide with belief. "He does have a soft spot for chorus girls."
"Yes, that's right" Marg nodded emphatically turning back to me, "He demanded we have more parts. Told the managers they had 'hidden jewels lurking in the background when they should be on display'" I blinked trying to imagine the quiet masked man with this flamboyant portrait.
"How do you know all this?" I was unsure what to believe anymore. My outrageously odd encounters with him or the crazy things they were saying. No nose? How can someone have no nose?
"They know this because they are terrible gossips and terrible flirts," Meg had her arms crossed and stuck out her tongue at her friends. "They will sleep with anyone with a tidbit."
Marg and Julie gasped and then broke into fits of laughter, something about tidbits being completely correct. Then they continued down the hall without Meg, giggling on each other's arms, their hips swaying in unison as they hailed a passing cleaner with blown kisses and waving motions while I watched it all open mouthed. By sleeping did they mean marital relations?
Meg turned back to me, "You really don't know who gave this to you?"
I shrugged, "It wasn't there one minute and then was in my path the next," wanting to change the subject I asked, "Do they really sleep with men they aren't married to?"
Meg blinked at me and then reached out to pat my shoulder, "You're still a virgin?" She sounded so sure that there was no reason to answer her as I went a colourful shade of red and looked away. She made me sound like I was a child just because I'd never been with a man. I was only 18! Besides, you weren't supposed to have that knowledge until you were married. Only one man should know your body.
"That might have to change," she continued sympathetically and I looked up shocked. "I mean not like that! The men just expect a certain amount of …mmm…play. But you can be choosy with them. Most just want to grope you and slobber on you. They aren't allowed to force you into anything but they do expect you to enjoy their company thoroughly." If my face got anymore red it would burn right off! She spoke so blatantly of intimate things, intimate relations. Wanting desperately to change the subject again I piped up.
"So is the masked man real?" Meg shrugged and glanced away like she was bored.
"A few people say they've really seen him. The men tell wild stories about fights in the back corridors and yellow eyes gleaming in the dark, a mask as white as snow and skeletal hands…" she trailed off and then shook herself, sneering dramatically. "I think it's hogwash. The men fall down drunk, break their arm and make up stories."
I was silent, trying to imagine the man in the mask hurting someone and it was all too easy. But that voice…my argument in my head died as I remembered the way he'd shot his words at me coldly. Meg turned in farewell, "I will ask Maman if she knows who bought you the cloak. Maybe one of the managers wants your favour," and with that heartening thought she turned down the hall, hurrying to catch up to the others.
I stood undecided in the now vacant corridor. I still wanted to thank my masked friend for the cloak hoping it was him and not some tubby manager wanting to, what did Meg say, grope me? I also desperately wanted to hear his voice again, when it was pleasant of course, but if he was this phantom fellow…the mask, the voice, the way he disappeared…he probably was! But he was kind to me for a moment, offered me comfort…why would some supposed terrible phantom take a moment to care for me? I started towards the stairs, determined, things here were stranger than I could have ever dreamt.