Chapter
8 – Acceptance
"You
like Meg."
Erik dragged his gaze from the threshold to meet Pieter's penetrating stare. "She is a good friend," he answered carefully.
Pieter slowly strolled toward the window and looked out, the golden sunlight outlining his profile. "I'm not blind, Erik—she is more than that to you."
Erik frowned, glancing toward his upraised, heavily bandaged leg. "There cannot be 'more'—
whether I like it or not."
Pieter turned to face him, crossing his arms. "Meg is a strong young woman, with her own mind and wishes."
"She brought me here quite selflessly," Erik replied, finally looking at the man who was obviously her protector. "I am very grateful for her help."
Pieter walked toward him, stopping to tower over him. "I've known her for some years, and she has taken me into her confidence on a number of matters, one of which concerns your having saved her life. It seems to me that at the very least, she sees you as her hero."
Erik shifted uncomfortably. "I have never encouraged her in that regard…quite the opposite, to be frank."
Pieter smiled knowingly. "Meg is also very wise, beyond her years," he continued. "Both she and her mother could become formidable opponents should they set their minds to any task."
"And you have concluded that I am their next victim."
"I'm only observing for now," Pieter admitted, his expression sobering. "Do take care with her feelings, Erik…she responds more deeply than others her age might."
Feeling suddenly overwhelmed by thoughts of the future, Erik leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "Now I feel even more ancient than before," he said wearily.
"You do look tired," Pieter chuckled, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Let me help you up and back into bed."
Erik looked up at him, wondering what he was about. He was obviously the man in charge, yet strangely the servant of all, a bewildering combination. "I can do it myself," he answered, stretching toward the pillows that held up his leg. As he did so pain shot up the back of his thigh. Clenching his teeth, he leveled it off the pillows and gingerly lowered it until his heel touched the floor. Had he not been heavily medicated he sensed the pain would be even more excruciating.
"Dr. Arnand ordered me to help you with that," Pieter told him quietly.
Still bent over his leg, Erik blinked in an effort to clear the large spots dancing before his eyes. "I've got to start managing on my own," he said hoarsely.
"Why, so you can leave?"
He looked up and met Pieter's guarded expression. "Yes, so I can leave."
Pieter bent toward him and grasped his upper arm in an iron grip. "You're in no condition to leave, at least not yet."
Much against his will, Erik let him help him to a standing position. Yet once he straightened his back his vision darkened as a wave of dizziness swept over him.
"Damn!" he gasped, swaying despite Pieter's reinforcing arm beneath his. "Is there any way to make the room stop spinning?"
"There is," Pieter laughed, sweeping his arm behind Erik's back. "More rest, though I'm sure you'd rather hear a different answer."
Eventually settling back against the pillows, Erik was alarmed at how shaky and weak he felt. He watched Pieter raise his heel onto two pillows and draw the blankets up to his waist, hating the position in which he found himself. In this peaceful and ordered world he was a dangerous fugitive, reluctant kidnapper, helpless invalid and devil caught in this web of a promised land. He closed his eyes, hating his weakness and vulnerability, hating his deformity and the crimes of his passions. Quite unexpectedly fear and panic began to course within him.
"You scared me, Erik;" he heard Pieter chuckle, "for a moment or two you were as white as a ghost."
Throwing a hand over his forehead, he began to shake with laughter at the irony of Pieter's choice of words. If you only knew….
"What is so amusing, Erik?"
Erik opened his eyes as he lowered his arm and let it flop to the mattress. Pieter's worried look only made him laugh harder. "You don't know, do you?" he gasped, gripped with hysteria. "That is one of my titles—they call me…the Opera Ghost!"
Pieter's forehead wrinkled as his smile began to fade. "Who does, and why?"
Erik braced his temples with his fingers, feeling his control slipping. "It is the best of horror stories, and it's true," he laughed. "You have taken in a ghost, not a man…and once you realize it you will be quick to cast me speedily from your paradise—the sooner the better!"
Pieter sat down slowly down, still staring at him but with grave concern. What's come over me? he chastised himself, trying to stop laughing. The poor man is only trying to help.
"I don't see a ghost," Pieter began, "…I see a man in desperate need of others, though quite unaccustomed to, and unwilling in that need."
Erik looked up, staring at him suspiciously. "I don't need your pity, or anyone else's!" he snarled. "I've managed on my own all this time—"
"I'm sure you have—but how have others managed around you?"
Holding Pieter's gaze, Erik slowly shook his head. "So quick to judge, when you don't know me at all—"
"I'm not judging you," Pieter objected, leaning toward him. "I see your anger, but I also see your pain, Erik. But let me tell you that once you have rid yourself of the first, the latter will finally be healed."
"All I have is my anger," Erik defended. "It has proven to be the only thing which keeps me from ending it all."
Pieter straightened. "That is definitely not all you have, judging from what I have heard—"
"Waste your time entertaining gossip and you will doubtless be rewarded with lies!"
"All right then, why don't you tell me the truth?"
"Why should I bother?"
"Because you owe it to me."
Their gazes held a moment. "So you want the truth, when I can barely bring myself to face it myself, Sir?" Erik laughed. "I am sure you have better things to do, than waste your valuable time in such a pursuit!"
Pieter spread his arms wide. "I'm giving you my time—furthermore, you should know that if this 'paradise' is founded upon any one thing it is the truth, so you have come to the right place."
"I did not come here by choice!"
"But here you are," Pieter smiled indulgently. "Why not make the best of it?"
Erik stared at him, resentful of the fact that he was right. He did owe Pieter, and Meg…he owed them all.
"All right—you want the truth then you shall have it: I am a ghost in every sense of the word. I am a soul disembodied from and by the society of others. I flit around the edges of their realities, watching but never allowed to participate. I was separated from others upon my birth, cast out and cut off, neither alive nor dead. And so I have been forced to fulfill my dreams in the nightmares of others, left to intimidate and manipulate just to find a foothold. I've had to make my own way without choice, forced to endure the lonely company of my own sins yet helpless to control or atone for them. I have known no other way to live, so forgive me for not settling back and wanting to stay!"
Though the answering silence shamed and haunted him, Erik forced himself to face Pieter's shocked expression. Then, much to his surprise and horror, he felt an overwhelming urge to weep, made worse when Pieter shifted to the edge of the bed and pulled him into a tight embrace. Though he struggled against it, Erik found himself pinned, hating his weaknesses, both physical and emotional. He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting for breath.
"I think you've done remarkably well," Pieter insisted, his voice hoarse. "But I cannot let you leave."
The emotion in his voice broke the dam of emotions deep within him, and Erik found himself shaking with silent sobs. Pushing against Pieter's arms, he found his grip only tightened.
"I forgive your anger and hatred," Pieter said soberly, "and I want you to know that as a fellow human being I love you and accept you Erik, just as you are."
Shaking his head and willing away the great choking sobs that wrenched his chest, Erik felt tears burst from his closed eyes. He gasped in pain, trying to hold in his grief but he was too weak to fight it. He hated the storm of emotions overcoming him as much as the fact that this man was witness to it. Swallowing with great difficulty, he tried to object but found he could do nothing but barely hold in the great sobs of pain clutching his throat.
Pieter held on as he spoke directly into his left ear. "I also want you to know that I have been praying for you even before your arrival, and I believe that God wants you to know how very much He loves you—"
"Nooo!" Erik groaned in pain, shaking his head.
"..He told me to expect you, and to prepare to help you discover His love—that is why you have come here, Erik."
"I have destroyed everything I've touched!" Erik gasped, even as his heart yearned to believe the words.
"God loves you, Erik—you belong to Him and He has a purpose for your life."
Erik balled the back of Pieter's jacket into his fists. "He can't—He—doesn't know—what I've—"
"He knows everything about you, and about me," Pieter continued, "but until we experience His presence we are all equally and truly lost."
"I don't belong here—" Erik gasped, loosening his grip. He was losing his battle against his desire to further harden his heart.
"Maybe not forever, but for now you do," Pieter insisted, squeezing his shoulders before he began to slowly pull away. "This entire parish has been praying for your safe arrival."
Swallowing what he hoped to be his final sob, Erik transferred his grip to the bed linens. "Why would they do that?" he objected, unable to lift his head.
"That is what we do here, but not just for you."
He felt Pieter's hands on his shoulders, gently pushing him back against the upraised pillows. Stiffly he allowed himself to be guided there, but averted his face, keeping his eyes closed.
"Now catch your breath while I tell you what I have learned about purpose in life," Pieter ordered.
"Do I have a choice?" Erik complained.
"Of course you do," was the good natured answer. "But I think it might help you manage your stay here better, however brief it may be."
Erik opened his eyes to study the wall at his side. "I don't suppose you would just go about your day and leave me to my misery?"
"Not yet."
"All right," he sighed, "I am it appears at your complete disposal."
It was Pieter's turn to sigh, and Erik smiled despite his better intentions. Somehow Pieter's frustration with him put them on more even ground.
"You are not going to make this easy for me, are you Erik?"
"I am just returning the favor," he answered, thinking of the humiliation he had just suffered in crying before the man. Something he had never done before any living being.
"Fair enough, then I'll be brief," Pieter began. "Although you may have felt cut off from humankind, you have never been truly alone, Erik. None of us has."
"That has not been my experience," he sighed, hearing Pieter settle back into the bedside chair.
"As in illustration, I would like you to tell me about your dreams."
Startled by the man's uncanny perception, Erik wondered if he had cried out during the time of his illness and delirium. He remembered dreams, or what he thought might have been dreams.
"I'd rather not," he sighed wearily, closing his eyes.
Pieter chuckled. "It just occurred to me that in your isolation you have been blissfully free of nagging, but I do insist."
"Do you."
"Yes, and I'll not leave until you've shared them."
After a moment Erik decided he had had enough social intercourse and needed to be alone. The only way to achieve that as to give Pieter what he wanted. "I can hardly distinguish dream from reality," he finally admitted.
"Then share what you remember—you did express your feelings from time to time."
Erik opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling. "I talked in my sleep?"
"Perhaps 'shouted' is the more accurate word."
Erik had to laugh at himself, strangely relaxing in Pieter's presence. "It seems I have spent most of my life shouting at something."
"That is quite understandable," Pieter agreed. "But I do suspect that at one point you experienced something remarkable, just before you came to your senses."
Erik stared at the wall, remembering. And Pieter had been here when he had awoken. Still, he was reluctant to share what he had experienced; it was too personal a matter, one he hadn't even time to consider.
"Something good must have happened—we were interceding for you for days," Pieter insisted. "Don't tell me our efforts were in vain."
Erik half turned to study his eager expression. "For what were you interceding?"
Pieter shrugged. "The usual—that your life be spared, that you be healed, and that you would have a heavenly encounter of some kind."
Surprised by his sense of humor, Erik studied him a moment, sensing that here was a man he might trust. It was an unusual feeling, particularly concerning a man of faith. "No," he answered quietly. "Your efforts were not in vain."
As the sun slanted away from the single window and the day lengthened toward dusk Erik shared what he remembered, finally describing his vision of the man in white. Of that encounter he shared only the outline of what he considered too personal. Pieter listened patiently, his face intent. By the time he was Erik's relief was so great that he fell silent, unable to say more. He watched Pieter smile faintly before he got up and walked to the window seat. From the stack of books tucked into the corner he chose the top one and returned to his seat. Upon his opening it, Erik could see that the pages were worn, and he wondered what could possibly relate to what he had just shared. As Pieter's soothing voice began to read, however, his heart leapt in response as he listened intently.
Who
would have believed our report? And to whom hath the arm of the
LORD been revealed?
For he shot up right forth as a sapling,
and as a root out of dry ground; He had no form nor comeliness
that we should look upon him, nor beauty that we should delight in
him.
He
was despised, and forsaken of men, a man of pains, and acquainted
with disease, and as one from whom men hide their face: He was
despised, and we esteemed him not.
Surely
our diseases he did bear, and our pains he carried; whereas we did
esteem him stricken, smitten of God, and afflicted. But he was
wounded because of our transgressions, He was crushed because of
our iniquities: the chastisement of our welfare was upon him and
with his stripes we were healed.
All we like sheep did go
astray, we turned every one to his own way; and the LORD hath made
to light on him the iniquity of us all… he was cut off out of
the land of the living, for the transgression of my people to whom
the stroke was due. And they made his grave with the wicked, and
with the rich
His tomb; although he had done no violence,
neither was any deceit in his mouth. Yet it pleased the LORD to
crush him by disease; to see if his soul would offer itself in
restitution, that he might see his seed, prolong his days, and
that the purpose of the LORD might prosper by his hand: Of the
travail of his soul he shall see to the full, even My servant, who
by his knowledge did justify the Righteous One to the many, and
their iniquities he did bear. Therefore I will divide him a
portion among the great, and he shall divide the spoil with the
mighty; because he bared his soul unto death, and was numbered
with the transgressors; yet he bore the sin of many,and made
intercession for the transgressors.
The words cut deeply, clearly describing what the man he had encountered in his vision. He stared at Pieter, finally finding his voice. "What did you just read?"
Pieter held the open book toward him. "The Holy Scriptures according to the prophet Isaiah, chapter 53."
Erik cradled the small
volume in his hands, staring down at the words he had just been
read. "It's real."
He looked up at Pieter's peaceful
expression. "I saw His face, when it was bloody and disfigured,"
he croaked, his voice catching on the last word. "But it was
healed, right before my eyes."
Pieter nodded. "You have seen what the rest of only dream of, Erik—don't doubt it."
Erik held his gaze. "Now that I see it in writing, I cannot...nor do I wish to."
c. 2007 by Christine Levitt
