Chapter 11
Nor will he tell me for whose sake
He did me the delight, Or spite;
But leaves me to inquire,
In all my wild desire,
Of Sleep again, who was his aid,
And Sleep, so guilty and afraid,
As since he dares not come within my sight...
-Ben Johnson
Music suggestions: 'Leaving London' and 'To Die For Love', by Patrick Doyle; 'The Lake' by Ken Hill; 'Creation' by Christopher Young
A little blue-eyed cat, her tail like a brush dipped in paint, sat keeping vigil beside him, mewing pitifully.
He was sprawled on his back, his face for once uncovered.
Where is his mask? Madame Giry thought in horror. Why would he leave it behind?
Christine let out a strangled moan and darted forward. Collapsing onto her knees beside his still form, she put a frantic hand against his heart. It was the first time she'd touched a man's bare chest, but she was so concerned with the task at hand that she didn't even think of it.
His skin felt cold.
"Is he...?" Madame Giry began, but she couldn't finish.
There was a dreadful moment of silence.
"Christine?" Madame Giry said sharply. It was more a plea than anything else.
"I don't know," Christine said at last. "I can't... Madame, I can't feel anything! I can't... I can't... Oh, God..."
Madame Giry froze.
Then, suddenly, Christine's voice: "Wait. No... Yes, I can feel something! His heart is beating."
Madame Giry closed her eyes with relief. After a moment, she came forward and held the lantern over Erik's head. "Look, my dear," she said; "Your eyes are better than mine. Are his pupils reacting to light? Are they the same size?"
She had expected, if she had thought about it at all, that Christine would shrink back in horror at the sight of his face - just as she had done herself, she was embarrassed to remember, the first time she had seen him.
But Christine barely paused. This is what he suffered so much for? her expression seemed to say.
It did not occur to her to be afraid to touch him. Working with swift, careful hands, she deftly held one of his eyes open, then the other. "Yes. Yes, they are."
"Thank God," Madame Giry said. "I was worried he might have given himself a concussion when he fell."
Christine let his lids fall closed, horrified by the mechanical way they snapped back into place.
"Erik, wake!" she cried, seizing one of his hands in both of hers with sudden desperation. "Can't you hear me? Why won't you wake?"
Erik's eyelids fluttered and he looked around, but it was clear he had no idea they were there. The empty look in his eyes was frightening.
"What is wrong with him, Madame? He isn't just drunk. We must find him a doctor at once," Christine said, her voice trembling.
"No."
"What?" Christine cried.
"I know what to do," Madame Giry said. "I looked it up-"
"-Looked it up?" Christine said in tones of the deepest skepticism.
"...I believe he has methanol poisoning from the adulterants in the absinthe. The ethanol in the alcohol will have neutralized the methanol, fortunately; now all he needs is some bicarbonate of soda, and he keeps a supply of it for emergencies-"
"-You believe? Madame, you are neither a doctor nor a chemist! What if you are wrong? It is too much of a risk!" Christine cried. "I am going for a doctor!"
"He would be dead by the time you returned!" Madame Giry cried. "He is already worse than he was earlier."
"Then why did you not go to one before?" Christine shouted. "You knew there was something terribly wrong, and you didn't-"
"-The doctor might send for the police. And God knows what would happen to Erik in a prison. He would rather die."
"Mère-"
"-He told me more than once that he would kill himself if he were ever arrested," Madame Giry cried. "I do not doubt he would find a way to do it."
Christine was silent for a moment, wavering between staying and going. "Very well. What can I do?" she said at last.
"The first thing we must do is get him someplace warm, before he catches his death," Madame Giry said. "I tried to move him before, but I couldn't lift him. I think between the two of us we can manage it- necessity compels."
"Yes," Christine said, determined.
"We should get him to the fireplace, I think," Madame Giry said.
"A fireplace? Where on earth...?"
"He has one at his, er, home. Somehow he managed to design a ventilation system for the smoke. It's not far ahead now."
Christine nodded slowly. At this point, nothing Madame Giry could have said would have surprised her. "Very well, then."
Madame Giry stooped and managed to leverage herself under one of Erik's shoulders. Following her example, Christine wordlessly did the same.
He groaned faintly, but without any awareness of what was going on.
She was astonished by how difficult it was to lift him. His limp form was impossibly unwieldy, his weight careening back and forth between them as they half-dragged him through the tunnel. Unable to stand upright, they staggered along, stopping to rest with maddening frequency. Madame Giry nearly fell more than once.
The cat followed beside them with silent footfalls.
Just when Christine was sure she couldn't manage another step, the air started to feel warmer. They rounded a corner and she found herself looking out at the most unexpected sight she could have imagined.
Instead of another expanse of interminable blackness, the tunnel had opened out into a vast, high-ceilinged grotto, crammed full of candles, rather like a shrine. Half the space was taken up by a vast, glassy lake. The other half, a wide stone outcropping with steps leading down to the shore, was furnished with everything a human being could desire to live a comfortable life. There were bookshelves and a piano, a fireplace- just as Madame Giry had said- and a dining-table, though with only two chairs - both now knocked over. Elaborate draperies, barely recognizable as old curtains the opera house had discarded years ago, swathed the walls, softening the look of the rough stone. At the center of it all, taking pride of place like a throne in a throne room, was a small, expertly crafted pipe organ. And of course, there was music everywhere.
There was something deeply poetic about the place.
"Wait," Madame Giry said.
There was such urgency and fear in her voice that Christine froze instantly.
After a moment, she saw what had caused her concern.
Upon closer inspection, something was wrong. The strange beauty of the place was marred by destruction. Shattered glass, torn papers, candlelabras knocked to the ground. It looked as though a dragon had raged through it.
"Normally he keeps the place in perfect order," Madame Giry said in a voice so quiet it was almost inaudible. Her blue eyes uneasily scanned the gloom. "I fear someone else may have been here."
The cat, however, plunged swiftly forward.
Madame Giry's concern began to ease when she saw that.
Suddenly her eyes fell on something white lying in a corner. A closer glance revealed it to be a sheet of paper, the one thing that had escaped the wreckage. It appeared to be a drawing of Christine making her debut. The words Heavenly gentleness, my joy, my inspiration, the queen of goodness, my hope, my salvation, were inscribed across it.
As soon as Madame Giry saw this, she understood - Erik had done all this.
Christine never saw the drawing. Madame Giry had stepped on it and hurriedly slid it into the shadows out of sight, so fast that she never noticed.
"Mère?" Christine said. "Is it safe?"
"Yes," Madame Giry said after a moment, returning to her regular voice. "He has not been discovered. We are safe here."
"But what has happened?" Christine asked.
"He did this."
"This was his doing?" A sickening wave of guilt shot through Christine.
"Yes." Madame Giry was in no humor to waste time. "Come," she said crisply.
Christine quickly obliged. They plunged forward, broken glass crunching beneath their feet.
Soon, they had borne Erik across the room to the fireplace Madame Giry had spoken of.
Once they had laid him safely down on the rug before it, Madame Giry was all business. "Find some clean water; I believe he keeps some in a pitcher on the dining-table, and a glass. And fetch the bicarbonate of soda," she said, as she took some logs from a basket and flung them into the fireplace. "I believe you will find it in that rather ominous-looking cupboard in the corner."
Christine looked in the direction she indicated and saw a cabinet of dark carved wood. Upon opening it, she found a stock of tinctures and powders that would have filled a reasonable-sized apothecary shop. That made sense, she supposed - Erik had had to look after himself all these years. Still, she wondered how she'd managed to get ahold of some of them without a prescription. He must have had to steal them. The thought saddened her, but she no longer regarded it in the same condemnatory light as before. She couldn't.
"These labels are all in Latin," she said after scanning them for a moment. "I cannot tell what they say." With a sigh, she added, "He was always telling me I ought to learn Latin."
"It's a white powder," Madame Giry said, looking over her shoulder. "No, no, not that one, my dear - that's cocaine. The other one. It says 'saleratus.' Yes - thank you - that is the one."
Christine hurriedly brought it over, along with the pitcher and glass.
In a few moments, Madame Giry had mixed it into a measure of water. "Now, the only question is whether he is conscious enough to drink it."
Christine lifted Erik's head and shoulders so Madame Giry could hold the glass of cloudy liquid to his lips. To their enormous relief, he swallowed the mixture, too oblivious even to object to the unpleasant taste.
Madame Giry managed to make him drink a few more glasses of water and then Christine, exhausted, lowered him to the floor again. "What happens now?" she asked.
"He is in God's hands now," Madame Giry said. "I fear there is nothing more we can do but wait."
Christine sat for a moment in silence. Now that the frantic activity of the past few minutes was over, all the shock and fear of the evening - or afternoon, or whatever it was; down here everything felt like night - came rushing back to her.
She laid a hand tenderly against Erik's cheek, feeling tears already beginning to pool in her eyes again. She had done more crying these past few days than she had done in the previous five years put together. But then, she had seldom had such reason to weep.
Madame Giry watched her uneasily.
"All this time I thought he couldn't possibly have a good reason for extorting money, for all the threats, for blackmailing," Christine said quietly. "But he did."
"Yes, I suppose it is justifiable under the circumstances," Madame Giry said. "Twenty thousand francs a month is excessive, I admit, but I think he was hoping to save it up so he could go live an honest life somewhere and not have to bother anyone."
"I should have known better. I presumed to know him and yet how wrong I was." A few more tears spilled from Christine's eyes, shining in the firelight like moonstones. "I told him he was despicable and deceitful," she lamented.
"He is deceitful."
"And who among us is not?" Christine said impatiently. Anger flickered briefly in her eyes, but it soon died away again, replaced by sadness. "To think... I... I scorned him. He swore there was a good reason for the things he did, and I did not believe him."
"Why should you have?"
"He was right! I should have listened to him! Madame, I fear I may have driven him to drink like that with the things I said to him." Christine looked around again, taking in the disarray. Had she been responsible for this?
"It was his doing," Madame Giry said impatiently. "Do not blame yourself for his foolishness. I have spent the better part of a lifetime trying to guide him, protect him as best I can. He refuses to be helped."
"But I made him think he was nothing but a criminal," Christine said. "And now he may- he may die, and the last thing I said to him was..." She couldn't finish. Oh, Erik, don't leave me. Not now when I finally understand. Give me a chance to apologize. And perhaps a chance to tell you...
"Nonsense," Madame Giry said. "He could have told you. He knew you would understand if he told you about his past... about his condition. Or at least, he ought to have given you the credit of trusting you."
"But after the way he was treated..."
"Even then, he ought to have given you the chance."
"Madame..."
"Christine, it is nearly time for rehearsal," Madame Giry said suddenly. "You ought to be getting back."
Christine, whose eyes had again drifted toward Erik's still form, looked up in surprise. "You are needed at rehearsal as well. You may go. I shall remain here with him." It was curious. She felt, in some strange inexplicable way, that she belonged here, in this mystical new world, this kingdom underground. Its darkness filled her with a peculiar kind of joy she had never known before.
"No," Madame Giry said.
"Why not? Someone must." Christine's face hardened. "You don't want me to be left alone with him down here."
"Yes," Madame Giry said. "I don't."
"Madame!-"
"-He would never knowingly do harm to you - I am certain of that - but he is... peculiar," Madame Giry said, trying to explain. "He is unpredictable."
"You do him a disservice."
Madame Giry sighed. "I have known him for longer than you. But if you will not accept my concerns, then perhaps you will consider this - it would distress him very greatly if he were to find you here when he awoke, and know you had seem him like this."
"Without the mask, you mean?"
"Yes," Madame Giry said. "The shock could be very bad for him in this condition."
"Oh." Christine nodded sadly, understanding.
"Perhaps someday you may tell him that you know the truth, but now is not the time. For that reason, if nothing else, I wish you to go."
"But... what if he does not wake?" Christine said, choking out the words. "I do not want to leave if..." She trailed off.
Madame Giry didn't know how to reply.
"I do not know what to do," Christine said in distress. "Perhaps I could... hide?" She immediately felt absurd for having said it.
"No, you would never be able to get out without him knowing about it."
"I don't know what to do," Christine said again. She gazed down at Erik for a long time.
There was a horrible silence.
Suddenly Christine grabbed onto Madame Giry's arm.
"Why... Mère, I think he has more color!"
Madame Giry froze. "Are you certain?"
"Yes... and... his breathing is deeper." Christine frowned. "Oh, but it is probably only my imagination. I would not wish to give you false hope..."
"No," Madame Giry said; "I think you are right. He does look better. There, you see, you have already helped him. More than you know."
"Oh, I hope it is true." At last, after resting a hand against Erik's cheek for a long moment - a gesture which Madame Giry witnessed with alarm - Christine arose. "I shall go. I do not know how I shall bear the wait, but you say it is what he would want... You will tell me how he does, Mère?"
"Of course. I will send you a telegram as soon as he wakes... or-"
"-Please, don't say it!" Christine pleaded.
"Yes." Madame Giry nodded.
"Thank you." At last, with great reluctance, Christine turned to go.
She left behind Erik's strange, beautiful lair and followed the red thread back up to the land of the living. But her mind lingered behind long afterwards.
END OF CHAPTER 11