Blemishes
Chapter 9: Names
"You are an angel, Christine – or a madwoman… for no one could ever love me as you have unless they were heavenly or insane." He said as she wiped a handkerchief gently beneath his eyes, ridding him of the last streak of tears.
"I could say the same about you. I don't know how you stand me sometimes, I'm so childish…" She affectionately tucked the kerchief back into his side pocket.
"Oh, no, Christine, no, my dear, dear wife. You let me kiss you, you let Erik kiss your perfect face and lips, look at you now! – how you've wiped his tears away, his unworthy tears! – no, you are a saint, Christine, a saint. How is it possible? How is it not a dream? Have I died, Christine? Is this Heaven? Not... not even his mother... Christine... you are a saint."
She shushed him, shaking her head as he looked up at her, "I ignored you all because of a silly little blemish today, I don't think that classifies as saintly."
"No, Christine. I do not blame you. You have become, I think, so used to being the angel to my demon in everything… in appearance and manner, you have made unrealistic standards for yourself… no, I do not blame you, Erik has probably done nothing to keep you from thinking such things, he is very dramatic, and to him, well… you are quite perfect, how could you not be to him? – but it is not because you do not have faults, it is simply because of who you are. You are the kindest, most generous, most loving, most beautiful woman to have ever existed. And the faults that you do have – and I am very reluctant to admit that you have them – but what you do have are only very small things and compared to myself… they are nothing. Erik is a fault with few perfections; you are a perfection with few faults. Hush, I know, you do not like it when I say such things – but it is simply the way it is. I think, my precious Christine, that when you saw this unexpected flaw, you were worried about your position, as any normal human being would be, because how can you be the perfect one if you are susceptible to imperfection?"
"I sound very sad and pathetic."
"Humanity is very sad and pathetic, and I am sorry to tell you but you are human, my wife."
"Erik, how did you become so… knowledgeable about so much, how do you understand so much... sometimes I feel like you know me better than I know myself... and yet... you did not… you have never really been around people, but you know them so well…" She worried he may be offended, but he only sighed and sat up a little to rest his forehead against hers momentarily.
"Your husband is a very reflective man, Christine. He thinks constantly, he can never get a moment's rest without thinking, studying, or understanding something. Even himself. He does not like thinking of himself, of course – it distresses him… he knows there is much that is wrong with him and he is powerless to fix it though he tries – he tries for you, you know. But yes, I observe people, I listen to their stories… I do not know everything, but I know enough."
Christine thought for a moment – he can probably hear anything and everything in the opera house. It made sense for him to have examined people, to have listened to them, and to have tried to understand them. And he hadn't always lived in these cellars – M. Khan was proof of that. And she knew Erik really was a well-learned and fairly analytical person – he thought too much, it was like he had multiple voices in his head all as brilliant as could be making very valid-seeming arguments 24/7 about everything. Christine had wondered if that was why he spoke in third person. In fact, just a little bit before the Persian had visited, she had asked him something about that. She had been sitting next to him while he read a fairytale to her – she loved whenever he would read to her, he could make every character come to life: man, woman, or child, he could make the most fantastic voices, sometimes he would even make sound effects like a bird tweeting or a fire crackling or a river rushing.
"How do you do that?" She'd asked.
"Do what?"
"All of those noises, and the voices."
"Mimicry."
"Can you mimic my voice?"
The corner of his mouth twitched in a smirk that would've terrified anyone if they had not been Christine, and then he said, "Can you mimic my voice?" It was as if she had heard an echo, as if she had spoken herself, in fact for a moment she had wondered if she actually had said it – if she had simply repeated her question, but it did not come from her, it had come directly from him, it had had to be him. Her eyes widened and she clapped her hands in excitement.
"Do it again!"
"Do it again!" He repeated, watching her with a rather amused expression as he rested the side of his head on his hand.
"That is… just... spectacular! But how do you do it?"
"Long years of practice." He said in his own melodic voice… she wondered for a moment if that was his real voice. But then, what is a 'real' voice?
"Is that how you are so good at everything?"
He shrugged, "There are some things I am not good at – like being beautiful. You do that very well, Christine."
Christine shook her head, "You're wrong. You are one of the most beautiful people I know."
"Yes, Erik makes quite the Don Juan, does he not?"
She winced at the memory of the last time he'd said that, and he must have noticed, and suddenly feeling quite bad about it, patted her arm.
"Forgive me, my wife. I should not have said that. Let's finish this story now, hm?"
"I forgive you." She said, wrapping her arms around one of his as continued to read, but it was not long before she interrupted again, "Erik."
"Yes, Christine?"
"Can I ask you something?"
"As if I could stop you from doing anything you set your mind to – yes, what would you like to ask?"
"Why do you talk in third person sometimes?"
"Do I talk in third person?"
She nodded against his sleeve – the tone in his voice made it evident that he had not needed to clarify whether or not he spoke in third person, but was, in fact, quite aware of his peculiar habit. Christine expected he would not answer, but then he sighed.
"Does it bother you?" He glanced at her, watching carefully... just a dog willing to die at her feet.
"No," she mused, "No, it's just... just the way you are, and that's alright. I'm only curious, I suppose. Do you know why you do?"
"I have my... theories, but I am not sure, Christine – I have lived a very long time on my own, but I know that is not the prime reason. I find that I do it most often when I feel great emotion or when I wish to separate myself from situations that would be otherwise deemed... uncomfortable. Or, occasionally, I find myself doing so when I want you to relate to me, to see me as not the Angel of Music or the Phantom of the Opera or any other sort of otherworldly being, but as your ordinary Erik. Erik is yours, you know, I have had many names and I have been many things, but Erik is yours."
"You once told me that you chose that name by chance." He stiffened a little.
"I did."
"So, you have a different name? One I do not know?"
"I do not know it either."
"You do not know your birth name?"
"No." He said, "I am not entirely sure if I was even given one."
"Oh, my dear!" She cried, rubbing his shoulder and kissing his sleeve, "Didn't your mother ever tell you? Her furniture is here, you must have met her again at some point."
"Christine... Erik's mother... his poor mother... she did not... we were never... just know that as far as I am aware, I was not given a name."
Her eyes began filling with tears then, "I am so sorry."
"Do not cry for your Erik, Christine."
"It just isn't fair. To not even name you!"
"It probably would not have been something very pleasant any way… with my devil's visage."
"Oh, Erik! That's so sad. I would have named you."
"I know you would have, Christine, you are far more gracious than the entirety of humanity put together. I do wonder what you would have named me."
"Erik is a good name for you."
"It is Scandinavian."
"Like me."
"Like you." She had wondered a few times if he had chosen it specifically for her, but then... M. Khan seemed to call him Erik as well and did not reference him in any other way. Besides, she was a bit too nervous to ask him in case it turned out he really hadn't and he thought her silly for thinking such a thing.
"It would depend on your surname, I think."
"I do not have a surname." Her heart gave a little pang.
"Then for imagination's sake we shall say you have my surname."
"You do not have a surname either, wife."
"Oh… hm. I did wonder about that. Well, ah, we shall say you have my maiden name."
"If it should please you."
"Erik Daaé – that does not sound too bad. I have always been fond of the name 'Victor' though. Victor Daaé. I think it would suit you very well, and I would hope that you would find strength and courage from it."
"You are very poetic, Christine."
"Or I would call you David; because it means 'beloved' and I would want you to know that you are always loved."
"David Daaé sounds rather discordant to me."
"Me as well; it would need to have something in the middle, like David Johannes."
"I am sure if I had had you as my mother, Christine, Erik would have been a very happy child."
"I do not know why a mother would not love her son, no matter what he looks like. It simply does not make sense."
"The world does not make sense, my dear."
"No, it does not. I feel so sad sometimes, Erik, thinking of how renowned and celebrated you should be when instead you live here, underground and hidden in the dark."
"As do I. But I have you, Christine, and you are enough light to last me for an eternity."
"Have you ever thought of moving above?" She asked then, she knew he did but the unspoken question was quite clear to her husband: will we ever live above? He grew very quiet then, making her worry that she had upset him.
"Erik?"
"Yes," he said slowly, "I have thought of it."
"And?"
"Perhaps, one day… I have often dreamed of doing so, as you well know. And I am sure it would make my Christine quite glad to live where she can see the blue sky whenever she would like. But it would be very far from people. As secluded if not more so than living here."
"I understand."
"Then yes, Christine, one day, Erik will do it and move above. But he must have time – you must give him time."
"Of course." Christine gave his arm a squeeze before continuing, "Erik, what would you have named me, if you had named me?"
"Christine."
"Yes, but, if I were not Christine."
"You can only be Christine."
"Are there any other names you like?"
"Erik."
"You could not name me Erik!"
"Which is why you would be named Christine."
"Are there any other names you like besides Erik or Christine?"
"No."
"Oh…"
The disappointment in her voice was too much for him, and so he made an exasperated sound that she pretended to ignore before telling her solemnly, "Katarina."
"Katarina? That's a pretty name."
"It is the name of a church in Sweden. Did I tell you I once went to Sweden, Christine?"
She shook her head, though it would not surprise her if he had traveled everywhere and anywhere.
"It was before the Shah, but after my time as The Living Dead. I'd gotten involved with a band of brigands. They wanted to rob the church."
"That's terrible!"
"I was going to help them… I was the mastermind behind their robberies. I didn't want to have a part in their schemes, but I'd fallen into... a trap of sorts. Word had got around regarding my talents, and suffice to say there were many that wanted to benefit. In fact, that is how the Shah sought me out as well. It may be an odd thing to be threatened for the sake of your genius, but I was-brutally. Do forgive me, Christine, if that sounds unpleasant."
"It is good for me to learn about you, Erik, even if things are... unpleasant."
He looked at her warily – nervously, before continuing, "Nevertheless, I was going to help them and then... the priest. He was... kind to me, gave me bread. I remember that it did not sit well with my stomach, but I was grateful to have something in my stomach. I do think, Christine, that that was the only holy man to have ever not dubbed me the Spawn of the Devil. I was very grateful for that, so I warned him. Besides, I did not want them to rob the church for fear they might desecrate it. It was a beautiful building, designed by Jean de la Vallée. There were quite a few errors, but then, I cannot blame the original designer as the church had been burned down some centuries ago and rebuilt by idiots. It was still a beautiful building; you would like it, Christine."
"I am glad you warned the priest."
"They killed him and beat me within an inch of my life... fortunately, they spared Katarina."
"Oh, Erik!" Christine started to cry then, bringing her arms around his neck instead to pull him close, "Not enough words can express to you how sorry I am!"
"It is not your fault. Do not cry, Christine."
"I wish I could go back in time and make it so you never had to go through any of that – I would take you away and I would love you and hold you and give you kisses and hugs whenever you asked for them. Oh, my poor Erik, how could the world be so cruel?"
"It is a fallen world."
"That is no excuse."
"Do not worry your pretty head over it."
"How can I?"
"We will sing and that will take poor, sweet Christine's mind off of these forgotten and terrible things. Yes, come, my wife, we will sing now."
And they sang all through the afternoon and much of the evening – forgetting their sorrows and regrets. Erik nearly always knew what to do for Christine when she needed him, sometimes she felt bad about it. He was the one that needed someone, not her. She did comfort him, feeling that it was never quite as well as he did for her, but she hoped it was enough.
"Erik," she suddenly wondered, "what was the name of the priest?" He only smiled at her and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
"Goodnight, dear Christine – have pleasant dreams."
Katarina kyrka (n.) one of the major churches in central Stockholm, Sweden. The original building was constructed in 1656–1695. It has been rebuilt twice after being destroyed by fires.
Author's Note: Alright, my lovelies! We shall sally forth with this story! What could the harm be in doing so? And there's so much potential and basically never-ending material... I really just have to, don't I? Thank you for your encourage and support and overall wonderfulness! I hope you continue to enjoy the story (unfortunately, this also means that the chapters will be updating a bit slowly from now on, as like that of a recorded show we are catching up with real time a.k.a. non-previously written chapters)!
*Carlotta voice* My public needs-a me!
