A/N Well here it is guys...took an age to break into and had intended for a bit more action...Erik had other ideas. It's all gone a bit angsty here but come on, he needs to work out a LOT of issues. Enjoy!
Behind the mask of our everyday persona lies our true face, the one we had before we were born. Unweathered by time and beauty is this face behind the face. The soul, covered over by layers of hardened emotion and rigid mental structure, finally crystallizes into the human mask we all wear so proudly. The light that radiates from a newborn's tiny face is slowly stolen away by the thief of time, leaving behind a sculpted visage on which is etched all that we have thought and felt throughout our life. Focusing on the mask's gaze, we are reminded of the timeless challenge that confronts our modern lives... to rediscover the essence of our existence, to see our original face in the shimmering mirror of the soul, to walk in beauty and light, and to truly live. - AZ GALLERY
Chapter 12
The main post office in Venice was up near the Ponte Rialto which meant a very long walk. Meg was almost glad of it if it allowed Erik the time to work out the confusion she knew was in his head. It must have been strange for him encountering little Bella and then hearing what she had to say about his face. He probably had never encountered children before but she could plainly see that he was good with her; in fact the two seemed to be equally fascinated with each other. What a way children had of looking at the world! Would he now begin see himself as something other than the monster he believed he was? Would he ever see what she was beginning to; the real man, the human being underneath? He had intrigued her all her life, catching glimpses of the edge of his cape or a flash of his mask in the darkness above and revelling in his antics until recently. She knew her mother knew who he was but something always stopped her questioning her about him. If she had needed to know, if she was meant to be afraid her mother would have told her, warned her. But she never did and he had never given her cause to fear him.
Almost two weeks had passed since she had found him curled in a ball sobbing his heart out for her friend. He had loved Christine, or at least thought he did which she supposed amounted to the same thing where his pain was concerned. She would be lying to herself if she did not admit to being afraid that night, afraid for him, for what would happen to him if someone else found him. She knew her friend was safe but the man she had left behind was not. Where she had found the courage to stand up to him, to help him she did not know as she had always done what was expected and stayed in the background before? Something hurting in him had begged her to care, to see beyond what others had and she was in no hurry now to go back to the girl she had been. What he had done had appeared to have been motivated by love so she knew he was not truly evil and while it was badly bruised his heart was still in there. Did he realise just how far he had come? In the short time they had been together she had earned enough of his trust to allow him to show her his face, all of it. He had been outside several times, in crowds of people and had begun to play music again. If she told him two weeks ago he would have accomplished all this she doubted he would have believed her. Being here in his city of dreams was working, making him feel more at ease, allowing him to heal. She had made the decision to bring him to Venice so she supposed she had a hand in his improvement and perhaps she herself was making a difference.
Erik abhorred crowds. It was mid afternoon and it seemed everyone wanted to be outside walking the streets. His practiced air of indifference shielded him like a suit of armour from the stares he was continually conscious of and prevented the feeling overwhelming him. In his opera house it had served to aid the aura of power and fear he needed to project, keeping him apart. Now it was helping him participate in real life, just like everyone else. He had been alone before when that image he created was his only defence but now he had someone who walked beside him, someone who had defied convention and stood up to the only family they had for him, befriended him; someone on his side. Meg was a woman apart and he was only beginning to realise how. Obviously she had courage or she would not have stayed but she was also determined. She refused to think of failure or defeat and would not be beaten at anything if she put her mind to it. She had bested him and that was a first. No one had ever told him what to do or how to do it except for Meg. She only got away with it because he realised she was almost always right and invariably it was in his interest to comply. Why had she done it, taken up his cause? It was not pity he saw in her face whenever she looked at him but something else. It had started with compassion, something he had not seen since her mother had liberated him from the gypsies but now there was more than that in her eyes. She seemed to be willing him on, encouraging him quietly and softly to come out of all the dark places he had been hiding. He knew it was working.
Because of her he had found it in him to let her see his whole face not just the one he presented to the world. His face reflected who he really was he supposed and while the good side was carefully put together, immaculate; the ruined side showed the chaos, the madness, the weakness. He had not realised until now by showing her his face he was effectively granting her permission to see it all, see inside him. He had not even given that to the one he professed to love. Something had stopped him with Christine and he knew now what it was. He did not trust her; she had never earned it. Her curiosity had led her to take without asking; she would not wait, could not be told. He should have remembered that before he walked straight into her web of deceit for her to do it once more. He should have but he did not, blinded as he had been by an obsession to possess the voice he had moulded and driven by the need to have her for himself alone. He had been so desperate for someone, anyone to reach out to him and know he was there, that he existed that he had missed any warnings his brain might have sent to tread carefully. Christine was the cross he had almost perished on and her disregarded friend was picking up the pieces, something he suspected she had done before.
"Ciao Bella Signorina" Erik was instantly on alert for the familiar cry whenever he went anywhere with Meg. Her blonde hair and fair skin seemed to attract the Italian male populous like bees to a honey pot. A gondola was pulling up alongside them as they walked side by side on the wider canal bank pavement.
"Signorina Meg! Ciao bella!"
Erik recognised the happy-go-lucky visage of his landlord's son and ground his teeth in unexpected irritation. He should be relieved it was only Federico and not some greasy young letch desperate to get their paws on his young companion but it was the "ciao bella" that did it. He knew it was a compliment but it was reducing her to the lowest form of life by referring to her as all the other young pups did every woman they saw and he felt the muscles in his forearms tense from the resultant flexing of his fingers.
"Federico, it is you!" Meg waved enthusiastically, a delighted smile lighting up her face and bringing a flush of colour to her cheeks. Erik thought he felt one of his molars crack at the sight of her blush. Breathe you fool! She is only talking to him. He watched the younger man gaze up into her pretty face adoringly and observed as she appeared to play along with it.
"We are off to the Ponte Rialto, are you finished for the day?" Meg knew he kept odd hours, getting the majority of the family business done before most of Venice woke.
"Si, I have to collect Elena, she is at the dress makers I think. She is having Mama's wedding dress altered to fit her and I promised to fetch her when she was finished. It is in the same direction; I will take you as far as the Rialto if you like?" Federico looked like his life depended on Meg's answer.
Erik was about to decline when Meg began to climb aboard, her hand outstretched to take the one offered by the Italian. He followed reluctantly, accepting Meg's hand when she offered it. As they moved away from the quayside it struck him that he had never actually sat in a gondola before. He had never been the passenger in his own one so was now faced with a completely different perspective. He sat next to Meg, squashed up against her on the makeshift seat; this boat being designed for cargo rather than people. She however craned behind her to chat with their gondolier who stood at the rear. He was assaulted by a feeling of powerlessness, of no longer being the alpha male and he did not like it one bit. He was seated and could not remember the last time he had not towered over everyone he encountered. Erik was used to being the one in control, the one who people listened to, paid attention to and obeyed and he was currently being thoroughly ignored. Meg was thanking Federico for those confounded juicy peaches. They were wonderful but he wished they had not been so significantly given; it would cause a multitude of problems he did not have the mental capacity to deal with. The last thing he needed was someone developing an unhealthy interest in Meg while she was under his protection. He was practically her guardian and Antoinette would kill him.
At some point Erik tried to just savour the unique view of Venice this was giving him, enjoying the splendour of the Palazzo Ducale and San Marco from the Grand Canal. It was choppy out in the wider canal and Meg had unconsciously thrown her left hand back onto his right thigh to steady herself and had yet to remove it, still engrossed in conversation over her right shoulder. He swallowed the uncomfortable and unbidden sensations racing around the pit of his stomach and beyond. Perhaps he was just feeling the effects of motion sickness; his lake beneath the Populaire had been smooth as glass. They were about half way to the Rialto now and he could see they were turning to the left, bringing them into a smaller side canal with no waves. He could only assume this was where they would collect Elena.
"And what time is this, eh? I told you three not half past!" A breathy voice rang out from the quayside, echoing up and down all the buildings in their vicinity. She was bending over to pick up her bags when Erik first heard her and only really saw her properly when she came to step into the boat. His face fell and his heart stopped. Automatically his hand went to the one of Meg's on his thigh grasping it to get her attention.
Meg felt Erik's hand on hers at about the same time she noticed the reason for it. Elena was stepping into the boat and settling herself in the seat opposite them. She smiled brightly at both her and Erik but glared over their heads to her tardy brother.
"You must be Signore Erik and Signorina Meg? I am the only one you have not met! Elena." She beamed across at Meg envying her golden hair and paler complexion. She nodded at Erik taking in the measure of the man who had impressed her little sister so much.
The young Italian woman had glossy dark brown hair, almost black but poker straight and had it tied back into a knot at her nape. Her eyes were the same as her sister and brother, dark chocolate, a full mouth the colour of a deep blush and most astonishingly of all - she bore an unsettling resemblance to her best friend! The only real difference Meg could see was her skin which was of course tanned, her eyes which did not carry the same air of naïveté and fear that her friend's had and her hair was straight. Otherwise she could have passed for her twin. Judging by the vicelike grip on the fingers of her left hand, it had not gone unnoticed by Erik . Was he to endure torture at every turn! She tried to pull her hand free lest either of the Pellizzaris should notice the irregular contact between her and her supposed employer although she wished with all her heart she could have held on.
Of all the people in the world she had to resemble...Erik felt the blood drain clean away from his face and brain; a wave of nausea crashing over him. He felt Meg tugging at her hand and he released it chancing a glance at her to see if she had seen too or if he was just hallucinating. No, the look of concern in her eyes was all the affirmation he needed; he was sitting opposite a Mediterranean version of Christine Daae. It hurt to look so he found the fabric of his cape around his knees fascinating. He recalled that her eyes had been very different. Although similar in shape they held the look of a happy, fulfilled young woman with no fears or worries in her life. Her voice was different too, it was deeper and she spoke with the confidence that all Italians seemed to have from birth. Christine had had none of this. Had he put the fear in her eyes? He had thought that fear would turn to love but instead had turned to pity and hatred, the former being something he would not wish from anyone. He did not want pity, did not want to be made feel as if he was pitiful even if he believed it but was made far worse when that belief was reinforced by someone he had cared about. Hatred he could deal with, it was a clear, clean cut emotion which stung but ultimately one he could identify with. Pity crushed the soul and had ultimately extinguished the tenderness he had felt for the young singer.
Meg was overcome with the overwhelming need to get him out of this situation but they were stuck on a boat in the middle of the Grand Canal, having come out again to rejoin the main waterway, and had a way to go before they could disembark. She could feel the warm body beside her tensing to the point of snapping and hoped their neighbours did not notice anything untoward about his behaviour. Perhaps they would just put it down to standoffishness for he was that at the best of times. Her need to protect her friend from further distress was thwarted by the logistics of the situation so he would just have to deal with it until they reached their destination. Meg thought he could do with being left to himself for the time being so she concentrated on distracting the new arrival from Erik's melancholy.
"Your mother tells us you are to be married soon! How wonderful; you must be so excited." Meg knew that no sane woman could resist regaling all the little details of her upcoming wedding.
"Yes, it is set for the fourth of June, the first Sunday. I would have preferred a little sooner as the wait is killing me but no one marries during May as it is given over to worship of the Virgin. My fiancé Vittorio says I should use the time to enjoy being a single girl as he intends to lock me indoors keeping house for the next twenty years!"
Meg noticed how Elena's whole face lit up when she spoke of her plans and especially when she mentioned her intended. How wonderful it must feel to have such an event to look forward to and then a lifetime spent with the one you loved above all others? It was not a concept she had experience of, her mother having been widowed when Meg was only a baby and her friends parents had both died when she too was only a child. She could not recall anyone she knew that was living the dream that Elena wove except perhaps for her parents Marcello and Rosa. They quite obviously adored each other and their children, sharing a bond strong enough to allow them to work side by side each day without killing each other although she was sure they argued like anyone else would. But she suspected the making up more than compensated! Christine would have that now she supposed although tainted by the experience with the Opera Ghost. What had Erik been thinking anyway? Could he not see she was promised to Raoul? Was he so blinded by his own madness that he had completely missed the fact she was in love with the Viscomte or did he just not care? How could he have been happy forcing the hand of someone who loved someone else or had he believed he had enough for both of them? It was heartbreaking really; a great love story gone badly wrong. For herself she could not bear the thought of someone being with her whose heart she knew lay elsewhere; she would rather be alone than suffer that her whole life. He was positively masochistic in the ways he had found to torture himself, unintentional though they may have been.
"How perfect, a June bride just as it should be! Your brother told us you were having your Mama's dress altered for you; it must be an honour to wear her gown." Meg thought it a beautiful idea and wondered what her own mother had worn. She had never seen it and Maman had never spoken of it so she supposed it was not a custom she would ever participate in, which was of course assuming that some sainted creature would actually notice her long enough to want to put up with her!
"Yes, it is a tradition in my family and I shall hand it down to my daughter should I have one. Bella will have her own as it is for the eldest to pass down and as I am the first Pellizzari girl for a very long time – my father comes from a long line of boys – it is rapidly turning into the event of the year as far as my family are concerned. Of course we Italians will use any excuse for a party but a wedding is a very big event. There will be a huge feast after the ceremony and dancing till dawn! Everyone will don their masks – again it is Venetian tradition at any feast to allow people to enjoy themselves to the full without inhibition. Of course everyone knows who everyone is but just dressing up allows you to let go a little more than you would normally! You should both come...oh please, I would be honoured if you would and I know Mama and Papa will insist!"
Erik did not miss the invitation the young girl had issued despite being completely taken up with the weave in his woollen cape. He had been half listening to her excitedly describe her upcoming marriage and had been trying to ignore the persistent visions of Christine in a wedding dress that assaulted his mind. Christine would still have her day, he would not. How had he ever thought she would choose him? What did he have to offer anyone but the reality of his face, a past full of pain and a future filled with self loathing. What if she had wanted children, daughters to pass her dress to? That was something he had not thought of and now that he did he realised it could never have been. The thought of passing his horrific deformity to an innocent filled him with a terror that far surpassed the desolation he also felt at never holding his own flesh and blood in his arms.
"Of course we will come, we would love to... assuming my employer is well enough. We have not seen that side of life here yet and as we missed Carnivale it will be a treat to attend a Mask and your wedding of course! Thank you Elena." Erik would be 'well enough' if she had to drag him there kicking and screaming. She would not miss this for the world and he should be glad of the fact he could finally do something which gave him a legitimate excuse to cover his face.
Federico had pulled the gondola alongside the quayside and Meg could see they were just short of the Rialto Bridge. Finally she could separate Erik from his current instrument of torture. He stepped up onto the stone dock holding his hand out to pull Meg up beside him and threw a backward glance at the girl who had reminded him of how much he had lost. She winced at his expression of utter despondency which had intensified somewhat after Elena had issued her wedding invitation, whatever was going through his head. Federico pushed away from the wall as she waved them off, a sparkle in the eye he winked at her with.
"Until next time bella Signorina, Signore." He flashed a brilliant smile at Meg, nodding respectfully in Erik's direction.
"Yes, thank you. Ciao Federico, ciao Elena; it was lovely to meet you at last!" Meg turned back to Erik and was faced with the stony faced glare of what she could only describe as the Angel of Disapproval. Oh he was clocking up quite an array of these lately. Whatever got him through his day she supposed, but really it was mindboggling why he was glowering at her in that fashion. What had she done to upset him? It was not her fault that Elena was the image of Christine. She was getting angry with him now that he should direct his misery towards her. Furious she squared up to him, hands on her hips and stamped her foot in frustration though she would much rather have slamed a door off its hinges or thrown something.
" WHAT? I cannot help that she looks like someone we both know! Why are you glaring at me like I had something to do with it? You are bound to be reminded of her in different ways all the time but this is Not My Fault. Perhaps I remind you of her too? Is that it? Are you seeing her everywhere now?" This was cruelty, what she was doing but he had made her so angry when all she had ever done was try to help him. Why she actually cared whether he lived or depressed himself to death she would never know.
"You are NOTHING like her! Nothing...Do not ever say so again." Erik could not believe this. She actually thought she reminded him of her friend. What utter nonsense! They were polar opposites in every way and if Meg could not see that he would be wasting his time pointing out the obvious. Now she did not even realise why he was annoyed with her. He had not missed the wink she had gotten or the smile or indeed the resulting blush. Again! She was incapable of hiding her reaction to the flattery of the younger man and he knew Federico was lapping it up like a starved pup. Again the image of Antoinette came to him, a shiver of apprehension coursing through him at the memory of her warning before they had left Paris. He would have to find some way of discouraging this...this liaison before it got out of hand or he would have her mother to answer to and if he was honest he did not think the young Italian was entirely worthy of his little dancer; certain Antoinette would want better for her only child.
Meg could have cried and then immediately wanted to slap him. Was she that plain? Was she so completely devoid of talent and attributes that she fell so terribly short when measured against the incomparable Christine? He need not have been so vehement in his reply. Sometimes he could be downright cruel and it stung in ways she did not want to acknowledge.
