Erik, Erik, Erik... Let me know what you think of what he does this chapter.
Also, I am desperately trying to get a Captive in a Sanctuary chapter up. Maybe next week?
Also also, this marks one year of me being on this site! Yay! I've written a bit too much in that time, I think... Anyway, enjoy!
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"Why the hell are you out in the rain?" he demanded, going to grab my hand. "If you're going to have a baby, you should care about your health!"
I stared at him with my mouth wide open, speechless as he pulled me inside the house. He was muttering curses under his breath. As he started pulling off my damp shoes, he berated me, that I could have caught cold, that I had not asked to go out. His manner, however, was the opposite of harsh. He was fussing over me was all, and evidently upset at the realization that I had not lost the baby.
"You must drink a cup of tea everyday," he insisted, guiding me over to the chaise longue in the living room. "And no exertion, mental or physical."
"What about books?"
"As long as you don't become interested in scientific journals, you are fine in that respect. But I want you off your feet most of the day, unless you're out getting fresh air- which you will not do when it is raining!"
"Erik?" I asked as his lips pulled taut together. His breathing was rapid. "Are you quite all right? It was hardly drizzling outside-"
"I expect you to take care of yourself," he retorted. "And I expect you to realize that I know what's best for your child better than you do, what's best for your b—rd child-"
"Erik!" I cried, hurt.
To my surprise, he ceased, still breathing heavily. His eyes softened in apology.
"You are young," he said in resignation. "You don't consider such risks... And with a passionate spirit such as yours... I do not blame you for the child. I have said that before. And so I will give what any child of yours deserves, out of wedlock or not." He brushed a hand over his forehead. "The room beside yours will be made into a nursery. I need to have the wallpaper put up first, then the furnishings. What type of wood do you prefer? Oak?"
"I-I don't know. My head is spinning."
"Then I will decide... Now sit here, I'll make you some tea." Then he muttered under his breath, "wandering outside in the rain..."
I stared up at the ceiling, quite perplexed at this turn of events. He was letting me keep my child, and moreover, going to provide for it. I had no doubt I would be the sole caregiver and receive no help from him, but still, it was more than I could have dared to hope for. My soul was so deeply moved that I began to cry weakly into myself. When Erik appeared with my tea, he found me like that, sobbing into my arms.
"My dear?" he asked. "What's wrong now? I've given you everything you want, and you refuse to be satisfied-"
"Oh, Erik, I am relieved beyond measure," I replied through tears. "I've been so worried, t-that you might have it taken away, o-or something horrible, and I've thought about how wretched I am to have created this child, and all that has been bottled up for so long now that I can do l-little more than cry."
He sat down beside me. I wrapped my arms about him, so relieved was I, and he jolted upright in shock. He proceeded to pat my head, then my back, until he embraced me as well. I gave him such confidence as I began to settle that he began kissing me. Nothing could upset me then, though, so I let him. He started atop my head, peppering my curls with affection, until he dared meet my forehead, then he cupped my face in his hands. He seemed to want nothing more from me, as he then placed my hands around the cup of tea he had brought.
"You must let me care for you now," he said. "That is all I require."
I nodded, blowing on my tea.
Thus began his care of me. As summer began, and the air grew hot and stagnant, he insisted upon me staying outside most of the day, lounging in the shade with a paper fan. He bought me a new novel every week to occupy myself with, as the books he had bought about the care of an expectant wife were particular about what she should and should not do. They- the physicians, psychologists, that is- thought that calm pursuits, such as arts or reading, would keep the child within me calm as well. They stressed that a mother's emotional state would easily affect the child, and that she should keep herself away from excitement. This meant that, as I entered the fourth month, I was not supposed to leave the house or do anything "exciting."
"But Erik," I insisted, "what about the symphonies?"
"We can attend them again once the child is born," he replied. "You cannot deny that it arouses passions in you, music such as that. I won't have it affecting your wellbeing, my dear."
"I don't like these things you're reading," I told him, conscious of my whining tone. "It's like I have to be sheltered from everything, even the joys in life."
"Of course not. And I will take you anywhere you like afterwards. I simply cannot risk anything concerning your health, and though I doubt the credibility of most men, these all say the same, and so, for your sake, I must follow it... But you have plenty to do here. You sleep most of the time, anyway."
"I only take naps once a day."
"Still... but if you need a new pastime, perhaps you should try to train your bird. He can do more than climb up your hand, you know."
"Erik, I want to have another month of going outside the house," I pleaded. "At least one more visit to the symphony?"
He turned to me, then sighed, "One... But you aren't trapped within these walls, my love. You wander around the garden all the time making daisy chains."
"I have little else to do. You refuse to play most of our music together, save the most boring pieces you can find."
"Why must you complain so much?" he demanded tiredly. "You don't seem to understand that I am trying to care for you and keep you and the baby healthy. I don't have the option to care about your annoyance at this. You are all I have in this world, and I refuse to lose you. You do know that, if your child is threatened, you are, too. Miscarriages can be dangerous things."
"I won't miscarry listening to music," I scoffed.
"Would you cease arguing? I doubt so, too, but I am taking no*** risks."
I crossed my arms half-heartedly, my heart sinking. My body had already become a cage, and yet I had hardly developed a visible bump yet!
"Would you like some of your chocolates from yesterday?" he offered.
"I want pickled herring," I replied.
"Pickled herring? I suppose I can go into town and search for some. Is it so pressing?"
"I thought you were taking no risks regarding my wellbeing?"
He chuckled, "Yes, I suppose so... I just prefer to go while you are taking a nap, but I will certainly leave now."
He did not return with it, though, nor the next day, nor the day after that. It took him four days to locate jars of pickled herring, which he bought ten of. I was so overjoyed that I almost imagined my child leaping inside me. As often happened now whenever I felt such happiness, I began to weep as I ate my treasure. Erik had made himself numb to this form of tears, as he now realized I could be both happy and sad all at once. He kissed the top of my head and milked my praise of him to the last drop.
Even with this, though, and the visit to the symphony, I was miserable. His concerns were legitimate, of course, but the fact that I wasn't even let outside the garden now made me indignant. I often shut myself up in my room with the window thrown open. He had had a door installed between my room and the nursery, and the wallpaper had been put up. It was a pale sunshine-yellow with vertical white lines. I had made requests to him about the furnishings, especially that I wanted a bright carpet in the middle for my child to play on. He agreed to every single one of my requests. He agreed to almost everything I said now, as long as I did not mention going outside the garden. Even then, he didn't react in anger. It was often only a sigh of discontent that he emitted.
It was all weighing heavily on him. That much I knew. He had grown tired of telling me "no," of my unhappiness. After all, he did love me. In the only way he knew how, he loved me. A man who loves a woman is in agony at denying her anything.
One cool night in September, as I tossed and turned in bed, I heard the tinkling of glass downstairs, as if someone were removing something from a cabinet. My heart leapt into my throat. Had someone had broken in? I rushed over to Erik's bedroom to find it empty. The sheets of the bed had not even been pulled back.
I went downstairs, perplexed by why he would be awake if he wasn't composing. Light issued from the dining room. I found him at the table, his mask beside him, and his head in his hands. There was a glass of wine before him, and a bottle to the side.
I feared he might be drunk, so I turned to go back upstairs. The moment my foot had touched the step, he called for me. I stayed put. Perhaps he would think his senses had betrayed him. I wasn't capable of dealing with an intoxicated Erik, and already my knees knocked together.
"Christine, come here," he said again.
He didn't sound drunk. I went into the dining room, and he looked up at me, his eyes watery from lack of sleep. He gestured across the table for me to sit. This was done with caution.
"Have you ever read Poe?," he asked me, in a gentle tone.
I shook my head.
"I expected so..." he replied with a sigh, "it wouldn't be right for you to have read such dark things..." He glanced at his glass, as if to take a sip, but bowed his head again. "He writes stories about guilt, typically from murder... I never understood it, but I enjoyed it, of course, as one is ought to do with the incomprehensible..."
I was rapt with attention, but this could go either way, that I knew. He could confess an important something or instate a new rule to further keep me here.
"I feel guilt," he said. "I've never felt it as keenly as this... I have not given what I promised to you. I could never have. I know nothing of love. I know nothing of love... I have given you what would please a child, as that was what you were supposed to be, that's what they all said you were, a child... Women had always been described to me as that, vain little things who had to be both adored and chastised... That is not true, at least with you. I knew that when I knew you, but I didn't act on it. I cannot explain why. Perhaps it is what drew me to you... But I ask, is there any chance that you could love me still?"
"I'll love you till the day I die," I replied. "But of romantic love... I don't know."
He nodded tiredly. "Have you ever considered running away from here?"
"N-no... You would find me."
"Do you want to leave here?"
"If I had the choice, I would."
"You hate it here?"
"It could be worse."
"Do you like it here?"
"No. I can't say that I do."
"You are in a constant state of fear?"
I shook my head. "Not anymore, after the baby."
"But you fear I would harm your child when it is born, a child created by you."
He did not ask this. It was stated, firmly and honestly. I gave no reply.
"Tell me why you want to leave," he asked. "In all honesty. Every last reason, tell me."
I hesitated. His fist clenched on the table at this, so I said, "I can't bear being treated like a child, or being kept inside, being forced into things I don't want to do..."
"For example?"
"When... when you manipulated me into consummating the marriage. That is what comes to mind first."
With that, he began to sob into his hands. He must have been drinking too much wine, certainly, to be saying such things as this to me and actually listening to my replies.
"There's nothing else to be done," he all but whimpered. "Nothing... I can't change it, I can't change anything... Why couldn't she have loved me, Christine? Or at least pretended to? Why did she ruin me like this?"
"Erik, are you quite all right?"
He chuckled, "Do I look all right, my dear? My dear... my dear little Christine... mine in every way but one..."
"You're frightening me," I admitted.
"I am gifted at that..."
"Are you drunk?"
He glanced at the bottle of wine, as if he were seeing it for the first time. Then he replied simply, "I was going to be, but I decided not to. The last time I got drunk I... I forget what happened exactly, but it wasn't good, whatever it was... I think I killed a man..."
I hardly flinched at this.
"And besides," he continued, "I would need to drink something stronger than wine for that."
I folded my hands in my lap. "I don't understand what you're trying to say to me, if you are trying to say something."
"It's the most impossible thing to say." He looked into my eyes, pleading with them. "I have said it before, but never like this. This means something... It hurts to even form the words in silence..."
"You're asking my forgiveness...?" He did not reject this claim. "For what, exactly?"
He remained silent, eying his glass of wine.
"Erik, for what?" I pleaded.
"For everything... Don't name them, though, don't..."
"I wouldn't..."
"It's all such a mess, isn't it?" he said, rubbing his forehead. "Everything is always a mess. My life is one after the other. I hardly know what to do with myself... I want, so I take. That is all that can be done for one such as I. But then when I wanted you... I wanted you more than love. I wanted you more than I had ever wanted anything, and so I took you without regard to anything."
I remained silent.
"Do you not understand?" he asked. "I let you go once, and it was one of the best times in all my life, to know you were happy, and would return to me. I had both. And now you are sad, are you not?"
"I am less sad than I was a month or so ago."
"But still?"
I nodded. He stood up, then proceeded to put away the bottle of wine and the glass. This was done with exceptional care, and at no swift pace. He was avoiding me then. He had to say something that he did not want to.
"You may leave when you like," he finally told me, his eyes downcast. "I won't stop you. Our marriage is not under heaven, but merely above hell..."
He went upstairs and shut himself up in his room. I found my head spinning with a thousand different emotions, a thousand fears, a thousand dreams... He would forget this in the morning. That I was certain of.
As I glanced at the front door, I wondered what was best for my child. If Erik did not forget the events of this night, if he let me leave when I chose, then wasn't this the best place for me to have my child? I couldn't go back to Raoul now, nor the opera house. With the freedom to leave when I chose, this prison became a house again, one with doors that would open at my hand.
I went to knock on the door of his bedroom.
"I won't leave until the child is born," I told him.
Silence answered me. I went back to bed.
...
Erik did not emerge from his room the next morning. From his attitude the previous night, I honestly feared he might have killed himself, so I knocked frantically on his door the moment I suspected.
It opened to me. He was unmasked, dressed in only a white shirt and black pants. His features softened.
"Do you need something?" he asked.
"I wanted to be sure you were doing well," I replied. "Last night concerned me."
"I am quite well. You're still here."
"Because of my child, yes," I reminded him, placing a hand over my womb for emphasis.
"How strange that is the reason... Have you eaten yet?"
"Yes. Would you like something?"
"No, no..."
I fidgeted with the skirt of my dress. "I was... also wondering if you would help me with my piece."
He brightened. "You want me to?"
"Who else could?"
"Who else..."
It was all so different that morning. He had always been gentle with me since the baby, but this was different. Something had made him realize he was wrong, to the point of admitting it. Had he read a book, perhaps? Seen something in town? What had set him off?
He had a sadness to his eyes now, seemingly born of our endless arguments, my refusal to be a wife to a man whom I did not see as my husband. I pitied him. He had no idea what to do now to mend his errs. I doubted there was a way for me to remain with him once the child was born, after all he had done.
A desire welled up within me to test his loyalty to his promise. That afternoon, while he was up in his room, I went out to walk around the neighborhood. I didn't want to torment him, so it was brief. Upon returning, I found him sitting in an armchair with his lips pressed hard together. They parted as his eyes met mine.
"You tested me," he said.
"I didn't want to torment you, though," I promised. "I was only curious as to the truth."
"And now you see. But you do understand that you could have left any time, and I would not have been able to keep you."
"How is that?"
"Your pain would have twisted itself into me, until it were mine. I can no longer prevent that from occurring. I would have tried to lock you in your room, but it would not have lasted long before you broke me."
"You speak of all this so calmly, without emotion."
"Hm," he replied strangely.
...
In the first month of winter, I swelled up over what felt like the course of a week. Erik was greatly distressed by it, insisting I kept off my feet, as my ankles began to swell often. He would rub them for me, and the action was one of the most intimate we had in that time. He also finished furnishing the nursery for me, complete with a rocking chair, children's stories, toys, little dresses, and a white cradle.
I knew he was trying to win my affection through this. The odd thing was, he was succeeding. I had grown fond of him again. Not in love, but fond. He took every care with me, gave me everything I asked for, until I found myself enjoying his treatment, enough to let him kiss me often on my head.
What if I stayed after the child was born, and he ceased behaving like this? What if I was trapped? I wondered if I ought to leave now, for the baby's sake, but I had begun to fear the birth, and I knew Erik would be sure it went well. No one else could do that for me. He had even told me about using chloroform during it, though he only trusted himself with the dosage.
"Are you cold?" he asked, as he often did when he replenished the fireplace.
I was curled up under a blanket, a box of chocolates beside me. The baby had a fondness for them in addition to the herring.
"No," I replied. "I'm quite warm."
"Good..."
I took a sip of water. He insisted I always have a cup beside me, though usually it was of tea. The moment I drank, however, I felt a fluttering within me, very strongly. Bewildered, I placed a hand on my stomach, and felt what seemed to be a kick from my unborn child.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"Nothing," I replied, a smile widening across my face. "I can feel him inside me."
"Oh..."
"D-do you want to-?"
"No... No, I do not..."
The winter wore on. It was a particularly white one already, which reminded me of home. I went outside one day to wander around it, after Erik had decided I was bundled up warmly enough. He followed me outside to be sure I was well.
"Be warned," I told him, "I am excellent at making snowballs."
"That wouldn't a very fair match, though," he said, "seeing as you are with child, so I cannot fight back."
"Then build a snowman with me."
"A what?"
"A snowman," I said brightly. "Like children make."
"Oh... but we don't have carrots."
"We have coal. When I was little, I had to use twigs for the entire face and to decorate the body. We couldn't spare coal or clothing... Would you go get some for me?"
"Coal?"
"Mmhm. And a hat and scarf."
"I will, but be careful out here."
"Of course," I replied. "And I just realized... well, I can't bend over well enough to roll the snow, so you'll have to do it. I'll help decorate, I suppose."
"That is fine with me..."
Our end result was a short man three spheres high with a red scarf around its neck and a top hat on its head. Its eyes were coal, as was its mouth.
"Do you like it?" I asked him.
"I suppose," he replied. "I've not seen many snowmen in my life, though."
I scraped snow off the bench into my mitten and licked it. Erik stared at me in confusion.
"What are you doing?" he demanded.
"Eating snow," I replied.
"But why?"
"I just like it. It tastes good... Haven't you eaten snow?"
"When necessary for survival," he replied, now smiling and shaking his head. "But enjoy your snow... It's nice to see you happy."
I let another bit melt on my tongue, then asked, "What day is it?"
"The twenty-ninth... You expect to have the baby next month, don't you?"
"Yes, near Christmas, I should think."
"Christmas..." he said quietly.
"Have you ever had a Christmas before?"
"I have."
"Was it... a good Christmas, I mean?"
"I received no presents, if that is what you are referring to. I wasn't even allowed to put my shoe on the fireplace."
"I won't stand for that," I declared passionately. "We must have a real Christmas, with presents for you and I, and shoes on the fireplace to fill. Could we even have a goose? Oh, that sounds lovely, and a tree near the piano, I think, all covered in those blown-glass ornaments... Only a few, though, it should mostly be tinsel. I have such fond memories of Christmas. My father always gave me a bit of chocolate- Père Noël, I mean. We were always invited to a family's house, to play music, and those were the best Christmas dinners I can remember..."
"You'll have to tell me what to get for it, though. I know nothing of Christmas."
"I will happily tell you. And you could actually get a tree now, if you wanted."
"If you want."
"I do very much... Oh, I'm glad I'm so happy today. It's been so miserable recently. I keep feeling nauseated sometimes, and the baby can never decide what food he wants..."
"What will you name it?"
"Gustav for a boy, Katrina for a girl. The names of my parents."
"Good," he said, almost relieved. "I like those names..."
I took his gloved hand in mine. "Couldn't we go on a walk?"
"Ice," he replied simply. "I wouldn't risk it."
"I suppose so..."
"You must be cold, too. Let's go inside. What would you say to tea and cakes?"
"Actually... to be honest, I would like pickled herring with my tea."
He shook his head. "You've had stranger combinations than that, my dear. Whatever you want."
I kissed his cheek, all rosy from the cold. He froze for a moment in surprise, then we went inside. With my luck, this happiness would not last for much longer, and Erik would revert back to the way he was. But perhaps not. Perhaps not.
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So there is the question, why did Christine not leave? It should be confusing, as Christine is rather confused at this point, with Erik behaving how he is. But my most straightforward explanation is that she would be married to Erik still, technically under God and the law, so she would have to raise her child alone, out of wedlock. With Erik as a father figure, her child wouldn't be seen as that. And she cannot go and marry Raoul to spare her child, either, as that would be committing bigamy, another big no-no. Perhaps Erik could divorce her, but he doesn't exactly offer that. Her hands are really tied, and perhaps we might wonder, does Erik know this? But at least he is giving her the illusion of freedom, which is better than nothing, if he is.