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There was no use stalling anymore. Christine felt her dread mount with each step that took her closer to her bedroom. For hours she had been inventing excuses to stay up later and later until she realized how childish she was being and announced her plans to retire. Erik's golden eyes flashed to hers; a jolt of understanding passed through both of them, and he returned to his work, silent as she left the room. It took many minutes for her to struggle into her nightgown, glancing into the small mirror that Erik had retained only for her benefit. The face that stared back was pale and terrified.
Stop being a ninny, she scolded herself. Nothing is going to happen. He promised me.
Finally, she lay in the bed that had been heated by the sunlight; it still remained in the sheets, yet Christine shivered as she put her head on the pillow, for she heard the door creak open. As she quickly wrapped her arms around her stomach in an unconscious defense, his heavy footsteps neared the bed; the young woman began to tremble after he had removed his shoes, coat, and waistcoat. The mattress weight shifted. A corpse was lying in the bed with her.
Absolute silence reigned. Christine, rigid in all possible senses, did not move when she felt his hand probe at her arm. He wished for easier access to her waist. Although he was initiating all contact, his nervousness and hesitancy portrayed themselves in every possible way. It was quite a strange situation; Christine had never shared a bed with anyone, not even when her father was alive. If the two rested at an Inn, Christine slept in the bed while her father dozed in the hard chairs. When she asked why he did this, he had chuckled warmly and said, "That spot, Christine, is reserved for your handsome husband."
The feel of her 'handsome' husband beside her, his long arms holding her, his breath on her neck, his knee touching her thigh, was something she took in slowly. When he gingerly pulled her closer, she stiffened, and he immediately stopped, allowing himself to be content with what he had.
Neither slept well that night. Christine was terrified that she might drift off into sleep and Erik would not be able to control himself; Erik was worried about the same thing. He would not allow himself to doze. His mind might wander, and his hands would follow. Breaking his promises to Christine was not something he wished to do. As the night ticked on, he sensed her slowly drift off into a light sleep. When she woke, Erik was gone, and she stared at her drawn face in the mirror for several minutes. Not a single tear slipped out of her eyes.
It took many, many nights before Christine was somewhat comfortable with Erik sleeping beside her. Their routine was simple: he allowed her time to dress and slip into bed, after which he would enter and settle himself beside her. He was always gone when she rose, and he had never woken her up when he left in the mornings. Erik left early every morning to ride the few miles back to Paris and slip into the Opera House. It wasn't as if he wanted to do manual labor to support his wife! He observed rehearsals and wrote critique and advice before reminding the managers of his salary. He considered his payment of 20,000 francs quite a stretch for all he did for the Opera House, and he was thinking of raising his price. Erik had a house now, not to mention a wife to care for. When he returned home, Christine was nearly always outside, doing something or the other. He would then shepherd her inside because the horse was going to be let out.
In the afternoons, Christine never asked why he was cutting holes in the floors or nailing things to the wall. He worked on the house tirelessly. Many times, driven by her boredom, she would sit and watch him work. A hole had been cut right into the wall, and his upper torso was completely in it, leaving only his long legs for her to examine.
"Erik, what is your favorite book?" she asked, watching as his left leg shifted up slightly.
"Too many to name, my dear," he replied, his voice muffled. There was a slight clunk, and his thigh muscles tightened suddenly as he said many words under his breath. Christine assumed they were not pleasant, because his tongue was not French.
"When did you realize you had such a gift for music?"
There was no reply for a while, and his shoes scraped the floor in order to further push himself into the wall.
"I don't know if you would call it a 'gift,' but it was when an old priest came to my house. He had brought some choral music with him, and when Erik saw it...it was as if I had known that it was to be my calling in life. Now, quiet for a minute, darling."
Sounds of heavy shifting seeped into the room, and Christine listened with interest as something dropped to the floor. Erik completely turned over, his heels pointing to the ceiling, and a steady string of soft, unintelligible words came from the hole in the wall. When there was a minute of silence and he had turned over once again, Christine ventured her next question:
"What would you like for supper?"
He sighed. "Whatever you wish is fine."
"You never eat anything, Erik," she pestered. The knee of his right leg pointed to the ceiling, making a strange arrow.
"I eat," he said indifferently.
"You will eat with me tonight, won't you?"
Erik was still for a few moments. "If that is what you want."
There was a final, loud click, and Erik crawled out, his shirt covered in dirt and grime. His yellow eyes rested for a moment on Christine, and the hard expression softened.
"You are a very good wife," he muttered, turning back to the wall. The next morning, no matter how hard she looked, she could not find where the hole had been.
As she was putting some final touches on her sitting room, a thundering of hooves began to grow louder, and she rushed to the front window. It sounded as if twenty horses were coming this way, but there was only one, a large, coal-black beast, with its rider dressed to match. The horse skidded to a halt in front of the house, tossing its magnificent head, and Erik, as if his years had no burden to cast upon him, jumped lightly from its back. Christine watched as he grabbed the bridle, but the horse was quite willing to follow him anyway, and it allowed itself to be led around the house.
She gave a silly laugh as she turned around. The horse frightened her a great deal, and she finally became aware that she had been holding her breath while it was in view. Christine had a distinct feeling that the horse, although it had only set eyes on her once or twice, did not care for her at all, and would be pleased with itself if it was allowed to trample her to death. But, as she heard the back door open and close, she chided herself. It is only a horse.
Pretending to be busy, she did not look up when Erik entered the room. He stood still for many minutes, watching as she flitted about here and there. When she finally looked up at him, however, she stopped. He was holding a large box in his hands, and she eyed it cautiously as he held it out to her.
"It's for you," he needlessly supplied.
"Erik, you shouldn't have given me anything," she said. But she took the box nonetheless.
The yellow eyes searched her face as she opened up her gift. He was relieved to see a look of happy wonder pass through her eyes as she lifted the dress. It shimmered and twisted in ways that made her eyes ache, and she stared at it for many minutes.
"Erik, it's...." She could not find the right words to say, but instead clutched the gift tightly, afraid that it would disappear. Even after all that she had been through, Christine was still a young woman, and the beautiful dress seemed to call to her, seduce her, enchant her senses.
"You do like it?" Erik asked nervously, twisting his hands. "It was the only one, and Erik made sure it was tailored to fit you. Are you displeased?"
Christine laughed, her voice a soft and sweet bell. "Of course not!" As her euphoria dimmed, her rational mind bloomed. "But...why would I need this? I don't entertain, nor do I go to town."
Erik took the dress from her and fingered it before pressing a sleeve next to her arm, as if to see what effect the color would have on her skin. "I will not have Erik's wife dressed as a pauper. There is no need. I will give you Paris, if you wish." He was silent for a moment. "Put it on." When she questioned him with a glance, he snapped, "Put it on! Erik must see it on you."
When she returned, pulling nervously at the skirts, Erik continued to pace, muttering distractedly to himself. His abrupt changes in his moods were something that Christine was quite accustomed to, and, although they never left her with a sense of security, she knew that it was always best to allow him to vent his emotions. He did not look at her once and rubbed his ear.
"Very good. Go to bed."
Christine's cheeks turned rather red. "It is only three o' clock!" she said defiantly.
"Go to bed!" he shouted furiously, slamming his large fist into a wall.
The young woman sighed before obeying her husband's command. As she trailed down the upstairs hall, she heard his heavy footsteps hurry up the stairs, and his cold hand encircled her wrist.
"Christine – Christine, come downstairs. Do be a good wife for Erik; he is quite mad sometimes, as you know. I will take out my violin for you; your pretty ears have longed for music, I know."
In her heavy and expensive gown, she allowed herself to be pulled downstairs, unwilling to work herself into a confused frenzy. Erik pushed her down on the couch and tucked the violin under his chin.
"Do you hate me, Christine?" he asked, fingering the neck of the delicate instrument.
"When you are angry with me for no definable reason," she said evenly.
"I am very ugly, am I not?" was his next peculiar question. "No – be silent, for Erik's music is beautiful." The bow lightly touched the glorious strings, and the house grew warm with such angelic sounds.
As he played, Christine watched him as if for the first time. His golden eyes were lowered, concentrating on his instrument. They would close from time to time, embracing his first love. She watched his long, thin body sway slightly, under the spell of his own doing, and his bony wrist gracefully swept up and down, hypnotizing her with the smooth, continuous movement. The sight was not repulsive; on the contrary, it was very appealing. The song continued, the strings singing such sweet music, and Christine took in the sights and sounds.
Yes; in his own, strange way, Erik was very beautiful, indeed.