Chapter XXV.
Mahtab did not ask what the word "ugly" meant anymore after Erik explained it for her through music. Yet music started to interest her more than it did before. She was fascinated by the notes her Papa played that afternoon and she was searching for them. She did not find them in Mozart, Bach or Beethoven – yet this latter sometimes showed similarities with it, but it wasn't the same. She could read music in treble and bass clef, as Erik taught her how to practice alone. She never tried to write music though. She suddenly decided to try to search for those unknown notes by trying to write them down. She wandered in Papa's study and searched for sheet music paper. Papa made it for himself in advance, so that he will be able to write that instant as he got inspired. He would spend hours by drawing the five lines on paper, and he also taught Mahtab to help him. They would do it together, talking about things that entertained them: music and science. These precious moments were so dear to both her and Erik. The proud father felt that he couldn't even be a whole person without Mahtab right now- he got too much used to her presence around him, and caught himself talking to her if for some reason she wasn't around him.
She grabbed some sheets of paper and climbed up on Papa's chair at the desk. She chose the red ink because it was Papa's favorite and held the quill. She felt so mature, such an adult, sitting on her father's place and composing music… she started scribbling some notes and measures on the paper and sometimes would lick on the quill, or chew it while thinking. She also scratched her head several times just as she saw it from Papa.
She didn't know yet when a composition was done, but after a time she just closed the last measure, and jumped off of the chair, excitedly running through the house to search for Erik. Shadow happily joined her on the top of the stairs and followed her to the music room. It was empty. Mahtab shrugged, and suddenly decided before showing it to others, she should maybe play it, to see how her song sounded. She climbed up on the piano bench and placed the sheet music on the piano to see it while playing. But something very interesting happened- she couldn't play it. Her fingers weren't able to move that fast and reach to that far as it would have needed for the song. She just pressed some keys around the ones she needed, but it wasn't the right rhythm. She sighed in frustration and slammed her fist against the keys. Shadow ran out of the music room howling. He never liked such a noise.
- Don't hit the piano! – She heard Erik's dissatisfied voice from somewhere behind her. She turned around, but Papa wasn't in the room. Mahtab had no idea how Papa does such a thing sometimes, but she admired her father even more for this skill. She is going to learn this as well, for sure.
- Papa, help me, please! – She tucked her head outside of the music room's door, searching for Papa.
Erik arrived soon, she could see him running upstairs and towards her.
- What's wrong, Mahtab?
- I can't play my music. Can you?
- Whose music? – Erik bent closer to make sure he heard it right.
- Mine. – Mahtab pointed proudly at herself.
- Oh, I see, that is why you are covered in red ink, eh? – Erik shook his head scolding his daughter, and sighed. – Show your hands. – He tried to clean Mahtab's inky hands with his handkerchief, standing her between his knees as he squatted down to her.
- I wrote a song.
- Even your face has spots of ink, how on Earth did you do that? Do you bathe in that ink?
- Papa, I wrote a song!
- I can hear you but no way will you touch my piano with these hands again. How many times did I tell you to wash your hands after drawing, Mahtab?
- A lot. – She groaned impatiently.
- And you still don't listen. You look like a pork ling. – He suddenly realized that Mahtab may not know this word, so he added: - Do you know what a pork ling is?
- Yes, I know, it is a child of a big filthy pig! – The little girl spat it out proudly.
- Right answer. – Erik moaned, slightly displeased about being indirectly called a big filthy pig by his daughter. – Well now show me your composition.
Mahtab guided Erik to the piano with bright eyes, and pointed at the sheet music. Erik lifted it a bit closer to his face as, even if he did not like to admit it, his eyesight wasn't as perfect as it used to be in his youth, and well, he was nearly sixty, and the paper was covered in Mahtab's fingerprints that made it harder to read. Well, to tell the truth, it was nothing special. It was just a mixture of some random notes scribbled on a piece of paper – it had no consequent melody, nor did a rhythm pattern and it had no correct cadence. The end was just hanging in the air as if someone was just clueless how to finish a musical sentence, if it could be called that, anyways.
- How is it, Papa? – She jumped up and down next to him in excitement. Her face was bright with pride and she couldn't wait his answer.
Now what to say? Erik was a very picky person about music, and a very good critic. He only accepted perfection during rehearsals with Christine and he would instantly throw such a piece in the fireplace if it was him who created it, most likely out of his clear mind, maybe being extremely drunk. But he simply can't tell this to an overexcited child who was longing for his support and praise. But he just can't say it was good, as it wasn't. Mahtab has no talent in composing. She has not much talent in music, at all, but he doesn't even except her to be. He knew that she only wanted to imitate him as he does this all the time, and he did not want to make her sad about her failure, so he just patted her head and nodded.
- Good enough for a first piece. – He said, as he realized a nod won't be enough for Mahtab.
- So I will be a composer? Like you?
- Only God knows, dear. – He stated carefully. – Let's just wait and see what happens. You should practice a lot if you want to play and write music. I am not forcing you as you know. If you want to do it, then do it.
- I do want to. – Mahtab nodded. – I love music.
- I know. – Erik smiled. – I am happy you do.
At least she does not only want to play to impress him. She really likes music, just wasn't as lucky to inherit some more talent in music. But he loves her no matter what.
Florian started standing up and supporting himself with the help of furniture he could reach, finally when he was a year and 3 months old. He still did not walk, but he could stand very well and would try to walk if Erik or Christine helped him by holding him by the armpits. He, compared to Mahtab, wasn't as a cuddly boy, he did not like being held or carried around. Erik was silently thankful for that, he was afraid he would have to carry two children at once, but this wasn't the case, thankfully. He loved to sit or crawl around Christine on the floor, but when she wanted to cuddle him and smother him with kisses, he would at first laugh, for a time, but after he had enough of it, he expressed his dismay by a bit whining or trying to climb out of Christine's arms. He would gladly give hugs though, but long time cuddling wasn't for him. Erik respected his will more than Christine. The mother would always catch and kiss him a lot even if he did not really like it, but Erik just patted his head or stroke his face, so Flo seemed to like Erik more as well. Christine was a bit of disappointed about giving all the love to the small boy and he would greet Erik with a bigger grin in the morning. Both of her children adored their father more. But this is just how their family was- and she wouldn't change a thing about it.
One day, when Erik was sitting on the side of the locomotive bed with both of his children around him and he was reading a tale to them as a bedtime story, Mahtab asked suddenly:
-Papa, will we go to the Opera again?
- Yes, dear, we will someday. – Erik nodded, closing the book and putting it back to the bookshelf that started to contain more and more books of various genres, but surprisingly, it mostly held books about mechanical structures. Mahtab wasn't able to read, but she adored to look at drafts just as she adored to look at storybook illustrations. They were nearly the same to her, by the way.
- When? – She kept going on as she did not find Erik's answer satisfying enough. Erik lifted Flo out of Mahtab's bed, gently kissed his cheek while his son hugged his neck and carried him to the cradle and placed him in the small bed, then tucked him in.
- Go to bed, little fellow. Good night. – He smiled, then returned to Mahtab's bed to say good night to his daughter as well.
- When, Papa? – She repeated eagerly.
- I am not sure yet, dear, we will soon.
- I would like to listen to Opera, I love them.
- All right, dear, but now you should close your eyes and sleep, will you?
- Papa…?
- Yes?
- Do you like opera as well?
- Of course, Mahtab, I do, I love all kinds of music.
- Did you write an opera yet? – She asked curiously.
- Well… yes, I did. – Erik nodded, gently pushing Mahtab down to a laying position on the bed and kissed her. – Sleep now, or Papa will be angry, right?
- Papa, did they play your opera in the Opera house? – This kid clearly didn't want to sleep…
- No.
- Why not?
- Because Papa wrote it for himself. – He replied, but he lifted his index finger and shook it towards the girl. – In two minutes, Papa doesn't want to hear another word, or you will see what he is like when he is angry… sleep!
He turned away from the bed to leave, but he again heard the high – pitched voice behind his back:
- Papa…
- If I hear you saying the word "Papa" again this night I swear I will glue your mouth shut, child!
As he wanted to leave again, he heard a soft whisper:
- Monsieur Spöke, I am thirsty…
He could not stay mad at Mahtab, to tell the truth, he wanted to laugh at the situation, but he just sighed and returned with a glass of water. He sat down to the bedside again while waiting for the glass, but Mahtab did not drink right away, but looked at him with interest.
- You said you wanted to drink, so do it, will you?
- Papa, why did you not write the opera for others?
- Mahtab, it is late. Drink that water and sleep. I will be really angry if you keep asking questions now.
Christine overheard the talk between Erik and Mahtab and she started wondering about the situation. Indeed, Erik was an incredibly talented composer. Erik considered himself as a "musician" rather than a composer, he only said he "was composing music from time to time", but he did not think it as a main profession. He always wrote music for himself or later, for Christine, to express his feelings. It was just a form of art and communication to Erik, not a job. Yet, there were his works, in his study, stored in the drawers of his desk. They were magnificent. Incredible. They were just as great as the works of the biggest composers of all time. Erik's music could easily be compared to Beethoven, Chopin or Mozart. And really, no one should ever hear them? Do they have to lay in the drawers, forgotten and abandoned after they are completed?
She snuck in the study, and opened the upper drawer of the desk where she could find Don Juan Triumphant. She never read it, not even during their marriage. Erik did not want her to see it, as he often stated. No, she shall not read it now either. But there are other sheet music as well. For example, right under Don Juan's score, there was a symphony. She carefully slipped it out and read through the first movement. It was written in E minor and it was just simply stunning and brilliant. It can't go on like this. The world should hear Erik's genius and appreciate his music. Such a treasure can't be hidden here forever.
She was searching for a copy that she could send out for a publisher, but she had to face that Erik never made copies. All of his compositions were original sketch. There was only one copy of each of his work. She knew he would notice if a symphony was missing from there, and she did not even want to lose an original manuscript, so she decided to copy it herself. She was copying it while Erik was taking a bath before bedtime. She did not have to hurry too much – it took forever to wait Erik out of the bathroom always. What a luck they had more bathrooms in the house!
Erik did not understand why he had less empty sheet music paper day by day. Who the Hell keeps stealing it? Erik was looking through Mahtab's toy box and bookshelf as his first guess was his daughter, but he did not find the missing paper there. As he couldn't find out what was happening, he just decided not to worry about something so minor, so he just made some more sheet music paper and forgot about the strange issue for a time.
New Year came – it was 1890 already.
Christine was waiting eagerly for something. She did not tell why, but Erik could sense it in her behavior. She was excited for no apparent reason, and she would sometimes giggle or close her eyes and sigh dreamily. When he tried to question her about the reason of her delight, she only would give him foggy hints about a "very good happening", but didn't say more.
- Are you… expecting again? – Erik asked once, suspiciously.
- Oh no… - she laughed. – Not that type of happening. – She added.
Erik sighed in relief- there were enough children in his home for his liking. One boy and one girl- it is enough and he was more than relieved that he won't be a father again.
On a snowy day in February, when Christine was playing with Flo, Erik was playing the piano and Mahtab was laying on her belly on a couch, looking at the pictures in one of her storybooks, suddenly the doorbell rang. Christine jumped up to answer the door with great excitement. She hoped so that it was finally the letter she was waiting for. She had sent out the symphony in 2 months- and she couldn't wait to finally get a reply.
She wasn't wrong. Erik Spöke received a letter and a package from a music publisher company she sent the symphony for. Yes, it was for her husband, but as soon as she was left alone, she opened the envelope to see the letter. She knew it wasn't right to read other's letters, but she had a small fear of it might be a rejection, and she did not want Erik to face it unexpectedly, if that was the case.
- Who was that, Christine? – She heard Erik's voice getting closer, and his footsteps as he was descending the stairs. She tried to read through the letter before replying, so she forgot to reply at all, but burst out in a cry of joy as she finished it. She reread the letter 3 times, but it said the same thing: Erik's symphony was published! The letter contained a paycheck as well, of 250 francs, and M. Spöke was asked to send some more of his works if possible, as they were interested in further cooperation. In the package there was a printed copy of it, along with the manuscript that was sent back. – Christine, what's that? – She heard Erik's voice just behind her back right now.
- Look! – She exclaimed, showing him the letter.
- What? – He gasped, turning pale as his eyes ran through the lines. – WHAT symphony…? What the Devil…?
- I sent them your symphony, and they published it, Erik! – She jumped up and down in happiness.
Erik did not react as she imagined him to do so. He did not say a single word, just dropped the letter on the ground, dragged himself to the drawing room and collapsed in his chair just as if he was very ill suddenly.
- Erik, what is wrong now?
- What have you done? – Erik buried his face in his hands, softly moaning. – What the Devil have you done again, woman?
- I don't understand your problem… can't you see it is successful? We got money with it… they asked for more! Erik, you are a great composer and…
- No, no, no, noooooo – He whined. – You DON'T understand, you clearly don't, woman.
- Erik, why are you like this?
- Why do you have to hammer nails into Erik's coffin, Christine?
- Erik, I don't know what your problem is, please tell me…
- You betrayed me.
- Me?!
- You did.
- Why?
- You ask why, you dare to ask why? Did Erik tell you he wanted to publish his music?
- No…
- Because he DID NOT! – He jumped up from the chair with such a force, Christine found him incapable of at this state. – You know that music for me… music for me… is not about… people… and what people like… I don't care! I write my music for MYSELF! And I don't want anyone to see it, Christine, I told you this!
- Erik, I don't see why you should only write for the drawer and hide these from people.
- Because it is MY music, not theirs… Erik did not write it for them…
- Your work is marvelous, Erik. I think, musicians will learn a lot if they analyze them. Your name will be mentioned in music history books next to Mozart's and…
- MY name? Christine, I don't have a name! Erik is not even me, in the first place! And I don't want "my" name to be mentioned anywhere! I don't want my music to be seen! – Erik walked around the room in faster and faster circles, Christine started to feel dizzy upon looking at him.
- But why? It is beautiful Erik, it's nothing like you have to be ashamed of… it is not like your face!
She suddenly fell silent… but it was already too late. Word were already spoken. Erik suddenly stopped and moaned in pain. He was shaking from head to toe and as his trembling knees were not strong enough to support his weight, he fell on his knees on the floor, crying.
- Erik… - Christine tried to approach the poor man from behind, but he stopped her with his palm.
- Go… away.
- Erik, I am sor-
- I said… go… AWAY! – He was wheezing as he was feeling sick, tears were flowing down on his malformed face and he could hardly speak.
- Are you all right? – Christine leaned closer.
- Leave… me… alone.
- Please just let me help you up from here…
- Don't… touch… me. – He pushed Christine's hand away from his arm and slowly staggered to his feet.
Christine was just silently staring at Erik, who slowly left the room, but did not dare to follow him.