I'd never understood the allure of women, why so many of my contemporaries fell victim to their charms and more often than not, to their nooses (apparently there is more that one way to 'tie the knot'. In my old profession, I quickly learned that a woman was either an obstacle to a goal, a weak spot in an opponent's armor, or a reason to run and hide; they were often deadly in ways no man ever dreamed of being. And abandon romantic thoughts of the lovely black-widow assassin…she really doesn't exist. Most of them were horse-faced and bull-necked, with temperaments like constipated wolverines. Once, in Mazenderan, I met one who nearly took my head off…
But I digress.
The point is that I had never thought of a woman in this way: as a potential companion and friend. What a happy surprise to find that I was mistaken about the fair sex!
All I must do to remember every detail of that first true kiss is close my eyes, as I am doing now, and it is though I am there again. I am tall; she clung to my neck and leaned against me to take the weight from her toes. Her breath was warm on my cheek and her lips were soft and moist against mine. I could taste her; she had had her daily cup of honeyed tea before coming to me and the flavor of peppermint and orange blossom lingered sweetly. It was at once soothing and exciting; I hardly knew what to do with myself. I remember how she sighed when we parted, such a delightful little sound with more breath than tone.
Everyone speaks of my Fantasia in B flat, how the opening is so delicately charming. You have heard it? Of course. That opening – it is nothing but an embellishment of Christine's little sigh, and it can be played only on the wooden flute. She laughs whenever she hears it; it is one of the little jokes we have together.
When at last we stood apart and I had caught my breath, I looked closely at her, searching for some sign that she regretted such intimate contact with me. There were none. She was breathless and blushing, a smile I can only describe as coquettish dimpling her cheeks. She was looking directly at me, at my face, and flirting with her sparkling eyes.
"You have no idea how long I've been wanting to do that." She reached up and wound the ties of my cloak around her finger. I watched in fascinated awareness of what was – for me – an obvious metaphor. She gave a little tug and it came loose, dropping the heavy thing in a sable puddle on the floor.
"Not nearly as long as I have…" I began and then stopped, too self-conscious to go on.
"You have too much self-control, then. I never would have guessed." Now she was unknotting my necktie, which soon found a home in the middle of the cloak-puddle.
"What are you…"
"Making you comfortable," she grinned. "Now, hush."
Though I was certainly not comfortable, I did hush, and her fingers found my buttons. She had undone three and was starting on the fourth when the thought of what she was revealing bubbled up in my mind like bad swamp gas. All joyous epiphanies aside, I could not countenance the image. Hardly believing my own actions, I stopped her hands. She looked at me quizzically, her upraised eyebrows asking 'why'.
"I'm sorry, Christine. I can't….I just can't let you do that." I would have explained more; perhaps apologized myself into a nice, deep hole, but a sound from the theatre stopped me.
§Someone was playing a violin. Someone was playing my music on a violin - or a cruel parody thereof. It started and stopped, one bar repeated incorrectly with different mistakes each time. We heard a female voice muttering angrily in frustration accompanied by the stamp of a foot, and then the repetitions began again. I recognized the stylistic touch of the bow on the strings. It was my principal violinist – my concertmaster - attempting a read-through. We'd heard everyone else leave, but she'd apparently lingered to play with the new music.
Please do not misunderstand; Giselle is an incredibly talented woman. Incredibly. World-renowned. It is her genius that leads my orchestra, and I have been pleased with her from the moment she auditioned. But she was attempting one of the more difficult pieces in the collection for the first time. She had neither the feel of the music nor the sense of the whole. The result was beyond painful. She may as well have come into my sanctuary and applied a dentist's drill to my eardrums. I cringed and let go of Christine's hands to plaster my palms over my ears, all thoughts of shame and modesty erased. The noise easily penetrated that feeble and bony barrier. It was inescapable; I began to feel as though I would go completely mad, then and there. §
Thankfully, my perceptive darling realized the source of my distress. She wrapped my cloak around my shoulders, tied on my mask, and firmly set my hat on my head. Once I was decently shrouded, she dragged me in the last direction I wished to go – towards the stage. It was the only exit she knew of, and I was too incapacitated to instruct her otherwise. With stealth I would never have guessed her to possess, she maneuvered my huddled frame through the actors' stage door, down the hall, and out a side exit. It was only when that door thumped shut that I was able to move under my own power.
"Are…you ok?" She asked, cautiously.
I looked back towards the door and shook my head.
"It will get better, you know." She waited, but I had not yet recovered sufficiently to speak. "They have to learn it first. Be patient."
Sage advice that I was hardly in a state of mind to take.
"What's tomorrow," I asked.
She blinked, confused. "Wednesday…"
I moaned and plopped down on the ground in an undignified heap.
"What, Erik? What's wrong?" Christine knelt beside me and took my hand.
"Wednesday…" I managed to moan, "First rehearsal!"
"Oh…" she said, and then with understanding, "Oh! Oh, no. You can't be here for that – you'll kill people!"
Despondent, I groaned my agreement and buried my head in my arms. She was right: if I heard any more butchering of my works, we'd be lucky to have a chamber orchestra remaining. I began to reconsider this debut of my works. Perhaps a posthumous release would have been wiser… §
"Well, we can't have that, can we? You'll just have to stay with me for a little while."
§§§ This section was inspired by a review by D. Jinx, who has solved a rather difficult plot-point for me, and MadLizzy whose reviews rock my socks! §§§