Chapter 39 - The Examination

Feeling a jab to his shoulder, Erik flinched and awoke. With half opened eyes he saw standing over him a small boy. No more than seven or eight years of age, his huge brown eyes were alive with curiosity and impatience as he stared. Amazed to discern that he must have fallen asleep, Erik pulled himself toward a sitting position and leaned on one elbow, running a hand over his face. He stopped midpoint, discovering that his bandages had slipped off.

"Can you take me to find my father?" the boy asked, tugging at his sleeve.

"What?" Erik asked hoarsely, trying to remember meeting the boy and knowing he had not. As to which man assigned to this room was his father, he had no idea.

"Who is your father?" he wondered as he drew groggily upward, swinging his legs over the edge of his too short bed.

"Mon. Richard—what happened to your face?"

Erik dropped his chin to his chest, took a deep breath and lifted his head. "That, young man, is a very long story."

Watching his eyebrows arch upward, Erik waited until the boy turned and pulled up a chair. He sat dutifully on its edge, staring back into Erik's eyes. "I have lots of time."

"Well I don't," he said, slowly rising as he gazed toward the fading light beyond their window. Rubbing his stiff neck, he turned to face the boy, who still waited for the story. "Did he say when he would return?"

The boy shrugged. "Ethan started to throw a tantrum so Father took him out—he said we were not to disturb your nap."

"We?" Erik repeated, studying his stern expression with amusement. "And it does not escape my attention that you did just that."

"I'm sorry, but I had to be sure it wasn't hurting you, with your bandages off."

"Well rest assured—it does not."

"Were you in a fight?" the boy asked hopefully.

Captivated by the boy's sharp wit and charm, he bent to a squat to look directly at him. "Why don't you tell me your name, by way of introduction?"

"Joseph—what's yours?"

"Erik—now that we've properly introduced ourselves, I'll answer your question—only one."

"But I wanted to ask you about the pretty lady I saw you with downstairs!"

Erik chuckled, shaking his head at Joseph's lack of guile. "That would be Meg…my wife."

"Now can I ask you about your face?"

"That would be two questions."

Joseph raised his hands in supplication. "What else do I have to do? I'm so bored."

"All right," Erik breathed. "If you must know, I was born with something wrong—my face didn't come out like other people's faces, so I cover it up."

Joseph frowned, looking disappointed. "You weren't in a fight?"

Erik shook his head. "No, not recently."

Joseph pointed to his marred cheek. "It's not too bad, once you are used to it."

"I appreciate your opinion, Joseph," Erik replied, rising to go to the bureau. "Now if you'll excuse me, I must get ready for an appointment."

Joseph came up to his side, staring up at him with a puzzled expression. "But how can you sleep with that covering a whole side of your face?"

"I don't," Erik replied, opening his watch to check the time; not much left until he had to collect Meg. "Unless I have to share a room."

"Then you let Meg see?"

He stopped midpoint in combing his hair and looked down at the boy. "Yes, I let her see—"

"Then it can't be bad at all, if she doesn't mind."

"Thank God she doesn't," he agreed, turning to plant his hands on his hips as he eyed Joseph critically. "Are you always this curious with strangers?"

"Papa says it's dangerous and rude and that I should control myself, but you aren't really a stranger now that you're sharing our room, are you?"

Considering his reasoning, had to agree. "I suppose you're right about that."

"Actually, I was also ordered to rest but I hate naps—do you take them often?"

Retrieving a clean shirt from the wardrobe, Erik laughed. "Never—but we had a long trip coming here."

"Is Meg sharing a room with other ladies?"

"She is indeed—and your mother?"

"Her room's on the first floor with two other ladies—they are really old—are you going to take her to the masquerade ball?"

"If we want dinner, yes."

Joseph's face brightened. "We will be at Table 8—Papa made sure he found out ahead of time so Mama could find us there…maybe you can both come over." He stretched a finger toward the discarded mass of his old bandage. "You're not going to wear that as your mask, are you?"

Erik paused halfway out of his wrinkled shirt. "Do you have another suggestion?"

Dashing to the other bureau, Joseph returned with a black satin mask, thrusting it toward him. "This one's much better—it's just like Papa's and mine."

Erik took it from him, placing it on the bureau. He finished pulling off his shirt, careful to keep his back to the wardrobe. "I suppose I should try to blend in."

Joseph nodded. "That might be best—can I see it on you?"

"Later, Joseph."

"But you want to make sure it fits properly—if not you'll have to get another one from that mean man at the desk!"

Erik nodded, fastening the dress shirt. "Something to be avoided."

Joseph nodded soberly and reached up for his own hanger. "I will get ready too—are you going to wear one of these?" The paisley cummerbund in his small hand was clearly an object of distaste, so Erik pulled out his own black satin one.

"I'm afraid so, though yours is much more interesting."

Joseph frowned. "It's ugly, and I hate dressing up."

"You'll get used to it," Erik replied, trying not to laugh as he watched Joseph lay it aside as if it were filthy. "Perhaps you might start with the shirt, then work up to the cummerbund."

"Maybe I'll do it later—can I help you instead?"

"I would appreciate your help," Erik stated, unfolding the cummerbund and extending one end to him. "Hold that for me, would you?"

Joseph nodded happily but took charge, dancing around Erik as he wound it around his waist. "Three times around!" he declared as Erik took the end to fasten it in place. "Papa's barely makes it one time around!" he giggled, covering his mouth.

"Do you think he will return soon?" Erik said with growing concern. Where was the man? He had to leave momentarily but didn't want to Joseph to be alone.

"I can stay here by myself—" Joseph stated importantly. "Can you interduce us to Meg at dinner?"

Erik bowed, taking the tie handed to him. "I would be honored, sir."

They heard a knock on the door and Joseph ran toward. "Who is it?" he yelled, laying an ear upon its surface.

"It's Papa—let us in!"

Meg opened the door at the third knock, standing back in surprise to behold her husband standing there. He was dressed in a formal black tuxedo, dazzling white shirt and black satin cravat which perfectly matched the mask he wore. Stunned at the impression he made, she pressed her hand over her low neckline and stared up into his green gaze, aware of his cleanshaven face, shallow cleft in his chin and the enticing curve lifting one side of his mouth a bit more than the other. Gone was the thick bandage which had been soiled from their hours of travel. Gone were the tension lines she'd seen crinkling slightly at the edges of his eyes. He look vital, well rested and more handsome than she had ever seen him, not at all like a patient here to see his doctor. Even more unsettling was the frank interest of that gaze as it traveled slowly and admiringly over her face, even lowering to the place where her fingertip brushed her décolletage. She could almost feel the touch of his eyes in that very spot, making her weak in the knees.

"Who is it, Meg?" she heard Sarah's call from what sounded like the far reaches of the city. "It's not Pierre, is it?"

"No, not Pierre," she managed to reply, while he bowed only enough to hold eye contact with her. He leaned closer, affording her a hint of his scent as he flashed a smile meant for her alone.

"You are so beautiful," he whispered like a caress. As if finding it difficult to tear his gaze away, he glanced into the empty space behind her before meeting her gaze again. "Come, before I'm spotted."

She stretched her hand to clasp the one he extended to her, relishing the warm possessiveness in his touch as she rose to kiss his cheek.

"And you, sir, are far too handsome to hide," she said beneath Sarah's 'thank God' and Mrs. Brigham's warning not to wear that shawl. Gripping his arm with her free hand, she effectively cut off his planned and hasty retreat. "Please, Erik?"

"Who's there, Marguerite?" Mrs. Brigham demanded, her voice indicating she was not far from the door. "I hope it's my shoes back from shining, at long last—oh my!"

Meg saw Erik's discomfort at Mrs. Brigham's behavior and frank stare, yet somehow shrugged it aside in favor of those impeccable manners the elderly woman had noted.

"Good evening, Mrs. Brigham," he said quietly, nodding his head in greeting as he placed her hand upon his arm. Holding it there when she sensed he would rather flee, her admiration for him grew even more. She squeezed his arm in silent thanks.

"Well, what an attractive couple you make!" the older woman declared, comparing his towering height against Meg's petite stature. "Girls, come quickly and meet Marguerite's husband!"

"We really must be going—" he began, turning away as Mrs. Brigham gripped his free arm.

"But it will only take a moment!" she scolded him. "Please?"

"Hello there!" Serena gushed, stretching her head around the door to gaze at Erik with wide eyes.

"This is Serena," Meg introduced, "Sarah's younger sister."

He nodded in greeting as Sarah pushed her way between the other women. "And I'm Sarah," she said coolly, extending her hand for him to take it. Which he did.

"I am pleased to make your acquaintances," he said quietly, his lips tense.

"We really must leave for our appointment," Meg interjected, glancing back apologetically over one shoulder as Erik tugged her discreetly away from the door, apparently having reached his limit of socialization.

"Nice to meet you, Erik," Serena called after him, gripping Mrs. Brigham's arm as they both stared after them in obvious fascination.

"Thank you," she breathed, glancing up at his tight jaw while trying to keep up with his long strides.

"That was highly embarrassing," he said, heaving a sigh. "I can hardly remember being so ogled."

"But you are all they talk about!" she whispered in explanation. "Mrs. Brigham guessed what we were doing behind that closed door—"

"About to do," he corrected, obviously frustrated.

"—and she is quite taken with you!"

"I'd rather not know that, Meg," he breathed, his eyes ahead as they rushed toward Jean's suite.

"Well you don't have to look so incredibly handsome and…delicious!" she teased, tugging his arm for him to slow down.

"If this is an indication of how the evening will proceed I believe I'll stay in my room."

She glanced up at him, noting that his brow was creased with concern. "Erik, I just wanted to show you off—I truly could not help myself."

He glanced down at her a moment, his features relaxing. "Well in that case," he whispered, glancing down the corridor before touching her chin to lift it for his kiss, "I'll reconsider, just to see what else you cannot help."

She curled her hand around the back of his neck and kissed him soundly, not caring who saw them. When she lowered herself to her heels he kept his eyes closed a bit longer, as if savoring the moment.

"Hopefully the worst is over," she teased, sliding her hand slowly down his chest. He gripped it in his, a tight smile framing his mouth as his eyes delved into hers.

"I doubt that very much," he said with a wicked smile.

Erik watched Meg throw her arms around her godfather and hold onto him as if for dear life. The older, distinguished looking gentleman patted her back affectionately, his eyes lifting again to Erik's. Nodding, he watched her godfather gently ease her away so that he could look at her.

"Look at you, ma petite!" he sighed with pleasure, "all grown up, and even lovelier than before—married life seems to agree with you."

Meg smiled happily, half turning toward Erik. "It does, Jean—this is my husband, Erik Destler."

Erik leaned toward him, firmly grasping his hand. "It is an honor to meet you, sir—" he began, stepping inside and closing the door behind him at Jean's nod. "We truly appreciate all that you and your wife have done for us…for me, in particular."

"Good to meet you, Erik, and the pleasure is ours," he answered with a firm grip. "Rosalie is seeing to the arrangements, but will meet us momentarily. Come in, please!"

They stepped into a small parlor, and Erik noted the double bed. If only they had made reservations in advance, he and Meg might have had the same privacy. "Rosalie also managed to get your seats switched to our table for dinner—I hope you do not mind."

"Not at all," Erik assured him. "I am happy you and Meg will have more time together—she speaks very highly of you both."

Meg took his arm as they walked toward the sitting area. "I apologize for us being late," she said to Jean. "Four women in one suite is a bit difficult."

"Well we haven't much time," Jean nodded, indicating that they should sit down. "I suppose you know the other reason I'd like to meet you, Erik?"

He nodded, seating himself in the chair nearest the mirror, which he turned away from. "I do, though it is a bit strange to find myself seated before a vanity," he quipped.

"I apologize, but this is the best place to examine you outside of the hospital…may I?"

Erik nodded and slowly removed his mask, eyeing Meg as she sat close by, smiling encouragingly at him before she glanced up at Jean, who was already intent upon examining his cheekbone. He felt him probe and tap lightly here and there, telling himself to refrain from anger and embarrassment, and that this doctor had undoubtedly seen patients with all types of injuries. Still, he had not expected feeling vulnerable, or worried about the future. He had agreed to come here mostly for Meg's sake, without entertaining any previous thought regarding the outcome. Unless he could count the authorities' demands he have the surgery.

"If I am not mistaken, the skin has healed miraculously," Jean said, his voice tinged with wonder. He tilted Erik's jaw upward and to the left. After a few more moments of study, he straightened and crossed his arms. "From what little I know about your condition, I would say that you have come a very long way, Erik—and I am speaking only of your journey here."

Erik looked up at him. "I don't understand..."

"I was at the premiere of Don Juan," he explained. "It is obvious you have had some treatment in the interim."

Meg cleared her throat. "Dr. Arnand told us he would contact you with the details of Erik's case," she stated. When Jean turned his attention to Meg Erik looked away, avoiding his reflection.

"Arnand? Ah yes, I believe he did send me something, but I did not realize it was about your husband!" He turned back and placed both hands on Erik's jaw. "Please, bear with me a few more moments," he asked, continuing his conversation with Meg as he checked Erik again. "I do get an enormous amount of mail, but had I realized how dramatic a healing this was I would have contacted him before...let me know if this causes you any discomfort—"

Erik winced, gripping the arms of the chair. "Yes," he admitted, surprised at the pain he felt when the bones beneath his eye were pressed.

"And here?" Jean asked, undeterred from the examination.

"Somewhat, but not as much as closer to the nose."

"Ah…now tilt your head all the way back," he ordered. Erik obeyed, suddenly wishing Meg had not stayed. The doctor practically sat on his lap to peer up both sides of his nose and use a mirrored instrument in ways no one should have to endure. He ground his teeth and suffered through the pain and indignity of the exam. When he felt a comforting touch upon his hand he realized that Meg had risen and come closer to his side.

"Well, that is all I can do for now," Jean stated, ending the torture.

Erik let out the breath he was holding and lifted a hand to his aching nose, avoiding Meg's eyes.

"Tell me, when the weather is poor—rainy or snowy—do you have pain below your eye?"

Erik sighed in resignation. "Yes; it is sometimes quite unbearable under those conditions."

"And what do you do to relieve the pain?"

"I have trained myself in the use of some medications…but I much prefer a shot or two of brandy."

The tiny smile exchanged between his wife and Jean did not escape Erik's notice.

"Please," Jean urged, "enlighten me with the details."

Erik proceeded to name the sedatives and pain medications he had learned to combine, detailing which were used for congestion, which for pain and which worked on his migraines, the exact doses required for Jean's interest. "But again," he emphasized, "brandy has worked equally well, in modest doses of course."

The doctor shook his head. "How many years have you suffered thus?"

"Ten, perhaps twelve..."

"And you never sought out medical care all that time?"

Erik laughed softly. "I did attempt that, with poor results…I have learned the art of self sufficiency," he explained, his eyes meeting and holding Meg's. "At least in most endeavors."

"Well you may have exhausted that option by now."

Erik returned his attention to the doctor. "Go on."

Dr. Hommes sat on the edge of the counter, leaning close. "Given your examination I must recommend surgery Erik, at your earliest convenience."

"What's wrong?" Meg breathed, gripping Erik's hand.

"Judging by the pain and sensitivity to touch beneath your eye, as well as other deficits, I must urge you to consider corrective surgery. It is, I believe, the only way to prevent further deterioration."

Erik took a moment to consider the prospect. "I have read the few medical journals made available to me, as well as some anatomy texts," he stated. "Could you offer more details, as well as another approach?"

"Fair enough," Dr. Hommes sighed, glancing at Meg as he continued. "With the underlying bone malformation at the side of your nose and extending along the cheekbone, proper sinus drainage is absent, which has without a doubt caused the tenderness, pain to palpation and headaches you have suffered. With surgery we could ensure proper working order of the sinuses. This would in turn mean all the difference in your health and breathing, as well as protect proper eye function and vision."

"By doing nothing I then risk advanced disease, as well as my eye?" Erik said carefully.

"Yes, I believe so."

Meg chewed her bottom lip as she stared at Erik's cheek, twisting her fingers together.

"What would the surgery entail?" he wanted to know.

Jean sighed mightily. "Well, it is not a simple operation, and would require about three hours of work. I have much more experience working with children, before the problem has become longstanding, and with accident victims of course. Although yours is most likely a birth defect, I would be forced to treat it in the same manner, only in reverse."

Erik stared at him a moment. "'In reverse?' As in fracturing the bones in order to reset them?"

Jean nodded, eyeing Meg. "That is exactly what I would have to do."

"How?" Erik asked, leaning forward in his chair.

"Please!" Meg objected, gripping Jean's arm. "I cannot bear to think of it—and it sounds too dangerous!"

"I know how it sounds, petite, but I have confidence that in Erik's case the benefits outweigh the risks," he answered, directing his attention back to Erik. "You will not feel a thing under the anesthesia, I can assure you of that...but we would need to break the cheekbone and nose on that side, support the eye and work beneath it to graft in new bone. There are of course risks, as with any surgery, but this is even more delicate and tricky, given the hardened nature of the deformed structures."

"What about recovery time?"

"It would take several weeks, depending on how well you heal. I would call in a colleague who is expert in eye surgery to assist with that aspect of the surgery, as an added protection should any complications arise."

"Complications?" Meg croaked, turning away to face the window. Feeling overwhelmed himself, Erik ran a hand along the back of his neck and slowly got up.

"I need to think about this—"

"Don't Erik—it's too risky!" Meg pleaded, facing him again. Her eyes shot to his and held.

"He risks more by declining it," Dr. Hommes said quietly. "You are a young man, Erik, and I would encourage you to consider it."

"Would there be any change in my outward appearance?"

"Most definitely—and all for the better. Just restructuring the side of your nose, for instance, would vastly improve its appearance and normalize it."

Erik picked up the black mask, carefully replacing it as he gazed into the mirror. "No more masks…no more hiding?" he said in mock humor, smiling at himself. "How ever would I adjust?"

"Erik! This is not a joking matter!" Meg choked.

Erik met the doctor's slight smile, still using the mirror. "She worries too much," he told Jean.

"Like her mother, but a good quality in a wife, nevertheless," Jean agreed. He slapped a hand on Erik's shoulder. "Think about it…now let me get my jacket—dinner awaits."

Erik nodded. "All right, thank you."

There was a knock on the door, and a woman's voice. "Jean?"

Meg rushed to the door, opened it and squealed in delight. Erik rose to his feet as both women embraced whole heartedly before realizing the door was still open. Meg closed the door and took the other woman's arm, leading her toward Erik.

"Rosalie, this is my husband Erik," she introduced simply, watching their interaction. "Erik, Rosalie Hommes."

Erik bowed slightly, clasping her outstretched hand. "A pleasure, Madame."

"I am so glad to meet you, Erik, and to see our Meg again."

"Are we too late for the preliminaries?" Jean asked his wife, slipping into his jacket.

"Not yet, we have time," she replied, nodding toward the napkin wrapped bottle sitting in a bucket in the far corner of the room. "I ordered some champagne," she explained. "I hope you do not mind a toast, in congratulations?"

"Of course they don't mind," Jean said, opening the bottle with a loud pop. He waved them over and quickly poured them each a fluet.

"And we have a gift for you," Rosalie added, watching her husband pull out an envelope from his breast pocket. This he extended to Meg, as if to spare Erik any embarrassment. "No, don't let Erik open it until you are alone, Meg—we insist. And now, a toast—"

They thanked them together and Erik touched his hand to Meg's back. He could feel her tremble slightly, and therefore tightened his hold on her.

"To a joyful, healthy and long lived marriage," Jean stated. "To Marguerite, and to Erik, with our blessing—and may God bless you both with his love."

"Now finish quickly—" Rosalie urged, draining her glass. "We do not want to miss the festivities!"

Erik nodded. "Thank you for your help; we are truly grateful."

Meg smiled broadly before draining her glass. She hugged Jean and turned to do the same for Rosalie, who declared her hunger.

Erik stepped closer to Jean, watching the women embrace. "Might we have a moment?" he asked, keeping his voice low.

Jean nodded. "Of course." He looked up, waving the women off. "We'll meet you in a moment," he said, despite their objections.

"I won't keep him long," Erik apologized, waiting as they exited the room and closing the door behind them.

"What is it, Erik?" Jean asked without a hint of surprise.

Erik turned and sighed mightily. "I just wanted your opinion on what might have caused the problem."

Jean shoved his hands in his pockets, studying Erik's masked face. "From what I have encountered in the medical literature and case studies, as well as from your examination, I believe it resulted from either some trauma before birth, or perhaps some poisonous substance during pregnancy…but again, that is only my guess."

Erik gazed at him with eyes narrowed. "Not an inherited condition?"

Dr. Hommes shook his head. "I cannot be sure, without seeing the others in your family."

"That would not be possible."

"Why is that?"

Erik averted his gaze, looking toward the curtained windows. "I was cast out as a young child…I do not remember them clearly, nor have I had any contact."

"Do you desire any?"

"No—" he answered abruptly, looking up to meet his gaze. "I really do not know…"

"I understand…is it childbearing you are concerned about?"

Erik nodded. "Yes, of course, at least to me."

Jean's expression relaxed somewhat. "Meg is not worried, is she?"

"No, and she acts as if it is unimportant."

"That is because she loves you so much," Jean chuckled. "I could tell that as soon as I saw her with you."

Erik put a hand to the back of his neck. "I walk a fine line between complete astonishment at her marrying me, and fear of waking and finding it all an illusion."

"I can assure you it is not a dream," Jean stated, leading him to the door. "I know Meg very well, and that is quite clear. But referring back to the matter of children—what happened to you in the early days of your formation in the womb would likely pose no risk to your children. So trust in God, and trust in Meg's instincts. Wives are amazing creatures, with powers we men do not share or understand. Now, let's not keep them waiting."

Erik stepped out into the hall with him, glancing down its length to see them waiting at the stairs. Meg straightened to full attention when she saw him, and his heart leapt in response.

"All right," he answered. "I will do my best…"

c. 2008 by Christine Levitt