CH 51
"Yasmin!" the slave mistress barked, grabbing her shoulders and physically pulling her out of the line of girls who were heading into the parlor. "Where do you think you are going?"
"I was going to start on tonight's mending, ma'am," Yasmin answered, eyes lowered to the ground.
"Have you forgotten your new duties already, child?" the mistress asked, throwing her arms up in the air. "It is time for you to head to the prisons. Your charge must have his dinner."
"I don't think he eats anything, ma'am," Yasmin responded. And it was true. Yasmin had been tending to the prisoner in the dungeon for a week now, and every tray she brought remained untouched when she arrived with the next one.
"Nonetheless, you must see that he is offered food three times a day," the mistress said, rolling her eyes with her hands on her hips. "That is your duty! Besides," she added as an after thought. "Everyone must eat. Or they die."
"Yes, ma'am," Yasmin answered, "I know."
"So get to the prison and do your job." The mistress commanded, adding in a hearty "now" for emphasis, as she pointed her finger in the direction Yasmin was to go.
"Yes, ma'am!" she said again, this time with a nod as she turned and hurried away from the stern woman.
Dusk had already spread across the sky as Yasmin trudged on toward the forbidding building on the far side of the courtyard, her mind deep in thought. Everyone must eat, the mistress had said. Or they die. Yasmin shuddered when she realized that she could not be sure if her prisoner were even still alive. Three times each day, she ventured into that dark room and except for that first afternoon, there had been no movement at all—no sound of weeping or anything else. Every time she entered his cell, she greeted the prisoner, and said a few words to him, but never did he make any reply. Perhaps he had refused the tray so many times that he had actually starved to death. Remembering the mournful weeping she had heard that first night, she wondered if that had been his wish all along?
When she arrived at the prison, she was grateful to see that the other inmates were still in the food hall. She had gotten used to their leering and taunting, knowing that there was no way that they could get to her. Still, she welcomed any time she did not have to face them, and she found herself relaxing just a bit as she picked up her charge's dinner tray—which contained the same food that had been on the lunch tray—which had been identical to the one she had brought for breakfast.
Perhaps he is not dead, she thought, turning up her nose as she reluctantly made her way to the staircase that led to the dungeon. Perhaps he is just disgusted by the offerings. She was still pondering that distinct possibility when she opened the heavy wooden door and was met with the sound of humming.
It was only a quiet sound, barely drifting up from behind the dungeon door to fill the small stairwell. The tune was lovely but melancholy and as she soundlessly descended each of the stone steps, she found that she was both drawn to the source of the bewitching beauty, and repelled by the sorrow it undeniably contained. She had finally reached the bottom step, and was reaching out a trembling hand to open the door, when the melody dissolved into heart wrenching sobs.
"Annie," the mournful voice wailed, before giving over fully to weeping. "Annie."
Yasmin's heart constricted as she heard the plaintive cry and she slowly pulled her hand away from the door. Her prisoner was obviously not dead—that much was plain. No, he lived, and breathed—and he had hummed one of the most beautiful melodies she had ever heard. But now, he was weeping again, and much to Yasmin's sorrow, he appeared to be very much in pain.
Annie, she had heard him call as the sobs overtook him. Who was Annie? Was she his sister? His lover? A woman he had scorned? She put her ear to the door, listening to his lament for a few silent moments, hoping that he would say something more, but all that poured forth from the door was the sound of his grieving. And that had become too sorrowful for Yasmin to bear.
Clearing her throat loudly and making certain to rattle the handle a few times, to give her prisoner fair warning that she was there, Yasmin opened the door. By the time she had entered, the dungeon was silent once again—without even the echo of the distressing sobs lingering in the air. There was no sign of her elusive prisoner, but she knew he was there, watching—a ghost hidden by the shadows.
Her plan had been to simply leave the tray that contained yet another meal that he would not eat. But moved to pity by the anguish she had overheard, she could not help but at least try to reach out and make some contact with this man who was obviously wasting away in misery.
"I heard your song, Mon…Monsieur," she said, trying out the foreign word, knowing that her prisoner originally hailed from France. "It…it was very beautiful," she added, feeling suddenly awkward. "I should like to hear more of it sometime," she continued, not really sure of what she should say.
"I brought you dinner," she started again, hoping this time her words would not be so clumsy. "I know you don't tend to eat much, but I wish you would try. If you do not eat, you will die. And then …," she grasped for a way to finish her statement, aware that death was probably what he was after. "Well, then I would never get to hear any more of your song. And I really did like it."
Disgusted again by her own ineptitude, Yasmin turned to go hanging her head low. But then, remembering the one actual word she had heard spill from the prisoner's mouth, she decided to try one more thing. "I don't think Annie would want you to die either." And then, without waiting for his reply, she scurried out the door, her heart racing in her chest.
She stood for a moment on the other side of the door, back leaning against the heavy wood, wondering if her words had even made sense. She had no idea who this Annie was, or what effect using her name would have on the prisoner. She wondered if she had upset him, or even angered him—and if, at her next visit he would be threatening and dangerous. There must be a reason he was locked in the dungeon—a place reserved for only the shah's most heinous criminals. Had she just made her situation more treacherous?
On the other side of the door, a hushed, low rustle drew Yasmin out of her thoughts. She listened closely to the noise, which was as if something were being dragged along the ground. It took her a moment to realize that it was the sound of a food tray slowly being dragged further into the prisoner's cell.
"All right ladies," Madame Delacroix tapped her cane, signaling the girls to relax their stances. "That is enough for today. Get some rest this evening. We will resume tomorrow—and the pace," she added, raising an eyebrow, "will not be so light."
A chorus of groans filled the air, most of the ballerinas feeling that the pace of the day had been punishing enough. It was the rehearsal period for the new season, and Madame Delacroix was working them hard, in an effort to reverse the effects of laziness that had set in with some of the girls during their time off. Still, while most of the girls were all too happy to break for dinner, Annie stayed at the barre.
"Aren't you joining us, Antoinette?" Marie asked, as she made her way toward the door.
"No thank you, Marie," Annie replied, with a tight smile. "I'm really not hungry."
"I wish I had your lack of appetite," Nina, one of the younger girls commented, "I'm famished! I could eat a horse!"
"I'll see you back in the room, then," Marie replied with a sigh, as she and the others continued on.
"Not too much longer, Mademoiselle Laramie," Madame Delacroix scolded as she gathered her things. "You must allow your body to rest."
"I will not stay too long, Madame," Annie promised.
"Why do I not believe that?" the ballet mistress asked, before shaking her head and leaving the room.
It would only be a short while longer, Annie told herself, as she curled one arm in front of her and extended the other outward, beginning work on her pas de chat. Only a few extra moments of practice, and she would join the others for dinner. Even if she wasn't hungry, she knew she had to force herself to eat.
Dinner had long since passed, however, when Giles opened the door to the rehearsal room and found her still practicing the series of small, buoyant jumps. She was deep in concentration, her back to him, and though his plan had been to coax her out of the practice room, he could not help but lean against the doorframe to watch for a few moments—silently appreciating the ease with which she executed the bouncy little steps. Landing on the balls of her feet, as surely as any cat, she ended each trio of jumps with an elegant flourish of her outstretched arm, before repeating them in the opposite direction. When she suddenly broke off into a series of jetes that propelled her across the room, Giles could not help but catch his breath at her absolute grace and beauty.
The sound of his gasp alerting her to his presence, Annie landed and glanced over at the doorway. When Giles realized he had been caught, he flashed a wide smile and clapped heartily as she walked over to him, using the back of her hand to wipe the sweat from her brow.
"Giles," she asked him, slightly out of breath. "I didn't expect to see you here."
"Unfortunately," he smirked, "I had no doubt that I would find you here."
"I was just practicing, Giles," she informed him. "We have a new season for which to prepare and I…"
"Practiced all day alongside the rest of the ballerinas," Giles interjected.
"Yes, but a little extra practice never hurts!" Annie asserted.
"I imagine Madame Delacroix wishes her less talented dancers felt the same way," he commented with a smirk. "You, however, are exquisite and you know it. Your dancing will bring down the house—as usual."
Annie smiled. "Giles, as always, you are too kind."
"I am only speaking the truth, Antoinette," he answered, looking at her fondly. "I think you have done quite enough practicing for the day."
"Well, I was just about to stop anyway, and join the other girls for dinner," she said
"Too late, Antoinette," Giles informed her. "Dinner service is over and most of the ballerinas are currently heeding Madame Delacroix's advice and enjoying a bit of relaxation."
"Oh," Annie said, a bit surprised. "Well, I wasn't really hungry anyway."
"Well, that is unfortunate indeed," Giles responded, "because I took it upon myself to buy you a sandwich from one of the carts on the square." He held up a small paper bag, and with a crooked smile added, "It's probably tastier than anything they were serving in the dining hall anyway."
Annie gave a forced chuckle. "Thank you, Giles," she said, taking the bag from him. "But you didn't have to do this."
"I know, but I wanted to make sure you had something to eat," he smiled. "I know you often go without dinner."
Annie just smiled and looked down, saying nothing to refute his claim, since she knew it was true.
"So come on," Giles urged kindly, seating himself on the floor of the rehearsal room, and gesturing for her to do the same. "Sit and eat."
Annie looked at him, horrified. "Oh no, Giles. Not here," she said, her face turning slightly pale. "Madame Delacroix has a strict rule against food in the rehearsal room."
"Rules were made to be broken, Mademoiselle," Giles said, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "Besides, I outrank her."
"Giles…" Annie snickered a little, despite herself. "I really shouldn't."
"Yes, Antoinette," Giles patted the floor next to him, urging her once again to sit, "You should. You need to eat."
Annie shook her head ruefully at her stubborn friend, but sat herself down beside him none-the-less. "I am going to blame you, Giles, if Madame finds any crumbs on the floor," she told him in no uncertain terms, opening up the paper bag she held in her hands.
"I will simply pass the blame on to Monsieur Moncharmin," Giles retorted without missing a beat. "It would be fun to watch him squirm."
Annie could not help but chuckle a bit as she took a bite from her sandwich, and Giles smiled at the sound. "It is good to see you smiling, Antoinette," he said warmly.
"Thank you, Giles," Annie returned simply. "The sandwich is delicious."
Annie ate her light meal as she and Giles chattered about the business of the opera house.
"I am looking forward to seeing you lead the company in dance once again, Antoinette," Giles told her at one point.
"Madame Delacroix has made no intimations that I would be granted the lead again," Annie responded.
"Oh Antoinette," Giles countered, "Madame Delacroix is no fool. She is well aware of your talent. You are exquisite on the stage, and I have no doubt that you will be prima ballerina once more."
Annie's cheeks blushed with his praise, "Thank you, Giles. You must see, then, why the extra practice time is so important to me." Then, shifting the focus off of herself for a moment, she asked, "So has the Lady Sophia forgiven you for breaking your plans with her?"
"Um," Giles cleared his throat, looking a bit awkward for a moment, "things with Sophia are as to be expected. She…will come around."
They were quiet for a moment then, a comfortable silence descending upon them until Giles asked, "How are you, Antoinette? Really?"
Annie look directly into Giles's clear blue eyes and saw them clouded with concern. "I…I am fine, Giles. I am really enjoying the new routines, and I feel invigorated at the thought of starting a new season…."
"No, Antoinette," he interjected, reaching over and taking one of her hands gently in his. "That is not what I was asking. How are you coming to terms with Erik's death?"
Annie visibly flinched at Giles words, the mention of Erik's name hitting her like a physical blow. "I…I have my good moments."
"And your bad ones?" he asked, his eyes pleading with her to talk to him.
"Yes," she said in a hollow voice. "And my bad ones. I try to stay focused on my work," she said, steeling herself once again, to remain strong. "It…helps."
"I'm glad it helps, Antoinette," Giles said, "but you cannot focus on your work to the extent that you neglect to take care of yourself."
"At least when I dance, I can feel the blood pumping through my veins, and the breath crashing into my lungs," Annie snapped in irritation. "For a just a short while I feel alive again, and I can almost forget the pain," Annie added, burying her head in her hands. "Almost."
"Antoinette," Giles said softly, reaching over and placing a hand on her shoulder. "You are not alone. Let me help you."
Annie looked over at Giles, and saw nothing but sincerity in his eyes. "I don't know how, Giles. I just don't know how you can help me," she said, with complete honesty. For unless he could somehow bring Erik back, there was no help to be had.
"Well, for starters," he said, putting aside the embarrassment that stung him at her words. "You are going to join me tomorrow for a midday walk into town."
"I am not sure Madame Delacroix will like that," Annie resisted, shaking her head.
"On the contrary," Giles countered, "Madame knows you need to take care of yourself too. And she always gives her ballerinas a lunch break. Since you never take yours, you have plenty of time for a walk."
Annie rolled her eyes at Giles's logic. "I really need to practice, Giles."
"No, Antoinette," Giles told her firmly. "You really need this—a break—a change of scenery. And I am not taking no for an answer."
"Well," Annie sighed, "If my manager demands…"
"Now, you're talking!" Giles said with a laugh. Annie's smirk as she rolled her eyes and shook her head gave him all the reward he sought.
It was customary for Yasmin to collect the prisoner's untouched food trays when the time came for the next meal, but try as she might, she could not get the sound of his humming out of her mind. The melody haunted her as sure as any ghost, and when she had completed her other chores for the evening, she strangely found herself wishing to go back. Now that she was sure he was actually alive, there were some things she felt she really must bring him.
So, collecting her supplies, she slipped out of the slave quarters and once again made her way to the prison, using the key that had been given her so she would not have to disturb the guards. She gave a silent prayer of thanks to Allah, when she realized that the other prisoners had mostly fallen asleep. Her charge might be sleeping as well, she thought—but it really did not matter. She did not have to wake him to leave what she brought.
She did not hear any humming when she entered the staircase—and neither when she opened the door to the dungeon. But approaching the cell, she shone her lantern on the spot where she left the tray and much to her surprise, she found that some of the food was gone. It was not finished, but for the first time since she had been bringing him his trays, a portion of the contents had definitely been eaten. She was so surprised that she forgot all about her decision not to wake him.
"You ate!" she exclaimed happily. "I knew you could do it! I hope you will eat some more tomorrow."
Instantly feeling a bit foolish, that she had showed such enthusiasm because he performed a basic human function, she changed the subject. "I…thought you might want to clean yourself up a little bit—not that you have to if you do not want to. But I…" she placed the bucket of water she had been carrying down right by the side of his cell, "brought you some soap and water. And, a change of clothes," she added, placing the bundle of clothing down next to the bucket. "And, I thought you might like a light," she set down an extra lantern with the other supplies, "so you can see what you're doing."
As usual, Yasmin was met with silence—which, though she expected it, was still a bit of a disappointment. "Well," she said awkwardly, not really knowing what else to say. "I suppose I will be going. I will return in the morning—with your breakfast."
Walking back to the door, she placed her fingers on the handle before turning back toward the cell and adding, "Goodnight, Monsieur."
AN: Well...it seems that both Erik and Annie are doing a bit better with their appetites. Both of them are lucky to have caretakers who simply won't give up on them...
