I took another nap that afternoon, which was odd, but perhaps due to that fact that I was doing nothing more than lying on my bed, crying at intervals. That activity rarely ends in anything else. And the baby made me tired often, which was actually rather helpful, as one doesn't have to think when asleep, and I was growing increasingly troubled over everything.
When I woke, I was alone, and the sky was reddening from dusk, illuminating the nursery in a warm glow.
It filled me with a bit of hope again, and I hummed to myself as I went to fetch my knitting. I wanted to make another little sweater for the baby, a cream-colored one, mostly as a distraction. Erik had bought me a white rocking chair as a birthday gift, which he had forgotten about until he brought it up after I had begrudgingly opened the others. I liked the idea of the motion soothing the baby, and I felt more like a mother knitting in it, which in turn relaxed me.
I had finished half of it when the gentle sound of a violin slipped underneath the door. I had hoped he was asleep...
I shuffled over to the door, pressing my ear to the surface so I wouldn't have to think. I couldn't identify the song, but it filled my soul wonderfully in that warm way music ought to. As I shut my eyes, it suddenly ceased, and his door opened quietly.
"Erik?" I called. "Won't you play for me?"
He opened my door, bursting with energy, speaking in a frenzied manner as he paced around me, but his words made no coherent sense. I stood to the side in confusion, my hands supporting my womb.
"The doctors and midwives- yes, no- but Christine- and a cradle, a doll- locks, locks, for the garden- no, no, Christine- my Christine doesn't like- but Erik- Erik needs them- and she can't- death, so much, so much- nightmares- does she have-? No, no- yes, a midwife- no, a doctor- but the locks, the locks- and a midwife has experience- Christine is tired, so tired, as Erik is- a midwife is proper, Christine wants a midwife, and she should have whatever she wants- but the dreams- the cradle- chloroform, that's not good, chloroform- and more- more..."
He ceased, turning to me, his eyes glazed with fatigue, "Christine, my love, why are you in here?"
"What do you mean?" I retorted. "You put me in here."
He stared at the wall in confusion for a moment, and I swallowed. What had driven him even more insane?
"Yes, he did..." he said softly, "because of the baby... to protect the baby... But you're upset by it, aren't you?"
"Yes... Erik, are you quite alright-?"
"What a terrible husband Erik is!" He cried. "It's so hard, so hard, with the baby, and you, because you're so obstinate! But will you lie again, will you lie, Christine, my love?"
"Erik, you're scaring me-"
"I slept!" He told me happily, as if to appease me. "While you did, because you asked me to sleep, you did, and I thought it was best to do what you wanted, but... I lose you when I shut my eyes! Every time I shut my eyes, you leave me, and the baby, the baby dies, too, always deformed, and you despise it, because it's Erik's and... and..."
His eyes met mine, and he started sobbing, crumpling up at my feet.
"Shh, Erik, it'll be alright." I told him gently, wanting to console him but knowing he would flee my touch. My skirts were enough.
He ceased, and replied, his voice a whisper, "No... Erik is such a terrible husband."
"Don't say that, you're trying your best-"
"No... no, he... he locked you away because... he can't bear the thought of losing you, he loses you..." he started to cry, standing back up, trembling a little from fatigue. "Every time he shuts his eyes, he loses you."
"Oh, Erik, dear, I'm sorry for your nightmares, you need to stay in my room at night so I can help you with them. You must-"
"But the baby-"
"Is safe in here, in my womb, unable to be harmed by you or me." I pleaded, patting my stomach protectively. "Come here, Erik, place your hand on me again, it'll comfort you. Please, come here."
He pulled away with reluctance, "But it's still not right for him to touch the baby, even through you, it's not good, even if what you say is true..." He buried himself in my skirts again, "Forgive Erik! Forgive him for locking you away, he's so worried about the baby is all, that he forgets, he forgets! How terrible it is for you to be locked away, when you do love the baby, you're just a new mother is all, of course, and you forget sometimes about the baby, and yourself, because of how independent you are, and stubborn, and... and... Oh, forgive Erik, he's such a terrible husband!" He cried, burying himself further in my skirts. "How terrible he is to you and the baby!"
"Erik, dear, you're not terrible, you really are doing your best-"
"But he's upset you, and it wasn't right to shut you away, just because he was afraid for you, because he can't bear being without you! He had such horrible dreams, such horrible, horrible dreams about the baby and you, always about the baby and you, like he said, such horrible dreams..." He let out a heavy sob. "Forgive him, forgive him..."
"You care so much about me, of course I forgive you-"
"N-not about you," he told me, entwining the fabric of my skirts about his fingers. "About what he wants, not you, and you should always have what you want, to make you happy, because you deserve to be so very happy, as you have made Erik so happy... B-but what if you...? What if you l-leave... h-him?"
"I'll be perfectly fine, with a good midwife and doctor tending to me-"
"No, no doctor!" He declared, causing me to take a step back. "Erik changed his mind, he thought about it, because you were so adamant and he loved you so, and he was worried the doctor might not be as kind as the midwives, as gentle, and midwives have more experience, of course, though no formal education, they have experience... And you must be quite comfortable and safe, for the baby, it's no good if you're upset about being seen during it, when you ought to not worry about a thing. And other women have midwives, almost all other women, and it must be fine, perfectly fine, and you want that, so it ought to be given, of course, always. Always what you want, and you must be comfortable, so you will have two midwives to care for you, very good ones."
"Thank you, Erik," I said gently, cautious. "Won't you stand up now?"
He kept himself buried in my skirts, and whimpered, "Why must you have a baby? I know why but... but why?"
"Because it'll make me happy here. And I'm perfectly safe. The baby is safe. You've cared for us very well- as best you can. Of course it's hard to be a perfect husband for you, Erik-"
"Because Erik is hideous-"
"Because you haven't been in a proper family! You don't know what's normal... Let me hold you, Erik, please, you need it. The idea of not touching me is silly. The baby is inside my womb, all tucked away, so you can't harm him at all."
"Are you quite certain, my love?" He asked, looking up at me in suppressed hope.
"Yes, of course I am... Mothers have instincts, don't they?"
"Mothers..." he whispered. "Oh, Christine, might I touch the baby again? Once? If Erik's hands won't hurt it, like you say, only once, though, just once more."
"Of course."
I sat down on the bed and began to rub my stomach, coaxing the little one to kick. But as Erik reached out his hand to me, he suddenly withdrew.
"But what if you're wrong?" He asked miserably. "It's best not to, to be safe, let's go downstairs now- oh! No, not yet, let me set up a nice little place for you, with your knitting and books and things, then you can come down! How happy you will be out of this room, and safe, with anything you want, anything at all!"
He began to go about this with the swiftness that comes with madness, and I sat there, watching him dart back and forth.
Was I free?
When he was contented with whatever he had set up downstairs, he took my arm happily and led me down the stairs with great caution. Then he pulled me over to the sofa, which he had moved a little closer to the fireplace and surrounded with a basket of knitting and a pile of books. As soon as I sat down, he rested his head on the sofa cushion beside mine, unable to stand in his exhaustion.
"You're happy now?" He asked.
"Yes," I replied, relieved, "and I promise I won't go upstairs without asking."
"Or outside." He added.
"Yes, of course."
He nodded happily, relaxing a little as I started knitting the cream sweater again.
"It's alright to sleep, Erik," I told him, keeping my eyes on my task. "I'll wake you if you have a nightmare."
I looked over at him and realized he was already asleep.
I continued knitting, greatly contented by the fact that he was asleep and at last seemed to have come to his senses somewhat. And I was at free now, somewhat, so long as he didn't change his mind.
What a nightmare the day had been! Fortunately it had only been a day, and not three months. I couldn't imagine being trapped in my room for three months, and of course Erik would never be able to bear that. He did truly love me; he did.
He woke after a couple hours, a little unsteady from sleep. His eyes had some light in them again, and I smiled warmly as he rose.
"How happy you are now," he said, his voice far more relaxed.
"Yes. And look! I finished the sweater."
He nodded, then checked his watch, his eyes widening, "Oh, forgive me, let me make you dinner. How neglectful Erik is..."
He went off to the kitchen, and I exhaled.
"Let's hope this lasts a while," I whispered to my child.
And it did last, for an entire week, no less, to which I was incredulous. Erik reverted back to when he was excited over the baby, and kept adding more and more to the nursery until I finally decided that we ought to make the little room adjacent to mine it instead. When I suggested this, however, he stared at me for a moment, blinking once, twice.
"Why?" He asked softly.
"Well, there's so much in my room already," I said, "and he'll have to stay in his own room eventually-"
"But don't you want him with you?"
"Well, yes, but-"
"We can make a room to put the child's things in." He offered. "But the cradle stays in your room."
My chest filled with heat, but I sighed, "Fine, Erik. The cradle stays in my room."
It wasn't like I didn't want the cradle in my room. It was just that Erik had decided for me, again, though he probably didn't realize it. And there was the fact was that I couldn't argue for fear he would have a sudden lapse in sanity from some misinterpreted sentence of mine.
"Are you upset?" He asked cautiously. "You sighed."
"No, I'm not upset."
He eyed me, but accepted my answer, "Do you want dinner?"
"It's a little early, isn't it?"
"Well, yes."
"What if we played music for a while?" I suggested. "You only ever play for me anymore, it seems, or shut yourself up in your room with your violin. I want to sing with you."
"Of course!" He said happily. "Let me help you downstairs, my love, then we can play any piece you want."
"Any piece?"
"Within reason."
I folded my lips childishly, teasing him, and he stared at me in a bit of confusion as we neared the top of the stairs.
"Why are you doing that?" He asked.
"I'm thinking."
"Of a piece?"
"Mmhm."
"Which one?"
"We'll see," I teased.
"Are you playing? Like you sometimes do?"
"Mmhm. Do you not like me playing with you?"
"No... no, it's nice."
He took my arm and led me downstairs, one step at a time, like I was wounded. Then he pulled me over to the piano, and sat down on it, looking up at me in expectation.
Something caught my eye, a sheet of music sticking out slightly from the rest, and I reached for it. Erik grabbed my wrist.
"That's not a duet," he remarked, quickly releasing me. "Let's play a duet, my little Christine."
"But what is it? You've made me curious now."
"You should stop being so curious, then," he retorted, failing to conceal his irritation.
"Why won't you let me see it?"
"Because I don't want you to."
"Don't you love me?"
"My Christine, of course-"
"Then let me see!"
"What does that have to do with loving you?" He whimpered. "Put it from your mind, it's nothing... Are you going to cry?"
"N-no... I don't know! I'm... I-I'm..."
"Don't cry, don't cry! I'll show you, my love, if it will appease you, because you wish to embarrass Erik and make him look foolish-"
"I do not-"
"Here," he sighed, placing it in my hands while looking away.
My lips parted, "Erik... You wrote a lullaby for the baby? Why were you ashamed? Play it for me, please, play it-"
"You have to sing," he said softly, eyes averted.
"But I don't know it-"
"You'll learn it."
"Now?"
"No. Now we sing together."
"But I want to sing this now."
He opened his mouth to protest, but then his thin lips shut in resignation.
"If you insist," he said softly.
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I think Christine's going a little nuts too, don't you agree? Let's hope Erik continues sleeping. Wonder why his nightmares went away...
Hopefully two more chapters this weekend about... Christmas! I've always wanted to do that.
