Let Me Lead You From Your Solitude

"Good morning," Erik calls over his shoulder, at the sound soft footsteps in the hallway outside the kitchen. "Your timing is perfect, as always."

The apartment is filled with the aroma of baking biscuits, melting butter and coffee. Eggs are whisked to a froth, to which Erik adds a pinch of salt and a smattering of ground pepper – with that, the omelet base is ready for the hot pan.

"Where did you go?" Christine asks, coming up behind him to wrap her arms around his waist. "You should have wakened me."

"I am sorry, were you concerned?" He turns so that he can gather her close to him, pressing his lips against her forehead, then nuzzling his nose in her mussed bangs. "I seldom sleep well, although I must admit having you near me allowed me more than the few hours I generally lie in bed."

"I am glad you were able to rest – I…I just missed you."

"In the future, I will make certain you know I am getting up – would that be acceptable?"

"Yes, although I hope you learn to sleep longer."

"We shall see," he says. "For the moment, I am preparing you an omelet and the pan is ready for the batter, so demands my attention."

Leaning against the counter, she watches as he carefully pours the eggs into the pan, making certain the mixture covers the bottom evenly. As the edges curl up, he moves the mixture to the center, the eggs cooking evenly, then adds some chopped herbs and some fingersful of grated white cheese. "Is there a reason you do not sleep while in bed? I see you drift off sometimes when you are at the piano writing music or sitting in your armchair – which tells me you need more rest."

"You are most observant – even after the relatively short time we have been together."

"I told you I liked to watch you. Did you not believe me?"

"I believe I called you a madwoman."

"That may be so, but I do – you are quite entertaining – even with half your face covered, your expressions are quite telling. This does not take into consideration of your hands – they are storytellers on their own and quite fascinating."

Erik's face turns bright red. "I had no idea – here I thought I was a man of mystery."

"No, my dear, you are quite the open book," she laughs. "I see you went upstairs to your flat."

He looks down at his clothing – dressing gown, slippers, a fresh shirt and gray flannel trousers. "I could not see wearing a business suit for breakfast. I did bring down some other clothing," he says. "I put them in the armoire for the outer garments – I hope that is all right."

"Perfectly so," she says, moving to the stove to pour herself a cup of coffee. "I thought you did not want me to drink coffee."

"It really is not good for your voice, but I thought you might like it as a treat." Going to the small ice box, he sets a pitcher of cream on the table next to the sugar bowl. "Are you hungry?"

"Surprisingly, yes," she says sitting down at the table, pushing aside a dish with the remnants of the food from another breakfast. "Gustave has eaten?"

"Eaten and off to his English lessons with Miss Fleck," he says, putting the plate in front of her, with the addition of a soda biscuit, a dab of butter and a spoonful of strawberry jam. "We may want to think about putting him into school soon."

Christine's brow furrows.

"Why the frown?"

"He is getting a much better education here from the Trio and you than any school might," she says. "His confession about punching that other boy last night has me concerned."

"He handled himself well, I thought. Besides he needs to be socialized with children his own age – in normal society."

"Neither of us were socialized in normal society…"

"My point exactly – at least in my case."

Sniffing at his comment, her pink lips form a moue. "I suppose you are right – but can we speak of it some other time, I am not prepared to send him off every day into another strange new world. His life has suffered enough upset…and I am not ready to let him go."

"I suppose waiting until the fall cannot hurt," he says, picking up Gustave's dishes, putting them in the sink. "I did not mean to upset you – I am not very good at this. My habit has always been to either pretend there is no pain or to simply ignore it. Of course, such behavior created a monster."

"You are not a monster."

"There are those who might argue with you," he grunts. Folding the omelet in half, he allows the eggs to cook a while longer before plating it for her. "Voila! Enough about me – eat your breakfast before it gets cold."

Tasting a bite of the omelet, she moans in appreciation.

"Good?"

"Good."

"How are you feeling – physically?"

"Better, I would say," she says, cautiously. "I think the worst is over in that regard."

"I sense you do not wish to see a doctor?'

"You sense correctly," she says, putting three lumps of sugar in her cup, stirring them in to melt before adding a sizeable dollop of cream, causing the liquid to overflow into the saucer.

"Perhaps I should have just offered you the cream," Erik chuckles.

"I must admit, I do like cream…another forbidden item to my diet."

"At very least, you need to rest for a few days. I was thinking of asking Dr. Gangle to come by – just to get his opinion. Would that be comfortable for you?"

"Yes, it would, I had quite forgotten he is really a medical doctor."

"You told no one about the pregnancy?"

"Only Mathilda – the wardrobe mistress – in truth, she told me," Christine says, touching her belly. "She was doing some alterations – the gowns sent from France – and commented all of them must be let out. Then her eyes got very large and her face flushed bright red. Giggling, she asked if I was with child and how very happy she was for both of us if that be so."

"Indeed?"

"Indeed. She went on to gush about what a wonderful master you were and how you rescued her from the sweatshop she and her daughter were working in. Said you told her you had never seen finer needlework and deserved better employment. "

"Well, it was true…and her daughter was equally disciplined."

"You are quite the monster."

"Harrumph. I suppose it would be too much to hope that she kept her own counsel."

Christine shrugs. "People talk. Who better to talk about than their master and the new soprano? I can only imagine the speculation circulating about the night on the pier." A bite of the biscuit elicits another groan of appreciation, "What about you – did you tell anyone?"

"Nadir – again he surmised based on an offhand remark I made." Setting another plate on the table, this one holding only a single biscuit, he joins her with his cup of coffee.

"Well, it is comforting to know we have caring and observant people around us."

"Some might call them nosy."

"But in a good way," she says, laughing.

"What about Gustave?"

"I shall ask him. I would rather not too many people know. I do not think I could bear the sad looks…the pity." The sadness overtakes her features again, tears forming, but stopped with her handkerchief before breaking free. "I am sorry. Everything seems so normal for a while – we sit here chatting, laughing at the life going on around us – then I remember the life that will not be here…oh, Erik."

He jumps up from his chair, circling the table to embrace her.

Christine wraps her arms around his waist. "I do not know what to do or think or say. I want to rail at the gods or God or whoever has the power over life and death. Why did our child have to die?"

Erik rocks her back and forth, stroking her hair, holding back his own tears. "I do not know, my dearest love. Fate. Chance. As a scientist I would say some of the things necessary to make a healthy child were absent. This baby was unable to survive in the womb…so living in the world was out of the question. Difficult as it may be, we must view the miscarriage through this lens. Nature was being protective of all of us – especially our little one."

"You did not want another child…"

"My concern will always be about the appearance of a child born of my seed, Christine, something that is not likely to change. Having said that, I would adore any child born of our love."

"So you would want to have another baby?"

"If that is what you wish – you are the one to control that decision."

"When I am better."

"Most certainly," he says, stroking her cheek. "Do you think you can eat now? You really need to take care of yourself."

"All right. She takes another bite of the eggs, closing her eyes. "This is delicious – I still cannot get used to how well you cook. I am humbled by your gifts."

"You turn my head…eggs, some herbs and cheese."

"If it is so easy, why can I not master the skill?"

"You have other gifts that more than make up for any lack of cooking expertise." Taking a sip from his own cup of black coffee, he relaxes in his chair – the moment of grief passed, grateful for the ability to make her smile. Hoping the healing will continue.

"Are you not going to have anything besides the roll…and do not tell me you ate with Gustave because there was only one dirty plate on the table."

"Found out, am I?"

"You never seem to eat very much."

"More observations – watching this wreck?"

"Stop referring to yourself in that way. Some of the most handsome and beautiful people are ugly inside."

An eyebrow quirk is his response.

"Yes, I know, you are going to tell me what a wretched human being you have been."

"Truth."

"That was the past," she says. "Do not try to distract me – I know there is some terrible reason you do not eat."

"I get distracted – thinking about other things, working on my music…"

"There is nothing distracting you now."

"You are distracting me." Picking up his fork, he reaches across the table to purloin some of her omelet.

"Stop it," she says, smacking him lightly. "Make one for yourself."

"Madame does not wish to share a mere morsel of food with her poor lover, particularly since she has been accusing him of starving himself?"

"Flirting will not work – you should know that by now."

"Are you certain?"

"Time is up, Monsieur, confess." The words are said with humor, her eyes gentle, but with an edge of concern. "What happened? Please. Tell me."

"I insulted the shah at a celebration of the marriage of his sister."

"Why would you do that?"

"Why would I not?" A smirk twists his lips. "Christine, my dearest love, you know me well enough to understand something of my arrogance. When I was much younger, my hubris was that much greater. I was a brilliant architect, a master musician – there was nothing I could not do, except leave." The golden eyes look through her to a distant past of wealth and an overabundance of everything beautiful and evil. To a court where he both ruled and was enslaved.

Shifting his focus back to her, he continues. "I performed a trick – quite an amazing trick – raising a skeleton from the dead, if you will. Of course, I took it a step further and showed how the trick was accomplished." Pulling her plate toward him, he takes another bite of food.

"I still do not understand."

"I was angry about the marriage – the husband of his sister had just died and here she was being sold off like a piece of chattel for political reasons. I mocked the marriage and the man she was marrying."

"I cannot believe you wanted to die."

"Perhaps I did, but was it my conscious decision? No, however, in my anger and misguided sense of position, I let down my guard."

"Someone tried to kill you? But what does that have to do with your not wanting to eat?"

"I was poisoned. I was given some wine and drank it without having my tasters sample it. Nadir believed there may have been ground glass added to the drink as well – I was spitting up quite a lot of blood." After another bite of food, he says. "This is quite good."

"Be serious." Christine's face loses all color. "How did you survive?"

"To this day, I still do not know," he chuffs, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "Nadir said I might have ten days to live, so I insisted we go to the palace. If I were to die, my masterpiece must be seen once more. The contractor in charge made some mistakes and I flew into a rage. Had I been in better health, I might have killed him. Thankfully, I did not and he swore if I told him exactly what I wanted, he would finish to my specifications. That piece of business taken care of, I fell into a coma of sorts – at least that is what Nadir told me."

"Something happened? Did he pray for you?"

Any hint of sarcasm disappears with his next words. "He brought his son, Reza, to see me. I would learn later how Reza insisted – how he repeated over and over how his music man was broken and how I must fix it – how I was the only one who could fix it."

"How much longer were you in the coma?"

"Over night – the next morning I woke up and asked Nadir why I was not advised the toy was broken."

"Love healed you – the love of a sweet child."

"I would repay the debt by assisting his death not long after that." Pushing his chair back, he rises from the table – turning away from her, pressing the balls of his hands to his temples.

"Oh, Erik."

"Nadir and I have this amazing bond – all tied together with death, near death, escaping death and surviving the death of a loved one – a strange and mystic bond. Reza was sickly – from his birth, which took his mother. He loved me and trusted me." The room is almost too small for him, the recollection so vivid, he struggles to contain his grief, wrapping his arms around himself so as not to begin breaking everything within his reach.

"He was in pain?" The words gentle and calm, she remains seated, watching him, allowing him his grief.

"Yes. Nadir begged to wait. I told him that waiting would only have Reza get worse – there was no miracle to be had – no moment in time when he would feel better."

"That must have been difficult."

"The difficulty is living without him."

Christine nods. "Yes. When Pappa was so sick, I wished I could do something to help him, all I could do was watch him get worse and worse. If I had known a way to ease his pain, as you did for Reza, I believe I would have done the same as you."

Erik shakes his head. "You are humoring me."

"One does not make jokes about killing one's beloved father."

"No, one does not."

"Were your insides somehow damaged – making eating painful in some way?"

Erik nods. "I actually eat quite a bit – just in small increments – as I ate just now, thanks to your generosity," he says with a smile. "If I take in too much food at one time, I overtax my digestive tract. At one time, I used morphine to deal with the pain, but the drug affected my music. I might as well be dead. Now I use other methods to deal with the upsets, none is quite as effective, but I enjoy being conscious."

"How can you be so calm about all of this?"

"I learned early on that crying and complaining brought nothing but more grief." He walks to her chair, taking her shoulders, he bends over to press his cheek against hers. "This is all new to you – the story of my life – I have been living it and have experienced all manner of emotions. I do not want you to bear any of it."

Crossing her arms over her breasts, she takes his hands in hers. "If we are to be married, I must know you…truly know you."

"If you truly knew me, you might not wish to marry me," Erik says.

"That die is already cast."

"We are not yet married."

"Soon."

"You want to go ahead with the ceremony?"

"More now than ever."

"You honor me," he says.

"I love you."

"What a miracle you believe that to be so. Thank you."