Once It Has Spoken
"Are you certain you want the entire company present at our nuptials – there was a time when we were going to escape to Pennsylvania with no one present but ourselves?" Erik asks as he escorts Christine and Gustave into what is now the family suite. "I was pleased when Rudolph said he would be honored to have the orchestra perform in the small ballroom."
"He was most generous to give me yet another few days before beginning serious rehearsal," she says, removing her cloak, handing it to Erik who also holds his own cloak, and the sundry other garments the family removes once inside. "Just running through the selections today was most exciting – I cannot wait to perform again."
"I am to learn Lohengrin for when you walk down the aisle, Maman." Gustave helps his father, hanging one garment after another in the armoire.
"Are you certain you want to do a solo?" Christine leaves father and son to their duties and walks to the kitchen. "Who wants tea?"
"Tea is fine for me," Erik replies, shaking out his cloak before placing it on a hook.
"Root beer, please."
"You drink too much root beer."
"With cream, then – it is called a Black Cow." Gustave tosses the rest of the gloves and scarves into a drawer, following his mother into the kitchen.
"Sounds like something that would appeal to your mother as much as she fancies cream." All the clothing taken care of, Erik follows the mother and son into the kitchen. "We just finished dinner, why is everyone so hungry?"
"Just thirsty," Christine says, "and I have a yen for something sweet. This Black Cow sounds just right."
"For three, then." Erik takes three large glasses down from the cupboard next to the sink and gets the pitcher of cream from the refrigerator.
Gustave brings the root beer from the pantry and the drinks are prepared. Each takes a glass and the small processional returns to the sitting room.
Erik releases a deep sigh as he falls into his arm chair.
"I asked him about a duet…he said he would think about it." Gustave addresses the question about his solo.
"Any reason why he might not want to – did he say?" Christine asks.
"Something about family and not wanting to intrude."
"Do you suppose it might be about his being Jewish?" Christine asks. "The ceremony is not Christian nor any sect. Maybe because it will not be Jewish, perhaps that is forbidden by his faith – Catholics are quite opposed to mixing religions."
Erik frowns, shaking his head. "The difficulty might not be the ceremony itself, but the officiant."
"Nadir?" Christine says. "Because he is Persian?"
"Because he is Muslim," Erik says. "I have always been aware of the negativity some groups have toward those who are different – one of the reasons I created Phantasma was to create a place where freaks could exist without prejudice – at least where they live. I suspect both our friends have suffered bigotry of one form or another."
"But why would they not like each other?" Gustave asks as he flops down on the settee, holding his glass at arm's length so as not to spill any of his drink. Safely in his seat, he leans forward to grab a cookie from the dish on the coffee table.
"The animosity between Muslims and Jews dates back to the time before Christ and the prophet Abraham. The birth of Christ set off another set of religious issues. In any event, Abraham was promised that he would have a child who would lead Israel. The problem was his wife Sarah was 90 years old and childless. She gave her maid, to Abraham to have a child, however, she ultimately did have the son that was promised - Isaac.
Erik sips his black cow. "Mmmm, this is quite good – why have we not been selling this in the park?"
"What else, Papa Y?"
"This created problems, as you might imagine and Hagar, the maid, was sent away to the desert with her son Ishmael, whom Abraham loved, but was honoring God's wishes about Isaac. Both sons had large families, but there would always be discord about their inheritance. As Abraham's first born, Ishmael was recognized as the patriarch of Islam and his descendant, Muhammed would be the leader of a great nation."
Christine sits down next to Gustave, tipping her glass to his before taking a sip. "I was raised in the Lutheran faith, but as Pappa and I traveled more and more, we discovered different Christian beliefs and when we settled in France, we found Catholicism dominant there. Neither of us was very religious, although Pappa did believe in God and we prayed every night."
"My knowledge of Biblical history is scant, when I traveled in the East I learned of Buddhism, Hindu and others. Although the story itself is quite fascinating – my primary awareness is Christians, Jews, and Muslims do not have the same beliefs about god and this has created a number of holy wars over the centuries and a basic dislike on more personal levels."
"What about when you were in Persia – Nadir was your friend," Gustave asks. "Did you go to church with him?"
"Nadir never spoke too much about his faith. God has never been at the top of my list of interests – our relationship has always tended to be one of avoidance. He does not like me and I do not like him," he says with a smirk. "As for Nadir, I know he was kind to me because of it. Caring for others is known as ihsan: adopting an attitude of ensuring better for others and less for oneself. Darius seems to be more the follower, although his relationship with Meg, suggests a wavering now that he lives here in America."
"So you think Maestro Rudolph would not wish to participate in the wedding for that reason? He does not like Uncle Nadir and Darius?
"I think what Papa Y I saying is that he may not feel welcomed by them – although I suspect that is not the case. Your father can address the issue – I do not see it being a problem," Christine explains, tousling the boy's soft brown hair. "You need a haircut young man."
"No," he says, jerking his head away, smoothing his hair over his right ear. "My hair is fine, I like it long."
Erik and Christine exchange a worried look. "Has someone been teasing you?"
"No. It is nothing."
"It is not nothing if someone has been abusive," Erik insists.
"What happened?" Christine asks, keeping her hands to herself, but staring at him in such a way that he must acknowledge her.
"Is that a bruise under your eye?" Erik tips the boy's chin, gently moving his head back and forth, looking for any other marks.
"I ran into a piece of scenery."
"Gustave, do not lie to your mother and do not lie to me," Erik growls. "What happened?" The rage rising inside of him is frightening – he has not had such a reaction since when – so many years. The hate imbedded in him for those who would see only his face. Christine changed that. Here, of all the places in the world for his son to find such rejection was beyond his comprehension, Phantasma was a sanctuary for the odd and misplaced.
Gustave draws back.
The fear in the hazel eyes, strikes a chord – Erik pulls up short…looking to Christine. The gentle, calm in her eyes, soothes him. Controlling his anger, he returns his attention to Gustave. Perching on the arm of the sofa, he places a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Tell me."
"I overheard a couple of kids talking to a chorus girl…about how Maman came here and took you away from Mlle. Meg. You were going to get married, but then the Vicomtesse…" imitating the snotty tone of his attackers. "…came from France with her bastard son and said he...I was your son and now you were going to marry her, not Meg." He jumps up from the sofa, stamping his foot. "Meg tried to kill me. She is crazy. You would not want to marry her – why would you?"
Erik grabs him around his waist, preventing his running away. Sliding down the edge of the settee, he pulls Gustave onto his lap. Christine moves closer to both of them, taking Gustave's hands in hers
"Your mother and I are going to be married. She is the only woman I ever wished to marry. This does not mean others might believe something else. There were many stories being passed around over the years – that I might marry Meg was one of them. Gossip is a dangerous thing and it can cost you dearly. Some of it we can fix, just by living the truth. None of it is worth fighting over. Although I admire you defending your mother's honor."
"You know that Meg is sorry for what happened, do you not?" Christine asks. "She has told you as much and you forgave her."
"I guess," he mumbles. "She was there and told the three of them to shut up, get back to decorating for the shower, and to leave me alone."
"That sounds to me as though she was telling them their stories were false."
"It just reminded me, is all. One of the boys tousled my hair and when I pushed his hand away, I got hit."
"So no fight?"
"He should not have touched me," Gustave says, rubbing the spot on his cheek. "He should not have spoken about either of you in such a way."
"True enough," Christine says, caressing his cheek with her hand, avoiding the bruise and his hair.
"Decorating? Shower?" Erik pauses, narrowing his eyes. "When did you see all these people? You were supposed to be taking your English lessons while we were rehearsing with Maestro Rudolph."
"Um…"
"Where have I heard that before?" Christine asks, taking him by the shoulders. "Um?"
Gustave, looks down and away.
"What have you been up to?" There is a twinkle in her eye as she looks up at Erik, her mouth struggles to maintain a firm line, no grins.
"I am not supposed to tell – it is a secret."
"Something you are obviously not good at keeping," Christine, lifts his chin so he is facing her.
"Do not make me tell," he pleads. "Papa Y, please, I promised and it is wrong to break a promise."
Erik quirks an eyebrow at Christine. "What do you think? I should not like our son be considered someone who goes back on his word."
"No more fighting?"
"No, ma'am, I swear."
"No more secrets," Erik grunts.
"Yes, sir, no fighting or secrets." Relief is painted on the boy's round face. "May I go to bed now?"
"Wash your face really well," Erik says. "There is a jar that says "arnica" on it. Rub that on that bruise and any other you may find, but only if there is no open wound – otherwise, just make certain the area is clean."
"Yes, Papa Y." Gustave jumps up from the settee and set off for his bedroom, stopping and coming back. "May I take the rest of my Black Cow to my room?"
Christine rolls her eyes. "Yes, you may have your drink…and a kiss, please."
"I shall speak to both Rudolf and Nadir – the three of us together. I refuse to let our marriage and the beginning of our new life be damaged by ancient religious issues and old gossip," Erik mutters as he guides Christine from the sitting room down the hall to their bedroom.
After a quick look down the hall, noting Gustave's door is ajar, but his lamp out, Erik closes the door behind them. Each goes to their respective armoires to change into their night wear. The frantic tearing off the other's clothing that marked the first months they were together replaced by this more sedate and decidedly unromantic disrobing with the aim of nothing more than sleep. Their pattern since the miscarriage. An undertow of sadness surrounding both of them. A time for comfort. Passion put to one side in favor of simply being held. Then, hopefully, sleep. Blessed nepenthe.
"I hope they will perform a duet, to be honest. Piano and violin – I intimated to Rudolph I believed it would suit the venue and our wishes for both a grand celebration, yet one that was personal, as well," Christine says as she slips into a cream silk charmeuse dressing gown from the armoire in their bedroom, the neckline and sleeves trimmed with ivory Chantilly lace. "It appears the staff are preparing their own celebration for us."
"So it would seem. I am both surprised and happy Meg is involved," he says, kicking off his shoes. Clothed now in only his shirt and drawers, he crosses his arms, leaning against the armoire – admiring the woman who will always be his angel. The time since losing the baby found her losing some weight, but her face matured…as if she could be more beautiful…she wore the grief well, if something like that was possible. Reminiscent of when he first saw her – following the death of her father. Although suffering a deep sorrow, a fierce grace shone from within in her – damning the universe for taking a loved one from her.
"Is this new?" Erik asks.
"For our wedding night – I fancied it when I went to visit Mr. Hammerstein for my audition."
"You were certain, even then?"
"I was certain the first time I heard your voice – truth be told," she confesses, as she raises her arms to pull the pins from her hair, allowing the locks to cascade over her shoulders. "My feelings frightened me so – the idea of wanting a man in such a way. It was easier to pretend you were an angel."
"You knew?" he says, unable to take his eyes from her – the rich fabric molding itself to her form.
"My father spun his stories, but I spent too many days and nights in roadside inns to believe in angels."
"You said this was for our wedding night…"
"A lady can always change her mind," she says, sashaying toward him, looking up at him from under long dark lashes.
Encouraged by her flirtation, he wraps his long arms fold around her, one hand holding her head to his chest, his lips pressed against the chestnut curls, scented with lavender. Her cologne of choice these days since the miscarriage – the fragrance soothing and calming to both of them.
"This has been quite the day." After a moment, he chuckles.
"Whatever do you find amusing?" Her mouth forming a pout. "I attempt to seduce you and you laugh?"
"I was thinking of how peaceful it was living beneath the Palais."
Swatting him in the shoulder, Christine joins in his laughter. "Oh, you were not…were you?"
"Only those times when you came to visit – to sing. Moments of sheer bliss."
"I must say they were happy times in their own way. Not so blissful as we have been here, though," she snuggles closer to him, thrusting her hips against his groin. "I dare say you would prefer more intimacy?"
"Do not feel you must offer yourself to me if you are not ready." Erik holds her at arms' length, cocking his head. "Just having you close is perfection."
"I want to be one with you again. Hold me, tightly as you can. I need the sense of you next to me. The comfort you give, healing me," she says, pushing his arms down and slipping the straps of the gown from her shoulders. "I want that closeness – especially after a day such as this one."
"Are you certain? It is not too soon?"
Taking his hand, she presses it to her breast. "Is this too soon for you?"
His breath hitches as he shakes his head. "No. I would say this is perfect." As he scoops her into his arms, the negligee falls to the floor. Noticing, he stops.
"Leave it, I shall have no need for a gown tonight."
