They parted that morning after coffee together in the place over the road.
Erik was amused to notice that Madame-of-the-café was now treating Nadir like a potential son-in-law, enquiring as to his well being, giving him extra jam and pushing her silent doleful daughter, who was ever present, ever watchful, towards them to serve their coffee, and regarding Erik as if he was unwanted intruder. For once, even that amused him.
Their goodbye was marked by a lingering touch of their hands outside in the street – Erik was possessed by a sudden urge to reach up and kiss Nadir passionately on the mouth – but he managed to restrain himself for the sake of propriety - and to avoid being arrested. They had quietly agreed that Nadir would come to Erik's apartment again this evening, but a little earlier - the café was full, they kept their voices low, no one would hear - and that maybe they would eat together, maybe they would walk for a while, maybe they would do all kinds of other things, maybe, maybe. And the possibilities seemed sweet and ripe and endless, a full summer's day in the middle of winter.
As they walked away from each other, Erik felt a strange pride that Nadir still knew nothing of Rafael and perhaps he never would and the shame of it, and that his messy weeping heart had not, by accident, divulged this one particularly awful secret.
Walking to the practice the anticipation of the coming moment of his destruction became an exquisite tension; his hands were tight fists, his shoulders rigid, jaw clenched. Rafael hung over him like Damocles' sword, held aloft on a single hair above his head, waiting to fall, a terrible ripeness.
During the day, at his drawing board, Erik buried his heart and mind in the work. He worked in a fierce silence, Paul having long since given up on interrupting him, and during a meeting with a contractor – not Aurand – he spoke quickly and the instructions he gave to the man were torrential in their intensity. He noticed Giradin looking at him quizzically and after the contractor left, he asked Erik to remain in his office.
"Are you alright? You seem more wound up than ever, Erik." He sat down at his desk, leaned back and put his hands behind his head. "I think he struggled to follow you."
Erik was not alright. "He should have concentrated." He placed his hand on the door-handle as if to leave.
"Wait. Stay here a minute. Is there anything I can help you with? I've noticed that you've been particularly silent recently, or particularly - frenetic. Nothing in between."
Erik stared at him. "I am alright. There is nothing you can help me with."
"Are you sure? You'll find me a very open-minded man." Erik almost laughed.
"Thank you, David. I am amused that you think I have a problem of such a nature that would necessitate you being very open-minded in order to help me. Can I leave now? I have work to do."
Giradin sighed and leaned forward. "You need to stop menacing the contractors. And I heard about yesterday with Marcourt. He is a good foreman. It is one thing to be efficient and confident. It is quite another to offend people. We go on reputation and your reputation now precedes you – for good and bad. I don't want you to piss everyone off with your, your – you-ness. I want them to know you for the excellent practitioner that you are. But I shall have to keep you from site visits if this continues."
Erik looked down at the floor. He felt his ears go red in embarrassment and a bead of sweat loosed itself and ran down his back. He wanted very badly to run home. "But I told him it was going well."
"Quite possibly, but it's not what you say, it is the way you say it. Have you ever thought of that?"
Erik said nothing.
Giradin sighed again. "Listen. My door is always open to you, Erik. My wife – and I – would love to have you to dinner. One evening. I have told her a lot about you. She is intrigued by you."
Erik gave him a sideways look. "I would like to leave." He was unsure whether he meant the room, his work, or his entire life. He opened the door, and mustered up all his civility, "but thank you. For the invitation."
"Very well."
Erik endured another two hours at the practice and left with the rest of them at five o'clock. By this time, the tension he had felt all day had grown into a full-grown dread, mixed with high anticipation at the prospect of spending all evening – and maybe all night? – with Nadir. There was still nothing from Rafael. The sword still hung above his head. Dear god, he had to get home to the needle to kill this excess of awful feeling.
Back in his room, thanks to the exertion of the journey home, a vein was mercifully easy to find, and afterwards he set about preparing the place for Nadir's arrival with something approaching pleasure; he was able to eat the remaining apple and the last of the cheese, and lit all the lamps and the candles, and made a beautiful fire in the stove – the cost of the wood be damned. And when he had finished his preparations, he sat on his desk to wait, feet on the chair and plucked his violin as if it were a small guitar, and sang a little song to himself, very quietly.
Nadir did not arrive at seven o'clock, as he had said he would.
Eight came and went, and nine, and there was still no sign of Nadir.
At a quarter past nine, Erik put on the mask and went and stood outside on the steps of the building, in his shirt sleeves, in the gentle snow, and watched the quiet street. No one was there and the silence of the place only accentuated Nadir's absence.
But Monsieur Hervé was there, as ever. "Are you waiting for your friend?"
Christ almighty, was he always so obvious? "No. I came down for air."
He turned and went back inside. As he reached his room, he let himself have the terrible realisation; that Rafael's threat to destroy him would mean first destroying Nadir.
He shut the door behind him and leant up against it, finding himself fighting for breath. He tore off the mask, but then covered his face with his hands, almost as if to prevent himself from seeing what he so clearly saw in his heart; that this morning's predictions of doom were all correct and that he was about to lose everything. His hands moved to his hair and he grasped clumps of it in his fists and pulled, hard, and as he did so he felt a great howl come from his chest. What could he possibly do? Go and find Nadir? Search the streets for him? Stand outside his apartment? Lie on the floor and weep? Kill Rafael? Beg him not to touch Nadir? And surely it was all too late?
He couldn't remain here and simply wait for Nadir not to come, he couldn't. He had to get out of here. He grabbed his coat and hat, and his scarf, grabbed the half-finished bottle of wine from last night and drained it empty down his throat, and then raced around his room putting out all of the lights, thinking grimly to himself that if he had a way with words that this would be some kind of metaphor. He replaced the mask almost as left his room, ricocheted back down the stairs and out into the night.
Erik went north, over the river. It was an especially cold night and there were few people out on the streets other than the strays and the drunks and the truly desperate, and in a rare moment of fellow feeling, he realised that he too was one of them. The rush of the wine gave him great energy and his mind was a whirl with all that might have happened to Nadir, how he could possibly stop Rafael, and above all how utterly foolish he had been not to have murdered Rafael when he'd first thought of it. And beyond that, how he'd brought all this misery upon himself and that this was fate was only something he clearly deserved; at the heart of it, he was the agent of his own destruction.
And yet, all the while there was hope in his heart, and he almost expected to meet Nadir on the road, coming the other way, laughing at him for being in such a ridiculous panic, saying that it was simply because his employer had asked him to stay later; at every corner Erik expected to see him, and at every corner he did not.
He arrived at the Boulevard des Italiens, and then the building where Nadir lived, much sooner than he'd expected. All the windows were dark, curtains drawn. There was no way to tell if Nadir was there sleeping in his bed, entirely unaware of the danger he was in – the danger Erik thought he was in - or if he had already met some terrible fate at the hands of Rafael. Or someone that Rafael had hired. The thought of it made him shudder.
The concierge was still at his post. Erik stood across the street and stared at him. He couldn't possibly try to get access to the apartment through him, the door was locked and he was in no mood to overpower an old man – and what if he did? He couldn't possibly go and beat on the apartment door himself. He thought, wildly, of climbing up to the second floor to look in but the building was austere in its architecture and there were few places he could gain a foothold, and much less do it inconspicuously. And then he realised with a laugh at himself that he could attempt to behave normally like any other man and ask him at the door to take a message up to Nadir.
Erik approached the concierge and asked quietly if he could take a message to Monsieur Khan, who lives on the second floor, and paid him a sou for his time. Soon the man returned.
"Was there any reply?"
"The household are all asleep. I left the note with the maid."
"At this hour? It is not yet eleven!"
The man looked at him, impassively. "You can wait here until they all wake up. Or you can come back tomorrow. They are asleep. Nothing for you." He went back to his little booth and shut the window.
Erik stood in the snow that was falling heavily now. Would he wait here all night? He had no way of knowing what had happened to Nadir and the absence of knowledge felt like an endless black void in his soul. He had no way of knowing for certain what Rafael was doing; all his thoughts on the matter were pure conjecture. Both of them – Nadir and Rafael – exacting this torment upon him purely by their silent absence.
He turned up the collar of his coat against the snow and began the long walk home through the dark streets. He reflected, with revolting self-pity, that much of his life had been characterised by the absence of others. The absence of his mother throughout much of his childhood – absences that were punctuated by her frightening outbursts of anger and grief whenever she seemed to remember his presence in the house; the absence of his father, spoken of by his mother in only the most reverent of terms, who was, according to her, the exact opposite of everything Erik was; when he was with the man in the fair, the absence – the absence of absolutely everything really; and then with Guizot – he had given Erik so much, given him his life, and yet had remained a closed book to Erik, a stone of a man, the absence of feeling.
By the time he arrived home he was a mood that was as black as ever his moods could be. He went straight for the needle and the bottle of morphine. How he hated that the only answer he now had was to be found here, in this way. What would normal men do in such a situation? What would Nadir do? Not this, for certain, he was better than this. He had only used it once before to lose himself and that had almost ended in disaster, although an end such as that would not seem too disastrous this evening. Usually he took just enough to keep away the sickness, to enable himself to work and function normally, but this evening would be different.
So, he got into bed, prepared the syringe and found a vein, pushed the needle in and soon the world became soft, his thoughts hazy and there was a vague idea that it would be a wonderful thing to stay here, curled up and numb like this, for the rest of his life.
Erik arrived late at the practice the following morning.
There was still no word or sign from either Nadir or Rafael, and he had again used too much morphine to mask the panic and misery that he felt immediately upon waking. He took a cab to the practice and within twenty minutes of arriving, Giradin had called him into his office.
"Erik, sit down."
Erik flopped into the chair in front of Giradin's desk.
"What is the matter with you? You look like you've been dragged from a ditch."
"Nothing. I'm tired."
"Have you been home since you left here last night? You seem to be wearing the same clothes as yesterday."
He looked down at himself. "Oh. Do I?"
"I asked you yesterday if I can help you. Now I am demanding to know what is going on. Why are you in this state? It's getting worse. You're getting worse."
Erik wrapped his arms about his chest, in less a gesture of sulking, more as if to hug himself. He felt utterly miserable. "I can't tell you." He shut his eyes.
"Why not? So there is something?"
"It's none of your business."
"It is my business when it leaves you – behaving like this - here. You should go home today, sort yourself out and come back tomorrow when you're - you're feeling better."
Erik looked up Giradin. A sudden panic seized him. "Please don't make me go home. I don't think – I don't think – it would be helpful. Please let me stay here – I'll – I'm - " Don't cry. He knew with certainty that going home and being left so alone would only mean more morphine, more wine, and the descent into a pit from which he would possibly never escape.
"What's happening to you Erik?"
Erik looked down and said nothing.
Giradin considered him. "All right. I expect you're good at this, keeping things a secret, and that I won't win here. Go and wash yourself. Get yourself something to eat. And do not come here like this again."
Erik left the room in silence, full of shame. He washed himself, he could not eat immediately, but at midday went and found a buckwheat crepe from a food seller in the street and forced himself to eat it, hiding in the storage room in the basement with the door locked. Again, his ability to work, to forget, at least for a while, seemed to Erik a minor blessing in the midst of all this. There was still no word from Nadir.
He resolved to go again to Nadir's apartment after he'd finished work. This time the household would be awake, and this time he would get a reply and this time he would speak with Nadir. It would all be alright. He knew it. This time he took a cab in his impatience. What could possibly have happened to him? He hoped against hope that this was simply an oversight, that Nadir had been unable to get away from the demands of his employer. But surely nothing was so overwhelming such that he was not able to get a single word to Erik? Maybe Nadir was ill and although that thought seemed appalling but better than the idea that he'd simply forgotten about Erik - or something worse.
The bored concierge was at his post. "It's you again. The gentleman you were asking about last night left here this morning. With all his belongings."
Erik could hardly believe what he was hearing. "Did he leave a forwarding address?"
"Nothing. It all seemed very – quick – if you gather my meaning."
Erik did not gather any meaning. "Did he leave any - any personal messages?"
The concierge chuckled and then winked at him. "Nothing for you!"
Erik felt as if the thin ice beneath his feet had started to crack. He could almost see the cracks spread out from under his feet and that at any moment he would be subsumed by icy black water. He stumbled to the waiting cab and instructed the driver to return to Montparnasse. Nadir had gone without leaving any word for him?
His thoughts flew to Rafael. How much had Rafael paid him to do this? To reel him and then cast him out? His breathing grew faster and faster and he thought almost with a laugh that maybe he would die in here and he fought the intense nausea he knew so well that came with fear and panic. Nadir had left him without a word because of Rafael. It was a betrayal too huge and too monstrous to contemplate fully.
Finally, he arrived home. On his way in, Monsieur Hervé handed him a heavy parcel – nothing from Nadir. Erik knew it was a beautiful book of architectural illustrations that he'd been waiting to arrive for several weeks. Ordinarily he would have raced to his room and devoured it immediately, but now – but now the act of being handed something so optimistic and hopeful and lovely seemed completely at odds with how he was feeling.
He found himself standing in the centre of his room, in the dark, still dressed in his outdoor clothes, the package tucked under his arm, and wondering what he could possibly do now. He felt completely lost.
This is what it was then, to be destroyed – not directly, not with a fight, nothing physical, or a murder, but the removal of the one person who was maybe to have given him a chance at life. And what made it all so much worse was that Nadir was the one to exact Rafael's destruction; they were both in on it together. It was a complete betrayal. He had left him without a word. No fanfare, no shouting, the quiet loss, the slipping away – that was what hurt most of all. He'd had no chance to beg him to stay. And he would have begged, on the floor, like a dog.
To be destroyed, it seemed, was to be left alone with himself, holding the tatters of a love that was spun out of lies
The cracks in the ice beneath his feet opened up and he felt himself falling into the blackness. He would return, then, to the needle and lose his dreadful churning mind to morphine and be subsumed in the dark waters of unconsciousness. Erik found a lamp on his desk and lit it. It was freezing in his room without the fire, but he took off his coat and hat. He was sweating despite the cold. Fuck Nadir. Fuck Rafael. Fuck them all.
He got into his bed with the needle and the morphine and fucked himself up.
"Erik! Erik! Let me in!" The door to his room rattled vigorously.
Erik slowly shifted himself in the bed to turn away from the door. He listened with little interest to the noise outside.
And then; "Erik! Open the door. It is me, Nadir!"
Is it? I think not.
He lay there, listening vaguely; the voice, the ghost of Nadir, was a morphine-dream, nothing more.
"Erik are you in there? I know you are!" More rattling. "Wake up, you – "
Surely this voice was a dream?
"Erik! I know you are in there! Open the door!"
It wasn't a dream? He struggled to sit up, not really sure where he was in the bed. The lamp was still burning. He put his bare feet to the floor and felt intensely light-headed. How long had it been since he took the dose? Not long at all. He wasn't sure if he could walk, even less if he cared to walk. His eyes fell shut.
"I'm coming." His voice was a croak.
The rattling stopped.
He got to his feet unsteadily and then almost fell across the room to the door. Oh. The mask. He couldn't keep his eyes open. "Wait there. A minute. I'm still – "
"I'm waiting."
He stumbled back to the bed, sat down and found the mask and tied it on. He wasn't sure if he could be bothered to get up again. His eyes fell shut again.
"Erik! What are you doing?"
He came to with a gasp and then managed to make it back to the door, just about, and leaning heavily on the wall next to it, slid open the bolt, unlocked the door and opened it.
There was Nadir; huge and beautiful and grand, stood right there.
Needing the wall to remain upright, hand still on the door, Erik smiled, stupidly. "Oh. It's you. Hello." His eyes shut and his head fell against the wall.
Nadir pushed the door open out of Erik's hand and strode in. "Get back into your bed, Erik. I can't speak to you now. When you are like this."
"What? I've been asleep – ah - you woke - me up."
Nadir shoved Erik back onto the bed. Erik was unable to resist him. It felt so good to be horizontal again. His eyes shut. He mumbled into the mattress, "I'm so glad you've come back."
He heard something like a curse from Nadir, and then nothing more.
Morphine was a powerful and insistent master and when he was in the blood in such a great quantity as he was now, there was nothing that could be done to resist his pull back to sleep and so within seconds, Erik was lost again to the world.
Erik awoke in a silent room. He sat up, feeling almost normal. "Nadir? Are you there?"
Had he dreamt his return? He peered into the gloom, the only lamp was the one he'd lit hours ago. He wrapped himself in a blanket from his bed, took off the mask and went with the lamp from his desk to the other end of the room. But Nadir wasn't there, waiting for him, in the dark. Of course he wasn't. There was nothing to suggest he had ever been.
He was being haunted by images of his own longing. He put the lamp down and slumped onto the small sofa and sat in the half-light. What a fool he was, a desperate pathetic fool. What had made him think that a man such as Nadir would ever want to be with him? That wonderful night they had spent together had been all out of pity, nothing more; how much worse it was to find that it was in fact a game that he and Rafael were playing together.
Erik sat motionless for several minutes, still calmed by morphine, his breathing slow. He refused to cry for himself. And what would life be like now, without Nadir? And knowing as he did now that all of that sweetness, all of those soft things he had felt, and heard from Nadir's lips, were all a lie. A joke even, at his expense. He could hardly bear to think of the bitterness of it. A great black nothingness stretched out in front of him.
And then he heard a key in his door. A key in his door! He turned to look at it in astonishment. No one had a key to his door. And the door was unbolted! Erik stood up, dropping the blanket from his shoulders. Who the fuck was letting themselves in?
It swung open and there was Nadir, face dark, lit from behind by the dim light in the corridor. They stood in silence for a long moment staring at each other. Erik held his breath with amazement and relief.
They both spoke at once.
"I didn't dream you - !"
"What have you done - ?"
Nadir shut the door behind him. His movements were slow and deliberate. He looked tired. "Erik you need to tell me what you have done."
"What do you mean? Why are you here? How did you get in? I thought you and Rafael – "
"Who is Rafael?"
Erik shook his head a little, "what?"
"Light another lamp. And then I want you to tell me what you have done, Erik." His voice was cold.
"I – I haven't done anything! I thought – I thought you had gone! I went to your apartment. He told me you had left with all your belongings and that there was no message for me and I thought you and Rafael - "
"Stop talking. I do not want to listen to this. It is not about you." Nadir went to the sofa and sat down. "Find another lamp and light it. I am not going to talk to you in the dark." An icy rage rolled off him in waves.
"Why are you speaking to me like I'm a child?"
Nadir did not reply. He sat with his back straight, motionless, eyes cast down.
Erik went about the room and found two lamps and lit them, and said angrily, "is that enough light for you to talk?" He sat at his desk. Any relief he felt that Nadir had returned had been quashed by Nadir's coldness and it made him confused and anxious.
Nadir looked up at him. He spoke with a cold fury. "I want you, Erik, to tell me why I had a visit from the Sûreté yesterday. I am accused of gross indecency. In the Champs Elysée. With you. And they said this in front of Mazanderani." His fists were tight balls on his knees.
Erik laughed in shock and then covered his mouth with his hands. I will destroy you.
"Do not laugh! Do you realise what has happened? He has ceased my employment. He will not have me live there. The police believe it was a false accusation. Because it was! They will be talking to you tomorrow. But he would not have it. He would not be tainted by my presence in his household. I warned you, Erik!"
Erik was still struggling not to laugh in horror, "I thought that you and he had conspired - when you didn't come – but I never imagined this!"
"They know your name, Erik. They know who you are. I want to know why this has happened. Why one of - your associates – who you know – did this. Made this accusation."
Erik jumped up. "Associates? I don't have any - other than Rafael! It was him!"
"Who is this Rafael?"
Erik began to pace the room,
"Nadir, it is too awful – he was my – "
"He was your lover? Tell me, Erik, what did you do to him? To have brought this upon me?" Nadir spoke loudly and stood up, "Stop pacing! Now! Remember that you are not the one who has lost everything. What have you done?"
He stopped and looked at him, "I – he was – Oh Nadir, I can hardly bear to say it –"
"Tell me – "
" - I exposed him, for what he is – in front of his friends – in public. When he did not want to be exposed. In that way. And then – " Erik covered his face with his hands, " – and then I took off the mask in front of them all – to make it worse for him – "
Nadir looked at him incredulously. "But why - ?"
Erik laughed, "- why did they deserve to see my face?"
" - did you expose him? And yourself! Why did you do that? Should I expect you to do that to me?"
Erik was horrified. "No! Rafael – he was, he was – " What could he possibly say about what Rafael did that didn't sound ridiculous? He did not have the words to explain what Rafael had done to him and much less the ability to share the shame of it. "Nadir, he was – he was unpleasant to me. I wanted to – make him upset – I had no idea he would do this!"
"What? Unpleasant? If I am unpleasant, will you do the same to me? Shame me? In public?"
"No – Nadir – no! I can't believe he has done such a thing to you! He is a terrible man! He sent me a note, the other day – saying he would 'destroy me'. And I knew it was in revenge for what I did to him. Oh, I hoped that I could keep this from you – it is disgusting – "
"But you did not and now he has found his vengeance through me! You are right. It is disgusting. It all disgusts me. This is – you are – "
Erik gasped. He disgusted Nadir. He felt his heart close up. He stood to his full height, suddenly calm, "Ah, it is not what you thought life in Paris would be, is it? To be associated with vengeful – disgusting - pederasts? To be humiliated in front of your employer for what you are? What am I to you? A secret little perversion until you find yourself a nice wife? What are you even doing here, Nadir? With me? If what I am so disgusts you?"
Nadir stared at him. "What am I doing with you Erik? That is a very good question - one I have asked myself many times over the past two days. And then when I arrived here this evening, I find you – unable to stand - because you were so drugged – so I cannot even tell you what has happened to me – the humiliation that you caused me. And I thought to myself 'who is this man?' Who has brought such destruction into my life? No. It is not what I thought Paris would be. You live – like this, in this way – and I have lost everything because of my – association - with you. In the most shameful of ways. Because of you. No, Erik. I do not know what I am doing here with you."
At his words Erik felt with great clarity that their situation was becoming irredeemable, and that he was at a point in his life that was so pivotal that the decision he made now, in this moment, could change the course of everything to come. Whether it was the morphine that allowed him this clarity or some vestige of emotional self-preservation, he would never be sure. And he knew then that if he made the wrong choice now that within seconds Nadir would leave his room and his life forever.
And so he realised that perhaps, for once in his life, he held the power to make things better and not infinitely worse. He resisted the almost overwhelming urge to fight back with the cruel words and the self-pity that filled him to the brim. He drew in a deep breath and said, as much to himself as to Nadir, "do not say anything else."
Nadir stepped closer. "Why not? Because you do not want to hear the truth of it? About yourself?"
Erik wondered if Nadir might punch him, even hoped he would. He clung on to his self-control. "Because this is how Rafael is carrying out his threat to destroy me. How he will destroy us."
"Us? He has already destroyed me, Erik."
Erik felt a sudden rush of pity for Nadir, despite his anger, despite his harsh words and his shame. He wanted to fall on the floor and beg forgiveness, beg him to stay. "I am immensely sorry for what he has done to you. That he humiliated you like that. It mortifies me – to my soul - that you have been caught up with him. And because of me! And how disgusting I am – but this is how he planned to destroy me. Through you – your humiliation and your rightful anger – can you not see?" He moved towards him. "I thought you had left me – because of him, that he had put you up to it – and I wanted to die, Nadir! I cannot bear the thought of you – leaving – and he knows it! He thought doing this to you would make you leave me. And now maybe you will!" He felt tears come and he pressed the heels of his hands hard against his eyes to try to stop them. "Oh, please forgive me Nadir – please don't leave!"
Erik heard him sit down. He took his hands from his eyes and saw that Nadir looked even more exhausted than before.
In a rush of emotion Erik knelt before him. He could feel the sob in throat. He looked up at Nadir. "It could be all right, Nadir, it could be – there are others like us – who live here, in this very building! And there is no scandal for them, they are known, but they live together. And - it is alright – we would be respectable! Please don't be disgusted by it – by us. And I could – I could stop with the morphine – for you – or I would try to – or I would take it so that - so that you didn't know – and I will work – even if I lose my employment – I can do all kinds of things Nadir, I can – I will play my violin on the street – we could be together – despite everything – or we could go away for little while – to Guizot – he knows about me - I just can't bear for you to leave - " He was overcome and wept onto Nadir's knees.
Nadir let him weep and after a short while gently pushed Erik away. He spoke softly. "You are living in a fairytale Erik. How would we live? What would I do?"
"I will work enough for both of us – " He gave a kind of sobbing laugh, sat back on his heels and spread his arms wide, " – you could be my – wife!"
Nadir sank back into the sofa and drew his hand over his face. "My God. This is exhausting. You are exhausting." He gave a little laugh and looked down at Erik through half-closed eyes. "Erik, I am not disgusted by you. I am sorry – that I said that. It was unnecessary. It has all been a terrible shock. To be thrown out of my home like this. I came here because I wanted to – to be with you." He sat up and reached forward and took Erik's face in the palm of his hand. "What was done to you?"
Erik sagged a little. "By whom?"
"By him of course! Enough to make you do what you did! What did he do to you?"
Erik turned so that his mouth was covered by Nadir's hand. "Don't make me say it – "
"I want to know. It is important for me to understand this - this chaos. You need to start being honest with me."
Erik took Nadir's hand from his face. He bowed his head and looked to one side, covering his face with his hands. "He. He – I would drink too much – he would take advantage of me – I hated him for it – but I kept going back - oh, it was my own stupid fault. All of it is."
"Ah, I see." Nadir paused. "And that morning I came here and brought you a brioche. Was that to do with him?"
Erik said nothing. He was drenched in shame so that his chest hurt and his dreadful face was hot.
"You were crying."
He put his hands down. "I'm always fucking crying Nadir. But yes. It was after I did - what I did. To him." And then, in a whisper, "I think you saved me."
Then Nadir fell on his knees in front of Erik and embraced him so tightly that Erik thought they might both topple over, and then he kissed Erik over and over and Erik brought his arms up to return the embrace.
And in between the kissing, Nadir spoke. "Erik - what have you - done to me - you are a terrible - chaos-machine - of a man – you made me so angry – so I wanted - to kill you - yet – and yet – I cannot – bear – to be – parted from you – "
He reached Erik's mouth and Erik returned his kiss as passionately as ever he could, and Nadir's hands were suddenly everywhere, under his shirt and around his backside, and in his trousers and then Nadir stood and pulled Erik to his feet and held his face close to his, "you are a terrible man – a terrible one – you will be - the death – of me – "
And Erik gave him a little smile and reached down to Nadir's belt and started to undo it. He knew that there would be nothing to done for him, not this evening, but he was taken with a sudden need to give Nadir, something, anything, he had.
He palmed the front of Nadir's trousers and felt him, ready and firm, and with his other hand he reached down to cup Nadir's buttocks hard, pulling him closer, all the while Nadir kissed his mouth and his face and his neck, making the most exquisite noises.
He gently tugged Nadir by the belt over to the bed, "come, come, I want to – do those unspeakable things," and pushed him down with a laugh.
Erik sat on his lap, knees either side of his hips, hands around the back of his head, and kissed him deeply, enjoying, for once, the need to bend his neck down to reach his mouth.
Nadir, smiling through the kisses, placed his big hands on Erik's waist under his shirt and up his back, moaned from the pressure of Erik's hips so firmly against body, full and ripe as it was.
And then they tumbled backwards onto the bed and together they removed Nadir's trousers, and he sprang forth in a way that thrilled Erik just to see.
"Goodness, Nadir!"
Nadir laughed, reached up and pulled him into another kiss while Erik, extended himself along the length of Nadir's glorious body, reached down and took hold of his length, firmly and began to pull it rhythmically and hard. He broke away from Nadir's mouth and whispered "you, Nadir, are an ecstasy of a man, good god, look at you, I want to crawl along your body, lick you – "
And Nadir thrust deeply into Erik's hand, while Erik bent down again and sucked his tongue, as hard he could – and then a keening sound from Nadir and he felt the pulsing of his come, and over his hand, and he closed his fist tight along the entirety of it, and held him while he finished, and then he was suddenly pulled back down to Nadir's mouth and his head was held down in a fierce kiss that seemed more a way of devouring than of an expression of love.
Finally they parted, with a gasp.
"Fuck me, Erik – " Nadir's eyes were glazed with the pleasure of it.
"I think I just did."
Afterwards they lay awake for many hours in each other's arms and talked and talked and resolved to leave that very next day and travel north and then to the west, to Guizot's house on the coast. And they would escape.
They went in the early morning, when the sun had not quite risen, to the horse fair, just to the east of where Erik lived. It was a wild place.
Erik approached one of the horse dealers. He knew from their shouts that they were from Normandy and so he spoke to the man in their shared dialect. At hearing him speak, the dealer treated Erik with amusement as if he were a long-lost, but exceptionally strange, brother. Despite this unexpected camaraderie, he felt deeply uneasy in his presence and was reminded very much of the men who had run the travelling fair of his youth. Eventually, after much haggling and debate, he came away with two big geldings that he led on a rope. There was a saddle-maker who pitched up at the horse fair every day and so he led the horses to him and bought bridles and saddles and blankets for each of them. And Nadir came down from the embankment above the fair and Erik walked towards him smiling, leading a horse in each hand, and asked him which one he would like to ride, as if he were giving him a great gift.
And they had ridden back to his apartment and retrieved a few of the things they had to take with them, including, to Nadir's amusement, Erik's violin ("it will get so wet!"), and made a generous arrangement with M. Hervé to keep Erik's room unoccupied for six months.
They rode over the river, to Giradin's practice. As they arrived at the steps outside, Giradin himself came to meet them outside on the street, evidently having seen them arrive from his office window.
He seemed excited. "Erik – there is a man from the Sûreté in there! Wanting to speak to you! He – " he said, pointing at Nadir, "is the problem, I presume? The one you couldn't tell me about yesterday? Shit - he is Mazanderani's translator!" He laughed. "Jesus Christ, Erik. You don't make it easy for yourself, do you?"
"He's not anymore. Do you know why the policeman is there?"
"Oh yes – I do! And I know why you're on a bloody horse with your bags packed. But do you really need to leave?"
"My problem is not – him – " Erik cocked his head at Nadir, "but the person who has made the unfounded accusation. He will not stop at me. He will try to bring you down too if I remain here. It is better for me to leave. Let it take its course."
"Who is this accuser?"
"Someone who wants revenge."
"Good god. Will you come back?"
"Perhaps. I am sorry to leave like this, David. Thank you. For all the things you – "
Giradin smiled broadly at him. "Go on. Be off with you both!"
And they continued on, to the north of the city, paying a much-needed visit to a pharmacy, for morphine and castor oil (which earned Erik a lecture on the perils of morphine use that was so long and detailed that he rolled his eyes at the pharmacist and walked out before he'd finished talking), and then a stop at a market for Nadir to buy them both some provisions for the journey, before they finally came to the open countryside and their freedom.
Notes
I had no idea where you could buy horses in Paris in 1852. Was there a horse shop? Turns out there was an entire horse-market, just up the road from where I imagine Erik to have been living. I know nothing more about horse-buying in Paris so I made the rest of it up. Apart from the horse-dealers being from Normandy - according to Graham Robb's book The Discovery of France, that's where they came from.
Here is a picture of the horse-fair of Paris, painted in about 1851 by a remarkable woman called Rosa Bonheur.
And all of the following is from a lovely book called Strangers: Homosexual Love in the Nineteenth Century also by Graham Robb
'In France, the revolutionary Code Pénal decriminalized sexual relations between men by deliberately omitting any reference to them. This reform was incorporated into the Code Civil of 1804…' but 'pederasts' were still prosecuted under laws to do with public indecency, corruption of the young and vagrancy. There were mass rounds up of people having sex in public places, (the Champs Elysees was the place to go if you wanted the thrill of outdoor sex in the bushes) but their prosecution was not to do with their sexuality.
The police did seem also very concerned about dealing with blackmailers and paedophiles. However, 'many prosecutions in France were the result, not of direct police action, but of specific complaints: from members of the public who heard unseemly noises coming from public urinals, or from other homosexuals who used the law as a convenient means of revenge. The files of the Préfecture de Police show that many lovers' quarrels ended with an anonymous letter to the vice squad.'