Chapter XI.

Those three days were the worst ones Christine had to face during their marriage – or so she thought. Erik was lying in bed motionlessly and mostly un- or half conscious. He did not recognize anyone who stepped beside his bed, and Doctor Bonsanté shook his head too often when he was examining him. His eyes, when opened, had a glassy shine, he was sweating and some rash appeared on him. It made things even worse that Christine was always sent out of the room when the doctor came to see Erik, and she never knew what exactly he was doing to her husband. Christine was half mad with worry and sadness, even though she had to compose herself so that Mahtab did not have to see how big the trouble was. This illness was even more serious than the one she succeeded in curing him out of, yet under the Opera. Yes, he slept a lot, but he always reacted when being called, and he understood what she was saying. Yes, he was extremely weak, but he at least could move a bit, even if with help, he was able to walk. She just had to make sure he ate, drank and moved enough and he finally slowly ended up regaining his strength. But now none of these were true. No matter how she tried to talk to him, he didn't even hear his name being called.

She tried to show nothing was wrong to the child, it was a big enough problem in itself that Mahtab would often cry for her Papa. She did not understand why Papa did not show up any more and did not know where he was. She would search for him in her toy box or under her bed, but there was no Papa. Mama tried to tell her that Papa was just sleeping – but it never happened before that Papa slept so much. And Mama was so sad as well. She was smiling, but most of the time she was sad. Once, when the building blocks fell apart while Christine tried to put a piece on the top of the castle with her trembling hand, Christine finally broke out in a sob. She was crying hard. Mahtab just could not understand why did she do it, but she tried to make Mama feel better. She walked closer to her and hugged the crying Christine. The young mother looked at her child who did not even understand, but still showed compassion, and she hugged her tight, softly whispering.

- My sweet, sweet little daughter… I love you…

Christine sure would have gone crazy without the Persian's help. He was so good to them, and took care of Erik so well. He lifted him out of bed and placed him back in, he bathed him in cool water, he put wet sheets over him, he dried his sweaty forehead, he carefully made him drink, and assisted him with whatever he needed and did everything the doctor said. Christine was usually busy with the baby girl, but when Mahtab fell asleep, the worrying and devoted wife went to the bedroom to pray at her husband's bedside. She prayed that Erik would at least regain his consciousness, and finally will get cured. She rarely slept, and when she did, she chose the sofa in the bedroom as her sleeping place. She did not want to sleep in the bed with Erik, as she was afraid that in her sleep she would toss and turn and accidentally hit or kick Erik, causing him to suffer. As the Persian saw the young woman turning pale with sleepiness, he sent her to bed in the guest room one evening and ordered her to stay there until morning. She was too tired to argue, so she did so.

Mohammed- Ismael Khan was surprised to see how much Christine really loved Erik, the monster. He was such a monster sometimes… he looked so helpless now as he looked at him, but he never forgot the sins Erik had committed in Persia, and later, the awful night with the Scorpion and the grasshopper five cellars below the Opera… and he knew what Erik was capable of. He never thought a woman could really love him as he is – and not just because of his face. Yet he had to admit that Erik wasn't the Erik he used to be, even five years ago. He seemed to be much calmer, much more understanding, less self-centered, and more capable of making compromises. Did he finally understand what does it mean to love someone? Christine told him that Erik was a good husband to her, and now he believed her. She would not pray by his bedside so desperately if he was such a monster…

Erik had a strange feeling. There was a dark cloud covering his mind up until this point, but it slowly started to disappear, and take the form of gray fog. And even that fog was fading, and his body wasn't so unbearably hot anymore. He was extremely weak, but he started wandering back into the world he belonged to. Small noises of everyday life were reaching his ears, he recognized the ticking of the small clock on the Louis- Philippe dresser, and even though his eyes were closed, he sensed the small light only one candle could produce, and sometimes he felt someone touching his forehead. Someone was checking his temperature regularly. "Must be Christine…"- He thought. This was his first reasonable thought for 4 days. He wasn't only capable of sensing, he now was able to think as well. His brain slowly started working again. He was not yet strong enough to think for a long time, yet he wasn't really sleeping any more, he was only halfway between being awake and asleep.

He finally took a deep breath and the Daroga, as he leaned closer to him, saw one of the yellow eyes opening. But as soon as Erik opened his left eye, he closed it back instantly and moaned softly.

- The light… - this was the first sentence he said in nearly a week, so his voice was soft and husky due to the fact Erik haven't used it for days.

- Is the candle lighting into your eye? – The Daroga asked, trying to see if Erik was fully conscious or not.

- Yes, it does. – He cleared his throat. As the Daroga got a reply he found satisfying, he blew out the candle and Erik opened his left eye again, and after realizing the light wasn't bothering him anymore, he opened both of his eyes, and he was staring at the Persian.

- How are you feeling? – The man inquired.

- Not well. – Erik gave a reply after thinking things through. – How did you get here? – He changed the subject.

- I came to help you.

- Why? – Erik wondered.

- Because you are ill.

- I know that. That's not what I asked. I am only curious about why are you helping me?

- Because I care about you and like you in a way. – The Persian confessed it.

- And I thought I had high fever. – Erik chuckled softly.

- You must be feeling better if you have the urge to tease me. – The Persian smiled.

- I can't deny it. – He admitted. – But… I am still so tired… and my joints still hurt. A lot.

- Can you move already?

- I don't know, I did not try it yet.

- Try to move your hand, please.

Erik made an attempt to raise up his right hand, but it wasn't successful. He felt pain and he was too weak to do so. He shook his head. As he noticed he was able to move only his fingers, his toes and his head. He asked the Daroga to place a pencil in his hand to check if he could hold something. He could grab and hold the pencil, but could not lift his hand to move it or hand it back to the Daroga, so he was just clinging to it.

- Where is Christine? – He broke the silence between them after a long pause.

- She is asleep. She is a bit tired because of all the worry she experienced in these days.

- Days? – Erik gasped. – How many days?

- Four.

- Have you been… taking care of me… for four days…?

- Yes.

- Totally…?

- Well… yes.

Erik looked down on himself and realized he did not wear the same nightshirt he remembered of. He suspiciously glanced at the Persian.

- Did you… change my nightwear…?

- I had to, you were sweating a lot.

- Did you… undress me? – He looked away in shame.

- Erik, it is not a big deal.

- For you… it isn't. But for Erik, it is.

Erik was so mad and ashamed at the same time. He hated his miserable body for reneging him so badly. He shuddered to the mere thought that he was just helplessly lying in bed and others had to nurse him like a damned infant. He loathed defenselessness, and he also hated the thought to be so much beholden to the Dsroga. The Daroga just undressed and dressed him, and saw him helplessly and… oh, God, naked! He turned bright red to the thought. God… for how long will it continue…? He still can't even lift his damned hand. What is happening to him?

- What is my illness?

- Rheumatic fever.

- Oh, that? Mozart lost his battle with it in two weeks.

- How do you know that?

- I was examining the illnesses and death of famous people, especially musicians, out of scientific interest. And what did the doctor say?

- He didn't say anything for sure yet.

- Am I going to die, Daroga?

- Most likely not anymore. You woke up thankfully.

- Daroga… you told me you liked me. Do you? – Erik asked softly.

- I do. You are my friend.

- Well… as a friend… could Erik ask you a favor?

- Yes, you may ask me anything.

There was a long pause, then Erik finally started talking again.

- Daroga… you have to understand me. I know I may sound selfish… and I should be happy to have a wife and a child at last… but you have to understand… I don't want to become a burden to them. I don't want to be a helpless, bed-ridden corpse in all my remaining life. If my illness is curable, that is good for us. But if it is not… I don't want to go on like this and make Christine suffer with me. I don't want to depend on her or you, I want to take care of myself…. If I don't get well enough to be able to get up and take care of my needs alone, I want to end my life. Or want you to do it for me if I am unable to do so.

- Erik…

- Shut your face. In my study, you have to pull out the lowest drawer from the desk and lift it out. Behind the drawer, on the back of the desk, there is a nail. Press it and it will open a secret drawer. That is where I keep my pistol with some cartridge. Listen to me… I give myself two weeks. If I am not better in two weeks, you get my pistol, load it and return with it here… and you may chose the spot you aim it, I only demand it shall cause instant death.

- Erik…

- But if you are too squeamish, just place the pistol in my hand and I shall pull the trigger.

- Erik…

- You may leave for now, Daroga. I don't need anything, and wish to sleep. Good night. – Erik stated calmly and he closed his eyes again.

As Mohammed- Ismael left the bedroom with shaking hands, he was nervously thinking through what Erik just asked of him. He knew well that Erik did not say it because he was delusional – no, it sounded like Erik, the healthy Erik. Who would think he wishes the time back when Erik lay on the bed without a word? Erik's returned consciousness was even a bigger burden than his coma. It was not only a burden for him, but for Erik too. The Persian knew that Erik will mercilessly count the days until that terrible thing shall happen… he really hoped Erik will be able to move again soon.

When Christine woke up and nervously headed to the bedroom to check on Erik, he was awake again, still holding the pencil the Daroga handed him a few hours earlier. When Christine saw Erik was finally conscious, she happily rushed to his side and exclaimed.

- Erik! My dear husband… you woke up! Oh you woke up! Thank God!

- Christine… - Erik wasn't all that happy about it, especially now that his beloved, but now not really desired wife was constantly screaming into his ear… his head was throbbing anyways…

- I was praying… - she sobbed as she leaned closer, hugging his neck and kissing his cheek.

- I am glad, Christine, but please be more quiet, my head really hurts.

- I am sorry. – She whispered, and kissed his forehead. – But I am so happy…

- Don't kiss me so much, Christine, you may get my illness.

- It is not contagious. – Christine stated, then kissed him once more.

- Good, but please stop, I am not in the mood for that.

- All right, Erik, I am sorry. I don't kiss you if you don1t want me to…

- Not now. – He sighed. – You should be prepared that maybe I won't be here for you to kiss. You have to get used to… missing me.

- What do you mean? You won't die, Erik… no, you won't.

- It depends. But we have a little time yet to find it out. Please take good care of my daughter. – He turned his head away and let out a deep sigh.

Christine saw that Erik wasn't in the mood for talking, so she left him alone. She asked the Daroga if he had talked to Erik yet since he was conscious. She did not understand Erik's last sentence and wanted to clear it up. The Persian hesitated for a time if he should tell the young woman what Erik said, as he knew that Erik sure did not want Christine to know about it… but after some minutes of battling himself, he finally decided that Christine had the right to know about it. As she heard about Erik's plan, she ran back to the bedroom, screaming in horror. The Persian tried to catch her, but he failed.

As Christine reached Erik's bedside and sat down quickly, the man looked at her tiredly.

- What is it, Christine?

- What on Earth are you talking about to Monsieur Khan?

- Monsieur Khan shall receive a kick in his butt if I can ever lift my leg again, for telling you our secret.

- Secret, Erik, you want to throw away your LIFE!

- If a man is in need of help even to eat or drink, do you still call that a LIFE?

- I do! My mother wasn't able to move either, Erik, but my father and I still loved her and we loved to take care of her.

- Christine, I don't want you to take care of me. I don't want to be a ragdoll with a working mind.

- It is just about what you want! And what about me? Don't you ask about what I want? I want my husband!

- Erik can't be your husband if he doesn't get better, Christine. You will stay here, as a woman, alone, with an ugly toddler and an ugly, motionless, bed-ridden, disgusting "husband, you have to serve until he finally turns up his toes- maybe for years. I don't want you to waste your young years taking care of me. And if I cannot work how you two are going to make ends meet?

- Erik, we will work it out…

- No, Christine. I have already decided and thought things through. If I pass away, you are going to get my salary for a year as a widow. After you can give singing lessons until Mahtab grows old enough to be able to stay home alone. And then please return to the Opera. The audience loved you and they are going to forget you… this is not what you deserve. And if you can find a man who accepts Mahtab… please get married again. You are a precious woman and you don't deserve to grow old alone. Don't cry. Your Erik loves you.

- I…. I love you too…

- I know. But please stop crying and now let me rest. We have two weeks to find out what will happen.

Those two weeks passed both so fast and so slow. Slow because Christine had constant stomach ache due to all the worry she had to survive. Every doctor's visit was a nightmare, yet Doctor Bonsanté was positive that Erik got a bit better day by day, Erik was still unable to move. And that is what mattered in Erik's eyes – he wanted to get up. It did not matter to him if his temperature went down to the right level, it did not matter to him if his malaise was slowly disappearing, or that the pain wasn't that bad any more – but he was still too weak to even reach out for something, and it didn't want to get better.

Erik was more and more depressed about his immobility, and its consequences. At first he did not want the Daroga to touch him as he regained his consciousness, he yelled at him to go away when he wanted to bathe him, or tried to fight when he wanted to lift him, but all he could do was to grab the Persian's shirtfront in frustration. Later as the days passed, he became rather quiet and he let everything happen to him apathetically. He did not even try to speak or fight. He did not accept food, no matter if the Daroga or Christine tried to spoon-feed him. He did not protest when the Persian shaved him, as he started to grow a beard on his chin. After the temporary better state of health, he started to relapse quickly due to lack of food.

There was only one day left of the two week interval Erik gave himself, and as the doctor tried to talk to him, he just lay there without a word. He understood everything, just did not care. He did not even take an effort to moan or sigh. But the doctor realized something. Erik moved his leg to change position. He did not seem to notice it, and the doctor did not even want to make a remark. He knew Erik would not believe him, but he told it to the Persian and Christine as he was leaving.

- If he moved his leg, I am sure he can move his hand as well. – The Persian said. – He just doesn't realize it. We have to make him find it out.

- How? – Christine asked.

- We have to make him reach out for something.

- That is a good idea! – She exclaimed. – But what would he reach out for? I don't think he would want to write, so we can't hand him a pen…

- There is something he will want to get, Christine. And I already know what it is.

In the evening, when Erik and Christine stepped in the bedroom, Erik was staring at the clock. They both knew what he was thinking about, but he did not leave them in doubt. As he heard their footsteps he slowly turned his head towards the Persian and softly said:

- It's time, Daroga.

- Erik, no! – Christine gasped and went down on her knees next to the bed.

- Get out of here, Christine, it will be a nasty sight.

- No! – she sobbed, clinging to the sleeve of Erik's nightshirt.

- Daroga… if you please. And take Christine out.

Christine did not want to release Erik's sleeve and buried her face in his pillow. Erik wanted to stroke her hair to calm her, but he knew he couldn't do it.

- Christine, please, leave the room.

- No… I will stay… I will stay…

- Very well. – Erik's tone changed to the irritated one. – If you wish to see it, then stay. I am not changing my mind.

The Daroga hesitated for some time, but after he left. He reappeared in a few minutes with Erik's gun in his right hand.

- I can't do it, Erik. – He whispered.

- You are a policeman. You can shoot. Just aim and pull the trigger, you can do it.

- No. – He shook his head. – You have to do it yourself.

- Well, coward Persian dog… then give it to me. – Erik demanded.

- Take it, if you want it. – The Persian did not move closer. He was close enough for Erik to take the pistol out from him if he reached out his hand, bun did not directly place it in his hand. There was silence ant they could only hear Christine's sobs.

- You are trying my patience! – Erik yelled and grabbed the gun and pulled it out from the Daroga's hand.

Only then he realized what he just did. He was staring at the gun in his hand for some seconds, then slowly bent and stretched his elbow. It worked with only a bearable level of pain. So did his left hand… and his legs. He turned his wrists up and down for a few times and he was astonished… he was able to move.

- I…. I can… I can… - He gasped then took a second look at the pistol. It was suspiciously lightweight, now that he thought about it. – Daroga, this gun is unloaded.

- It is. – The Persian smiled. – I just wanted you to reach out for it.

- How did you know that I could move?

- The doctor said so.

- I knew it too. – Christine lifted up her head. She wasn't even crying.

- Prima Donna! – Erik exclaimed. – How well you can play the desperate widow to be! I BELIEVED you… why didn't you tell em instead of this mini opera, eh?

- Because you wouldn't believe us. – Christine explained. – You would have told us we only wanted to comfort you and wanted to lull you into false hope.

- We wanted you to figure it out yourself. – The Dsroga added.

Erik just speechlessly turned his head, looking at the Persian and Christine in turns, then he burst out in a laughter that at first echoed of amusement, then slowly turned out to be a relieved yet still painful cry. He was crying and laughing at the same time, while Christine was gently stroking his shoulder.

- Erik dear… everything is going to be fine… it will be all right…