Chapter XVII.
There were loud bangs on the door. It was like someone would hit it with fists, and oh Allah, maybe even kicked the front door. The doorbell was ringing constantly. It was eight o clock in the evening, and yet it was still light outside, as usually in early September, it was most certainly too late for a visit. The Persian stood up slowly from his chair and walked to the door to see who that impatient and late guest might be.
- Open this damned door you deaf old cop! – He did not even have to answer the door now to know who it was- of course, Erik.
- Can't you wait in peace? – He scolded his troublesome friend, but he was very astonished and shocked as he was simply dragged outside, held by his arm. – Erik, are you crazy? – He gasped. – I am not even dressed properly!
The Daroga was only wearing shirt sleeves and slippers at home, and that was not the right outfit to wear for the streets…
- I don't even care if you come as your Allah created you, you MUST come with me right now!
- What is your problem? – The Persian asked with surprise.
- Christine… Christine… - Erik wheezed, dragging the Daroga to a cab and pushed him in.
- Is it time? – His eyes widened.
- Yes! – Erik jumped inside as well.
- But it wasn't supposed to happen until next month…
- I know well….! It is my fault…. All my fault…! – Erik sobbed in his hands as the carriage left with them.
- Why?
- I…. I upset Christine…
- Oh… - the Daroga bit his lip.
He found it a better idea not to bother Erik until he talks again, so they arrived to Erik's home in complete silence, only Erik's sobs were heard as they finally got in. Shadow ran to greet Erik, but he wasn't in the best mood, and most certainly not in the mood for cuddling, so he shouted at the dog:
- Out of my house you filthy animal!
Shadow obeyingly ran out and Erik kicked the door closed behind him.
- Erik, did you call the midwife yet? – The Daroga inquired with concern.
- I did. – Erik nodded. – They are in the bedroom…
- Where is Mahtab?
- In the music room… still… or not… I don't know. But she is afraid of me… she must be…
- Erik, tell me what happened… - The Daroga inquired patiently as they sat down in the salon. – It would help you calm down as well.
- Mahtab misbehaved… I got enraged… I spanked her… Christine got upset… and… everything just happened!
- Erik, it is not a right thing to spank Mahtab, but it is not at all sure that Christine started giving birth because of this.
- Daroga… she called me a monster… and that's what I am… really… I don't think I deserve a family… children… I treat them unkindly…
- Erik, please stop it. You can be a monster if you want to, but one thing is sure: you are a surprisingly good father to Mahtab.
- Am I…? – He asked on a high – pitched, childlike voice, insecurely bracing himself with his arms, rocking back and forth on the couch.
- Yes you are. If it makes you feel better, I tell you: even I slapped or spanked my son sometimes if he deserved it.
- Really?
- Yes, Erik, it doesn't make you a bad father. You treat her kindly, you accepted her with even a face like that, you did not hurt her yet and I don't think you ever will again. You love that child, Erik, and that is the important thing.
- I do. – He nodded slowly. – I love her.
- I know. And you will love your second child just as much. I am here with you, Erik, and won't leave your side, please try to calm and relax a bit.
- I am afraid it will take hours again… long hours.
- It can happen. – The Persian nodded.
- How long did it take to have your son, Daroga?
- About 6 hours. – He smiled sadly.
- Daroga… I know that a parent should not pick the baby's gender… the only thing that matters is that it will be HEALTHY… and that's what Erik is praying for the most as well… but you know… Erik would so like to have a boy now. Is that wrong?
- Not at all. That's what I wanted as well in the first place. A son.
- Would you pray for Erik to have a son? He is too busy praying for it will be born with a normal face. Please…
- Don't worry Erik, I will.
Not much time after, Mahtab showed up in the salon, walking to Erik and climbed up on his lap just as nothing has happened between them earlier. Erik was surprised to see that the girl did not cry anymore and she did not seem to be mad or scared. She hugged his neck and lay her small skull- head against her Papa's chest, then softly whispered:
- Ssssh Papa, it is all right.
It was a strange thing how mature Mahtab did act compared to her very young age sometimes. She would always notice if her parents were scared of something and she tried to comfort them as Christine or Erik would comfort her. Erik pulled her head closer and kissed the girl's forehead and softly whispered:
- I am sorry for hitting you.
- I am sorry for being bad girl – Mahtab answered.
- Mahtab is a good girl. – Erik patted her head. – You are the best girl Papa could ask for.
- I love Papa. – She smiled at him with her deformed, half – missing lips, and Erik realized it was one of the most beautiful smiles he had seen in his life. No matter what a face or what lips produced, it was beautiful because it reflected a child's loving heart.
- Papa loves you too, sweetie.
- I will never kick Mama again.
- I am sure you won't. – Erik nodded and started cradling the child in his arms to make her sleep.
When she fell asleep, he carried her to the nursery that now had the cradle placed back in, waiting for the new habitant to join. Who would think it will be needed so soon? He had uneasy feelings about the early birth… it never means any good.
He was listening for a while in the hall, but no noises gave away any possible happenings, so he returned to the Daroga and sat back down. They were just sitting there silently, to tell the truth, the Daroga did not really know what to say or do, and Erik did not seem to be in the mood for talking or playing cards or chess, so they just sat. But sitting together is way better than sitting alone, as Erik was at least emotionally supported by his friend.
Time passed and passed. Sometimes Christine would cry out in pain once or twice which always made Erik startle and jump up, but the Daroga would always tell him to calm down, it was going to take more time.
- How do you know? – Erik asked with surprise.
- Pain of giving birth comes in waves, Erik. When she only cries out once in a while, it means she isn't ready yet. When the pain gets more frequent, that means the child is on its way. Try to measure it with your watch and you will see I was right.
Night fell on them, and still nothing. Mahtab was born at midnight, but now there was nothing yet at midnight, not even more frequent cries.
- I am sorry, Daroga, for taking you so early and you have to wait here for hours… you may go home if you want to, and Erik will try to handle it alone.
The Persian got surprised Erik thought about someone other than himself. Erik was sure turning to the better, marriage and fatherhood changed him. He smiled at Erik and said:
- Thank you Erik, you are kind, but I am staying. I am curious to see our little baby.
Erik thanked the Daroga in his mind that he decided the way he did, and was so happy he did not have to say there all alone. It also surprised him that the Persian referred to his unborn as "our baby". Not "your" baby… "our" baby… so the Persian wanted the new child to be in his family… kind of… and considered them so close to him…?
It was a little past two o clock, and they fell asleep on the couch. Erik's head rested against the rail, and his hand touched the ground. The Daroga sat at the other end and snored. That was when Christine let out a cry that nearly lifted the roof up. Erik instantly fell on the floor and the Daroga sat up straight with a gasp.
- It starts, Daroga, God, it starts! Please, pretty please make it stop! I can't bear to listen…- He plugged his ears in with his fingers.
- Erik, it is all right…
- Erik causes so much pain to the one person he loves the most…
- Erik, it is only natural…
- It is Erik's fault that Christine is in so much pain.
- Erik, I think she wanted it as well, didn't she?
- Stop being so intimate. – Erik snorted. – We are not here to discuss Erik's affairs with his wife!
Erik was walking in circles, like a caged animal, he was wheezing and would return in front of the Persian in the end of each circle and notoriously grab or shake him. Mohammed- Ismael seemed to tolerate Erik's panic fit well. Erik's breath fastened along with Christine's cries, he seemed to be in equally big pain as his wife, and he was shaking from head to foot. His chest heaved up and down, while he was trying to wipe his sweaty forehead with a handkerchief. Suddenly he turned to a shade of greenish pale, and with a painful moan, rushed out of the room, and only returned a few minutes later, wiping his mouth with the handkerchief.
- Allah, are you all right? – The Persian placed his hand on Erik's shoulder.
- I am now. – He nodded slowly. – Erik doesn't know what on Earth he threw up, he hadn't eaten the whole day.
- Try to calm down, Erik, it will be all right.
- Erik is dying of this.
- Erik has survived way worse things as well. – The Persian teasingly poked him on the side which actually made Erik give a weak smile finally.
- Erik, sit down please and try to rest. I will tell you something.
- What you tell Erik…?
- I think there is something you don't know of me.
- What is that? – Erik asked exhaustedly, but half curious, as he was placed in his armchair.
- Well, I write poems.
- What? – Erik looked up.
- I write poems. – The Daroga repeated.
- Do you? Really? – Erik leaned closer, with a grin.
- Yes, I do, and I wrote one about you.
- What? – Erik burst out in a fit of laugh.
- Don't laugh, Erik. – The Persian silenced him with a soft smile.
- I can imagine it is about my death's head. Or my sins…?
- No. – He shook his head and fixed his green eyes at Erik. – It is… it was written after you left Persia. I wrote it in prison.
- Did you waste time to write a poem about Erik… in prison?
- It wasn't a waste. I just did not tell it before as I thought you would laugh at me.
- Would you tell it to Erik, Daroga?
- I will if you promise you won't laugh.
- I promise. – Erik nodded seriously, straightening himself up in his chair, paying attention.
- So… don't laugh…
The Daroga cleared his throat, straightened himself up as standing, and closed his eyes not to instantly see Erik's facial expression upon hearing the poem. He never recited the poem to anyone before, especially not to Erik himself, and he blushed at the thought of what he might say after he finishes. He took a deep breath, and started:
Eagle- like free spirit, who flies with his music
Rhythm and melodies make him fly to Allah,
Imaginative, intelligent and independent, and
Kind - if he wants to be.
Erik clapped – not cynically, as the Persian would have expected – and said:
- Bravo, Daroga! I guess my name comes out if you read the first letters of the lines?
- Yes.
- Why did you write it in my native instead of yours?
- Because it was just fitting- you taught me French.
- And why did you write a poem about me?
- Because I missed you.
- You missed me, Daroga? – Erik asked with disbelief.
- I did. – The Daroga nodded. – You know Erik, you drove me crazy sometimes, and in a way I was afraid of you, but my fear didn't come from the fact of how you looked like… I was scared because you were as unpredictable and wild as a unicorn. And I felt you can never be tamed. But deep in my heart I always thought and felt you were the closest friend to me. It was always a mix of fear and admiration I felt for you – and I envied you, to tell the truth.
- Why? You were once quite handsome.
- I know, Erik, but you are talented, creative, and intelligent. I qould give one of my arms if I had half your brain.
- Would you give your nose too, Daroga? – Erik chuckled.
- Oh, you… you are being cynical again.
- Just something you could expect from Erik. But he has to admit he actually likes the poem you wrote- it is surprisingly good from a policeman.
- Oh, thank you… you flatter me. – The Persian laughed and sat down on the couch again.
While they were talking, silence fell on the rooms. Everything became silent… TOO silent. Erik was listening nervously. The Daroga lifted his head as well, understanding what Erik got alarmed of. Erik bit his lips. Christine fainted after Mahtab's birth, but at least the child was crying. He could not hear a baby's cry now. Was it a stillborn? Is the child dead in the inside, just as in the outside…? The wind was blowing nearly threateningly outside, chasing the falling brown leaves around the dark garden, but this autumn night, or waking dawn did not share any other sounds. Only sounds of passing, not sounds of a new life...
They could hear the bedroom door flung open, and hurrying steps in the Hall… and Erik could not take it any longer, he lost his consciousness.
When he opened his yellow eyes again, the first sound that reached his ears was a still weak sound he couldn't mistake for anything else: a baby's cry. It was a bit whiny and faint, but it sure was a newborn! He jumped up on his feet, but he was too dizzy yet as he wanted to stand up too quickly, so he fell back in the armchair.
- Erik! Everything is all right. – The Daroga patted his shoulder.
- What has happened…?
- There was a small problem with the baby, but now it is all right.
- What problem…?
- The midwife told me navel-string was around the baby's neck, but now it is breathing again.
- God's punishment for the Punjab lasso… - Erik sighed. – My own baby nearly strangled itself.
- At least you show some regret. – The Daroga said.
- Boy or a girl…?
- I don't know, it isn't fully out yet. The midwife went back to help Christine with the final act.
It was half past three in the morning of a Friday, 7th September, 1888, when the midwife arrived in the doorway with a tiny bundle in her hands. The bundle was still crying.
- M'sieur Spöke, I 'ave a good news! – She proclaimed happily. – You have a son!
- Healthy? – Erik asked, hurrying towards them. – Let me see him!
As Erik lifted the tiny thing out of the midwife's hands, he saw a perfectly normal face of an ordinary human being. The baby was smaller than Mahtab, as it arrived a month early, but his face was as beautiful as a small angel's. Rosy colored, with a cute small nose, normal lips, big blue eyes, and it had some dark hair as well. Erik couldn't see from tears. He held a beautiful baby boy in his arms- his perfect little angel.
- My son… - he muttered. – Oh, my sweet little son…
Suddenly he lifted his head in worry and asked:
- How is my wife…? God… What has happened to Christine…?
- She is a bit of tired, M'sieur, but she is all right.
- May I see her?
- Yes, M'sieur, she is awake.
Erik hurried to the bedroom with his son in his arms and stood next to the bed. Christine's eyes were closed, she looked pale, the bed was a total mess with blood and sweat, but she had a smile on her face.
- Christine, my dear… - Erik called out soothingly. – Erik is here… are you feeling well?
- Yes… - She opened her eyes. – I am fine, Erik dear. And you…?
- Me too, Christine. Thank you! – He went on his knees beside the bed and took his wife's hand and kissed it. – Thank you for him.
- Is it… a boy? - She smiled.
- Yes, it is, my darling, you gave birth to Erik's little son. Look – he showed the child's face to Christine, who melted at the mere sight of her beautiful baby. – He looks like Papa!
- If you think so, Erik is happy, though he must admit he thinks all babies just look the same to him. – He chuckled.
Christine laughed as well, faintly, her voice was ringing in Erik's ear like bubbling of a small fountain. He gently stroke Christine's white face with his finger, then cooed:
- Please try to relax, dear. I am here to take care of our son. Don't worry.
- Erik, wait! – She called out as Erik wanted to turn around to leave.
- Yes, my sweet Christine? – He asked nervously. – Are you feeling ill? Do you need anything?
- Lean close to me, I would like to ask a favor.
- Ask away, my love… anything I fulfill.
- I want to whisper it in your ear. – She said a bit naughtily.
Erik leaned to his wife's face and she nearly pressed her lips against his ear, whispered something, to which Erik looked at her a bit of like he did not really like what was asked of him, but finally he nodded.
- As you wish, Christine, Erik could never say no to his beautiful angel. But now please sleep.
With an even wider smile Christine closed her eyes again, and Erik carried his newborn to the salon again, to show him to the Daroga as well. The Persian waited sitting on the sofa when Erik stepped in. Mohammed-Ismael instantly stood up to this special moment, and as Erik approached him and reached out the little boy, he proudly introduced the new family member:
- Tonton Mohammed, this is Erik Florian Daaé- Spöke. My son.
- You told me you did not want to name him after yourself.
- Christine wanted it. I am against two names anyway, but well. I think he should decide which one he wants to use if he grows older. Erik refuses to call him Erik, though.
- A nice name, and he is very sweet.
- Who thought Erik can create such a nice little face, eh? – He smiled at the young baby, slowly cradling him.
The door creaked and as they turned to face the door to see who wanted to enter the room they noticed a small figure standing there. She wore her sleepwear, and her sleepy eyes gave away she was just startled up by the happenings.
- Mahtab, sweetie, come! – Erik knelt down to meet the level of his daughter's height. – Come and see your brother.
The girl ran to them excitedly and gave an astonished little gasp when her sunken skull – eyes met the baby's perfect features.
- Baby! Hello there, Baby Boy!- She gave a wide smile that looked more like a snarl because of her twisted lips.
- His name is Florian. – Erik said, patting Mahtab's shoulder.
- God named him that?
- No, Mama and I named him that.
- He has a nose. – She clapped.
- Yes he does. – Erik replied. – But I would love him even if he didn't. Just as I love you sweetie.
He hugged his daughter close to him and kissed her tiny deformed cheek, and as he looked at his children, he could really not tell if he loved any of them more or not – they were equally beautiful.
