Chapter XXII.
- This place creeps me out, Erik. – The other man stated with a noticeable amount of discomfort and displeasure in his voice. – Are you aware that you literally dragged me out of bed? This place is damp and dark and you absolutely shouldn't be here in your current condition…. Erik…? Do you want to develop a fever and go back to the hospital, you crazy human? You have just received a surgery. And you should not lift as heavy things as I am. Would you put me down at last?
A sudden thud could be heard, then a painful whine and some muffled cussing.
- I did not exactly mean that by putting me down… and I can see nothing here… where are you? Oh… all right, I can feel your grip Erik, there is no need to squeeze my wrist this strongly. And why won't you reply, at least?
- Exactly you were the one who told me to be quiet to heal my voice, were you not?
- I know, but why on Earth did you take me here? Especially with such a questionable politeness.
- I told you already that someone is here who most likely needs your services.
The doctor was grumpy, afraid, and sleepy. When Erik banged the door on him maybe an hour ago or so, he did not even know what the Hell he wanted again. But at that moment he started to get very much worried. He knew Erik's temper and he already showed him a bit of it when he just dragged him outside in his nightwear and mercilessly threw him in a coach in front of his office. In his nightshirt he felt like Ebenezer Scrooge who was being dragged through whole London by a ghost.
- Where the Hell are we anyway?
- In the cellars of the Opera House.
- What?
- I know you don't like music. Don't worry. You don't have to listen to any opera.
- But where are we going? What are we doing here..?
- I am leading you to my… old… place. – Erik sighed.
- Did you use to live here? – The doctor gasped, gesturing around with his free hand in disgust.
- I did. – Erik nodded.
- But you gave me an address to reach you at… it was…
- 8 Rue Scribe. Yes. It is actually the address where I lived at that time – the Opera Garnier.
- How were you able to live at such a place? No wonder I had to cure you from various cases of the flu, cold, pneumonia, tonsillitis….
- Don't talk about tonsils! I am fed up with them and my ear hurts again.
- I told you it is something that will happen. Especially that you should be covered up with a warm blanket in your bed and drink tea…
- Erik used to like tea, but he swears he won't EVER drink it again once he recovers from this stupid illness. You made me drink at least five liters of it per day. – He sighed, then crawled to the wall to press the stone that leads them to the torture chamber finally.
- What are you doing? Did you leave? – Bonsanté asked with sudden alarm.
- Shut your face and climb in here.
- I won't fit.
- You will.
- I won't! I am not as skinny as you are.
- You always talk to people about the usefulness of diets. Seems like you should be on a diet yourself.
- Seems like your throat isn't as much paiiiiii- ERIK!
The doctor landed on the floor of the Torture Chamber after the Opera Ghost finally got fed up with his constant whining, and well, to be exact – "helped" the poor doctor down with a forceful push. Some seconds later another body arrived down to the floor and finally the room was lit. Erik did not want the doctor to look around in his special forest, so he caught his hand again and pulled him to the main salon.
- Wait here. – He ordered shortly, then walked around the abandoned rooms to search for that awful, nosy Persian cop.
He finally saw the Daroga, laying on his side, facing the wall in the once known Louis- Philippe room. He rushed to the Daroga, bending down and slightly turning him on his back to examine if he was still alive at all. Those jade green eyes got fixed on Erik, as he just realized who touched him, then the Persian blinked, and sighed in relief.
- I knew…I knew…
- What did you know, Daroga? – Erik's voice sounded so soothing… so compassionate… so caring… kind.
- That you… are alive… and I… will… find you.
He closed his eyes and his head fell back in Erik's arm.
The doctor arrived in the room after Erik's desperate attempt to call for him. Erik wasn't really in the condition of yelling through rooms, and his voice sounded just as a pitiful whisper, but thankfully, Bonsanté wasn't too far from them. He knelt down to the Daroga and examined him carefully. Some minutes later, when he finished, he looked up at Erik, who was also acting strange. He folded his arms around himself, as he was freezing with cold. Yes, the place was chilly and the doctor could also feel the numbing sensation of the cool stone and air around his body, but he was concerned that Erik wasn't feeling cold only because of the weather down in the cellars.
- Erik, are you all right? – He leaned closer.
- Fine. – He nodded quickly, but his teeth chattered with a shiver running down his spine.
- Erik, come closer. – The doctor ordered strictly.
The Ex- Opera Ghost leaned closer with a sigh, knowing there was no use to argue with the leech in such a situation – he had to admit that Bonsanté was a true careful doctor – he was always examining everyone. He felt a hand against his forehead, and closed his golden eyes for a second.
- What I said? – The doctor groaned. – You are fiery hot again.
- Don't care about me, but the Persian cop… Erik is fine.
- No, he isn't. We need to get out of here. It is freezing cold here and you should not catch a cold, remember. We need to carry him away from here.
- Erik knows a way out where no one will see us. Are you sure… the Daroga is well enough to be moved?
- He will be fine. – The doctor nodded. – He is dehydrated and his body temperature is a bit low, but we seem to arrive in time.
Erik sighed in relief. To tell the truth, he wasn't feeling too well at that moment. He had the chills, and his throat and ear were bothering him. He was weak and could only stagger in front of the doctor, and did not even remember how they got outside. When they reached the surface, Erik leaned against a column in front of the main entrance of the Opera to support his weight, and stood there for some minutes. The doctor, who carried the Daroga in his arms, dressed in only a nightshirt, saw that Erik could not bear his sickness any longer. He knew people will laugh at him if he runs to fetch a cab in this kind of clothing, but he could care less.
Erik sat down on the stairs, as he was too weak to stay standing. Not a good sign at all. He leaned his back against a column and stroke his throbbing and sweaty forehead, when someone stopped and stood in front of him. Erik assumed him to be the doctor at first, but he suddenly noticed that this person wore boots instead of the leech's slippers.
- What are you doing here? – A deep and very strict voice asked above his head.
Erik looked up. He wasn't able to reply as his throat was killing him. His glowing yellow eyes met a figure of a tall and overweight, very elegant and strict policeman. The brave and honorable man wore a thick mustache and looked at him with sudden disgust, just as he was a rat from the very sewers, covered in human feces and fleas.
- Another one? – He thundered as he grabbed Erik by the shirt collar. – Didn't you know that ugly filthy drunken clochards aren't allowed to sleep here on the stairs of the Opera? This building, you thing, is for the tax- payers who want to listen to music! –
Erik did not fight. He couldn't. He felt too weak and his body was burning with fever. He could not speak. But even if he was able to do so, what would be the use of it? The policeman would most certainly won't believe him if he told he was a retired architect, and actually a former taxpayer with a remarkable knowledge in many fields. As the policeman lifted him up, he could only get stretched out and lift his hands in front of his face to protect his head from sure coming hits. He instantly knew why he was dragged up from the stairs so violently – he still wasn't wearing a mask. He forgot to pick one up as he ran away so abruptly from home, and he sat down on a too crowded place. If he wore his human face mask made of rubber, he would have just been left alone, or even asked if he was all right, but like this, no one cared if he was feeling well or not. His obviously poor state of health worried the policeman enough to release Erik as fast as possible, and not to touch him too much, as he would most certainly catch a serious illness from this vagabond – maybe it has leprosy, that is why its nose is missing! Just look at those horrid sunken eyes… and they seem to be yellow… might even be touching this… thing… could make him sick. He just sent a hateful glance towards Erik, and thundered:
- Get away from here, or I will be obliged to arrest you for vagabondage! –
The authority released Erik's shirt and as the poor creature reached the ground on his knees and tried his best to lift his weight up from the stairs and walk away, the respectable guard of order got tired of him being so slow, he helped Erik down with a very well – angled and forceful kick on the rear. Poor Erik landed on his hands and knees again, at the bottom of the steps, with hurting palms, knees and bottom. He did not even try to get on his feet again as he knew he was too weak for that at the moment, just climbed away, like a miserable stray dog. His hat hit his back, thrown at him from full force, and he could hear a nasty laugh. He just lay down a few meters away, out of the honorable man's sight, and finally, out of his mind as well. He would never lay on the ground on the streets, like a real homeless, but at that time, he felt too weak to search for a bench to rest. The policeman did not follow Erik to torture him any longer, surely he got tired of it and it was enough of fun for the night. That damned thing sure walked away with delight, to have dinner in a fancy restaurant – feeling very content about showing the way to behave to a vagabond. And Erik, the poor old thing, was happy to get away with so little torture this time. He pressed his head against the ground, so the pavement will at least cool his blood a bit until he feels better to stand up and walk. He closed his eyes and took a deep sigh.
He did not even have blurry memories of what had happened later, but the one sure thing was he regained his clear mind within warm and peaceful surroundings. That was something he was very thankful for. As he looked around, he recognized his home's bedroom, and sighed in relief. He was laying in his Louis- Philippe sleigh bed, on his usual side, with a damp cloth on his forehead. The end table next to him, contained various bottles of medicine, syringes, needles and a big bowl of water. He felt a touch on his face, s nice little hand stroke his cheek, and a relieved soft soprano voice whispered:
- Are you feeling better, my little husband?
- Yes, I am. – He nodded faintly.
- You slept for so long. – She added worriedly.
- How long?
- Nearly 36 hours. The doctor had to give your medicines using a syringe as we couldn't wake you up.
- I was tired. – Erik admitted. – And sick.
- Here is a hospital. – Christine laughed tiredly.
- Hospital? – Erik tilted his head to the side.
- Yes, we are full of ill people. Mahtab is having a cast for a broken ankle, Tonton Mohammed is in our guest room with a bad case of cold and here is my poor little husband with a complicated tonsil surgery.
- And how is my son?
- He is doing great. Only he and I are healthy here right now.
- Please make sure to sleep and rest enough, Christine. I don't want you to get sick of exhaustion. And you have to feed Flo as well. You will run out of milk if you overstrain yourself.
- Don't worry, Erik dear. The doctor is helping me a lot. He is checking on everyone regularly.
- How long Erik has to stay in bed?
- Only for a few more days. But he will tell you when he comes back in the afternoon. Erik… why do you have bruises on your knees, did you fall?
- How do you know I have them, Christine? – Erik asked suspiciously.
- I noticed them when I changed you to pajamas.
- Did you remove Erik's pants?
- I had to. – She apologized quickly. – You can't sleep in bed in a suit, my dear…
- Erik hates when someone else removes his pants other than himself.
- But I am your wife, Erik, why are you still so bashful in front of me?
- Not bashful, but proud. – He chuckled softly. – He hates to depend on others. He likes to be able to take care of himself.
- But I love to take care of you. Only the problem is you don't let me.
- There are two people already for you to look after. – Erik smiled. – How many of them should Erik still father so you will be at least happy by the number of protégés?
- As many as possible. – Christine teasingly poked Erik's side, then blew him a kiss before leaving to the nursery to check on her children.
Thankfully, Erik's little trip to rescue the Daroga did not backfire too much regarding Erik's health. He did not catch a cold, simply was suffering of the side effects of healing from the operation. His ear and throat were hurting less day by day and finally, after a week of taking bed rest most of the time, he was proclaimed to be healthy again. He was so happy he could have caught a bird. The Daroga recovered as well, and was helping Christine to nurse the children with joy. There was awhile since he held a baby boy in his arms, and Florian reminded him of his small child once. He cradled Flo in his arms and smiled at him, and he was touched to see the small baby smiling back at him. He loved Mahtab as she was indeed a sweet little girl with a good heart – but he had to admit with shame deep down his heart that Flo was a much more pleasant sight.
A very surprising side effect of the operation still remained, though. Erik thought at first that his voice only changed due to the fact of the surgery and it will get back to normal within time. But after two more weeks passed since his recovery, he had to face that his voice changed permanently. To be clear, it did not even "change", but "returned", as he worded it. He had a higher pitched and clearer voice when he was younger, but as he reached 45 or so, it started to get a huskier and darker layer to it that would not go away. He assumed it to be the side effect of growing older, and did not give much thought to it, as his voice was still angelic and beautiful, but now, after the surgery, he had to realize that he got back his old voice. It wasn't changing because of age, but because of his constant illnesses he did not even always notice. Christine could not have enough of Erik's "new" voice, as she did not yet hear it before. She was astonished by the beauty of her husband's crystal clear and somewhat higher tone, and would constantly nag him to speak or read to her.
- If only you had this voice at the Opera… - She sighed dreamily.
- The old one was enough to seduce you for a life as well. – Erik laughed. – And, moreover, Erik still can surprise you like this.
- Sing. – She looked in his eyes with passion. – Please sing.
- Well, what Erik gets if he does, eh? – He winked naughtily.
- Nothing. – She smiled.
- Nothing…? Why? – He gasped with surprise.
- Because you told me once that I should not sing for a reward, but for the joy of it.
- But it is exactly the case, my dear Christine, I am singing for the joy of it as well…
- Oh, you…, you… - Christine laughed and kissed Erik's forehead with love.
- See, that's what I meant. – He grinned.
When he sang, he could make Christine melt with delight, even more so than earlier. He did not really understand why, as he thought the change was actually quite minor – his voice just became a bit higher while speaking, but his singing range did not get effected at all, if he had to describe it. He could not even always notice it, but well, one's voice sounds different when others listen to it than yourself – maybe they can hear it better.
Mahtab was very happy to have Papa home and healthy finally. When she was allowed near Erik, she would climb up on his lap, even with her sore ankle. Pain did not seem to bother her too much. Other children would whine about it all day, but Mahtab only rarely stated that her ankle was bothering her. Even then she did not scream or whine, she just used a casual tone as Erik did if he was asked about such a thing. Christine was astonished about a four year- olds incredible self- restraint. She was happy about it, but also found it to be unnatural for such a young age. She looked like "Tiny Tim" from Dickens's novel, with her boy clothes and wobbling around the house. No matter how she was asked or ordered to, she would not stay in bed, or at least, still. She did not let her injury take over her everyday life and habits. The only thing she needed help with were stairs. Either Erik or Christine had to carry her up or downstairs, but she lived as she did before. But not only was the extreme level of handling pain unusual about Mahtab. She was turning to be too precocious. Christine knew that it was because Erik taught her things she was yet too young for yet, and she held some unpleasant feelings about it. She sometimes felt unneeded and too simple minded compared to Erik, but now, yet even Mahtab seemed to be smarter than her. A tiny girl that yet should play all day, spent her time by discussing mechanical and musical matters with her father, planning, drawing structures and helping to assemble gears and all other things Christine did not even know the identity of. Mahtab was able to tighten loose screws, hammer nails in and use pliers not much before her fourth Birthday. She was also good at playing the piano, she already played easy Mozart and Bach minuets, and Erik made her practice fingering and scales using the first volume of Czerny etudes. She was a "bearable" beginner violinist according to Erik, yet he added that Mahtab was more capable of learning the piano skills than violin. Christine didn't like the fact that Erik seemed to make a child prodigy out of an ordinary girl, that Mahtab was treated as rather a tiny adult than a child in her father's eyes, and that fact made Erik hold up expectations towards his daughter. Not that she couldn't be good enough to make Erik happy – on the contrary, she was too good. She was too smart for her age – and it never means anything good.
The mother was also worried by Mahtab's refusal of leaving the house with her. She would gladly follow Erik anywhere, but not her. She did not hate her Mama – on the contrary, she loved her so much- she just refused to go anywhere outside with her. She went to the Opera with her a few times when she was younger, but not anywhere else, and just walking around the city was impossible as she would just stand at the garden gate, then turn over and run back in the house. As she got all healed and the doctor finally removed her cast after a few weeks, Christine would have loved to take Mahtab for a walk – just the two of them, mother and daughter, but she would rather chose to practice on the piano. Christine worded this fear to Erik, who just shook his head sadly and sighed:
- Christine, what do you expect of her…? It was something to be prepared of.
- Does she still remember that day? – Christine nearly cried of self – loathing.
- You can never know. – He shrugged. – But I think I have an idea. There is a place where she would follow you, I think.
- What is that?
- The railway station. – Erik explained. – She adores trains, and visits the station with me once every week, as you know. Maybe she will go with you as well. Erik will stay at home with Flo the next Saturday and you shall take her to see the locomotives. She will adore you for that move.
- You are right again. – Christine hugged him happily.
- As always. – Erik nodded gracefully.
On Saturday Christine was even more excited about going for a walk than Mahtab. She wanted to dress Mahtab nicely in a very beautiful dress, so she will at least resemble a girl, but Mahtab did not touch the dress that was put on her bed, but arrived downstairs in a jacket and shorts with tie. She did not even know Mahtab had a tie.
- Oh dear, why are you wearing these clothes…? We are going for a walk, you know.
- I know, that is why I put my finest clothes on.
- Why are you wearing a tie?
- Because a true gentleman never leaves the house unless he is dressed properly.
- Who said that?
- Papa did.
- But you are not a gentleman…
- Not yet, but I will grow up to be one.
- No, Mahtab, you are… a girl!
- I know, but no one else does. And I prefer to be a boy.
Christine did not want to argue anymore and just held the child's hand, and guided her outside. The first milestone was passed easily, Mahtab walked out of the garden gate proudly in her suit, jumping up and down next to Christine.
When they reached the railway station, Mahtab did what she loved to do the most – looking at the trains with delight, examining the machines. Suddenly she turned to her Mama and asked:
- Mama, will we go on a ride?
- Ride?
- Yes, by a train.
- Oh, no, dear… I am afraid, not.
- Why?
- Because you are too small for that.
- Papa says it is dangerous. Why is it dangerous?
- Because… trains are very fast.
- I like if they are.
- Just be a good girl, and …
- Boy.
- Oh… be a good boy and… stay here…
- But I want to go by train. No one lets me go by train. Not Papa and not even you.
- Just listen to us dear. There is no need to go by them. Where would you want to travel…?
- It is not about the travelling, but sitting on a train.
- It looks better on the outside. – Christine patted Mahtab's head. – Trust me.
Suddenly a familiar male voice greeted them from behind.
- Bonjour Christine! Um… hello… Mahtab…?
- Yes. – Mahtab nodded, not understanding why this Raoul never seems to remember her name.
- Oh Bonjour Raoul! What are you doing here? – Christine turned around in surprise.
- I have to travel to Lyon on Monday and I decided to buy my ticket in the week – end when only a few people are around. And you?
- We are here for the exact same reason… I mean, because of the very few people. Mahtab loves trains and it is a family program that she watches them with Erik or me.
- I am surprised about… you… dare to… - He suddenly fell silent as he kenw well that he would hurt Christine much if he finished the sentence and it was the last thing he wanted to do, but Christine wasn't a stupid little woman. She understood well what that sentence was about and she gave a very much hurt look to Raoul.
- You, Monsieur wanted to ask about how I dare take her to public places like the Opera and a railway station. – She stated unobtrusively.
- I didn't mean it like that, but… People might be cruel and…
- I am able to protect my child from any danger, Raoul. – She turned her head away to wipe some tears from the corner of her eyes.
- I am sorry, Christine…
- Mahtab dear, please, we should go home… - She looked down to the child's direction and wanted to take her hand, but she was terrified to find out that she wasn't there. – Raoul… have you seen Mahtab? – She asked with horror.
- She was here some minutes ago…
- I know but…
- Look, Mama! – They heard a child's voice from a distance. - Look, it isn't dangerous at all! You weren't right!
Yes. No doubt, Mahtab was standing on the backside balcony of a train a few lines away, clapping happily.
- Mahtab! Get off right away! – Christine cried while she started running towards the train. Suddenly a pips could be heard, and the train with Mahtab onboard started to leave the station with loud whiff.
- Whoohooo! – The child exclaimed happily, grabbing the railing in front of her.
- Mahtab! Get off! Get off at the next station! Do you hear me! Mahtab!
Christine and Raoul were running along the line next to the train that got faster and faster, and finally it outpaced the worrying mother, and there was no use of running any more. Mahtab's hair and jacket were blown around by the rate of march, and suddenly the silk "mask" that covered her face was grabbed off of her head and flew away with the wind. Mahtab never felt such a freedom and such a bliss before. She tasted the sweet flavor of lack of parental control, and could do what she loved the most – exploring something she adored. She did not have the slightest amount of fear. Christine, after running so much she could not handle it any longer, collapsed on her knees in the middle of the road, wheezing, and trembling with nervousness. The blissful cries of Mahtab could still be heard for some seconds then Christine was only able to scream:
- Mahtab!
