"The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam?" Nadir roars so hard his chair slides back against the wall, knocking his astrakhan hat askew and causing him to bite his lip.

"Are you alright?" Erik says, calmly taking the visitor's chair across from him, removing his own hat, a Homburg he has taken to wearing. Placing it on the edge of the daroga's partner's desk, he crosses his legs, folding his long fingers in his lap. No move is made to go to his friend's assistance. "I would tend to you, but you might bite me as well and then where would we be? Besides there is no room in this closet of yours for any sort of movement. We should find both ourselves falling out the window onto the midway."

After sliding his chair back into place, Nadir picks the napkin from he recently eaten lunch and presses the linen against the expected wound. "I appear to be in one piece," he says, holding up the white square. "No blood."

"Good. Cannot have anyone think you are trying to do an impersonation of me, can we?" Gesturing to his own head, he smirks.

Nadir responds with a frown. "What?"

"Your hat is tilted over your left eyebrow. While it looks rather rakish, I suspect you would prefer to straighten the thing."

"I would and the only impersonation I am capable of when it comes to you is bad temper – in all my years in Persia, I cannot recall having as many fits of pique as working here."

"You are dealing with artists, not servants of a tyrant. Free spirits, if you will."

"As well as some ornery varmints. Given the bit about freedom is true. Although I may not be dealing with people under the constant thumb of a tyrant…you do sometimes fall into that category."

"Me? Hardly. I am beloved. You must be thinking of Adele? She is more the tyrant than I here at Phantasma – the woman is a veritable Genghis Khan. Perhaps acquiring the name through marriage completely pushed her over the edge," Erik chuckles. "Love is a wonderful thing, is it not? Blinds us to the failings of our beloved."

"Christine would certainly know about that."

"I must agree, I often wonder why she loves me, but she does, told me so again this very morning."

"Whatever gave you the idea to give her that book?"

"I did not give it to her – she was perusing the library shelves and picked it out. I never even saw the thing until she showed it to me – saying she liked the cover."

"What did you tell her?"

"They were poems."

"She said something about a jug of wine."

"That poem seemed fitting to our plans of having family gatherings to celebrate each of the children's different talents. I told her we would be having lemonade, not wine."

"She wants to learn Persian so she can read it for herself."

"An admirable desire. She is quite adept at languages."

"Erik!"

"There is nothing wrong with the book – the poet speaks of life, death, love, emotions – that is what poets and writers do, my darling. He also wrote with a very distinctive and difficult style. In any event, at eleven years old, she will likely grow bored, stash the book in a drawer and never think of it again."

"I suppose you are correct. The selection you read to me just seem rather mature for a girl of eleven. You know more of these writings and literature in general than I."

"At least it was not the Kama Sutra, you know how upset you were when Gustave discovered that book."

"Life with you has always been an adventure, my dear, and I love you for it. The library at the Chagny's was dull as dishwater."

"There, you see."

"I can imagine the scene – you turned some sort of catastrophe into a success with your verbal fiddle-faddle and she gave in to your story telling."

"Whatever suits the situation, my friend. One must have some sort of beauty to charm a beautiful woman – my face is sadly lacking, and I cannot not sing all the time, so my mind and tongue must be quick to keep my Angel engaged."

Nadir rolls his eyes. "I can only imagine."

"Can you?" Erik smirks, recalling the loving interlude he and Christine indulged in after their little talk and brief perusal of the small book of love. "Look at you – what do you bring to the table with your willful lady?"

"A cheerful spirit and a loving heart. Besides, Adele is a perfect woman," the daroga sniggers. "A little bossy. A tad demanding, perhaps, but always reasonable in the end."

"Eclairs are still her favorite I assume? A lovely éclair could always soothe one of her more hellish moods. Chef tells me you order them quite regularly. Seeing you with your sugar cubes, I can only assume…" Erik says, the amber eyes bright with humor. "You are an odd pair, but then I suppose the same could be said for me and Christine. The vicomte was so perfect for her."

"You think so?"

"On paper, I mean. If someone was writing a story about the three of us, Raoul would be the natural choice for her. Beautiful, young singer. Handsome vicomte. Who would imagine she could love the crazy, musician with the distorted face?"

"There was a book, Erik, remember? Saying precisely that?"

"Of course I remember. Whatever happened to your sense of irony?" Erik says. "Well, M. Leroux got it all wrong."

"He got much of it wrong, I will accept your word on that, but he is a writer of fiction."

"He might have considered the real person he was using as the model for a wretched monster."

"You were wretched – you are often wretched even now. He was perhaps a little harsh – I doubt you would have been quite so rude to me."

"I would never have allowed you to die in the chamber, had I actually created one in Paris. Raoul, on the other hand…. There are times when I look at him I wonder why he still has breath – idiot that he is."

"You are just upset he stole your housekeeper from you," Nadir says, pouring another cup of tea in order to dip in a sugar cube, popping said sweet into his mouth. "Would you care for a cup? Black, of course?"

Erik shakes his head. "In truth, I wish you had been there during that time."

"How so?"

"I was so desperately alone, I am not sure I would have acted as I had if there was another person in my life."

"You think you would not have become obsessed with Christine?"

"Not necessarily – I am still amazed she wants anything to do with me."

"Then what?"

"I could have presented myself as a man…with a friend. A human being and courted her the way she deserved."

"You believe I would have vouched for you?"

"Why not?"

"You were known as the Phantom of the Opera. I had not seen you for years. Who knows what sort of mischief you might have been up to? Your imagination could take some nasty turns."

"I made a vow to you when you set me free…I engaged in pranks only – until…"

"Well, perhaps. I must admit hearing all the stories initially had me wonder if the Phantom was indeed my friend from Mazandaran. By the time I knew of you in Paris, you had vanished."

"Yes, so much time wasted – you might have met Adele earlier as well."

"Yes," Nadir's smile is soft, his green eyes dreamy, munching aimlessly.

Fidgeting in his chair, Erik clears his throat. "I still do not understand how you can just eat sugar cubes."

"Tea flavored – black, which is my favorite, but chamomile is quite lovely. You have no taste."

"Actually, I do not have much, or I least I think not – people seem to enjoy food so much. I believe part of the design of my face has somehow affected my taste for food," Erik says. "Now, when it comes to taste in art or music or architecture, I would say my taste is impeccable."

"So you might concede my taste for sugar cubes might actually be a good thing?"

"I concede nothing of the sort. Having never seen another human being indulge in your habit, I would say most are, if not repulsed by the idea, simply not addicted – which is what I consider your habit to be."

"Adele has her eclairs…and the sales of cotton candy are quite high – which is just sugar. All the candy concessions do well. I am merely a purist." Nadir pushes the sugar bowl away. "I no longer smoke."

Erik cocks his head. "Of course, I quite forgot – you loved your hookah. There were times when you were so in need of the tobacco you became quite petulant."

Nadir waves him off with a scowl. "The smoking was medicinal. Mitra understood."

"Too much," his wife complained. "The boy watches you. Do you wish for him to be addicted, too?"

"I need something, my love."

"Something for what?"

"To help me sleep. To help me cope."

"The palace?"

"The palace. The tortures. The faces. The new magician I brought from Russia."

"I heard he is ugly?"

"Ugly is not exactly the correct word to describe his face – deformed from birth. Half his face is as handsome as a god. The other side only a devil could imagine were he a sculpture. But that is not what I fear I cannot stop. He is clever. Brilliant. Willful."

"Rebellious I think, as well?"

"I wish I had never located him…brought him back. For all his reputation he was little more than a petulant child."

"He is a boy?"

"Little more than a boy. Strange. Afraid of nothing and should be afraid. He does not seem to care. The Shah is in awe of him and punishes him because of it. For the moment he needs him, enjoys him, if I were to guess. But…"

"The Shah will never let him go willingly?"

"No."

"So what is this about The Rubaiyat?"

Erik studies his friend. So many years, he never quite understood why the former daroga put up with much of his banter. A noble and kind man for all the atrocities he was forced to commit. Yet, Nadir has never minded the teasing. His own dependence on medicinals still haunted him. Perhaps that was it. Talk of Persia always seemed to draw both of them into less than pleasant memories. There were few happy memories. "Christine suggested I speak to Emilie about her, shall we say, lack of consideration for the feelings of others," Erik says.

"Did she?" Nadir chuckles. "Has she counselled you on your own similar behavior?"

"I had a feeling I was going to be the brunt of that observation."

"What is the expression – the pot calling the kettle black."

"You think I…"

"No, no longer, but even now, when, shall we say displeased with someone's performance, you are never one to mince words, however, kindly you express them."

"So you say I create as many problems as I resolve?"

"Hmmm, let us just say, there are few in this world who can accept true honesty…particularly when it involves them," Nadir chuckles, taking a sip of tea, scowling. "Bitter."

"I doubt the brew is bitter, you have simply sucked on so many sugar cubes, you have actually overwhelmed your tongue with the sickening sweetness in your cup. I would likely choke on the potion in that cup were I to take a sip."

"You see, that is what I mean. No one else on this island…or let us take in the entire world…would say such a thing to me."

"Even if what I say is true?"

"What have I been saying?"

"But you have been blunt with me. In all my years, people have seldom held back about my ugliness. I see it as fair play."

"More defensive. Quite often your retorts are not comparable to the misdeeds of those who have offended you. You continue to fight a battle that was over years ago. There were any number of people at the palace who might have befriended you, but you were too intelligent – too quick with the verbal sword. We were all slaves to one extent or another."

"I had not considered that."

Nadir sighs deeply.

"Yes, defensive."

"Hmm."

"When Emilie and I were having our conversation, she asked when I got hurt."

"Indeed? The children were never told you were born…deformed?"

"I do not recall it ever coming up – Gustave and I certainly talked about my youth…my mother. He knew because he has the distorted skin at the back of his head – of course he was older. Emilie and Joshua both have the same birthmark as Christine calls it. It never occurred to me Emilie would not make the connection."

"Why do you suppose she asked about your injury, then?"

"She said that you were the only one who never acted upset when I took off my mask and assumed you knew me before…when my face was whole."

"Even Christine still reacts?"

Shaking his head, Erik says, "Not really. Seldom, if ever. Emilie must notice something I am not aware of in that regard. Perhaps not wanting me to be upset if there is a reaction mainly from someone like Julia who is not entirely familiar with me when I am unmasked – which is not often." The hint of a smile. "Emilie said you were the only one who never seemed bothered, so seemed to think you were in my life when I was injured."

"What do you think about that?"

"Other than when in the presence of the court or on the worksite, I went without a face covering – you seldom saw me with one."

"I could say I had seen injuries to faces as severe as yours. I had…and still do walking on the Boardwalk here now since the War…"

"But?"

"What was terrifying about you, perhaps more than your face, was the hatred oozing from your very pores – a poisonous thing."

"Toward others…you?"

"No…well, I suppose." Nadir adds another sugar cube to his cup, stirring slowly before taking another sip. Focusing his eyes on Erik, he says, "Inner hatred toward yourself. Otherwise you seemed dead inside but for the heat of your rage. Rather off-putting – mask or no mask."

"Christine said something similar to me – my soul was distorted."

"She knows you quite well. You are truly blessed she had anything to do with you once you stopped being an Angel. Although how she ever believed you were an angel will always be a mystery to me," he snickers.

"Well, she did," Erik snaps. "Seriously, though, what changed your mind…about me…about the poison?"

"You loved my son – he changed you with his pure spirit," Nadir brushes a finger across his eyelids. "There was no hate or rage within Reza. Perhaps that is why the illness was able to overwhelm him – he had no anger to fight. One needs anger to challenge demons."

"He never flinched when I exposed myself to him. The light never left his eyes."

"Why do you wear the mask?"

"Look at me, you silly thing. I am wretched – an ugly monster of a man."

"No." Reza raised a small hand to touch the challenged flesh. "This is a cocoon – like a butterfly."

"There is no butterfly here."

"I see a butterfly."

"You are just a child what do you know?"

"I know you," Reza giggled. "You are magical. Now show me a trick, then I think I need to rest."

"The world was not worthy of him," Nadir says, blowing his nose. "So, yes, my son showed me who you were – after that, well…you did what you needed to do to survive."

"He was a beautiful child – kind and gentle…and so very wise."

"Yes."

"Since you were so successful with your child, I hope you might be able to help with one of mine yet again. I would not have Gustave were it not for you."

"Emilie and The Rubaiyat?"

"She wants to learn to read it but needs to learn Persian to do so."

"There is a very fine English translation by Edward Fitzgerald," Nadir says. "I happened to see an advertisement and was tempted to buy it for Adele, she quite enjoys a touch of romance."

Erik lifts an eyebrow.

"Good grief, man, she was a ballerina – and exquisite dancer at one time before life found her having to control wildly erratic humans."

"You are right, I am sorry. I should not know what I would have done without her in my life," Erik admits. "It makes sense she would want to be relieved of the burden of wrangling wayward actors and other performers."

"Harrumph, about time you noticed."

"And I shall not forget," Erik says. "

I have more than one edition of the Kama Sutra, if you are interested. She might find wrangling an aging Persian amusing."

"You are incorrigible!" Nadir cannot help but laugh. "I may take you up on the offer. In the meantime, what is it you want me to help Emilie with."

"I had hoped you would be willing to teach her the language regardless – she loves learning languages and is very adept," Erik says, the amber eyes pleading. "I could teach her, but my teaching methods are perhaps not the kindest and I fear I would discourage more than help. She is not very secure – all the others seem to excel in some sort of art or creative activity."

"She is good at languages?"

"Yes, a quick study." Erik breathes out his bated breath. "She wants to be a writer as well – perhaps she will write the true tale of her father's life," he says. "You are both close and distant enough to gain her trust and, dare I risk saying – admiration. She is quite fond of you."

"Flattery will get you anywhere. I must admit I do like her spirit. Well, I shall do my best. Probably best to start with the alphabet – that should keep us busy for a few years."

Erik rises from the chair, stretching his limbs, having hardly moved during the entire conversation. "I must get more exercise, I fairly locked my joints in place sitting in this god-awful chair."

"They were not purchased for comfort."

"Hmm – yes, cramped room – furniture designed for torture. Seems your own imagination can take some nasty turns," he says, a note of sarcasm in his voice. "I shall send her by tomorrow for her first lesson." Putting on his hat, he doffs the brim, then heads toward the door.

"You are welcome," Nadir murmurs.

Stopping before he opens the door, Erik turns, head bowed. "Thank you, my friend. I am trying. Truly I am."

"You are that…trying."

"You would have me no other way."

"Do I have the choice?"

"No, I suppose not." Erik shrugs.

"Go on – get to work. I shall put some sort of lesson plan together."

"I do thank you," he says, pausing again. "She was my first baby."

Nadir nods.

"Tomorrow then?"

"Tomorrow."