Final II
He carried her down through endless darkness, far beyond the visible parts of the Opera. One would never guess, what such a splendid place could hide ....
Seh seemed to be afraid, but did not show any resistance. He had put gloves on, for not startling her with his icy hands. Anyway it was cold down here and the air was nastily humid. He was used to it, but he wrapped his cape thighter around her body, because he knew she was not. Apart from that she was only wearing her thin costume.
He felt every muscle of her's being tensed up, and that concerned him, as he had never meant to frighten her. He would have loved her to be fetched in a carriage, filled with soft cussions and sweet-smelling flowers, leading it's way through sunny meadows. He would have liked her to be brought to her wedding like any other bride. But instead he had taken her like a thief – and tat was why it didn't look clear at all anymore, whether it had been her own wish.
He wished, he could at leat embrace her a little thighter, just to offer a little comfort as any loving man would have probably done - but he was not any man. Embraces and closeness were nothing they would share so soon, though he was longing so desperately for her white arms. Once, when she was used to the look and the smell of his skin, when there probably was no need anymore to fret, that she could scream or faint – maybe this would have to be enough for him.
He was secure in finding the way down to the lake in the dark. As they reached the water, the boat was already waiting, tied at the shore. With steady steps he entered the black gondola and carefully sat Christine on the small bank at the bow. She looked at him smiling and when he made them glide across the lake, she curiously bent over to look at the black water and extended her hand towards it.
"Don't!" His voice tore the silence, that had only been disturbed by the gentle splashing of the water, caused by him.
She stared at him, starteled, her eyes widened. He had not meant to be that determined.
"My dear, the water of the lake has nothing that could be of interest to you. Look, you can't even see it." Now he sounded quiet, but bare of any expression. Only he knew how the deadly mechanism worked, that protected him from unwanted visitors.
She lowered her head, like a child that just had been caught in doing something incredibly silly.
"You are right, Erik." She answered. "But – I cannot see it, it's too dark. That is why I wanted to touch it."
"You don't believe, that there is water in my lake? You should not only trust your eyes. You under all should know that you don't only have the sences of sight and touch. Did you forget that. Just listen ..." He made a few movements with his paddle on the water.
"Oh ..." she said and smiled again. "This is the way you orient yourself down here – by listening? Is that what you are doing all the time? You don't even have a lantern." She sounded curious now, eager to find out, how it was to live the way he did.
"I don't need one. Is it that what makes you afraid? The darkness?"
"No, I am only not used to it that much, but I will – very quickly!" she said enthusiastically. "I am sure, you will. One gets used to everything." he tried to keep any cynism out of his words. She didn't want her to get worried too early with matters, that she would anyway find out sooner or later. Things that didn't make everything necessarily brighter.
"In fact I can see very well in the dark. I can see you perfectly. At the moment you have your right hand in your hair ..."
Taken by surprise she let her hand fall on her skirt. "You really do! I can only see your ..."
As her voice trailed off, she could hear his laughter.
"... my mask, you wanted to say. Don't blush. It is alright. You are allowed to say 'mask'. I put on the white one, extra for you, so that you can see it better in the dark. I also have black ones, they meke me invisible. But I thought, you would not find it exactly encouraging, being kidnapped by an invisible phantom."
"Can I also make myself invisible? Could you show me that?"
"I could." He put a special kind of derisive emphasise on the word 'could'. "But let me tell you, that it would not seem the same exiting to you, if you had no other choice, than not being seen. If not only you fignity as a human being as well as your life depended on seeing, without being seen."
At that she remained silent. He felt bad about having to tell her such a realistic sight of her future right at the beginning, but maybe then it would be fairer. Why the hell did he care about fairness? He had never been shown it himself. Was it the pureness of her young soul that suddenly taught him such things ...? Or his bad conscious, that he had thought to have lost long, long ago?
A heavy silence threatened to fall upon them. The silence that had been his company for all of his life. But he did not let it be their's now. He decided to defeat it now with all of his strength. Yes, silence they would have to feel, but not this one.
He started to sing for her in a low and light voice. It was a very simple melody, but it sounded as pure as coming from heaven. Christine was bewitched with his elysian song. She suddenly forgot every frightening word she had heard out of his mouth right now, it had only seemed frightening to her because she did not understand. Of course he had enough reasons to be sad and upset, but that would be over now, she was with him. Yet she did not see that she would share the darkness with him.
The melody became so familiar to her, as if she had never listened to anything else. It was flowing over the surface of the black water, only sung for her, then she joined him and their voices became one, like two parts that had always belonged together. Two voices made for each others. And a song only made for them.
That way it had to stay forever, Christine thought, and at the same time she was amazed how strange the people up above could be. Beauty could not be seen with the eyes, only a part of it, real beauty was different and so much bigger. It was an obstacle to have eyes, when wanting this experience.
Much too soon they had reached the other shore of the lake, where the house was. It had always seemed a little frightening to her and she caught herself in hesitating at the threshold.
***I knew it!!! I thought I would finish this damned story within a week – and now I am blocked again - B-L-O-C-K-E-D – such a simple, nice word for such a damn annoying thing. I have really tried anything: I listened to "The Music Of The Night" all the time. I tried to get drunk. I smoked a cigarette in the dark garden (I usually don't smoke), because I thought unusual actions would turn on my creativity. But in the end I was glad it was dark and no-one saw me – embarrassing – in the dark I lit the filter (I really couldn't see anything out there, good excuse?) I made myself some REALLY strong coffee to stay awake long enough, as the best ideas always come late at night. Nothing worked!
But I'll try again and again. What will I be without writing? Maybe I should simply ignore the silly blocking and write just away – anything, maybe it's not that bad in the end.
I turn on my computer – enter the chapter II file – reread it to get into the feeling and then something strange happens. I manage to recall the entire picture in front of my closed eyes, but it is different and also not. It does not move, it is more like a photograph .... or no ... my story looks more like an oil-painting. Everything seems to be frozen within the movement. Christine, just wanting to set her foot over the threshold, the flames of the candles, burning, but like frozen, the same with the water of the lake. One can't see much of it, only that it does not move at all, standing still in the middle of making gentle waves.
Only one person, the one I did not mention yet, does seem to be alive. Erik. He turns around and I have the strange impression he is directly looking at me. He gives me a terribly annoyed look. He can't mean me!
"Not again!" he moans in a way of being dramatically bored – if that is possible to be.
As I don't have anything else to do (and no-one can hear me) I answer and I am honestly confused about him.
"What?"
"You know, what I mean. I can't remember, you asked me to allow you that." He must be talking to me maybe I drank too much, what did I actually put into my coffee?
"What?" was my very intelligent response again.
"Writing! About me!" his voice was getting louder.
I was still amazed and was getting curious at the same time. How can such a thing happen?
"Should I have asked you?"
He sighed in a way an adult does explaining something to a child for the twenty-seventh time.
"Would you like to be falsified all the time? Can't you imagine that I feel used by all you wannabe-writers?
"You are a character in a novel!"
"A novel? One? Hundreds! I am used for fulfil the phantasies of my so- called 'phans'! They do with me what they want, I am what they want me to be. That isn't funny! No-one sees what I am really like!"
"Really?" I ask rubbing my forehead. "You are not real. You are invention of Monsieur Leroux."
"Of course ... Leroux is his name? I don't care I cannot know such things . I am lucky to have found out that I am not real. Things happen again and again, always in slightly different ways.
"Are you that annoying to all of the writers?"
"No."
"Why do I have the pleasure then?"
"Coincidence. Don't take it personal."
"Thank you. Would you now allow me to go continue?"
"I have no choice."***
to be continued ....
He carried her down through endless darkness, far beyond the visible parts of the Opera. One would never guess, what such a splendid place could hide ....
Seh seemed to be afraid, but did not show any resistance. He had put gloves on, for not startling her with his icy hands. Anyway it was cold down here and the air was nastily humid. He was used to it, but he wrapped his cape thighter around her body, because he knew she was not. Apart from that she was only wearing her thin costume.
He felt every muscle of her's being tensed up, and that concerned him, as he had never meant to frighten her. He would have loved her to be fetched in a carriage, filled with soft cussions and sweet-smelling flowers, leading it's way through sunny meadows. He would have liked her to be brought to her wedding like any other bride. But instead he had taken her like a thief – and tat was why it didn't look clear at all anymore, whether it had been her own wish.
He wished, he could at leat embrace her a little thighter, just to offer a little comfort as any loving man would have probably done - but he was not any man. Embraces and closeness were nothing they would share so soon, though he was longing so desperately for her white arms. Once, when she was used to the look and the smell of his skin, when there probably was no need anymore to fret, that she could scream or faint – maybe this would have to be enough for him.
He was secure in finding the way down to the lake in the dark. As they reached the water, the boat was already waiting, tied at the shore. With steady steps he entered the black gondola and carefully sat Christine on the small bank at the bow. She looked at him smiling and when he made them glide across the lake, she curiously bent over to look at the black water and extended her hand towards it.
"Don't!" His voice tore the silence, that had only been disturbed by the gentle splashing of the water, caused by him.
She stared at him, starteled, her eyes widened. He had not meant to be that determined.
"My dear, the water of the lake has nothing that could be of interest to you. Look, you can't even see it." Now he sounded quiet, but bare of any expression. Only he knew how the deadly mechanism worked, that protected him from unwanted visitors.
She lowered her head, like a child that just had been caught in doing something incredibly silly.
"You are right, Erik." She answered. "But – I cannot see it, it's too dark. That is why I wanted to touch it."
"You don't believe, that there is water in my lake? You should not only trust your eyes. You under all should know that you don't only have the sences of sight and touch. Did you forget that. Just listen ..." He made a few movements with his paddle on the water.
"Oh ..." she said and smiled again. "This is the way you orient yourself down here – by listening? Is that what you are doing all the time? You don't even have a lantern." She sounded curious now, eager to find out, how it was to live the way he did.
"I don't need one. Is it that what makes you afraid? The darkness?"
"No, I am only not used to it that much, but I will – very quickly!" she said enthusiastically. "I am sure, you will. One gets used to everything." he tried to keep any cynism out of his words. She didn't want her to get worried too early with matters, that she would anyway find out sooner or later. Things that didn't make everything necessarily brighter.
"In fact I can see very well in the dark. I can see you perfectly. At the moment you have your right hand in your hair ..."
Taken by surprise she let her hand fall on her skirt. "You really do! I can only see your ..."
As her voice trailed off, she could hear his laughter.
"... my mask, you wanted to say. Don't blush. It is alright. You are allowed to say 'mask'. I put on the white one, extra for you, so that you can see it better in the dark. I also have black ones, they meke me invisible. But I thought, you would not find it exactly encouraging, being kidnapped by an invisible phantom."
"Can I also make myself invisible? Could you show me that?"
"I could." He put a special kind of derisive emphasise on the word 'could'. "But let me tell you, that it would not seem the same exiting to you, if you had no other choice, than not being seen. If not only you fignity as a human being as well as your life depended on seeing, without being seen."
At that she remained silent. He felt bad about having to tell her such a realistic sight of her future right at the beginning, but maybe then it would be fairer. Why the hell did he care about fairness? He had never been shown it himself. Was it the pureness of her young soul that suddenly taught him such things ...? Or his bad conscious, that he had thought to have lost long, long ago?
A heavy silence threatened to fall upon them. The silence that had been his company for all of his life. But he did not let it be their's now. He decided to defeat it now with all of his strength. Yes, silence they would have to feel, but not this one.
He started to sing for her in a low and light voice. It was a very simple melody, but it sounded as pure as coming from heaven. Christine was bewitched with his elysian song. She suddenly forgot every frightening word she had heard out of his mouth right now, it had only seemed frightening to her because she did not understand. Of course he had enough reasons to be sad and upset, but that would be over now, she was with him. Yet she did not see that she would share the darkness with him.
The melody became so familiar to her, as if she had never listened to anything else. It was flowing over the surface of the black water, only sung for her, then she joined him and their voices became one, like two parts that had always belonged together. Two voices made for each others. And a song only made for them.
That way it had to stay forever, Christine thought, and at the same time she was amazed how strange the people up above could be. Beauty could not be seen with the eyes, only a part of it, real beauty was different and so much bigger. It was an obstacle to have eyes, when wanting this experience.
Much too soon they had reached the other shore of the lake, where the house was. It had always seemed a little frightening to her and she caught herself in hesitating at the threshold.
***I knew it!!! I thought I would finish this damned story within a week – and now I am blocked again - B-L-O-C-K-E-D – such a simple, nice word for such a damn annoying thing. I have really tried anything: I listened to "The Music Of The Night" all the time. I tried to get drunk. I smoked a cigarette in the dark garden (I usually don't smoke), because I thought unusual actions would turn on my creativity. But in the end I was glad it was dark and no-one saw me – embarrassing – in the dark I lit the filter (I really couldn't see anything out there, good excuse?) I made myself some REALLY strong coffee to stay awake long enough, as the best ideas always come late at night. Nothing worked!
But I'll try again and again. What will I be without writing? Maybe I should simply ignore the silly blocking and write just away – anything, maybe it's not that bad in the end.
I turn on my computer – enter the chapter II file – reread it to get into the feeling and then something strange happens. I manage to recall the entire picture in front of my closed eyes, but it is different and also not. It does not move, it is more like a photograph .... or no ... my story looks more like an oil-painting. Everything seems to be frozen within the movement. Christine, just wanting to set her foot over the threshold, the flames of the candles, burning, but like frozen, the same with the water of the lake. One can't see much of it, only that it does not move at all, standing still in the middle of making gentle waves.
Only one person, the one I did not mention yet, does seem to be alive. Erik. He turns around and I have the strange impression he is directly looking at me. He gives me a terribly annoyed look. He can't mean me!
"Not again!" he moans in a way of being dramatically bored – if that is possible to be.
As I don't have anything else to do (and no-one can hear me) I answer and I am honestly confused about him.
"What?"
"You know, what I mean. I can't remember, you asked me to allow you that." He must be talking to me maybe I drank too much, what did I actually put into my coffee?
"What?" was my very intelligent response again.
"Writing! About me!" his voice was getting louder.
I was still amazed and was getting curious at the same time. How can such a thing happen?
"Should I have asked you?"
He sighed in a way an adult does explaining something to a child for the twenty-seventh time.
"Would you like to be falsified all the time? Can't you imagine that I feel used by all you wannabe-writers?
"You are a character in a novel!"
"A novel? One? Hundreds! I am used for fulfil the phantasies of my so- called 'phans'! They do with me what they want, I am what they want me to be. That isn't funny! No-one sees what I am really like!"
"Really?" I ask rubbing my forehead. "You are not real. You are invention of Monsieur Leroux."
"Of course ... Leroux is his name? I don't care I cannot know such things . I am lucky to have found out that I am not real. Things happen again and again, always in slightly different ways.
"Are you that annoying to all of the writers?"
"No."
"Why do I have the pleasure then?"
"Coincidence. Don't take it personal."
"Thank you. Would you now allow me to go continue?"
"I have no choice."***
to be continued ....