The Boat Maiden
Nadir, The Persian
I am not a dramatic or romantic writer, only a recorder of events. In my youth I had not learned fancy writing, but I was privileged enough to learn the basics. Thus I shall make this account concise in the very sense of the word, although this story is not brief or simple whatsoever.
As I reached the back of the Palais Garnier, I glanced at my pocket-watch with a furrowed brow. It was just past eleven; Erik had been expecting me since ten, and only Allah and I knew how disappointed he was going to be with me for causing him to wait on my behalf. After all, Erik always managed to find SOMETHING the matter with me that he could shun, as I so plainly snubbed his faults, of which he had plenty.
I am not one to break my promises, but that evening it was so terribly easy to forget! He had invited his half-sister Yvette and me over for dinner the week of Christmas, a time of no importance to me, and a time in which I was convalescing from influenza. The engagement had merely slipped my boggy mind, just as my fever broke and my life returned to normal. The importance of my promise had dissipated as I grew healthy again; it dissipated like the awful tasting medicine that my physician had prescribed for me, sliding down my parched throat to my weakened stomach, only causing all intake of refreshments to travel up again and into the waste-basket at my bedside. I will say no more of that, but instead go on to an explanation of sorts as to whom Yvette truly is, in terms other than that of Erik's younger sister.
I met Yvette only a few weeks after Christine Daaé and the Vicomte de Chagny left Paris. It was quite a meeting of chance really. I was attending the opera one eve to see Le Nozze di Figaro and to visit with Erik. She had been roaming the corridor off of Box Five seemingly trying to get a glimpse of "the Opera Ghost" and "the Persian", as people so called us. As to why she wished to see ME though, I was not certain, but I nonetheless decided it was best to indulge the child. Thus I excused myself of Erik's moody company and went out to the gas-lit corridor, smiling at the young woman and bowing.
"Bonsoir, Mademoiselle." I said kindly, taking her hand and kissing it. She gave me an awkward look and shook her hand from my lips, almost cringing it seemed. "How may I be of service to you?" She did not tremble, although fear I could decipher in her jade eyes. She just looked on in wonder, her mouth gaping, and her eyes twinkling. "Is there something the matter?" I asked her, after minutes of her scrutinizing, causing her to clear her throat and shake her head back into reality.
"Why, yes actually." She answered in a strong and assuring voice, holding her fan out to touch my shoulder. "I am amazed to say that through long searching and yearning, I have at last found my brother."
I gave her a puzzled look. "Ay, your brother? Are you in search of him, Mademoiselle?"
She laughed dryly then, and my cheeks grew hot with embarrassment. "Oh, no Monsieur le Perse! He is found! Please forgive my impudence, but I insist that you have a visit with me in my box when you are able. It will not take long I deem, for I am a concise person and do not find pleasure in taking away the liberal time of those I speak to. Please say that you will have a care and see me, Monsieur. I am in dire need to speak with you -- something about your mysterious friend."
The young woman pointed through a doorway to the box right across from Erik's. She looked familiar somehow. Perhaps it was best I go. She said she had information on Erik! What? How absurd to say the least…thus I went, despite the fact that I did not find it wise to leave Erik to brood for too long by his lonesome. I went at intermission, the young Mademoiselle leading the way. I was warmly welcomed into the box by an older woman, Mademoiselle Perrault, the younger explained. I bowed and smiled asininely, until they both begged of me to sit down beside them and tell about myself. For awhile I put gentlemanliness on the back- burner and strictly gave both women what they asked, nothing more and nothing less.
"What is your name, good Monsieur?" Mademoiselle Perrault questioned in a scratchy tone, looking upon me as if I was a Roman god, stone and mammoth, towering over her in splendor. Her eyes were kind, jade like the other's, yet the two woman were as different as life and death…you may title whichever the two as you please…
The elder's skin was pasty as if she suffered from an eternal chill, whilst the younger, who was herself pale, had that absence in color to which one may attribute a lily's petal. The young mademoiselle had ebony hair in a braid to her waist, while the old-maid had orange and gray hair fashioned in a shocked, messy bun. Mademoiselle Perrault was frail and homely like a starving mouse, compared to the other woman who was slender in form, almost like a stealthy black cat, or much more like Erik--Graceful, deadly.
"I am Nadir, or as many Parisians call me, The Persian. How may I be of service to you, Mesdemoiselles?"
"It is not a question of what YOU can do for us, but what we can do for you." The black-haired child replied, putting one of her femininely fragile hands on the one of mine that I had resting at my knee. I trembled slightly at her touch; it was warm and soft, much like my wife's so long ago.
"I do not understand." I murmured in my quivering, much to the dismay of the younger and the confusion of Mlle. Perrault. "Nadir, I have heard so much about him and yourself these past years since I have come to Paris. I knew we would find you both here, if not anywhere else. You see…" She took a small photograph from her purse and handed it to me, "She is Marie Perrault, friend to my deceased mother, and I am Yvette Lesauvage…half-sister to the infamous Phantom of the Opera…Erik."
I glanced down at the picture in my hand; it was so small in my grasp. I felt if I were to move I would crumple it in my palm. The woman appeared to be the younger mademoiselle, only she had not green eyes, but the perpetual blue like Erik's. She wore jet jewelry as well, denoting a loss of some sort that plagued her mind forever. I gulped down a lump in my throat and returned the photograph to the elder's cherishing hold.
"Yvette is beautiful just as her mother had been, my dearest friend…but Erik…" Mademoiselle Perrault lowered her voice as if the ghost himself had been listening. "He resembles the demons of the night. I have heard well from of his whereabouts…but not until recently, after the story of that Daaé girl and her lover. Once the papers let such a tale unravel, I knew in my heart that Erik was here…thus I wrote to Yvette most immediately…so that she may see him for herself."
Yvette put a hand on my shoulder then, and I squirmed in my seat, but smiled nonetheless. Soon thereafter I rose from my place beside the aging Mademoiselle Perrault and looked for the first time, deeper into the eyes of Erik's half-sister, the only woman other than my deceased wife, that I would for the rest of my life, cause my heart to pine for and love with passion.
"You are Erik's sister?" I breathed stupidly, shaking her hand with vigor, which only made her frown.
"Aren't you a genius, dear Nadir. Yes, I am his sister." Yvette responded sarcastically, smirking at my foolish inquiry, as if we had known one another all our lives.
So thus, I befriended Yvette, Erik's only living family, and the most loved of all my friends. I had found myself, at last, in Paris, and grew happier for the sake of it, just as Yvette had found her brother, and Erik had found his sister. We were all together quite a circle of friends, but only did Erik's sister bind that ring in place.
The cold wind blew snow into my eyes, causing me to squint. It blew my cap off of my matted graying hair in an effort to take it from me for always. Several times, my hat did blow off, but every time I caught it and I again placed it back upon my head. The wind was cold, beating against my face and neck, causing my breath to be lost in the storm. My feet were cold and wet, my ears were red, and my hands had gone numb. When finally I felt my way to the secret passage at the back of the Opéra, I had been shivering as a leaf ready to fall from its branch in autumn, and hacking like a cat. Seeing past the flakes of snow on my lashes, I put my hand to the door, but then as I reached for the knob, I was surprised to find the door swing on its hinges. It had been tampered with. "Strange" I thought, entering through to the warm interior nevertheless.
The eerie silence of a world so unspoiled gave me chills up and down my aging spine. The light of the lake reflected upon the stone floors and walls as I rounded the corner, blowing on my un-gloved hands to warm them. I stopped a moment about ten feet from the lake and stamped my feet to keep the blood flowing within, as well as shake the snow off of my boots, but as I did so, I heard a harsh hiss from behind me. I turned abruptly, my eyes wide with surprise; there was nothing there. I let my eyes delve deeper into the shadows, my breath hesitant with expectancy, and my heart beating fiercely in my weak chest, until I saw the tiny blue eyes watching me. A sandy-colored tail swung over a sandy-colored visage; Ayesha stood there, her back arched and her whiskers wild with agitation.
I smiled upon the easily-startled creature and knelt down, extending my hand to her with gentleness. She advanced closer with curiosity, sniffed at my fingers for a moment, then put her head under my palm, and brushed herself over my caress in a heavy purr.
"Does Erik know that you are out here?" I asked the pretty feline, lifting her into my arms, for she trusted me that much (what a bloody surprise: A cat just like its owner!). She licked my neck momentarily, purring still in a good-natured manner. Of course Erik had not a clue of her being out there! Ayesha was hardly ever to leave the house during the winter season. "Best be that we bring you back home." I told her, taking her with me toward the boat bobbing on the lake yonder.
About ready to hop into the boat, I soon found that that would have been quite a grave mistake. Though the light was dim from my angle, I immediately perceived a bundle of rags lying on the planks of the wooden entity. I blinked my eyes several times before realizing that the bundle had a head of dark auburn hair and a face almost blue in tint. It was a young woman and she lay there in a fetal position.
The first thoughts to enter my mind were "Where has she come from?" and "is she dead?"
Putting the cat down into the boat, I steadied myself into it as well. Kneeling next to the gathering of tatters and long curly hair, I raised her hand and checked for a pulse at her wrist. She was dreadfully cold to the touch, but from what I could tell she was alive, if not on the verge of death. Taking the pole at hand and loosening the rope that kept the boat in place, I decided not to try and wake the girl, but to take her with me to Erik's underground abode, where we could there possibly revive her.