Dawn broke upon the camp. Men scurried here and there; some preparing
the morning meal, others setting up the tents and booths. The fire burned
brightly, still, and the smell of stew was thick in the air. Erik felt his
hunger swell within him. It had been too long since his last meal, much too
long.
Alonso, the fat, beady-eyed show master, approached his cage. His eyes sneered, but his fleshy face remained unmoved. He was dressed in the colored extremes of many a Gypsy performer, though he himself had no talent but the handling of money. He spoke with a heated rasp.
"You did not play yesterday," he said plainly. "If you wish to enjoy life, my friend, I urge you to play today." Erik did not look away. Though one of his eyes was partially concealed by his mask, he steadily held the gaze of the other man. Alonso became uneasy. He handed Erik the battered violin, which he accepted with a curt nod. "You will play."
The crowd had already begun to gather, though it was still early in the day. There seemed to be a whisper that lingered throughout the show. A nobleman, someone of high birth, was said to be attending that very afternoon. Though no one in the crowd looked to be anything but common, there was still a restlessness to impress whoever it was that was rumored to be there. Erik, though, was indifferent. If he were forced to play his music, then it would be for his own gratification and no one else's.
The crowd clambered around the camp, whispering and clapping, cheering and booing good-naturedly. They seemed to enjoy themselves.
For once in their pathetic lives, Erik thought to himself. They reached his cage, and Alonso took on an air of wisdom as he explained.
"This, ladies and gentlemen, is the final attraction. A skilled poet, a remarkable architect, but, a man with the face of the devil himself. It is too horrifying to lay eyes on, so we hide it with a mask of the purest white. My fair companions, may I present a composer who is scarred only in appearance. . . Monsieur Monster!" On his cue, Erik rose from the straw, threw back his tattered cape, and took up the worn violin. The crowd gasped, then hushed, anticipating the first note. He did not disappoint. Though the strings weren't smooth, though the instrument was in poor condition, Erik gently played the first pitch. His skilled fingers softened the vibrato to a hushed murmur of sound that echoed through the bars of the cage. The crowd was still, the note entrancing them. Then, without warning, Erik erupted in a fit of chords, the violin reaching out to strike an emotion close to fear in the hearts of the people. He played with passion and fury, each note more beautiful and powerful, until he abruptly ended with the same, soothing sound with which he had begun. The people cheered, for they had been stirred to tears by the passion that surged out of the old violin. Erik took no bow, no credit for that matter, but ran a hand through his short, dark hair.
"He is extraordinary!" A man shouted. "Where did you find such a creature?"
Alonso, still beaming with pride, turned to face the man. Erik almost chuckled to himself. What brilliant lie would he have to tell? What heart- wrenching story would he concoct to spill forth to the listeners? Surely the truth would not do. Oh no. The abduction of a man, forcing him to play against his will, that would not do at all.
"I found him. . .In the furthest regions of Greece. He was living in a cave, surviving on the flesh of wild animals that he caught and killed with his hands. He knew nothing of the ways of civilized man, only the ways he'd been taught at a young age." The flock seemed to be enjoying his tale. "There, I introduced him to the arts. He was a genius! But, he is so very dangerous. That is why he must be kept in such a cage."
Erik laughed; a sneering, contemptuous laugh. The crowd took it for the laugh of a madman. But one man, the man who had asked that riveting question, he stood apart. He gazed at him with almost tenderness. Certainly it was not, for no person had ever shown him tenderness. Most certainly the look he gave was one of pity, and no more. The man turned to Alonso, and began to whisper things to him. Alonso became angry, and stormed away. The man gave one last, puzzling glance in Erik's direction, before he, too, departed with the crowd.
Alonso, the fat, beady-eyed show master, approached his cage. His eyes sneered, but his fleshy face remained unmoved. He was dressed in the colored extremes of many a Gypsy performer, though he himself had no talent but the handling of money. He spoke with a heated rasp.
"You did not play yesterday," he said plainly. "If you wish to enjoy life, my friend, I urge you to play today." Erik did not look away. Though one of his eyes was partially concealed by his mask, he steadily held the gaze of the other man. Alonso became uneasy. He handed Erik the battered violin, which he accepted with a curt nod. "You will play."
The crowd had already begun to gather, though it was still early in the day. There seemed to be a whisper that lingered throughout the show. A nobleman, someone of high birth, was said to be attending that very afternoon. Though no one in the crowd looked to be anything but common, there was still a restlessness to impress whoever it was that was rumored to be there. Erik, though, was indifferent. If he were forced to play his music, then it would be for his own gratification and no one else's.
The crowd clambered around the camp, whispering and clapping, cheering and booing good-naturedly. They seemed to enjoy themselves.
For once in their pathetic lives, Erik thought to himself. They reached his cage, and Alonso took on an air of wisdom as he explained.
"This, ladies and gentlemen, is the final attraction. A skilled poet, a remarkable architect, but, a man with the face of the devil himself. It is too horrifying to lay eyes on, so we hide it with a mask of the purest white. My fair companions, may I present a composer who is scarred only in appearance. . . Monsieur Monster!" On his cue, Erik rose from the straw, threw back his tattered cape, and took up the worn violin. The crowd gasped, then hushed, anticipating the first note. He did not disappoint. Though the strings weren't smooth, though the instrument was in poor condition, Erik gently played the first pitch. His skilled fingers softened the vibrato to a hushed murmur of sound that echoed through the bars of the cage. The crowd was still, the note entrancing them. Then, without warning, Erik erupted in a fit of chords, the violin reaching out to strike an emotion close to fear in the hearts of the people. He played with passion and fury, each note more beautiful and powerful, until he abruptly ended with the same, soothing sound with which he had begun. The people cheered, for they had been stirred to tears by the passion that surged out of the old violin. Erik took no bow, no credit for that matter, but ran a hand through his short, dark hair.
"He is extraordinary!" A man shouted. "Where did you find such a creature?"
Alonso, still beaming with pride, turned to face the man. Erik almost chuckled to himself. What brilliant lie would he have to tell? What heart- wrenching story would he concoct to spill forth to the listeners? Surely the truth would not do. Oh no. The abduction of a man, forcing him to play against his will, that would not do at all.
"I found him. . .In the furthest regions of Greece. He was living in a cave, surviving on the flesh of wild animals that he caught and killed with his hands. He knew nothing of the ways of civilized man, only the ways he'd been taught at a young age." The flock seemed to be enjoying his tale. "There, I introduced him to the arts. He was a genius! But, he is so very dangerous. That is why he must be kept in such a cage."
Erik laughed; a sneering, contemptuous laugh. The crowd took it for the laugh of a madman. But one man, the man who had asked that riveting question, he stood apart. He gazed at him with almost tenderness. Certainly it was not, for no person had ever shown him tenderness. Most certainly the look he gave was one of pity, and no more. The man turned to Alonso, and began to whisper things to him. Alonso became angry, and stormed away. The man gave one last, puzzling glance in Erik's direction, before he, too, departed with the crowd.