That night, long after the crowd had dispersed, after the tents had
been cleared away, Alonso came to visit him. He opened the door of the
cage, slowly, but seemingly without fear.
"You are a genius, my friend," he handed Erik a bowl of stew leftover from the early morning meal. "I hope my lies did not offend you?" Erik took the bowl and spoon, and tasted the food. It was plain, but he knew that it would squelch the pains in his empty stomach. Alonso continued, "Today you played very well. What made you change your mind? Surely it was not the beating."
Erik paused. He looked up from his meal, and said softly, "I play for no one but myself. You mistake my music for something much greater."
"Ah," his pig-eyes searched Erik's, "But there was rumor of a nobleman about. Did that not spark your will to play?" Erik shook his head. He finished the small bowl. Alonso retrieved it from him, and handed him a bucket of fresh water. He accepted it gratefully. Pulling down a flap of material over the cage, Alonso bid him goodnight.
The next morning began very much like the previous. In fact, most mornings were the same. Erik was sure that he had been traveling with the group for at least ten years, or so it felt. But, in reality, it had only been three years since his capture. And, in that three years, Erik had sunken into himself. When he had lived alone, he'd had his beautiful little piano, his flowers, his own mahogany violin. Those had been the days when he did things for himself, pleased himself in the only ways he knew how. Now, it became harder and harder for him to find comfort. . .
The crowd gathered in front of his cage. Erik surveyed them from behind his mask. His cool brown eyes weren't trusting; for, Erik trusted no one. He played, his bow moving across the strings almost of its own accord. He never played the same tune twice, for he believed that such a thing would drive him mad. This day, he chose to play a sweeping aria, meant for two players. He played both parts easily. The people were amazed at his ability. One man, in particular, was engrossed. It was the same man who had lagged behind the day before. Erik studied him, hardly paying attention to what he was playing. The man was of small stature, maybe a few inches shorter than himself. He wore common clothing, but he had light hair, and the light complexion most customary in a man of. . .wealth.
Perhaps, Erik thought calmly to himself, this is the noble who the gossips predicted would grace us with his presence. He turned his thoughts from the young man to the music, realizing he had played far longer than he ever had before. He stopped suddenly, blasting forth with a surprisingly high note, and ended the piece. The audience cheered. He was tired, so he returned the violin to the little shelf of his cage.
***
"No! I will not give away my most prized performer!" Alonso's voice rose angrily. He looked the younger man over incredulously, "How dare you even ask?"
The young man shook his head wearily. "Your most prized performer? How come, then, is the poor man kept in a cage like a beast? He should be treated with the utmost respect. A man of his talent, wasting away in your clutches."
"What concern is it of yours? Did you not hear the story, how I found him living like an animal-"
The young man cut him off sharply, "Oh yes, I heard that story. I also heard the tale of when you and he were traveling companions. He was struck on the head by a falling rock, rendering him highly temperamental and scarred, but retaining all of his former talents. Please, sir, no more nonsense. Tell me the truth. You captured him. Because of his face, no one would miss him?"
Alonso was without words. "Well-I was. . ."
"If you please, I would like to take him away from all of this. He deserves much more than the cruel cage that you've given him. I can give him a stage, a dressing room. I can make him the renowned composer he is worthy to be."
Alonso relented to the young man. "Who are you?"
"Baron Von Ulrichstein. The key, if you please."
"You are a genius, my friend," he handed Erik a bowl of stew leftover from the early morning meal. "I hope my lies did not offend you?" Erik took the bowl and spoon, and tasted the food. It was plain, but he knew that it would squelch the pains in his empty stomach. Alonso continued, "Today you played very well. What made you change your mind? Surely it was not the beating."
Erik paused. He looked up from his meal, and said softly, "I play for no one but myself. You mistake my music for something much greater."
"Ah," his pig-eyes searched Erik's, "But there was rumor of a nobleman about. Did that not spark your will to play?" Erik shook his head. He finished the small bowl. Alonso retrieved it from him, and handed him a bucket of fresh water. He accepted it gratefully. Pulling down a flap of material over the cage, Alonso bid him goodnight.
The next morning began very much like the previous. In fact, most mornings were the same. Erik was sure that he had been traveling with the group for at least ten years, or so it felt. But, in reality, it had only been three years since his capture. And, in that three years, Erik had sunken into himself. When he had lived alone, he'd had his beautiful little piano, his flowers, his own mahogany violin. Those had been the days when he did things for himself, pleased himself in the only ways he knew how. Now, it became harder and harder for him to find comfort. . .
The crowd gathered in front of his cage. Erik surveyed them from behind his mask. His cool brown eyes weren't trusting; for, Erik trusted no one. He played, his bow moving across the strings almost of its own accord. He never played the same tune twice, for he believed that such a thing would drive him mad. This day, he chose to play a sweeping aria, meant for two players. He played both parts easily. The people were amazed at his ability. One man, in particular, was engrossed. It was the same man who had lagged behind the day before. Erik studied him, hardly paying attention to what he was playing. The man was of small stature, maybe a few inches shorter than himself. He wore common clothing, but he had light hair, and the light complexion most customary in a man of. . .wealth.
Perhaps, Erik thought calmly to himself, this is the noble who the gossips predicted would grace us with his presence. He turned his thoughts from the young man to the music, realizing he had played far longer than he ever had before. He stopped suddenly, blasting forth with a surprisingly high note, and ended the piece. The audience cheered. He was tired, so he returned the violin to the little shelf of his cage.
***
"No! I will not give away my most prized performer!" Alonso's voice rose angrily. He looked the younger man over incredulously, "How dare you even ask?"
The young man shook his head wearily. "Your most prized performer? How come, then, is the poor man kept in a cage like a beast? He should be treated with the utmost respect. A man of his talent, wasting away in your clutches."
"What concern is it of yours? Did you not hear the story, how I found him living like an animal-"
The young man cut him off sharply, "Oh yes, I heard that story. I also heard the tale of when you and he were traveling companions. He was struck on the head by a falling rock, rendering him highly temperamental and scarred, but retaining all of his former talents. Please, sir, no more nonsense. Tell me the truth. You captured him. Because of his face, no one would miss him?"
Alonso was without words. "Well-I was. . ."
"If you please, I would like to take him away from all of this. He deserves much more than the cruel cage that you've given him. I can give him a stage, a dressing room. I can make him the renowned composer he is worthy to be."
Alonso relented to the young man. "Who are you?"
"Baron Von Ulrichstein. The key, if you please."