Author's note: Thanks again for your reviews! In this chapter (another sad
one, I'm afraid) Erik learns the truth about his face.
Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera. The characters in this story are mainly based on the characters from the original novel and the musical.
ANTOINETTE GIRY
I rushed up the attic staircase as soon as I managed to free myself from the commotion downstairs. The door of the attic bedroom was closed, so I knocked loudly. When there was no answer, I entered the room and found Erik.
He was lying on his bed, with his face buried deep in his pillow.
"Erik." There was no reply. "Erik, are you all right?"
My only answer was a little sob. I walked slowly over to him and laid a hand on his small, trembling shoulder. He turned to face me, and I suffered a silent shock. His entire face had been covered with that horrible grey mask, with small holes for the eyes and tiny little holes to allow him to breathe. There was no hole for his mouth. I was furious; all this time he had been happy and contented. I had grown used to seeing that cheerful little disfigured face looking up at me every time I entered the room. But now he was imprisoned, forbidden to show his face to anyone, forbidden to smile that little crooked smile! Why, oh why had they done this to him? He was just a poor little boy!
He could no longer show his expressions. I could imagine how the face would look behind the mask, but the only parts I could see were his eyes, which told me enough. They seemed sad, troubled, and strangely angry. I untied the knot which held the mask in place, and a hot, tragic, tearstained little face immediately buried itself into my gown.
"Hush!" I crooned, gently massaging his shoulders. "Don't cry! I still love you, even if they don't! I love you even though you're a bit different!"
He looked up. "A bit different?"
"Yes. No! I mean.different in personality. You're nicer than them."
He looked at me uncertainly, those strange, wise eyes burning into mine. Oh God, he didn't believe me! What should I tell him?
"Auntie, why did they do this to me? Am I so repulsive to look at?"
I remained silent.
"Tell me Auntie. Please."
I could no longer contain myself.
"Oh, Erik!" I blurted, starting to cry myself. "I'm sorry Erik. I'm so sorry! I should have told you before, shouldn't I?"
"What?"
"Erik, there's something a bit different about your face. Don't worry, it won't hurt you or anything, but - Oh, I'm sorry, my darling!"
"Why? What is it? What's wrong with it?"
Those poor, desperate eyes were fixed on me! What should I say? What should I tell him? I swallowed hard, and came out with the most obvious, insensitive thing I could.
"Your face is deformed, Erik."
"What do you mean?" he asked, becoming increasingly agitated. "I don't know what that word means!"
I paused. How could you explain the word "deformed," anyway?
"It's.it's different from everyone else's.since birth. It's sort of.not quite normal, Erik."
He looked at me questioningly. "I remember you once told me that it meant I was different. I don't quite understand -"
"Erik, feel your face."
He reached up uncertainly and pulled his hand away almost immediately.
"What does it feel like?"
"One side's alright," he said quietly. "But the other side - oh, I don't know - it's sort of rough and bumpy -"
"Would you like to see yourself, Erik?"
"See myself? What do you mean?"
"Look in the mirror."
"What's a mirror?"
"Here, let me show you." I went into my room, picked up a small hand mirror that was lying on my bedside table, and returned to Erik, placing the mirror face down on the bed beside him.
"Now, Erik. When you lift the mirror up, you will see your face. Don't be frightened. I'm here, and you can scream, cry, shout or throw a tantrum and I won't care."
He looked up at me, his eyes wide with terror.
"Is it really that bad?" "No! Of course not! But you know what I mean."
Erik took the mirror in his small, shaking hands, closed his eyes, and turned it around. His eyes opened and I saw him jump. He didn't shout or scream, but he looked extremely confused and rather frightened. He put his head on one side, and the image in the mirror put its head on one side. He tried to smile his crooked smile, and the image in the mirror did likewise. He moved his head forwards, backwards, sideways, and the image in the mirror mimicked his movements. He whispered his name; "I am Erik" and his reflection did the same. Then he gave a terrible cry of understanding and slammed the mirror back down on the bed.
And then there were tears, as he struggled to fully understand the situation he was in.
"Now Erik."
He sat up, and attempted to dry his eyes. "So, that's me, then?"
"Yes Erik," I said quietly. "That's you."
"But I don't understand. Why?"
"We don't know Erik. It's just one of those things," I replied, remembering the doctor's "diagnosis."
"But. my mother's very pretty, so why am I like this?"
"I don't know."
"Aunt Giry?"
"Yes?"
"What can I do about it?"
There was a pause. What I was about to say would hurt him, but I knew that I could not withhold the truth from him any longer.
"I'm sorry, Erik, but you can't do anything about it."
"Nothing?"
"No. I'm afraid not."
"Is this why my parents don't love me?"
"It's why they won't look after you, yes."
"Do you still love me?"
"Of course!" I put my arms around his cold, shaking body and held him tightly. There was a pause before he spoke again.
"This is all my own fault, isn't it?"
"No, of course not! Why do you say that?"
"Because I'm a monster and a freak."
"Oh, Erik, that isn't true."
"It's been kept from me all my life!" he said, starting to cry again. "All this time I've been wondering why my parents don't want me. All this time I've been wondering why I'm never allowed outside. Why, I can't even go to school!"
And he collapsed onto his quilt, sobbing violently. I tried my hardest to comfort him.
"Hush now. It's not the end of the world! You're still number one in my book, even though you're slightly different! I still love you! After all, look how talented you are!"
"But I've caused all this trouble!"
"No, you haven't. It wasn't your fault. It was mine, and your mother's."
He dried his eyes and sat up again.
"Aunt Giry, I want to know the truth. I want to know exactly what happened when I was born. I don't care if it's bad. It can't be any worse than what has just happened. Please tell me."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Then you're a brave child. Come over here, Erik, and I'll tell you all about it."
I took him in my arms again, thinking that he would need comforting after I had told him what I had to say.
"I remember your birth well. After all, I was there. Your father was waiting in the drawing room. Oh, the shouts and exclamations that went up when you were born! I will not repeat the things they said, but I recall that the servants present were all rather superstitious. In the hubbub that followed your birth, I didn't say a word. I just stood in the corner. I was not scared of you, like the servants seemed to be, and I was shocked at the way they were passing you from one to the other like some sort of object which displeased them.
'"If you don't stop, I'll go mad!" I suddenly exclaimed, snatching you from the housekeeper's arms. "How could you treat him like that? He's just a child! The poor little thing can't help his looks!"'
"It was then that I realised you were not moving or breathing. The servants all thought you were dead, but I refused to believe it. I took you away from your mother and into the room opposite, where I managed to revive you by rubbing your back. But you were still very weak, small and underweight. I took you back to your mother, but she, well - "
At this point I broke off, and struggled to hide the tears which were beginning to fall steadily from my eyes.
"Oh, Erik, do I have to tell you this? I know I'm upsetting you."
"No," he sniffed. "Please go on."
"Well, your mother didn't really want to look after you. She wanted you to be raised apart from the rest of her family, you see. As for your father, well, as soon as you were born he went back to his job as a mason. I think he was in a bit of a temper. I know that he wanted a son to whom he could teach his craft, but, because you were deformed, he would have nothing to do with you. Your mother insisted upon you being kept inside, away from the rest of society. You were placed in the care of her little maid, but I found you two days later starving in a box beside her bed. She had tried to look after you, there was no doubt about that, but she was only fifteen and didn't really know how. So I took you back to your mother and, feeling rather attached to you by this time, I asked her if I could look after you. She said no, and told me to give you to the housekeeper. She was very unkind to you, I don't know if you remember, but she didn't want anything to do with you either.
"When you were about four I found you crying in your room. She had just told you off for going exploring downstairs. I asked your mother once again if I could look after you. She agreed, and you've been in my care ever since.
"However, there were conditions. She said that I was allowed to show you as much affection as I wanted, but never, under any circumstances, let you see her.
"I tried my best to keep my side of the bargain, Erik, for your sake if nothing else. But, as you got older, I knew that you would want to meet your family. And I was right. I'm sorry, Erik. I tried to persuade your mother to see you and give you some attention, and all you got was a mask placed over your head. I really am sorry!"
"It wasn't your fault," he wept, resting his small, tearstained face against my shoulder. "What else could you have done?"
"I could have persuaded your mother to let you live a normal life," I replied, tearfully. "I should have put my foot down earlier, but I left it too late, and now you're the one who's suffering."
"You couldn't help it," he said. "All you were trying to do was look after me."
I managed a smile. "Erik, you're a kind, brave young man," I said, proudly. "And I love you, even if they don't. Now, why don't we put that awful mask away for good?"
"No," he said. "I can't. Anyway, what's the point? All people are going to do is stare at me and laugh at me if I don't wear it. It's like I said before. I'm a freak!"
"Oh, please don't start that again! I promise no one will laugh at you, and if they do, they'll have me to contend with!"
There was a long pause, and suddenly I noticed the soft, brown thing resting on his head.
"Oh, Erik, you're far too young to wear a wig!" I said, pulling it from his head. I had been so bothered about the mask that I hadn't even noticed he had a wig on!
"There now," I said, gently. "That's better. Now, why don't you try and get some sleep? You must be worn out!"
"Alright, Aunt Giry," he said, making a brave effort to smile. "I'll see you in the morning."
"Good boy, Erik," I said, gently. "I'll sleep in the room next to yours tonight. Don't hesitate to come in if you need me."
"Thank you, Auntie. Goodnight."
"Goodnight," I replied.
ERIK
When my aunt had gone, I lay awake for a while, looking at my face in the small hand mirror she had given me. I had never seen my face before, and I was feeling extremely confused. I had certainly never had the opportunity to study my face in a mirror before, but today was different. Now I knew the truth.
I had thought before that dreadful revelation was made to me that people never looked upon their own faces. Before the incident with the mask I had never really given my appearance a second thought. I merely presumed that I had a face like those of the doctor, Aunt Giry and the housekeeper.
I gazed intently at my reflection, and a poor, pale, solemn little face stared back at me. The right side of my face was covered with deep, brown scars. There was a particularly nasty gash on the side of my head, where part of my skull was visible. My head was almost completely bald, with just a few sparse tufts of auburn hair hanging limply over the back. In the centre of my face was a crooked little piece of flesh: my nose. My lips were twisted and swollen at one side, and the space between my mouth and nose was badly scarred. Finally, looking back at me with fascination, was a pair of large, sad eyes, of the strangest shade of brown I had ever seen. They were almost golden. I sighed deeply. This was what I looked like. This was me. I knew that I was stuck with this deformity for the rest of my life. There was nothing I could do about it.
I suddenly felt extremely frightened and alone. I was deformed and there was no one else who looked like me. I was all alone in the world. One day I would have to venture outside and live my own life, and people would stare at me and laugh at me. The thought left me petrified.
Then I remembered Aunt Giry. She would cheer me up. She would protect me. I climbed out of bed and crept along the dark passage to the room next door, and pushed the door open. Aunt Giry had obviously heard me and had lit a candle.
"Whatever's the matter, Erik?" she asked.
"Auntie." I sobbed. "I'm frightened. I don't like looking like this. It scares me."
"Never mind, Erik," she said, gently. "You come here and lie down next to me. There's nothing to be afraid of, I promise. I'll look after you. You'll feel better in the morning."
I felt much better now I was with Aunt Giry. I lay down beneath the covers and snuggled up to her, almost immediately falling asleep in her arms.
Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera. The characters in this story are mainly based on the characters from the original novel and the musical.
ANTOINETTE GIRY
I rushed up the attic staircase as soon as I managed to free myself from the commotion downstairs. The door of the attic bedroom was closed, so I knocked loudly. When there was no answer, I entered the room and found Erik.
He was lying on his bed, with his face buried deep in his pillow.
"Erik." There was no reply. "Erik, are you all right?"
My only answer was a little sob. I walked slowly over to him and laid a hand on his small, trembling shoulder. He turned to face me, and I suffered a silent shock. His entire face had been covered with that horrible grey mask, with small holes for the eyes and tiny little holes to allow him to breathe. There was no hole for his mouth. I was furious; all this time he had been happy and contented. I had grown used to seeing that cheerful little disfigured face looking up at me every time I entered the room. But now he was imprisoned, forbidden to show his face to anyone, forbidden to smile that little crooked smile! Why, oh why had they done this to him? He was just a poor little boy!
He could no longer show his expressions. I could imagine how the face would look behind the mask, but the only parts I could see were his eyes, which told me enough. They seemed sad, troubled, and strangely angry. I untied the knot which held the mask in place, and a hot, tragic, tearstained little face immediately buried itself into my gown.
"Hush!" I crooned, gently massaging his shoulders. "Don't cry! I still love you, even if they don't! I love you even though you're a bit different!"
He looked up. "A bit different?"
"Yes. No! I mean.different in personality. You're nicer than them."
He looked at me uncertainly, those strange, wise eyes burning into mine. Oh God, he didn't believe me! What should I tell him?
"Auntie, why did they do this to me? Am I so repulsive to look at?"
I remained silent.
"Tell me Auntie. Please."
I could no longer contain myself.
"Oh, Erik!" I blurted, starting to cry myself. "I'm sorry Erik. I'm so sorry! I should have told you before, shouldn't I?"
"What?"
"Erik, there's something a bit different about your face. Don't worry, it won't hurt you or anything, but - Oh, I'm sorry, my darling!"
"Why? What is it? What's wrong with it?"
Those poor, desperate eyes were fixed on me! What should I say? What should I tell him? I swallowed hard, and came out with the most obvious, insensitive thing I could.
"Your face is deformed, Erik."
"What do you mean?" he asked, becoming increasingly agitated. "I don't know what that word means!"
I paused. How could you explain the word "deformed," anyway?
"It's.it's different from everyone else's.since birth. It's sort of.not quite normal, Erik."
He looked at me questioningly. "I remember you once told me that it meant I was different. I don't quite understand -"
"Erik, feel your face."
He reached up uncertainly and pulled his hand away almost immediately.
"What does it feel like?"
"One side's alright," he said quietly. "But the other side - oh, I don't know - it's sort of rough and bumpy -"
"Would you like to see yourself, Erik?"
"See myself? What do you mean?"
"Look in the mirror."
"What's a mirror?"
"Here, let me show you." I went into my room, picked up a small hand mirror that was lying on my bedside table, and returned to Erik, placing the mirror face down on the bed beside him.
"Now, Erik. When you lift the mirror up, you will see your face. Don't be frightened. I'm here, and you can scream, cry, shout or throw a tantrum and I won't care."
He looked up at me, his eyes wide with terror.
"Is it really that bad?" "No! Of course not! But you know what I mean."
Erik took the mirror in his small, shaking hands, closed his eyes, and turned it around. His eyes opened and I saw him jump. He didn't shout or scream, but he looked extremely confused and rather frightened. He put his head on one side, and the image in the mirror put its head on one side. He tried to smile his crooked smile, and the image in the mirror did likewise. He moved his head forwards, backwards, sideways, and the image in the mirror mimicked his movements. He whispered his name; "I am Erik" and his reflection did the same. Then he gave a terrible cry of understanding and slammed the mirror back down on the bed.
And then there were tears, as he struggled to fully understand the situation he was in.
"Now Erik."
He sat up, and attempted to dry his eyes. "So, that's me, then?"
"Yes Erik," I said quietly. "That's you."
"But I don't understand. Why?"
"We don't know Erik. It's just one of those things," I replied, remembering the doctor's "diagnosis."
"But. my mother's very pretty, so why am I like this?"
"I don't know."
"Aunt Giry?"
"Yes?"
"What can I do about it?"
There was a pause. What I was about to say would hurt him, but I knew that I could not withhold the truth from him any longer.
"I'm sorry, Erik, but you can't do anything about it."
"Nothing?"
"No. I'm afraid not."
"Is this why my parents don't love me?"
"It's why they won't look after you, yes."
"Do you still love me?"
"Of course!" I put my arms around his cold, shaking body and held him tightly. There was a pause before he spoke again.
"This is all my own fault, isn't it?"
"No, of course not! Why do you say that?"
"Because I'm a monster and a freak."
"Oh, Erik, that isn't true."
"It's been kept from me all my life!" he said, starting to cry again. "All this time I've been wondering why my parents don't want me. All this time I've been wondering why I'm never allowed outside. Why, I can't even go to school!"
And he collapsed onto his quilt, sobbing violently. I tried my hardest to comfort him.
"Hush now. It's not the end of the world! You're still number one in my book, even though you're slightly different! I still love you! After all, look how talented you are!"
"But I've caused all this trouble!"
"No, you haven't. It wasn't your fault. It was mine, and your mother's."
He dried his eyes and sat up again.
"Aunt Giry, I want to know the truth. I want to know exactly what happened when I was born. I don't care if it's bad. It can't be any worse than what has just happened. Please tell me."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Then you're a brave child. Come over here, Erik, and I'll tell you all about it."
I took him in my arms again, thinking that he would need comforting after I had told him what I had to say.
"I remember your birth well. After all, I was there. Your father was waiting in the drawing room. Oh, the shouts and exclamations that went up when you were born! I will not repeat the things they said, but I recall that the servants present were all rather superstitious. In the hubbub that followed your birth, I didn't say a word. I just stood in the corner. I was not scared of you, like the servants seemed to be, and I was shocked at the way they were passing you from one to the other like some sort of object which displeased them.
'"If you don't stop, I'll go mad!" I suddenly exclaimed, snatching you from the housekeeper's arms. "How could you treat him like that? He's just a child! The poor little thing can't help his looks!"'
"It was then that I realised you were not moving or breathing. The servants all thought you were dead, but I refused to believe it. I took you away from your mother and into the room opposite, where I managed to revive you by rubbing your back. But you were still very weak, small and underweight. I took you back to your mother, but she, well - "
At this point I broke off, and struggled to hide the tears which were beginning to fall steadily from my eyes.
"Oh, Erik, do I have to tell you this? I know I'm upsetting you."
"No," he sniffed. "Please go on."
"Well, your mother didn't really want to look after you. She wanted you to be raised apart from the rest of her family, you see. As for your father, well, as soon as you were born he went back to his job as a mason. I think he was in a bit of a temper. I know that he wanted a son to whom he could teach his craft, but, because you were deformed, he would have nothing to do with you. Your mother insisted upon you being kept inside, away from the rest of society. You were placed in the care of her little maid, but I found you two days later starving in a box beside her bed. She had tried to look after you, there was no doubt about that, but she was only fifteen and didn't really know how. So I took you back to your mother and, feeling rather attached to you by this time, I asked her if I could look after you. She said no, and told me to give you to the housekeeper. She was very unkind to you, I don't know if you remember, but she didn't want anything to do with you either.
"When you were about four I found you crying in your room. She had just told you off for going exploring downstairs. I asked your mother once again if I could look after you. She agreed, and you've been in my care ever since.
"However, there were conditions. She said that I was allowed to show you as much affection as I wanted, but never, under any circumstances, let you see her.
"I tried my best to keep my side of the bargain, Erik, for your sake if nothing else. But, as you got older, I knew that you would want to meet your family. And I was right. I'm sorry, Erik. I tried to persuade your mother to see you and give you some attention, and all you got was a mask placed over your head. I really am sorry!"
"It wasn't your fault," he wept, resting his small, tearstained face against my shoulder. "What else could you have done?"
"I could have persuaded your mother to let you live a normal life," I replied, tearfully. "I should have put my foot down earlier, but I left it too late, and now you're the one who's suffering."
"You couldn't help it," he said. "All you were trying to do was look after me."
I managed a smile. "Erik, you're a kind, brave young man," I said, proudly. "And I love you, even if they don't. Now, why don't we put that awful mask away for good?"
"No," he said. "I can't. Anyway, what's the point? All people are going to do is stare at me and laugh at me if I don't wear it. It's like I said before. I'm a freak!"
"Oh, please don't start that again! I promise no one will laugh at you, and if they do, they'll have me to contend with!"
There was a long pause, and suddenly I noticed the soft, brown thing resting on his head.
"Oh, Erik, you're far too young to wear a wig!" I said, pulling it from his head. I had been so bothered about the mask that I hadn't even noticed he had a wig on!
"There now," I said, gently. "That's better. Now, why don't you try and get some sleep? You must be worn out!"
"Alright, Aunt Giry," he said, making a brave effort to smile. "I'll see you in the morning."
"Good boy, Erik," I said, gently. "I'll sleep in the room next to yours tonight. Don't hesitate to come in if you need me."
"Thank you, Auntie. Goodnight."
"Goodnight," I replied.
ERIK
When my aunt had gone, I lay awake for a while, looking at my face in the small hand mirror she had given me. I had never seen my face before, and I was feeling extremely confused. I had certainly never had the opportunity to study my face in a mirror before, but today was different. Now I knew the truth.
I had thought before that dreadful revelation was made to me that people never looked upon their own faces. Before the incident with the mask I had never really given my appearance a second thought. I merely presumed that I had a face like those of the doctor, Aunt Giry and the housekeeper.
I gazed intently at my reflection, and a poor, pale, solemn little face stared back at me. The right side of my face was covered with deep, brown scars. There was a particularly nasty gash on the side of my head, where part of my skull was visible. My head was almost completely bald, with just a few sparse tufts of auburn hair hanging limply over the back. In the centre of my face was a crooked little piece of flesh: my nose. My lips were twisted and swollen at one side, and the space between my mouth and nose was badly scarred. Finally, looking back at me with fascination, was a pair of large, sad eyes, of the strangest shade of brown I had ever seen. They were almost golden. I sighed deeply. This was what I looked like. This was me. I knew that I was stuck with this deformity for the rest of my life. There was nothing I could do about it.
I suddenly felt extremely frightened and alone. I was deformed and there was no one else who looked like me. I was all alone in the world. One day I would have to venture outside and live my own life, and people would stare at me and laugh at me. The thought left me petrified.
Then I remembered Aunt Giry. She would cheer me up. She would protect me. I climbed out of bed and crept along the dark passage to the room next door, and pushed the door open. Aunt Giry had obviously heard me and had lit a candle.
"Whatever's the matter, Erik?" she asked.
"Auntie." I sobbed. "I'm frightened. I don't like looking like this. It scares me."
"Never mind, Erik," she said, gently. "You come here and lie down next to me. There's nothing to be afraid of, I promise. I'll look after you. You'll feel better in the morning."
I felt much better now I was with Aunt Giry. I lay down beneath the covers and snuggled up to her, almost immediately falling asleep in her arms.