Chapter 1
The first time we met was at a music shop. My father was talking with the shopkeeper, and I was left to my own devices. I was enamored with a grand piano. It sat in the corner looking magnificent. I tiptoed over to it and pressed a key. A wonderful sound came from it. I was in love. "Christine!" My father whispered sternly at me, and shook his head. "Do not touch." I nodded to him that I understood. Instead I sat on its fine bench, and fingered the keys, careful not to press down on them.
I traced every curve and line of the wood and the ivory. I didn't notice him behind me until he asked; "Do you know how to play?" His voice was deep, deeper than my fathers, and rich and smooth. I'd never heard anything like it before in my seven years of existence. He moved to the side of the bench where I sat. I shook my head, "No, Monsieur." I looked at him. He wore a mask. I wondered if he had come from a ball. He was tall and broad. He was dressed in all black, and a cape draped around him.
He flipped his cape behind him, and sat down next to me. "Allow me to teach you something then." My head did not reach his shoulder, and his feet were planted firmly on the ground while my own dangled above the floor. I look down and say, "But Papa, he said I am not to play." The man turned his head to the shopkeeper and my father, then back to me. He leaned in and said softly, "Then I shall play for you."
His hands gracefully moved over the keys as he played a beautiful piece of music. I did not even look to see if my father was watching. I was hypnotized by his playing. He stopped abruptly and turned to me, "Well, my angel, your thoughts?" I stared at him with wide eyes, "Could I learn to play that, Monsieur?" He smiles, "Perhaps one day." He stood up then and held out his hand, "Come, child, let me speak with your father." I took his hand. My whole hand was covered in the black leather of his glove. I stood up and he led me to where my father stood.
I tugged on my fathers jacket, "Papa, Papa." My father puts a hand on my arm, "Not now, Chris-" He stops when he sees the man in black. A frown crosses his face; "I apologize Monsieur for my daughter. I did not realize she was bothering you." He gives me a stern look. The man says, "No, no, she is not a bother at all. I wanted to speak with you privately about music lessons for her."
They spoke a minute in the corner. I strained to hear what was being said, but could not make out the words. Then the mysterious man bowed to my father with a flourish of his cape. He looked at me then turned and left. My father came back, "Papa, what did he say?" He bent down and picked me up, "You're going to have piano lessons, Christine. Starting tomorrow." I hug his neck, "Oh thank you, Papa." He chuckles, "You're welcome, darling." He put me down. "What is his name, Father?" He frowns, "You know, Christine, I didn't think to ask, and he never said. You can ask him tomorrow. Come along, time to go home."
In the carriage I ask, "But why does he wear a mask?" My dad shakes his head, "I don't know. But Christine, it would be rude to mention it or ask about it. Do you understand?" I nod, "Yes, Father."
The day of my first piano lesson I was excited. I barely ate breakfast, and was distracted in my studies. Several times my tutor had to correct me. Finally, finally, the time came for lessons. Papa said that I was to go to his house for the lessons. On the way there he instructed me in my manners, "Be polite, Christine. Don't contradict him; do as he says. Don't stare at his mask." I say, "I know, Papa, I know." He helps me out of the carriage, "I know you do. Have fun, darling… Do you want me to stay?" I barely hear him. I'm staring up at the castle of a house before me. It seemed a thousand times bigger than my own home.
I shake my head, "No, Papa." He kisses me on the cheek, "Go on then darling. I'll wait until you're inside." I take a deep breath and walk up to the massive wooden door. Before I can knock the door opens and he's there. He bows slightly to my father and ushers me inside. I can't help but gawk at the lavish décor of the foyer. I hear a soft chuckle, "Come now, my child. We must begin." He takes my hand and I follow him. We go through room after room, all rich in fabrics and furniture.
Finally we come to a room. The only thing in it is a grand piano. A beautiful grand piano. "Are you ready to begin?" I nod breathlessly, still looking at the piano. He nudges me forward gently. I sit down at the piano and he sits down next to me, just like the day before. "Monsieur," I ask, "What should I call you?" He doesn't look at me. The side of his face that is not covered by the mask faces me. "What would you like to call me, child?" I think a minute. "My other teachers, they tell me to call them master. Master of books, master of maths, master of language… You can be Master of piano."
He looks down at me. I can see the mask now. It's a soft white, and seems to fit his face perfectly. Almost like skin. "During your lesson you call me, Master. At any other time, I insist on Erik." My eyes widen, "Your first name, Monsieur? But, Father, he says I must mind my manners. I cannot call you by your first name." He waves his hand, "Master Erik, then. Now, let's begin."
He started by teaching me the keys, and how my fingers should rest on them. It was not long before I was frustrated. "Master, my hands are too small. It is hard." He puts his hand over mine, "No, not too small. You must learn to fit them to fit the keys comfortably." I try again, but again my finger hits the wrong note. He says, "You're frustrated. We stop." I look down, "Are you angry?" A large hand covers my shoulder, "No, not angry, Christine. It will take time. You must learn to be patient."
I look at him, "I am trying." His voice is
soft, soothing, "Shhh, of course you are. Do not feel bad. Do you
have a piano at home?" I shake my head, "No, Master." He's
quiet. "Do have the room for one?" I nod, "There are many
places big enough for a piano." He nods, "I will speak with your
father about having one moved in, then?"
"A piano, Master?
But, they are very expensive. I don't know if Papa will want to buy
one." He shakes his head dismissively; "I'll take care of it.
You must have something to practice on. Now, no more talk of it. Play
the scale again."
I obediently put my hands on the keys. This time I don't make a mistake.
