Ch 27

A short conversation about how clothes would be taken to and from the home followed. Meg promised she would have a new lawn shirt and trousers for me in the morning as, in her rush to find Alex, she had forgotten to bring anything over. New clothing would have done nicely as I wallowed in blood-stiffened shirt and trousers. My waistcoat, cravat, and vest had all disappeared. None of that mattered, and I didn't expect that Madeline would deliver anything more than what was practical; undergarments, a simple white shirt and a new pair of wool trousers. A vest would wait for later.

Bored by their conversation, I turned up the lamp and dug into my pocket. The note from Christine to Madeline was wrinkled and wet. The lines I had worked diligently to memorize had blurred into nonsense. How appropriate that seemed.

Her words still galled me. How could she say she had never written a note? I saw it. I know I saw it. All of it was there, on paper, not in my mind.Damn her. Women are irritating creatures, each and every one of them in their own magnificently deceptive ways. I crumpled up her letter and shoved it back into my pocket. She lied to me, straight to my face.

At last I heard Meg return home and Julia eventually walked into the kitchen. Again I was alone. I turned the lamp down and prayed that I would fall asleep but knew it would not happen. My mind still prodded at what Meg had said. Mother had no choice. Could she have possibly made it more ominous? Meg has always been one for dramatics. I believe she alone added more to my legend than the entire ballet put together over a decade.

To my utter astonishment, Julia came into the room a half an hour after Meg returned home. I hadn't expected to see her until at least the next morning, if even then.

"I didn't forget about you," she murmured as she walked slowly into the darkened room. "I would have brought supper earlier, but as you heard, Meg came to the door. Raoul de Chagny has stopped by."

My hand reached out to the lamp on the bedside table and I turned the light up enough for her to see the room. The wheelchair was between the door and the nearest side of the bed and I thought it quite considerate on my part to keep her from tripping and hurting herself.

She didn't meet my eye as she walked in carrying a white wooden tray. Steam rose into her face from a bowl in the center, bringing with it the smell of stew. From where I lay, I could see a slice of bread and a cup of tea. Seeing her reminded me of how ravenous I had been for food and company.

"What does he want?" I asked.

She walked to the bedside, poured a glass of water, and showed me a pill between her fingers. Without a word, she put it in the palm of my hand. Then she turned away, taking the emptied water pitcher from the side table. She walked into the hallway and returned a moment later with fresh water. Soon, I would need the water closet to relieve myself.

"His wife left a note with him to give to Madame Giry." She glanced at me from the corner of her eye as she moved everything from the side table either into the already crowded drawer or into a basket she had slid from under the bed. "She asked Madame Giry and Madame Lowry to meet her for dinner on Friday."

Christine's brash request left me speechless. Why in the hell would she want that after all that had happened?

"She agreed," Julia said hesitatingly.

The words tumbled out of my mouth. "She had no other choice."

Julia turned and looked at me as though she was surprised that I had actually listened to their conversation. There was something in her eyes that I didn't like. She turned away before I could figure out what exactly was in her mind.

"Your son wanted to stay with you," she commented without looking at me. That wasn't what she was thinking. She had looked away to change the subject. "But I had already decided that Lisette will stay with me for the night. Alex is in her room so that you have your privacy."

"Hardly appropriate for a boy his age to take a girl's room," I replied quietly.

She stiffened. "He is already undressed and in bed."

"He couldn't have fallen asleep yet."

"I am not about to drag him from bed at this hour. Erik, it's half past eleven."

"He's my son."

"And this is my house." She sighed, her patience wearing thin. In the heat of the moment, she had forgotten herself to my need for bickering. Though after she had given me something for pain, I was feeling less ornery and realized we were getting no where with one another. She had allowed me a second chance after a near-fatal blow earlier in the evening. To disregard it would be foolish. Wisely, I relented.

"I told him he could stay here," I explained. "He'll think I deceived him."

She set the tray down on the dresser at the foot of the bed and left the room. My eyes followed her out, and then returned to the food out of my reach. My mouth watered as I watched the steam roll away from the top of the soup bowl and dance away.

Quite literally my dinner was no more than six feet away. That was simply inhumane, I thought as I heard her walk down the hallway. Cruel and unusual punishment to place food at the feet of a man who could not yet move from bed, I muttered to myself. She truly despised me. For the life of me I couldn't think of what I had said that would earn this treatment. Was this about sleeping arrangements?

I was too hungry to let her leave me for the night.

"Jul—"I started to yell.

She returned and stood in the doorway holding a crumpled white sheet in both hands. Her shoulders dropped and she walked past the threshold. I assumed she was that irritated with me that she had to force herself to walk into the room again.

"The mask is drying. I didn't realize there was felt underneath when I scrubbed the blood away." She looked away, rising slightly on her toes. "I apologize. In the morning I will find glue at the costume shop."

She looked away for a moment as she parted the sheet in her hands. "I had it cleaned this morning," she said, not bothering to look at me or the black mass of hair she had hidden in the sheet. "Madeline said she will bring the other one over if you wish."

Fire rose up the back of my neck until it reached my forehead. Beneath the bruises I doubt she could have seen my shame.

"Oh, God," I whispered as I turned away.

I cared more for her seeing me without the wig than without the mask. The mask was obvious. The mask was replaceable by a careful hand, but my hair? There was nothing to do, no way to hide. I looked away, unable to watch her standing there holding my black hair. It felt like she had waded through my insides and taken a vital organ.

She attempted to reason. "If Alexandre stays in Lisette's room, you have one more day for the stitches to heal. You'll need the time for the one," her voice grew quieter, more foreboding; "…the one at your hairline to go down in swelling before you can wear it without discomfort."

I shuddered at her words. She held onto my manhood, onto everything that made me feel virile and competent.

"And you think this is not discomfort?"

"I don't want to risk infection, which will hurt more than your faltering sense of worth. Already the stitches appear red."

"You despise me this much that you'll stop at nothing to torture me?"

"This isn't punishment. How dare you insinuate that I would be so juvenile and petty." She snorted at me. "Really, Erik, do you think I would do such a thing?" She turned her head to the side. "You're irritating, like a fly before the rain, but I won't seek revenge on you, if that's your concern."

"Then give it to me. If you do not intend to punish me, honor my request."

The gruffness I wanted was lost to the tremble in my words. I couldn't for the life of me say what it was that she held. It was degrading and I refused to call it anything, least of all a wig. Even when I sent it to Madeline for cleaning I never called it anything. I simply wrapped it in brown paper and gave it to her along with a twenty franc note. The sum of money kept her from saying a word as she took it from the house and brought it back a day or two later. The cleaning bill was a meager ten francs. She did well in doing what I could not.

"Erik—" she started.

"Give it here."

"He's already in bed. It would be silly to wear it now. Besides, you haven't even washed."

She could not bring herself to say it either. Her unwillingness to relinquish what was mine grated on the last of my nerves.

"Alex is not my concern."

"What is your concern? You'll be alone and asleep once you eat."

"Right now I'm neither. For God's sake, I've asked you for nothing else."

There were so many ways she could have pointed out that I was wrong but she saved my dignity from falling any further and decided to say nothing.

"Haven't you seen enough for a lifetime?" I questioned, eyes focused on my legs beneath the covers. How useless they were to me now, bruised to the bone. "What more do you want?"

"I've seen more of you than just this," she replied softly. She didn't look at me, either. It was easier to speak if we didn't meet one another's eyes.

"That's hardly the same."

"Because it's dark when you come into my bedroom?"

"Because it's different and you know it."

She regarded the wig for a moment and my discomfort increased as she straightened the back with her fingers. I hated her touching it even when I wore the damned thing. Always I pulled her hand away, concerned that she would remove it in the heat of our passion. Nothing would have been more mortifying.

"Did you think I was so ignorant that I didn't know?" she asked quietly. "Did you think I preferred this," she lowered the wig, "to what was there?" She stared up at my nakedness, her hazel eyes softening as we stared at one another.

I looked away first. It had been years since I was bombarded by such shame, since I had been seen without my hair and mask.

"There is nothing beneath," I muttered under my breath. "There has never been anything."

She made no reply. I watched her from the corner of my eye as she walked towards the end of the bed. Without a care, she let it flop to the side so that strands dangled over the edge. As much as my jaw hurt, I still clamped my teeth together at her heedlessness to something I wanted so badly. I tried again.

"May I have it back? Please."

From the dresser mirror, I watched her move. She was deep in thought. I had seen her through my bedroom window as she sat downstairs and read in her sewing room. Her brow would furrow and her lips would protrude. Not the most flattering of expressions, but one that was telling.

She kept her eyes down as she stirred honey into the tea and rearranged items crowded on the back of the dresser. She hadn't bothered with her appearance much. Her hair was twisted and pinned into a bun at the back of her head, just high enough to allow a view of her neck. No amount of make-up would hide the circles beneath her eyes though the dab of crimson to her lips made her complexion more sallow.

As much as she tormented me, I did love her. I couldn't help but follow her every move. I realized that I loved her in the most unbearable way. Nothing she could ever do to me would stop me from feeling something for her.

My lips parted. The feelings I had for Julia were different from what I had felt for Christine.

The spoon in her hand clanked to the floor and I stopped myself before I could begin speaking.

She stood very straight, gathering all of her strength. "No, there is something beneath, Erik," she said with her back turned. "I've seen it. Your son has seen it. Perhaps you have seen it as well."

"Why are you saying this?" I murmured. She made it hard to speak. She made it hard to breathe, to think, to do anything at all.

"Erik, there has to be something left. Christine couldn't have taken it all from you in one night."

I wanted to say something but I caught her eye in the mirror and she refused to look away, even through the brimming of tears. My God was she beautiful, just as I had pictured her. Every detail from the shape of her eyes to the arch of her brow was branded into my mind.

She turned with the tray in her hands and walked to the side of the bed. "There is more than deceit inside of you. For Alex's sake, there has to be something left, something worth his affection for you."