White Roses
Disclaimer: The only time I own any of this is when I am asleep and dead to the world. Life is so unfair.
Angels and Music
Erik returned to the foot of the staircase the next morning to find a small parcel of cold meat, a hunk of bread and a flask of water. Hungrily, he devoured the meal and took a swig of water, hardly daring to believe that he was free of the hell of his life with the gypsies. As he picked up the bread, Erik noticed a scrap of paper with a message written in a small, tidy script.
Erik, the note read, I know that this meal is frugal but it was the best I could do. I trust that you are faring better now and I am sure that I do not need to remind you to keep yourself hidden. Take care. Love, Antoinette.
Smiling, Erik pocketed the note. Although he was young, he had read it easily; he had always been something of a prodigy and though he had not read anything since leaving the orphanage, the knowledge had resurfaced quickly. He waded through the tunnel again, back to his spartan home. Erik stored the flask in a corner of the area, before deciding that he could not leave the matter of his empty 'lair', if one could call it that, any longer. He had spent most of the night searching the catacombs for any building materials or discarded trinkets, but to his disappointment, had not found anything. It was therefore necessary for him to venture up into the main opera house to obtain the supplies he needed. Erik wrinkled his nose as he plunged into the icy water again. A boat would not go astray, he thought, and deciding that that would be his first project.
He was breathing heavily by the time he reached the top of the stairs, before realising that he had no idea where to go. Trying to decide which way to turn, he heard voices. Erik shrunk into the shadows and resolved to follow them. The two men were a little uncouth and shabbily dressed, but Erik was in no position to judge based on outward appearances. Keeping himself out of sight, he followed his unknowing guides through the opera house, painting a mental picture of it that he would be able to navigate through it himself eventually.
The men made their way into the flies of the opera house above the stage. Erik frowned as he took in his new surroundings; he had never seen anything like this. It was beautiful. His eyes widened behind the sack as he took in the rows of red velvet seats, the detailed gold gilding, the majestic chandelier and, above all, the stage. Elaborately dressed men and women scurried across it and they were soon joined by a group of young girls. Erik's eyes widened more as he recognised Antoinette amongst the group of girls, but his gaze hardened as he took in the rest of the faces and realised that they were the same group that had ridiculed him but yesterday. He resolved that someday he would get his revenge on them, but at that moment, there was the matter of finding building material.
Erik sneaked through the flies, avoiding the stagehands, trying to find any place where suitable building materials might be kept. But then fate stepped in and his search was quite forgotten. His head snapped around as he heard an orchestra begin to play a soft melody and a sweet, soprano voice sing in Italian. It was all new for him. He had never liked music much; he found the loud, blaring, harsh noise that the gypsies called music torture on his ears. But this ... this was different. This music was nothing short of breathtaking. There was no going back at that point. Erik fell in love with opera.
"Hey! What you doing there, boy?"
Erik broke out of his trance as he heard the stagehand's call. Startled, he shrank back into the shadows, hiding. Cursing himself for allowing himself to become so hypnotized, Erik sneaked back through the flies and crouched in a small niche in the wall. He dared not move a muscle should somebody find him; it was not difficult for him to hide, being deprived of good food for so long his figure was almost skeletal. The rehearsal continued for several hours and still Erik remained in his niche, ignoring his cramped limbs' protest - he was used to pain. The music floated up to the flies and he simply allowed it to overpower him, surrendering his soul to the beauty of the melodies.
Eventually, the opera company disbanded and the beautiful music ceased only to be replaced by the noise of a horde of stagehands, singers, dancers and musicians exiting the theatre and chattering. Erik began to follow the crowd, still keeping to the shadows, hoping that soon he would not have to rely on others to navigate around the opera house.
Finally, he found the chapel and was cheered a little as he remembered its position in relation to his hideaway in the catacombs. Making sure that he was still invisible to passers-by, Erik began to sneak through the dim passageway, only to collide with another figure apparently trying to move inconspicuously. The figure let out a cry of surprise and whipped around to face Erik. It was Antoinette.
"Good Lord, Erik, you frightened me half to death!" she said, smiling now.
"Sorry," he muttered, before noticing the bundle she was carrying. "What is that?"
"Food, Erik," she said, as if it should be obvious. "Unless you are a miracle-worker, I cannot imagine how else you would not die of starvation if I did not feed you."
"I suppose."
Erik dropped his eyes, embarrassed. Try as he may, he could not seem to accustom himself to accepting another's kindness. It was simply too new a concept. Antoinette sighed and placed the parcel in his bony hands before bidding him goodnight. She was almost out of earshot when Erik turned around.
"What is it called?"
Antoinette turned to him, frowning. "I beg your pardon?"
"What is it called?"
"No, I heard that," she said, dismissively. "I meant to say, what are you referring to?"
Erik tried to come up with an answer, but found that he could not find words to describe the majesty of the orchestra, the surreal tone of the singing, the power of the melody and the adrenaline of all three combined. Finally he simply shrugged and uttered a single word.
"Music."
Antoinette's frown deepened, but a few seconds later her expression cleared. "Oh! Did you hear the rehearsal today?"
Erik nodded. "I was looking for material to build a boat with ... but then I heard it, and it was just so beautiful ..."
Antoinette smiled as she listened to Erik ramble. She could not see his face, but was certain that underneath the sack, a smile was lighting up his countenance. Finally he stopped praising the rehearsal and turned to her, a picture of helplessness.
"What is it called?"
"Opera, Erik," Antoinette replied. "This is an opera house."
"Opera," he repeated.
"That's right," she said, before adding as an afterthought, "do you like it?"
"Yes," Erik replied. "It is beautiful."
"Wait," Antoinette said, excitedly. "I have an idea. I'll be back soon."
Curious, Erik watched the girl sprint recklessly through the dark passageway and out of sight. He sat down, opened the package she had given him and began to chew on one of the slices of bread and butter. By the time he heard her footsteps returning, Erik had eaten most of the meal, save for a few scraps of chicken. He stood as she approached, much more slowly now, and carrying a bulky object. She smiled as she knelt down and began to open the oddly-shaped case.
"This was my father's, Erik," she said, withdrawing the object inside.
Erik's eyes widened as he saw the magnificent violin. It was obviously quite old, but it appeared that Antoinette took good care of it, as its wood gleamed proudly. She handed it to him and showed him how to position the instrument underneath on his shoulder and how to hold the bow. Slowly, Erik drew the horsehair over one string and a low, rich note rung through the passageway. He tested the other strings and listened carefully as the pitch became higher. Antoinette explained that he could produce more notes by moving his fingers on the neck of the violin. Erik was about to try this, when he realised what Antoinette had said.
"You said that this was your father's instrument."
"Yes, that's right," she said, "but I want you to have it."
"Why? I cannot accept this!"
"Erik, its value to me is merely sentimental. However, in giving it to you, it can make beautiful music again. It's what he would have wanted."
"Do you not play it?"
This made Antoinette giggle. "My strength is in ballet, Erik, not music. I have tried, many times, but I simply cannot play that instrument the way it deserves to be played. The only music is makes when I play can barely be considered music. It's more of a screech, actually."
Erik nodded. "I promise that I will not screech."
Antoinette giggled again. "I most certainly hope not, Erik," she said, in a mock-stern voice. "But now, we both should retire. It is getting late."
Erik carefully placed the violin back in its case. The gift had overwhelmed him; of the few things he had owned, this was by far the most exquisite. He was about to begin his long descent down the winding staircase, when Antoinette turned one last time.
"By the way, if you need a boat, I can help you," she said. "There was a gondola used in a performance here a few months back, but nobody has any use for it now. It should float well and we can easily assemble it again down here tomorrow."
"Thank you," Erik replied. "You know that you are too kind to me."
"Not at all," she said, before disappearing for the last time into the darkness.
Still smiling, Erik slowly made his way down the stairs, carrying his precious cargo close to his body. When he reached the foot of the staircase, he found himself with a bit of a dilemma. He knew that it would be too risky to carry the violin while swimming across the lake. He considered leaving it behind, but could not stand the thought of it being alone like a discarded piece of scrap. Knowing that it was foolish reasoning, but unable to rebut it, Erik decided to remain with his treasure and sleep where he was. It is no less comfortable than my new home, anyway, he thought.
But Erik found it impossible to sleep. Instead, he opened the case again and stared at the splendid violin. Almost without knowing what he was doing, Erik lifted it out of the case once more, lifted the bow and began to draw it across the four strings with long, sweeping motions. The fingers of his left hand intuitively danced over the strings as the musician played his music to the empty chamber.
x-x-x-xAntoinette was barely pulling the covers over her weary body when Lisette, a young ballet rat with a love for gossip, jumped on the end of her bed, almost crushing her feet, already aching from the intense rehearsal earlier.
"Did you hear the news, Antoinette?" Lisette squealed, brushing a blonde hair out of her blue eyes.
"Lisette, I am tired," Antoinette replied, groaning.
"No! Listen!" Lisette insisted, shaking the older girl. "Élodie was passing by the manager's office and she did hear such things! Claire says that Élodie said that she heard Monsieur Durand say that he is thinking very seriously of selling the opera house!"
"That is all very interesting, Lisette, but you know that I do not trust anything that comes from the mouth of you, Élodie or Claire, for that matter."
"You are so cruel to me!" Lisette pouted. "Do you not even want to know who may be our new manager?"
"Very well, I will humour you," Antoinette said, wearily. "Who will our new manager be?"
"A certain Monsieur Marcel Giry," Lisette said, triumphantly, before lowering her voice surreptitiously. "And I heard from Isabelle that Monsieur Giry's son is very, very, very handsome."
"Good night, Lisette."
Interesting random piece of trivia: If you watch the movie, in the circus flashback scene, a blonde girl is seen pointing and laughing at Erik. According to yours truly, she is now called Lisette. And the dark-haired girl beside her is Élodie.
