Chapter Seven: Walls

Φ

Leah

Beth's word ricocheted furiously inside the confines of my head.

I couldn't stop picturing the expressions of her face. Her gentle smile as she read. Her patient conviction, her complete faith and trust.

It wasn't that I was convinced. Not by any means. I couldn't bring myself to believe in this kind, compassionate picture of God that she had painted.

No, God was a myth, a fairytale to pacify small children and comfort the dying. What kind of loving God would allow my father to die? And allow my mother's spirit to go with him?

I had spent years building up walls around my heart to keep this very sort of thing from happening, in much the same way that I guarded myself from friendship and false fathers. It was too painful to keep trying to hope that God would show compassion for me and then to be constantly let down. God was only an illusion for the deluded and the happy.

Still, it was a beautiful picture.

And part of me, I realized, honestly wished that I was still naive enough to believe in such a fairytale. I wanted it more than I had wanted anything in a very long time.

To say that I was confused by Beth's fait would have been a terrible understatement.

I had been ruminating over these thoughts and questions for three long, puzzling days. It seemed that nothing could deter them from continuing while I was idle, as though my mind was no longer my own. Troubling as it was, I found ways to keep busy and avoid thinking about it during the three day break.

Walking aimlessly about the corridors of my new home was my current occupation. Truthfully, my amblings were merely an excuse to think on the new life I had begun without the company of the rest of the girls in the building. Though I had gotten to know several of them and was beginning to find friendly faces in this foreign land, I was still a bit of an introvert by nature. I was finding it very difficult to let anyone close to me, for I was still very leery of rejection.

Despite my reluctance, my new roommates had proved to be the companions I had hoped for, especially Beth. She had not mentioned our conversation on the roof after that morning, seeming to sense my uncertainty and inability to express how I felt.

Disregarding my initial reactions to her beliefs, she had invited me to join her the next morning. Strangely enough, I had accepted. I don't think either of us truly expected to find me on the roof early the next day.

I'm not sure which of us was more shocked.

Still, after the initial awkwardness of my presence had worn off, I had been pleasantly surprised. We had soon settled down into an amiable silence of reading side by side on her blanket, quietly finding cheerfulness in one another's company.

Not yet ready to repeat the religious topics of the day before, I had brought a thick novel of my own. Beth had smiled and perked up an eyebrow at the sight of a new book. Acting on my gut reaction, I offered to share my small stack of books with her. Apparently, I had found a fellow bibliophile in this wispy, gently girl.

In sharing a small part of myself with her, I felt a certain degree of relief, as though my walls were beginning to sway. I was unsure if this was a good thing or not, but hesitantly began to open the doors of my soul. My first few attempts to speak to her that day left us both a bit awkward and silent. I felt exceptionally stupid, for I had no idea of what one ought to speak about when attempting to make a friend. What should I say?

Eventually, Beth steered the uncomfortable lack of conversation in the direction of one of the few things we seemed to have in common, books. After that, words had flowed easily between us. I no longer felt as though I was on unfamiliar ground.

Later that night, we traded worn copies of our favorite books like drug smugglers eager for new addictions. We conversed long into the evening about those that we had both read, and exchanged stories of others. Our reverie lasted for hours, drawing out into the early morning when we could no longer hear more sounds of our fellow dancers (or their male friends) through the paper thin walls. I was eternally grateful to my Abuela for having sent so many of my books along. She had packed quite insightfully for me, as one of my trunks was nearly jam-packed solely with books. In fact, the only other thing that had fit into the chest had been my painting supplies.

That was another reason I was wandering the halls. I was in search of an unused room to stake claim to. Meg had seen me unpacking and had seen my paints. Curiosity sparked, Meg had made a verbal assault on my person, launching into a thousand questions at once.

"Are those real paints?"

"Do you really paint? Like the artists who study us during rehearsals?"

"Can you show me how?"

I burst out laughing. She had so much energy, such an innocent enthusiasm for life. She made me feel strangely alive. It was absolutely infectious.

Responding to one question after another, we soon reached an agreement that satisfied us both. I mentioned that I was in need of a quiet place to paint, and she had been happy to tell me where to look. In return, I had gladly decided to show her what little I knew. And now I was in hot pursuit of said 'studio'.

Apparently, there were several vacant rooms scattered about the Populaire. Dormant dressing rooms, musty attics, forgotten storage chambers. Evidently, any one in the cast or the staff was given free access to the unneeded rooms, provided nothing was damaged. Meg had said that several dancers had commandeered rooms to practice in.

The sweet little girl had proved to be quite helpful in directing me to several dusty corners, but none had had enough light to paint by. I was advancing on the last of my targets, hoping to find something better suited to my needs. The door was hiding in the half light of the gloomy hallway in the upper stories of the opera house. A turn of the bronze knob opened the squealing entry.

Didn't anyone in this opera house know how to oil door hinges?

I hadn't been prepared for the intensity of the cheerful afternoon light, and I needed a few moments for my eyes to adjust from the dimness of the hallway. I hurriedly swatted away the aggressive cobwebs that hung about me, tangling in my hair. No wonder no one had ever wanted to use this room. It was filthy!

Dust motes hung suspended in the air, dangling like grainy stars in the warmth of the sparkling afternoon. I stepped further into the cluttered circular room. It was lit up by grimy porthole windows.

I knew that I would definitely need to do some extensive cleaning if I meant to use the space. Cleaning, however, was not something I had much experience in. Perhaps Meg would be willing to show me. Satisfied with my find, I left in search of my young friend.

I didn't get very far, for I soon heard Amanda and Alana.

The sound wasn't entirely pleasant, but I choose to investigate in spite of my ears' reluctance to do so. I remembered them from my first night here when Beth had introduced them to me as two of her closest companions. If I were going to learn how to be friendly with Beth, I might as well begin by getting to know her friends.

The tall twin girls were very pretty, with long, light brown hair and ruddy complexions. They were slim and well muscled from years of dancing. Their eyes captured me with the same warmth I felt in the afternoon sun, all bottled up behind sweet blues and greens that reminded me of the ocean, and their light Irish accents made their speaking voices an interesting contrast to much of the rest of the Garnier.

As I neared the door, I gave a little inward twinge, for neither had a great deal of talent. Alana played the piano, haltingly and often striking the wrong notes, while Amanda was not always on pitch.

Privately, I thought they sounded like a sick old goat that was trying to play a set of bagpipes left out to long in the rain.

Still, they did seem to be enjoying themselves.

At the sound of my foot steps, they turned around, looking more than a little embarrassed at being overheard.

"Oh dear." Groaned Amanda. "No one was supposed to be listening to that." She gave me a half-hearted grin, attempting to make the situation into a joke and failing miserably.

Alana looked as though she wanted disappear, or simply fall dead on the spot, mortified that they had been discovered. "No, we didn't think that anyone was listening…"

The uncomfortable silence returned with a vengeance.

A tiny twinkle returned to Amanda's eye after a few moments. "Guess we ought to keep to our dancing, no?"

A soft giggle escaped me.

My initial uneasiness faded away as we talked. Their candid attitude was inviting and open. Amanda was straightforward and one might even call her blunt. Alana was a bit more … shall we say … easily distracted, often gazing off into space and misplacing things, but very sweet. We walked to our rooms late that night, and they bid me fare well at my door.

"Goodnight dear!"

"Yes, we'll see you in rehearsal tomorrow!"

Their gentleness with my heart made me ache to get to know them. I felt like I had just found my long lost big sisters. Perhaps I would find a surrogate family here after all. Family… what a wonderful dream.

But could I ever learn what that word meant?

Could I willingly leave myself so vulnerable as to hope? What about my walls, and keeping my heart safe from hurting?

I wouldn't ever know if I didn't try.

And if I didn't try, I knew in my heart I would regret it.

It would not be easy to reopen my soul to caring about people so deeply again, but it was worth trying for.

Φ

The next few weeks managed to incite almost every emotion I possessed.

Contentment, fulfillment, joy, homesickness, jealousy, anger…

And some I never even knew I had.

The only emotion that remained constant was the peace that washed over me during my time on the roof every morning. I was still rather wary of Beth's ideas about God, but she seemed to respect my opinion enough not to bring it up again. And Meg continued to amuse us all with her innocent fun and wild tales about a ghost that haunted the Opera.

I could remember having an imaginary friend when I was her age. Still, this make believe ghost of her's was a bit more realistic than anything I had ever cooked up. She went so far as to attribute every unusual happening at the Garnier to her strange 'phantom'.

Silly girl.

With a little help and a few tips from my roommates, I was spending my afternoons cleaning out the musty attic room over the Emperor's Pavilion. Nearly half the room was concealed by mounds of debris and rubbish under a thick blanket of dust.

Two weeks worth of elbow grease and several buckets of soapy lemon water later, the gleaming cedar wood floors began to emerge. And that wasn't all. The only salvageable object in the entire attic was one I never would have expected, an old (and rather battered) upright piano

At first, I couldn't wrap my head around what such instrument was doing there, much less how it had gotten there. It was far too large to have been moved through the door. Beth's mother had later informed me that the circular attic had originally been a small chorus recital room.

When the Garnier was first built, the piano had been hoisted in before the walls were finished. When a new choirmaster was hired a few years later, he requested a different room. Rumor had it that the switch was due to the fact that he was overweight and disliked the effort of ten flights of stairs.

Whatever his reasons, I was now the proud 'owner' of the lovely piano. I had never learned to play very well, but perhaps this would provide me with the chance. Alana had even said that the great black thing didn't require tuning, though I was not sure if she actually knew what she was talking about.

Alana and Amanda were also growing dearer to my heart. Besides Alana's dubious instrumental wisdom, they had even offered to help me with my dancing after a particularly embarrassing rehearsal.

It had all started with a girl named Sorelli.

She and her little flock of followers had seemed kind enough at first. Besides, Samantha was good friends with her. It seemed like every girl our age ran in Sorelli's circle … that was except for the ones who mattered most.

Beth, Amanda, Alana, and a handful of others all kept their distance from the rest of the corps, and little Meg followed suit. I had never been very good at picking up on social clues, but even I could tell the two groups were at odds. I didn't know how to ask them what the problem was.

My Grandfather had been right about me. I never would have made much of a politician.

And even though I felt a deep attachment to my new little family, I still felt obligated to be polite to mademoiselle Sorelli. My Abuela had been a stickler for etiquette, putting me through endless lessons and years of finishing school. I had to at least attempt to make the niceties.

I swallowed my fear once again and walked over to the tittering group of girls, addressing myself to Sorelli, their obvious leader.

She picked up her head and affected a superior smile, flashing her brilliant white teeth. She was only little older than Beth. Her burnished blond hair, ice white blue eyes, and pallid complexion belonged to a princess or a painting in the Louvre. No wonder she was rumored to be a favorite of the Opera's elite subscribers.

Bashful again, I couldn't remember what I had done with my tongue. She spoke up for me.

"Hello. You must be the new girl. I am Sorelli." You could hear the capital S in her voice. She was beautiful and talented. And she knew it.

I felt three inches tall.

"My name is Leah." It came out much softer than I had intended.

The smiles on the faces of her lackeys deepened. Just then, Madame Giry glided in. With a firm rap of her cane on the scuffed floor of the rehearsal hall, she silently initiated the beginning of practice. In the rush to get to my position, I nearly missed Sorelli's undertone as my back was turned.

"Look at her run. Back to talk to the other second rate dancers."

Their giggles boiled my blood.

I stood next to Beth during rehearsals.

It was one thing to insult my aptitude for ballet.

Because I had been accepted late in the season, I was relegated to an understudy role for the year. I wasn't sure if I should have been furious or grateful.

It had taken me several days of practice to admit to my self the blatantly obvious facts, but I finally admitted my defeat. I didn't even deserve my alternate position. I had always believed myself to be an excellent ballerina, that I belonged to the crème de la crème of the dance world.

I couldn't have been more wrong.

As I watched the other young women float effortlessly through the routine, I acknowledged that they all had something that I never would: grace, ease … some invisible quality that I couldn't quite name. But it was very real. The way their bodies curved as they surged from one movement to the next stirred up sharp edged envy in my heart. Now I knew that late admittance was just an excuse for keeping me in the line of understudies. So the sting of Sorelli's insult was not nearly as deeply felt as they could have been, except for her words against Beth.

The only reason that Beth was anywhere near the alternate's row was because she had injured her ankle!

In fact, Beth and Meg were some of the most amazing dancers I had ever seen. Their form was very nearly perfect. Their exquisite balance was astounding. And the twins weren't far behind, matching Sorelli turn for turn. It didn't hurt that Madame had been teaching the four of them since before they could crawl.

And now that twit thought she could insult her?

How dare she! That conniving, despicable… Several choice words came to mind to describe her.

I felt my fists clenching and unclenching at my sides. Thoughts of the best ways to hit her ran through my head.

Then a vision of Henry's face faded into my thoughts, accompanied by his laughing voice that had once attended one of our fencing lessons.

"Don't get mad Izzy! That won't get you anywhere. Where are your manners? If you want to do something about the fact that I won another match," he smiled, "you'll just have to practice more."

"Then you can get even."