When Christine awoke the next morning, I had already been up for several
hours. I'd heard her moving about her room and stood before the fireplace
not knowing what to do next. Completely at a loss, I struggled for
something, anything, to say to her. When I heard her door open, I shut my
eyes and waited for the inevitable confrontation. She came behind me to
sit as quietly as possible upon the divan. Taking a deep breath, I turned
to face her. Our eyes met and held. I sensed she had no idea how to
initiate this conversation either, so, with a sigh, I began. I told her my
name, how long I had lived under the Opera and spoke briefly about my past.
In the most casual terms I could use, I explained how I had heard her sing
that day when I was in Box Five. She listened intently but did not move or
say a word. Finally, I told her how I had heard her wish for an angel to
instruct her. Thus, my deception was laid bare awaiting her justified
anger. My heart felt as though it had been spilled onto the floor. Weary
from the explanation, I sank into my armchair and stared at the flames
sightlessly.
Christine drew a shuddering breath but was silent. I expected some reaction - any reaction. Curiosity getting the better of me, I looked tiredly towards her. She had said nothing but was watching me uncomfortably. Condemned, I gazed guiltily back at her. She stood up cautiously and took three steps towards me as my breath caught. Very, very slowly, she lowered herself to my footstool and leaned against my legs with her face towards the fire.
Her sweet, inarticulate forgiveness cauterized the wound that occurred when she had ripped off my mask the previous evening. I dimly perceived that we both had actions to be ashamed of, though I was aware that my transgressions were more serious than a girl's natural inquisitiveness. We stared into the fire together as an hour, then another, passed; both of us absorbing the impact upon our relationship. Mindful of her comfort, I ultimately asked her if she were hungry. Giving me her perfectly sculptured profile, she nodded. I made to stand and fix her something but she was on her feet already. She looked down at me and said her first words of the day, "No, Erik. I will do it. You stay here and I'll bring you something."
When I was certain she had left the room, I doubled over in the pain of it and cried quietly.
The day passed less stressfully after my confession. Christine plied me with questions about my home and where I had obtained my vast musical knowledge. Her questions probably kept both of us from dwelling upon the traumatic events of the day before. I showed her around my home and she was fascinated by all that she saw. Back in the drawing room, I heaped coals upon the fire while she gazed at the books lining the shelves.
"Have you read all of these, Erik?" My heart fluttered ridiculously each time she said my name.
"Yes, most of them." I replied guardedly.
Christine turned to me with undisguised envy. "How intelligent you must be........you are so talented and knowledgeable. I feel quite inadequate." Folding her arms about her, she resumed her perusal as I stared at her. She felt inadequate with ME? Looking back into the flames, I thought how ironic it was.
I rose before the fireplace and uncertainly inquired, "Shall we have your lesson today, my Dear, or are you quite fatigued?
Facing me again, she continued to hug herself but smiled for the first time that day. "No, I should like to practice very much."
Relieved, I stretched my arms and hands before me. "Well, what shall we work on today?" I wished to leave the decision up to her as I did not know her state of mind. I did not want to pressure her unnecessarily. The only reason I even brought up having her practice was because it was familiar and comfortable for both of us.
Shrugging, she moved to stand next to the organ. Rubbing her hands delicately upon the surface, she whispered "Erik, thank you for all the beautiful things in my room. And these dresses. I don't own any that are so fine."
I nodded and pretended to leaf through sheets of music merely for something to do. Choosing a innocuous melody, I began to play softly, glancing at her. She appeared deep in thought and I felt it best not to interrupt. I continued to play as it comforted my soul and I hoped it would soothe her as well. After I had played yet another melody, she began to sing softly as I smiled my encouragement. God, I loved the sound of her voice! Closing my eyes, I immersed myself in her singing. Unconsciously, I began to sing the verses with her and our voices blended in such sweet perfection that it brought tears to my eyes. Keeping my eyes shut in shame at my weakness, Christine seemed to gain confidence in the aria. I continued to sing along with her but only to abet her beautiful voice. Keeping my eyes upon the keyboard, I blinked back the threatening tears so that I might be able to look upon her. When I raised my head, I was not prepared for what I saw.
Christine stood beside the organ with her head back slightly, posture perfect and her mouth opened in song. Tears streamed down her lovely face and her eyes were closed. Almost ceasing to play, I regained control quickly. What was she thinking? Was she frightened? Braving another glance at her, I found her looking at me and singing the lyrics I had taught her months before. My eyes could not pull away from hers and as she sang, she slowly moved to stand closer to me.
My heart tripped within me at her nearness and I had to force my vision to the keyboard again. We finished the aria together flawlessly and my hands left the keyboard to rest in my lap. The sudden silence penetrated with a significant meaning that, in my confusion, I could not understand. Taking a deep breath, I felt bold enough to look up to her again. She stood with her eyes shut but I noticed she was trembling. What could I have done to distress her so?
"Christine, my Dear. Have I done something to upset you?", I inquired as tenderly as I could.
Opening her eyes and keeping my gaze, she shook her head slightly. She and I stared at each other in silence for several minutes before she finally said, "No. No, I believe I am just tired." Her eyes looked away. Deliberately, I did not remind her that she had just told me she was not fatigued.
I smiled obligingly and suggested, "Perhaps you would like to lie down then. I will not play while you rest."
Nodding absently, she turned and paced sluggishly toward her room. With her back to me, I watched her retreat with the intensity of a predator. How much I would give to know what was in her mind at that moment.
Christine drew a shuddering breath but was silent. I expected some reaction - any reaction. Curiosity getting the better of me, I looked tiredly towards her. She had said nothing but was watching me uncomfortably. Condemned, I gazed guiltily back at her. She stood up cautiously and took three steps towards me as my breath caught. Very, very slowly, she lowered herself to my footstool and leaned against my legs with her face towards the fire.
Her sweet, inarticulate forgiveness cauterized the wound that occurred when she had ripped off my mask the previous evening. I dimly perceived that we both had actions to be ashamed of, though I was aware that my transgressions were more serious than a girl's natural inquisitiveness. We stared into the fire together as an hour, then another, passed; both of us absorbing the impact upon our relationship. Mindful of her comfort, I ultimately asked her if she were hungry. Giving me her perfectly sculptured profile, she nodded. I made to stand and fix her something but she was on her feet already. She looked down at me and said her first words of the day, "No, Erik. I will do it. You stay here and I'll bring you something."
When I was certain she had left the room, I doubled over in the pain of it and cried quietly.
The day passed less stressfully after my confession. Christine plied me with questions about my home and where I had obtained my vast musical knowledge. Her questions probably kept both of us from dwelling upon the traumatic events of the day before. I showed her around my home and she was fascinated by all that she saw. Back in the drawing room, I heaped coals upon the fire while she gazed at the books lining the shelves.
"Have you read all of these, Erik?" My heart fluttered ridiculously each time she said my name.
"Yes, most of them." I replied guardedly.
Christine turned to me with undisguised envy. "How intelligent you must be........you are so talented and knowledgeable. I feel quite inadequate." Folding her arms about her, she resumed her perusal as I stared at her. She felt inadequate with ME? Looking back into the flames, I thought how ironic it was.
I rose before the fireplace and uncertainly inquired, "Shall we have your lesson today, my Dear, or are you quite fatigued?
Facing me again, she continued to hug herself but smiled for the first time that day. "No, I should like to practice very much."
Relieved, I stretched my arms and hands before me. "Well, what shall we work on today?" I wished to leave the decision up to her as I did not know her state of mind. I did not want to pressure her unnecessarily. The only reason I even brought up having her practice was because it was familiar and comfortable for both of us.
Shrugging, she moved to stand next to the organ. Rubbing her hands delicately upon the surface, she whispered "Erik, thank you for all the beautiful things in my room. And these dresses. I don't own any that are so fine."
I nodded and pretended to leaf through sheets of music merely for something to do. Choosing a innocuous melody, I began to play softly, glancing at her. She appeared deep in thought and I felt it best not to interrupt. I continued to play as it comforted my soul and I hoped it would soothe her as well. After I had played yet another melody, she began to sing softly as I smiled my encouragement. God, I loved the sound of her voice! Closing my eyes, I immersed myself in her singing. Unconsciously, I began to sing the verses with her and our voices blended in such sweet perfection that it brought tears to my eyes. Keeping my eyes shut in shame at my weakness, Christine seemed to gain confidence in the aria. I continued to sing along with her but only to abet her beautiful voice. Keeping my eyes upon the keyboard, I blinked back the threatening tears so that I might be able to look upon her. When I raised my head, I was not prepared for what I saw.
Christine stood beside the organ with her head back slightly, posture perfect and her mouth opened in song. Tears streamed down her lovely face and her eyes were closed. Almost ceasing to play, I regained control quickly. What was she thinking? Was she frightened? Braving another glance at her, I found her looking at me and singing the lyrics I had taught her months before. My eyes could not pull away from hers and as she sang, she slowly moved to stand closer to me.
My heart tripped within me at her nearness and I had to force my vision to the keyboard again. We finished the aria together flawlessly and my hands left the keyboard to rest in my lap. The sudden silence penetrated with a significant meaning that, in my confusion, I could not understand. Taking a deep breath, I felt bold enough to look up to her again. She stood with her eyes shut but I noticed she was trembling. What could I have done to distress her so?
"Christine, my Dear. Have I done something to upset you?", I inquired as tenderly as I could.
Opening her eyes and keeping my gaze, she shook her head slightly. She and I stared at each other in silence for several minutes before she finally said, "No. No, I believe I am just tired." Her eyes looked away. Deliberately, I did not remind her that she had just told me she was not fatigued.
I smiled obligingly and suggested, "Perhaps you would like to lie down then. I will not play while you rest."
Nodding absently, she turned and paced sluggishly toward her room. With her back to me, I watched her retreat with the intensity of a predator. How much I would give to know what was in her mind at that moment.