Her name was Amanda. She was pregnant, and the words birth defect meant nothing to her.She did what she pleased during the pregnancy. Drinking, smoking, and laying about downing pills, not thinking of the unborn child within her womb. Her body took all the abuse as her belly swelled gradually.
When she realized her pregnancy, she began vaguely to wonder who the child's father was. It didn't matter to her when the first contractions came. Pain wracked her body. "Push!" demanded the doctor in charge. She screamed as the next contraction came, pushing out the child. A nurse cut the umbilical cord as the baby began to wail. "It's a boy," said the doctor, who had only seen the identifying parts. He hadn't yet looked at the baby's face. But the young nurse had. She whisked the baby away, ostensibly to clean him up. The doctor, seeing the worried look on her face, followed.
"Doctor... Look at his face! Just look!"
He looked. Shock flooded his already-pale features. The nurse began washing the boy vigorously, hoping deep inside herself that somehow she could scrub off the deformity that clouded his otherwise perfect features. The right side of the child's face looked as if the Devil himself had stroked his face with tongues of Hell-fire. Yet, the left half was unmarred, an angelic face. Truly Fate had spun a cruel web around this child.
When Amanda found out her son was deformed, she simply named him: "Erik... Call him Erik." And she rolled over in the birthing bed, falling asleep almost instantly. The nurse sighed. Clearly, the boy - No, his name was Erik - was not going to have a good life with his addicted mother. She wrapped him in a new, warm blanket and held him close. He sniffled, turning toward her body. She rocked him to sleep, gently crooning.
"Hush, little baby, don't cry.
God looks down from the sky.
Hushabye, hushabye, hushabye."
Her voice faded away, and Amanda woke up. "Madame?" she asked hazily. "How's Erik?"
"Erik is sleeping," replied the nurse softly. "Would you like to hold him?" She offered the babe to his mother, who turned away, horrified. "No! That is not my child! Get him away! Give him a covering! Get him away!" Amanda was panicked, frantic. Her eyes stared about wildly, searching for surcease from this devil's face.
"Do you want me to take him to an orphanage?" the nurse asked quietly. "Or do you want to try to be Erik's mother?"
"NO!" The fear was clear in Amanda's voice. "He is not my son. Take him away!"
"Okay." A gentle condemnation.
Erik's life would never be the same.
The nurse scurried across the dark, puddled street, clutching Erik in her arms. A white half mask, specially made, glowed on his face. He slept as she knocked upon the wooden door. It opened, quickly revealing the street in the glow emanating from a lamp that was held by a fat hand. A woman stood at the door, stern features on her face, which softened when she saw the sleeping child.
"What brings you here so late, Antoinette? Is this another orphan child?"
"Yes," replied Antoinette. "His name is Erik, Erik Destler. As you can see, he is deformed. Please care for him as best you can, Marie."
"I will," lied Marie. Taking Erik from Antoinette's pale, eighteen year old arms, she bade her farewell and goodnight. Closing the door, she cradled the child close, an unkind, greedy grin spreading across her features. "You'll make me some money, child," she said cruelly.
FIVE YEARS LATER...
"Marieeeee!" A young voice cried out. "Nooooooo!" Erik struggled as the crone dragged him to a deserted street corner and threw him in the mud.
"Shut up, you little brat! You wouldn't want to miss going on a trip to Persia, would you?" She sneered in his mud-streaked face. He whimpered as her foul spit hit him.
"Persia?" He began to cry. "I don't want to go to Persia! I don't even know where that is!"
"It's for your own good," insisted the woman cruelly. A toothless man with tangled long hair suddenly appeared at Marie's side, growling, "Is this the boy?" Marie nodded as the man roughly clenched his hand around Erik's arm, offering thirty silver coins to marie. She grabbed at it greedily. Thus, Erik was sold into bondage to the Sultan of Persia.
The trip was long and arduous as the carriage rattled across the countries between Paris and Persia. Erik stared wistfully out the window as hills morphed to mountains and dried into desert. At last, the Sultan's palace drew into view, gleaming with brilliant lacquering. Minarets caught the sunlight, sparkling like a jewel, that, many years later, Erik would hate.
The carriage halted at the door to the Sultan's stables. "Alright, you! Get out!" The cruel man cuffed Erik's head, causing him to fall sideways, out of the carriage. He collapsed on the ground, humiliated. His face burned under the mask as he got to his feet.
"Joseph!" A reprimand split the air. "You've no right to treat him like that!" The woman who spoke stood tall, reed thin, with a hawk-like face. She turned and knelt beside Erik. "Are you injured?" she asked, her voice completely opposite of her beration of Joseph. Erik shook his head slowly. "What's your name? Mine's Miranda," she said, gently taking Erik's left hand and helping him stand.
"I'm Erik, ma'am. Thank you." He put his right hand to his mask, pressing it on tighter.
"Come along then, Erik." Still holding his hand, Miranda led him through dark, cool corridors.
"Where are we going?" questioned Erik.
"To the sultan's throne room. He has requested to see you and assess your potential." She opened a large, ornately carved door. Music burst into Erik's masked face. He looked toward the front of the room, where a man was charming an enormous black snake. The music lilted away like mist as the man finished the charm-song. He smiled warmly at Erik and Miranda as the snake settled into its basket.
"Oh great sultan," began Miranda. "This is the boy, Erik."
"Welcome, Erik." The sultan's deep voice seemed to fill the whole throne room. "What can you do?"
"S-s-sir?" Timid.
"Well, can you sing? Dance? Write? Act? I see you wear a mask- You must be a good actor!"
"Sir, I-I-I've never been t-taught. None dared because- because of my face."
"Show me your face," commanded the sultan.
"I can't, sir."
"Why not?"
"Shame, sir."
"Shame?"
"Shame." And Erik hung his head.
"Come here, then." The sultan's voice was gentle. He motioned, and Erik walked to him. The sultan began to sing. Rich and comforting words spilled out of his mouth, making Erik feel less ashamed. He was getting lost in the music when he felt fingers digging under his mask. Being naive, Erik stood in shock as the mask was freed from his face. Suddenly he felt cool air on his cheek and it registered tha this face was naked. He immediately brought his hands up in place of the mask. And he grew angry.
His face reddened and he began to curse and scream at the sultan, who had betrayed his trust. While Erik raged, the sultan stared at his face, halting his singing once the five year old boy began to scream. He wore himself out, and the man began to laugh. He couldn't help it. The absurdity of how fate had treated this boy and his childish tantrum! Yes, his face was awful, but the tantrum- It was hilarious!
Collapsed on the floor, Erik grew angry again. "I'll kill you." His voice was collected and tense. he leapt toward the sultan, one hand still over his marred face, the other grasping at the man's throat. Erik squeezed hard, but he couldn't even cause the sultan to breathe differently. The sultan laughed again and Erik released him, seething. It was useless to try to choke the man to death.
Snatching his mask, Erik turned away, putting it back on.
Miranda, who had remained silent and still during all of this, now came forward. "I will show him to his quarters, sir. He needs to get to know what's what." She took Erik by the hand and led him, trembling with his anger, out of the room.
"Erik, Erik, Erik," she began. "Don't anger the sultan. Mazenderan's already deadly enough without antagonizing him!" A sigh. "But you should watch your back. You need to learn to control your temper, Erik."
"Uh, Miranda?" What's "antagonize" mean?" Erik's voice sounded especially young, reminding Miranda he was only a five year old boy.
"It means, don't annoy him or make him angry, Erik," replied Miranda gently. "Come along, I'll take you to your room." She lifted him up, and he buried his face in her shoulder. His mask was cool against her. Feeling a pang of pity, she held him a little tighter, tempted to plant a kiss on the top of his head. He began to snuffle quietly as she carried him. Finally, she reached the door to his room. the cool, dark hallway and stone floor kept her from being as tired as she might be. Erik began to full out cry as she put him down to produce a key from her pocket. She opened the door, gathered Erik into her arms, and went in. The room was comfortable, temperate and well - lit.
"Hushabye, Erik. Big boys don't cry, now do they?" she inquired, not really expecting an answer.
"Turn away so I can dry my eyes, Miranda, please." She did as he requested.
He never cried in front of her again.
TEN YEARS LATER...
"Come on, boy. Let's get this horse broken before sunset, or you'll pay!" threatened Joseph.
Erik groaned. This meant another week of barely being able to sleep thanks to the assorted contusions that always appeared after breaking a bronco. He sighed and flung himself onto the black horse's back. And he held on for dear life as the horse kicked, bucked, and generally raised a ruckus. Erik gritted his teeth. He was determined to prove that he could break horses and that he could surpass Joseph's low expectations of him. i"Someday,"/i he thought, i"I'll get out of this stinking hole and-"/i His thought was interrupted by one particularly violent jump of the horse. Erik nearly lost his grip, but managed to hang on. He could sense that the two year old horse was about to stop resisting. At last, the horse gave up. It began to walk, docile, yet burning with fiery spirit.
"'at's good," said Joseph grudgingly. "Stall him up." Erik hated having to halt for the night now that he had tamed the horse, but he dismounted and led the horse to his stall. "Don't forget to wipe him down, boy!" barked Joseph after him.
Erik took the bridle off the horse as it spit out the bit. "Cesar," he whispered. "I think I'll call you Cesar." The horse nickered as Erik slipped him a sugar cube. The boy turned as he heard a footstep behind him.
"Hello, Erik." Miranda smiled. "Are you almost finished? My friend Antoinette is here from Paris, France."
"Paris? That's very far away!"
"Come along, she wants to meet you. You can learn more about Paris from her."