CHAPTER 4:
RUE DURANTIN 17
Erik threw himself into the whirl of preparations for his removal. There were so many things to do. He was sorting all things in his house, dividing them to two groups; those that he'll take with him and those that he'll have Nadir sold. He didn't want to take many things. He only needed some clothes and his mask. Old furniture, sculptures, books, candlesticks, Persian carpets and tapestries were useless. Nadir was coming to him every day in the evening to take some of his possessions and sell them at Parisian markets, trying to bargain the best price for things so dear to his friend. Eventually in Erik's underground house was left only his pipe organ and a packed suitcase.
"What now, Erik?" asked Nadir. "I found a man who wants to buy your organ." Erik glanced at the shiny keyboard of his instrument. "He's willing to pay…"
"I don't care how much." cut Erik sharply. "I'm not selling it. I have enough money to rent a flat."
Nadir didn't seem to be very surprised. Somehow he knew that in the end Erik will change his mind.
"It's your choice." he shrugged. "Then what are you going to do with it?"
"It will stay here. No one will find it, after all." he said simply, closing the lock of his suitcase.
xxx
It was a middle February day. It was cold and the wind was nippy. Nobody would call this day beautiful. Nobody but Erik. Snow was creaking under his feet as he was going down Rue Tholoze, looking around himself. His eyes were bright and excited, his coat was gradually getting covered with snow, but he didn't even bother to brush it off. Everything he saw today was fascinating him; from big houses and street lanterns to frozen clothes hanging on balconies. He was rambling around the hill of Montmartre, trying to find a flat to rent. Once in a while he was passed by a hurried man or a pensive woman. Nobody was really surprised to see a masked stranger. Such views were quite common on Montmarte. For the very first time Erik felt like someone who didn't stand out from the crowd.
He looked at the street signpost. Rue Durantin. He saw a quite old, but nice tenement house on the left. It's walls were covered with light plaster, grayed and weathered with age. There were dark blue shutters and red roof tile. Maybe this one, thought Erik and rang the doorbell.
The door opened and madame Badeau, the elderly rentier of the house at Rue Durantin 17 greeted him. She had a wrinkled face with thin lips and light blue piercing eyes.
"How can I help you, monsieur?" she asked, eying him. She stopped her gaze at his masked face for a moment, but said nothing.
"I'd like to see a flat. I saw a notice on the door plate. Is there any for rental?"
"Yes, monsieur. The one on third floor."
Erik followed her up the stairs. They entered a big empty room with light gray walls and a small kitchen range in a niche. Erik smiled behind the mask, walking about the flat.
"I'd like to rent it." he said eventually. "How much will the rental payment be?"
"Twenty two francs. When do you want to move here?"
Twenty two francs! Nadir was right; living on Montmartre was very cheap.
"Today."
Even if madame Badeau was astonished by his response, she didn't let it show.
"As you wish, monsieur." she said.
"Here you are… money for this month. I have to go now to buy all I need." said Erik taking twenty two francs from his pocket. "Thank you very much, madame." he finished quickly, put his suitcase on the floor and turned to leave, but she stopped him.
"One more thing, monsieur." she said. "Your name, please."
Erik froze. For many years he didn't feel like this; like a frightened child wanting to hide in shadow. Such a simple question… He dreamed he would be able to live like anyone else, but in this moment he thought that whatever he'd do, it was impossible. His face, his past and his inclination toward crime were a barrier that excluded him from the society. He glanced at his future rentier; his eyes caught her simple, neat dress, pinned up hair and hands holding a bunch of keys. She was such a typical elderly woman, the one that can be met everywhere... How much time must pass till he will be able to forget about everything that made him so… different?
Madame Badeau was waiting for his response, examining his masked face carefully with her pale eyes. He kept quiet.
"Eh bien?"
Silence.
"Monsieur, I'm not asking you what has happened before in your life, or what you escape from. I only need to know how to call you." she said impatiently.
He took a deep breath.
"Erik." he mumbled eventually, only waiting for the question about his mask. But, to his surprise, she didn't ask about anything more. She noted neatly "Erik" and "February – 18 francs" in her old scrapbook and nodded.
"Alright then." she said as she finished. "If you're looking for cheap, but good furniture, you should go to Meubles on Rue Lepic. I hope life on Butte will be kind to you, monsieur. Good bye."
xxx
Though the name "Meubles" was neither original nor sophisticated, Erik found what he was looking for. He bought a cheap bed, solid table, two wooden chairs and a desk. Next he went to an instruments manufacturer and arranged a transport of a piano. It was very simple, without any useless ornaments, but had a good tone.
Erik visited also markets and bought some bread, potatoes, eggs, coffee and tea.
When he came back to his just rented flat, he started to settle down in his room. There was a lot of free space that he couldn't fill with four pieces of furniture. He placed his bed in one corner of the room, the desk in another and the table with the chairs in the center. All his clothes stayed unpacked in the suitcase. He took from there his old drawings, sketches, music scores, some paper, pencils and ink and put it all on the desk. And when food found it's place on the big table, he lighted his old samovar and threw beans into the pot with water. Then he hung the cooking pan above the range and smashed three eggs. When the process of preparing his dinner was over, he sat by the table and started eating, looking out the window at roofs of Parisian buildings gradually sinking in darkness of a winter evening.
But the next day, things didn't look as beautiful as the day before. He woke in the cold room before the sunrise. As he opened his eyes, he needed a few seconds to remember where he was. Groping, he found the gas lamp and went to the kitchen range. Only when the room filled with warmth, he dressed up and drank black coffee. Then he pulled out everything he had in his pocket, he realized that more than half of his money went for yesterday's shopping. And he still had to buy some clothes, because he had only his elegant suit. He sighed and put back and put off a few francs and the rest left in the drawer of his desk. He would have to save money now.
He wasn't hungry, so he decided to have a walk to see how Montmartre looked in early morning hours. On his way down the stairs he met madame Badeau with curl papers in her hair and fireplace shovel in her hand.
"Good morning madame!" he greeted with enthusiasm that surprised him. Madame Badeau returned his greeting and pointing that he is an early riser, she invited him for a cup of tea. He followed her to the small drawing room.
"Have a seat, monsieur." she said and disappeared behind the door to, as Erik supposed, a kitchen.
He sat down on one of two surprisingly uncomfortable carved armchairs and looked around himself. The room was very clean and was furnished quite simply. Although there were many trashy landscape paintings on the walls and an old oak sideboard was full of porcelain sets of all colors and patterns imaginable.
Madame Badeau came back in few minutes carrying a tray with two porcelain cups on saucers and a pot full of hot tea. The cup she passed Erik was white with blue flower patter and gilded lip.
"It seemed, monsieur, you asked about work on Montmartre." she said, sitting on another armchair and taking a sip of her tea. "You see, it depends what kind of work you're looking for."
"I don't know yet. Maybe masonry or work in the factory or mine… I have to start with something. " he replied.
"Masonry? Then maybe Sacré Coeur construction?
"I actually thought about it. It's not very far from here, is it?"
"No monsieur. And if you catch a fast cocher, it shouldn't take too much time."
Erik mused for a moment. He could make a living from working as a simple mason. Though it sounded quite odd; an elder, experienced architect who designed the Opera Garnier, was to smear his fingers with mortar instead of inspecting the work of others.
"Monsieur?" madame Badeau's voice brought him out of his reverie. "Would you like to try my gateau au chocolat?
