Turn of the Tide: Distance
"Are you positively out of your damned head?" Nadir shouted as soon as we had cleared the Chagny property. Clearly he was not aware of the hour.
"You've asked that question for years. You really ought know the answer by now," I mocked.
"Don't do this to me, Erik. That man is the only reason you are alive for me to berate you!"
"Yet another reason why he should have left me well alone."
Nadir's face dropped. "You miserable creature," he spat in his native Persian tongue. "Have you anything but contempt for others? For me?" I stared ahead coldly, though I knew that Nadir's face was flush with anger and his ragged breaths reflected his horror at my behavior. He threw himself back against the seat and stared on ahead as he cursed me. "I fear I may be finished with you, Erik, if something does not change…May Allah help you."
"No, thank you."
"I hate you right now," he muttered.
I scoffed. "There seems to be a great deal of that going around at the moment." The rest of the cab ride was made in silence. I daresay in the other corner of the cab Nadir's mouth was still moving and muttering his displeasure, but no sound escaped his lips. When we arrived at his flat, I made my way inside as quickly as my injured frame would allow. I wanted no extra attention and so was thankful for the late hour, but not my outburst at the Chagny estate that the cab driver would most certainly take with him. I lingered just inside the doorway as the cab made its way off, and wondered if letting him go would come back to haunt me later.
Nadir had found his way to a chair and held his head in his hands. Darius watched cautiously from the adjoining room as he fixed tea. "I don't know what to do with you anymore," Nadir murmured.
"Then do nothing," I spat as I turned to face him. "I don't want your charity."
"This is not charity."
"Concern, then. Whatever the hell it is you want to call it. Never once in this screwed up relationship did I ask for it." Nadir looked up at me thoughtfully.
"Relationship? You mean friendship, Erik."
"Kill me."
"After all these years and everything I've done for you, you cannot be bothered to acknowledge me as a friend?" he asked. Nadir rose to his feet and started to approach me.
"With a gun, please, if you would," I continued, not caring to acknowledge his current pursuit of inner peace and beauty. "It would be a bit loud so it could potentially wake the neighbors, but they hate you anyway - "
"Shut up and take one thing seriously in your life, please!" Nadir demanded as he grabbed my shoulder. As I winced from my injuries I saw his desperate features twist with worry. He looked me up and down as if to remind himself of the extent of the damage. "You're in need of a physician…I cannot fathom how you are even still standing," he said sadly.
"Is there a lever, some sort of switch I can turn to cease your caring?" I sneered as I brushed his hand off. He stared slowly up at me, and I raised my eyebrows – not that he could honestly see them! – to hasten some sort of reply. The reply I received was not exactly what I was hoping for. Nadir dug his fingers into my right shoulder and I immediately dropped to one knee in agony. He held fast, too – I'm certain he was taking a perverse sort of pleasure in reducing me to a broken, bloody wreck once more.
"Lever's stuck," he quipped. When he finally let go I collapsed onto the floor – on my right side, no less – and lay there shaking for several moments. Though the wounds were now freshly stirred, I regained my composure and looked to Nadir. He simply motioned toward a nearby chair and slowly, I took it. He, too, sat as Darius gave us our tea and returned to the kitchen. "Good to see you again, Darius," I called sarcastically. He shot me a look of displeasure, groaned, and exited into another room. I smirked. "Nice chat."
"I'm glad to see the Vicomte escape your encounter without injury," Nadir remarked. He sipped his tea and stared expressionless at me.
"As much as it would please me to be rid of the boy, I couldn't bring myself to wreak more havoc on an already destroyed family," I declared. Inwardly I was bashing my own head into the wall, but outwardly I must have appeared very calm.
Nadir looked at me curiously. "If I did not know better I would think that you actually feel sorry for the boy."
"Don't harp on this issue, Nadir. You may cause me to rethink my decision," I said coolly. The tea's awkwardly familiar taste made me grimace. After realizing what was going on, I fixed my cold eyes on my so-called friend. "You laced this with something, didn't you," I demanded suddenly.
Nadir's stare never wavered with my implication. "Laudanum," he responded, in an unhurried fashion that honestly made me want to kill him.
"You bastard…"
"Quite a lot of it, too," Nadir noted. "Couldn't count on you drinking the whole thing." I then muttered an expletive I have already mentioned far too often in my account. I dropped my cup and was at Nadir's throat in a heartbeat, pressing my free arm against his neck and slamming him into the wall. He looked shocked, but not terrified; the next thing I knew Darius was pulling me off his master by my right arm. He dragged me backward and before I could do anything, had me pinned to the floor with one of his brutish arms across my neck and the other holding my arm behind my back – which, I might add, felt like my shoulder was ripping slowly in two.
"Erik, enough!" Nadir cried as he watched me struggle. Between the increasing effect of the draught Nadir slipped me and the pain resonating from my shoulder and other wounds, I was growing ever more incoherent and uncomfortable. I struggled against Darius, but he was a large man and in my condition I was going nowhere. "Darius ease up," Nadir asked. "Ease up, damn it! Good…Erik, do not fight this, it will only be more painful. This is going to give you a few hours to rest peacefully. Try to relax now." Relax? I'll show you relaxed, you Persian twit. Hanging from the end of a rope is damn relaxed –
"Help me get him in the other room," Nadir muttered to his servant. I half surrendered and allowed them to attempt to carry me.
"I don't particularly care for you right now, Darius," I muttered through my increasing stupor.
"I don't like you either." My God, he spoke! The imposing Prophet of the Household Upkeep actually spoke. Darius would hardly ever speak in my presence; I was truly shocked. It turns out that he speaks quite a lot, too. He did an awful lot of cursing when I was in that flat.
I was set down on a bed and Darius retreated back to his pans, or tea-making…whatever it is he does. Nadir sat by in silence. Somewhere in there I recall muttering, "Christine…"
"Christine is not here, my friend. She will never be here," Nadir said, trying to coax some reality into my fading consciousness. Looking back, I should have told him that was a terrible bedtime story.
The draught lasted nearly eight hours, all of which was anything but peaceful. Despite Nadir's good – and terribly misguided – intentions, I did not take well to Laudanum. My troubled mind raced, darting between the Opera, Christine, the dark alley and the insufferable wounds, and Nadir's betrayal. Needless to say I woke in a terrible mood the next morning.
"Ah, good morning," Nadir greeted as he walked in the room with tea in one hand and a newspaper under his arm. "Glad to see that you're awake."
My face twisted at his words. "When I regain the use of my right side I'm going to seriously hurt you."
"Oh I doubt that, Erik," he replied, half smiling. He was right. Over the next two days I tried on more than one occasion to break his neck, but by then Darius had become quite proficient at wrenching my shoulder just so to send me to the floor. Just you wait, Darius…my payback would be beautiful. Eventually the three of us reached a peaceful coexistence; or tolerable, anyway. Darius and I were equally displeased to be in each other's company, though he did a much more admirable job of hiding it, and Nadir occasionally went about with a grin on his face. I began to wonder if he lacked a central nervous system.
A week past and despite the banter between the two or three of us, my mood was dismal. At the time everything was a struggle – I naturally chose to keep to myself, and so for the time being suffered with such simple tasks as dressing myself. Feeling like a cripple only blackened my demeanor. Nadir watched sadly as I made the discovery of his humble spinet and ran my fingers over the keys. I suspect he wanted very much for me to play it, but between my lack of a functioning right arm and the horrific quality of the instrument, I had no desire. Those were the reasons I offered to him when he questioned me on it, but they were only half the picture. I had no want for music at that time, for I feared very deeply the feelings it may have held for me.
Even so I found myself occasionally picking up my violin that Nadir had brought with him from the Opera. One day I sat solemnly with the instrument resting under my chin, my left hand absently fingering notes as I stared into the fire. "Why do you not play?" Nadir inquired. I snapped out of my trance and looked at him with quiet contempt. I gently lifted my right hand off the armrest to remind him.
"Oh," he muttered.
"Oh," I sneered. Somewhat disgusted, I turned back to the flames in the fireplace and continued to finger the strings. Nadir looked up once again from his newspaper.
"Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to use it a bit," he suggested.
"It hurts quite a lot, actually," I scoffed. He did not know the extent to which it frustrated me to not be able to do a simple thing such as use the bow on my violin. Many times the doctor within me had pondered the extent of the injury to my shoulder; many times I had examined it in the mirror and probed it, looking for some answers. I did not think my arm would be useless from now on, but I was quite sure be greatly weakened and for the moment, extremely painful. The knife wound to my side and the broken rib I had suffered were healing, but they did not have the negative effects the shoulder wound had. Not that I honestly had the heart to play music at the time, but the fact that I was incapable of it flat out angered me. "Not that your man has helped any with the pain lately either."
"Don't be blaming Darius for any of this, Erik," Nadir demanded. From the kitchen I heard Darius grumble.
"Ugly fiend," he muttered in disgust.
"Yes, and you're a servant," I retorted. "Now bring me a croissant."
Nadir rolled his eyes and allowed the paper fall into his lap. "You need an occupation, my friend. Badly, I might add."
"I should say the same for you. What is it exactly that you do when you're not playing my jailor?"
He smirked. "I used to be quite active at a local library. Reading is an escape. In fact, the management is thinking of remodeling the building. I should bring you the plans to look over and make suggestions. I'm sure they would be more than willing to offer a consultation fee."
I shook my head and made a motion as if to throw my violin at Nadir's head, but returned it to rest on my left shoulder. I was displeased, but at the same time I knew I had to occupy my mind with something other than Christine. I was not doing badly on that front considering, but I knew that if I remained idle too much longer, my feelings could get the best of me.
"Is that an agreement?" Nadir inquired, his head tilted curiously. I nodded. Darius placed the plate containing my croissant on the nearby table, and I stared at it coldly. After he retreated into another room I stood up and made to do the same. Nadir stared after me, confused.
"Are you not going to eat that?" he asked.
"Of course not," I replied.
"Then you should not have asked to have it brought out. Why on earth do you feel the need to aggravate him so?"
"Aggravating him is about the only thing I can do around here."
The plans of the building were entirely ridiculous, and I made that quite obvious to Nadir. The first two days that I had the plans in my possession I rambled non stop on the idiocy of the architect they had hired. Too many walls, all placed in a completely incoherent fashion throughout the floor plan of the building. While initially my enthusiasm for the project was at a minimal, it gained momentum as I sketched some thoughts on paper. After a week, Nadir suggested that I see the building for myself. To my current astonishment I agreed. Arrangements were made several weeks down the road to allow my condition to improve.
Nadir and I sat down and actually formulated a story to go along with the mask. I would be examining the building late at night after it had closed to the public, keeping my exposure to a minimum. The middle aged owner of the building was there and was made aware of my condition – while I had just discarded the sling, I was still did not have much use of my right arm and was exceptionally cautious about going out. The stares I received from the owner were to be expected, but not any worse. I believe Nadir told him I was the victim of old war wounds – thus explaining the need for the mask – that had been aggravated from a nasty fall from a rank horse. It was a bit weak in my opinion, but realistic. I had considered lion attack in jest, but Nadir did not think that would go over well.
Initial meetings went well and were relatively productive. New plans were drawn up. I would elaborate more, but it was so routine and boring I feel there is no need. Nadir hassled me some about taking up the contracting on the project, but naturally I told him he was off his rocker. I needed no excuse to be out in the world any more than I already was. I was across the city from the Opera House, and two months had passed since my discovery. Even so, I wanted nothing to do with the human race, and I felt it was far too fresh in people's minds to even try.
This account does not honestly portray how much Christine was on my mind. I do not think an hour passed in my day where something did not remind me either of her or of the Opera House. I suppose I managed well enough playing the recluse architect, appearing to occupy my thoughts with the success of the current, unimaginative project at my feet, but in reality it took me longer to distance myself from what had happened. Another month passed in which I occasionally attended the site late at night to inspect the work and get updates from the owner or the contractor that I had him hire, and I began to feel myself moving on. To what, exactly, I did not know. Prospects for me at the time were dismal. But I did occasionally ponder what Christine and her now Comte were doing – last I had heard they had a private ceremony not long after I left, and had spent a month or more out of the country. I forced myself not to dwell on it, to get it out of my life. Unfortunately enough for me, it was about to come crashing back in.