Chapter 5: A Change in Scenery
[featuring "A Lesson in Ornithology" and "Paternal Revelations"]
~ Autumn 1907 ~
Christine appreciated the change in scenery, but although she couldn't ask for a better scene to change to, she was confined to her bed and fell into her old boredom once more. The Girys were likely enjoying the last of the summer weather, and her Angel, so Gustave told her, had tasked himself with tutoring their son since the boy was unable to return to school.
"He really is a wonderful teacher, Mother," said Gustave from his seat in the armchair beside Christine's bed.
"Yes, I'm sure he is," she replied, with a knowing smile. What she'd give to be back at the Opera, under her Angel's tutelage once more!
Christine hadn't seen as much of the man as she would've liked. In fact, she hardly saw him at all. He spent the mornings on Gustave's lessons, but why didn't he visit her in the afternoon when Gustave burst into her room, eager to share what he learned that day?
"Hello, Madame de Chagny," said her Angel as he knocked on the doorway of her bedroom. Christine's head shot toward the soothing sound of his voice. He always arrived when she least expected but when she longed for him most. The sight of him lifted her from her sullen mood.
"Hello, Angel!" Christine exclaimed. "And hello, Ayesha!" she added when she noticed the cat prancing at the man's feet.
"Would you like some fresh air, Madame de Chagny?" her Angel asked as he walked over to the floor to ceiling windows.
"Yes, please!" Christine replied cheerfully. Her Angel reached for the knob of the french doors camouflaged in the wall of windows. He tore the doors open, allowing an afternoon breeze to fill the room. Christine closed her eyes and smiled at the scent of salty air and the distant sound of seabirds. Ayesha rushed out the door and curled up in the sun on the balcony.
"May I please go out on the balcony?" Christine begged, throwing off her bed covers. She was tired of being an invalid and only seeing what was visible from her bed.
"You may, but please wait a moment!" Her Angel forced her back into bed. He walked over to the pair of armchairs in front of the fireplace and dragged them onto the balcony one at a time. After setting the second chair in its place, he returned to Christine and hoisted her into his arms. She nestled her head into his chest before he deposited her in one of the armchairs on the balcony.
"I think this is a comfortable way to enjoy the view, don't you agree, Madame de Chagny?" said her Angel as he settled himself in the armchair beside her.
"I wholeheartedly agree," Christine replied, "but I've been wondering, why do you insist on calling me Madame de Chagny? Why don't you call me Christine anymore?"
Her Angel's golden eyes were fixed on a sailboat on the horizon. He let out a long sigh before replying.
"I think it best we use our formal titles. You call me Mr. Y and I call you Madame de Chagny," he said plainly without offering any further elaboration as to why he thought it best.
"But I don't call you Mr. Y," Christine protested. "I call you my Angel!" She reached for his hand resting on the arm of his chair, but he shied away from her gentle touch.
"Yes, you do call me that, don't you?" Her Angel pursed his lips at hearing his old alias.
"What sort of name is Mr. Y anyway? Is it shortened from your real name?" Christine asked with sly curiosity.
"No, I'm afraid I have no knowledge of my real last name," said her Angel, his eyes still fixed on the boat in the distance. "I suppose I chose Y, because...because why not? I enjoy the thrill of people asking me how I spell my last name." He chuckled. "You see, in French we say it ee-grayk, of course, but in English they pronounce the letter why, which means pourquoi."
Christine laughed along. "Yes, I suppose that would be rather confusing to the Americans!"
"Yes, very much so," her Angel agreed. "That doctor who was caring for you in Phantasma thought I said Egret."
"What on earth does egret mean?" asked Christine, stumbling over the unfamiliar English word.
"It's a bird, a lovely one," said her Angel. "Hold on. I'll be right back." He rose from his armchair and hurried inside. Christine was left alone with Ayesha to gaze onto the Long Island Sound until her Angel returned several minutes later, panting from lack of breath.
"I went to fetch this from my library," he said, placing a book of birds in Christine's lap. He leaned over her shoulder to turn to the correct page and pointed his long finger to a sketch of a magnificent white bird.
"You're right," Christine whispered. "Egrets are lovely."
"Yes, except sadly you women like to turn them into hats!" her Angel exclaimed. Christine gasped.
"Oh! Why did you have to tell me that!" She sobbed as she ran her finger over the sketch again. Back in Paris, Christine had a hat with snow white plumes standing regally on the brim, but as she stared at the lovely egret, Christine swore she'd never buy another feathered hat for as long as she lived.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you." Her Angel chuckled, patting her shoulder before he resettled into his armchair beside her.
"It's alright, my Angel. I forgive you," Christine said without noticing his pursed lips. She turned to another page of the bird book and admired the sketch. "This one's very pretty. Don't you think?"
"Loons? I don't think you like them," her Angel said. "They have glowing red eyes and they wail in the night-"
"Stop scaring me!" Christine scolded. She shivered as she slammed the book shut.
"I'm very sorry, Madame de Chagny," said her Angel with another snide chuckle.
"Oh! Please call me Christine again!" she begged. "I don't see why we have to be formal."
"It's for the best, Madame-"
"No! I refuse to call you by a silly made up name," the headstrong Christine grumbled.
"But you already do!" he countered. "You call me your Angel, but I am far from that." He let out a long sigh and sunk into the back of his armchair.
"Well...don't you have a first name I could call you instead? Then you can call me Christine and we could be even."
"It's Erik," he said without protest. If a first name basis would prevent Christine from calling him Angel, it was worth the lack of formality.
"Erik…" Christine whispered, testing the name on her tongue. "Are you Scandinavian?" she asked excitedly. It would only make sense her Angel of Music came from the North.
"I don't know." Erik sighed and gave a weak shrug in his slumped position. "I've traveled the whole world at this point. I don't know where I started out."
"Well regardless, I think Erik is a wonderful name and I'm going to call you that from now on," Christine said determinedly. She opened the bird book in her lap and admired the sketch of a quail.
"Alright, Christine," said Erik with a small smile. He'd always thought his name was so harsh sounding, but Christine's lips could make any syllable sound delicate.
When Erik wasn't working or keeping Christine company, every spare minute was spent with Gustave, for he didn't know how long his limited time with his newly discovered son would last. In addition to tutoring the boy in academic subjects, Erik saw it as his responsibility to give the boy music lessons as well. He paced back and forth across the music room as he listened to his son play at the magnificent grand piano.
"Hmm...that was very good, Gustave," Erik said, bobbing his head to the beat. "But I think you could bring out the dynamic markings a bit more. Let me hear it again from measure eleven."
Gustave nodded and did as he was told. He'd had expert music teachers back in Paris, but it didn't take him long to realize Mr. Y was even more gifted than the so-called 'geniuses' who'd been training him since the fateful day his chubby toddler fingers had discovered the function of the piano in the de Chagnys' parlour.
"Gustave, do you have any experience with the violin?" Erik asked offhandedly when his son finished playing the requested segment.
"A little bit," Gustave said in the timid way he always spoke to Mr. Y, "but I'm afraid my violin is back in France." When he'd embarked for America last summer, Gustave had been sorely disappointed he wouldn't have access to a piano for the duration of his trip, but he was secretly pleased he wouldn't have to practice violin for a few weeks. His strict violin teacher had given the boy an aversion for the instrument, but now Gustave wished his trusty fiddle was on this side of the Atlantic.
"Well, that's unfortunate indeed," Erik lamented, "but good for me because I happen to have a brand new violin that needs playing." Erik walked over to a shelf on the side of the room and pulled a violin case from beside his own. Gustave looked at his father in awe when the man held the instrument out to his son.
"You got this for me?" Gustave asked as he opened the case and gawked at the violin. Mr. Y was already being so generous with his time, now he was buying him a gift as well.
"I did," Erik said proudly. "And our violin lessons will begin right now! Will you have time to practice?"
Gustave nodded. He had a great deal of alone time when Mr. Y was working or keeping his mother company. So, this man was his father! In the young boy's brain, everything now made sense. Back in Paris, the Vicomte was always too busy to spend time with him, but Mr. Y carved hours out of his busy schedule so he could spend quality time with Gustave. This was a change of scenery indeed.