Ouija, Walpurgis and Paganini
"Whatever are you two doing?" Christine asks as she closes the front door behind her, laying her purse on the small table in the entry before removing her bonnet and hanging it on the coat rack. "I delayed returning from rehearsal to allow you privacy for your violin practice."
"Papa Y is showing me how to use a Ouija Board." Gustave says from his seat at the carved wood gaming table next to the French windows that look out at the beach.
"Gustave, you know how I feel about fortune telling."
"You love fortune telling. You told me so. You said the best part of the fairs was having your palm read or the leaves in your teacup explained. How the witch told you about a tall, dark stranger you would meet when you grew up who would carry you away to another world."
"A fortune teller told you that?" Erik asks, leaning back in his chair across from the boy, unable to restrain a chuckle.
"Something like that." A flush rises on her cheeks. "I was a child."
"I am a child."
With uncommon restraint, Erik manages to maintain his silence – watching with a faint smile on his malformed lips, a sparkle in the amber eyes, the pair who could have been siblings – Gustave so mature looking even though just entering puberty and Christine, the essence of youth – spar.
To his credit, the boy was clever without being rude. His retorts more often bringing a laugh to his mother's lips than a scold.
"Yes, well, I suppose then…"
"Papa said I could set up a booth for the Walpurgis Night celebration."
"Is it Walpurgis or Valborg that we should use for the advertising?"
"You told him he could read Ouija with strangers – are you not afraid?"
"It is game, Christine, not real – at the moment, I am only showing him how to hold the planchette."
"And?"
"And?"
"Were you considering consulting me – about my feelings – not just about him using the Board, but having a booth?"
"Is now all right? We had only just begun speaking of it ourselves to one another." Erik looks to Gustave for confirmation of this potential lie, his visible eyebrow quirked, as much innocence that he could muster on his face.
"Just now," Gustave concurs, side-eyeing Erik.
"Hmmmm."
"So which is it: Walpurgis or Valborg?"
"Valborg is the Swedish name, but others might be more familiar with Walpurgis from Faust, especially since we are performing Oui, c'est toi que j'aime – I do wish you were singing with me – it would be perfect." Joining her men at the table, she kisses Gustave on the cheek, before moving to Erik's side, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"You do not like the tenor?"
"He is not you."
"Some might find that to be a good thing," he replies.
"Pappa always loved the Walpurgis celebration mainly because of the fine weather, but it brought the community together – he particularly loved playing for our village."
"The best way to introduce finer music is to a crowd," he says. "This event is for our neighbors – in addition to the music, they will see ghosts, gremlins and hobgoblins. The house of mirrors will be decorated like a haunted house. The beach will hold a number of bonfires and booths will be set up for trick or treating. Gustave's entertainment will be the Ouija."
"Is that considered a trick or treat?'
"Both or neither."
"Maman, sit down, let us see if there are any ghosts here this house," Gustave says, giggling – raising his arms in the air, wiggling his hands at her. "Woooooo."
With some reluctance, Christine sits down at the table. "Do you think people will like our idea?"
"Since it is too cold for a Halloween celebration here in October, the idea of Walpurgis in April will be an attraction no one else has to open their season. I am grateful to be of the acquaintance of a Swede who told me about this wonderful holiday."
"Let us try the Ouija. Please."
Resigned, Christine adds her fingertips to the indicator and takes a deep breath.
"You first, Gustave." Erik says.
"Are there any ghosts living here at Phantasma?"
To their surprise the planchette slides swiftly to YES.
"Any here in our flat?" Erik challenges.
YES.
Christine pulls her fingers away as if burned. "You are controlling that thing, I can tell."
"No, honestly I am not."
"I thought you constructed this building."
"I did."
"Then how could there be ghosts?"
"Maybe we carry ghosts around with us – some say the dead will appear if asked."
"This is making me very nervous. Valborg is about keeping the ghosts and demons away, not encouraging them."
"Maman, it is just a game. There are no ghosts."
"I thought you liked ghosts – at least you liked the Opera Ghost," Erik laughs. "The Oiuja has a sense of humor."
"Harrumph. Very funny." Christine rises from the table. "Enough of this fortune telling, I believe it is time for your violin lesson, young man. I would much rather you play than engage with the board."
"That would be completely in keeping with the spirit of the holiday," Erik smirks. "Some believed Paganini's skill with the violin was because he sold his soul to the devil. I sometimes wondered if my musical skills were born of some arrangement my mother made with her personal Mephistopheles."
"Erik!"
"A jest, my dear – however, it does give me an idea," Erik rises from the table to retrieve his and Gustave's violins.
"What might that be?"
"Gustave and I will costume ourselves and play for the crowd – that will be our treat."
"Costume yourselves?"
"As DEVILS!" Gustave exclaims. "Yes. That would be more fun than Ouija."
"You are both Angels."
"Ma…man, it is for fun – it will be fun."
"Then we must practice," Erik says, handing Gustave his violin.
As was her habit when Erik was giving violin lessons to Gustave, she retires to their bedroom, not wishing to make him feel awkward practicing in front of an audience – even if she was his mother. This was a new instrument and, although naturally talented, the violin was testing his mettle.
He is indeed a prodigy. Even without the scarring, she knew from his cry he was Erik's son. More than just a beautiful voice, there was the persuasive quality mimicking Erik's – the ability to hypnotize with a few notes or phrases. That cannot be denied.
While she was always able to differentiate his playing from Erik's when they played a duet or Erik encouraged him to play along in unison – when he played alone, his own gift was apparent.
What was it Erik had commented? "The student will always surpass the teacher – if the teacher has done his job."
"How so?"
"If one gives all one has to the pupil, when the pupil adds his own gift – you can have nothing less."
La Campanella…she did not realize how skilled Gustave has become. Could he? No – do not even entertain the thought. Just a talented student with a brilliant teacher. Music drives all of us – there is no such thing as possession or devilish deals.
This was one of Pappa's favorite pieces – the energy and vigor. Both Erik and Gustave inject their souls into their playing. Is that another violin she hears? A third voice?"
It must be her imagination – this has been such a strange evening. Closing her eyes, she lets her mind drift, allowing the music to embrace her.
"Are you here, Pappa?" she whispers. "Are you our resident ghost? I should not mind the idea of possession or haunting if it means you are here."
The piece crescendos, then ends with Erik's and Gustave's laughter.
Christine smiles at the photograph of Gustave Daae sitting on her dressing table. "I certainly would not mind at all."