Chapter 30
What matters the past?
What matters the future?
I love you!
- Don Carlo, Act II
Erik's mind reeled."My dear girl," he said, his voice shaking with incredulity, "You cannot seriously suppose-"
"-I hope you never call me that again!" Christine cried furiously. "I am not some mere 'girl', and I obviously am not very dear to you at all when you speak to me thus!"
"Forgive me," he said with an effort. "Now, as I was saying - you cannot suppose that I would entertain the notion of my fathering a child-"
"-What?"
"-or whatever ghastly creature would be the result of such a catastrophe," he finished, smiling grimly.
Christine stared at him with a look of astonishment that bewildered him completely. "Mon cœur," she said at last, "You never mentioned to me that you did not intend to- "
"-Yes, naturellement I did not mention it, because it ought to be obvious!"
"Why should it be?" she said angrily. "You and I love one another. Why should we not have a child together?"
He gave a harsh laugh. "Are you blind?"
"Your concern is that it might take after you, then, I take it?"
Erik smirked. "How nicely you put it. Yes, the thought had occurred to me, once or twice."
"It might not inherit your condition," she pointed out, saddened by his bitterness.
"My 'condition'," he sneered.
She ignored this. "We do not know that it is hereditary. Your parents were ordinary-looking, were they not?"
"Good-looking, in fact. My mother was quite beautiful. Not that it ever did her any good."
"Well, there, you see - we do not know it is hereditary."
"We cannot risk it!"
"But-"
"-Er, you are aware, of course, I presume," Erik interrupted, "that there are ways of..."
"Yes?"
Erik coughed. "Ways of... preventing..." He could not meet her eyes, and his ears had gone redder than ever before.
Christine, in spite of her distress, laughed. "Naturellement. Madame Giry is a good French mother - she made sure Meg and I learned everything we need to know. But-" She stopped. She had been going to point out that no safeguard was perfect, but she caught herself at the last moment. If she pointed it out at a time like this, he was in such a state that he might decide they ought to eschew the finer pleasures of the married state altogether, and that was a possibility too horrifying even to contemplate.
"Ah," Erik said awkwardly. "And you are... not opposed to such...?"
"No, indeed! I don't intend to have fifteen children, thank you!"
"Thank God," he said, rubbing his neck in embarrassment.
"Yes. But mon cœur..." As Christine's laughter died down, her voice took on an unexpected pleading note.
"What is it?" he said.
"It had of course already occurred to me as well that it might take after you. That did not deter me... it does not mean..." She took his hand. "I love you madly, desperately. And I would love your child, love it to distraction, no matter what it looked like. I hope you know that already. I should be delighted for us to have a child together, if it was what you wanted."
He smiled at her, looking a bit taken aback. "You are an angel."
"No." She kissed his hand. "I simply love you; that is all."
"Thank you. But the essential question," he said, "is not what I would want." He stopped. "Had things been different, perhaps I might have liked..." He stopped, suddenly overwhelmed again by thoughts of what their life could have been like had he only been normal. He had never thought he wanted a child, but seeing Christine, seeing her sweet face before him, sent a wave of longing sweeping through him. He was seized by a vision of her running up to him, whispering in his ear, him picking her up and whirling her around, and then by the thought of a little girl with her curls and her lovely brown eyes. Suddenly he could hardly breathe.
"Erik?" Christine said.
No. It was impossible. Why regret what could not be? He choked back the chaotic mix of emotions surging through him. "You see," he said in a strangled voice, "the things I have endured... Christine, you cannot entirely understand the sort of life I have been forced to lead til now-"
"-Perhaps I could, if you would tell me of the life you have known- there is so little I know-"
"-But you see, I do not want you to know!" he said. "There is no reason to burden you - it would be useless; it would only cause you pain. Suffice it to say, Christine, it would be wrong to risk allowing another person to be exposed to such miseries. To bring a child into the world knowing full well what it might be subjected to. No matter how much we might love our child, no matter how much happiness it may bring us - it would not be fair."
"Oh." Christine looked away, seeming to shrink into herself a little. "I understand," she said at last, in a much smaller voice.
"What is the matter?" he said. "I did not think you were even fond of children."
"Nor am I, not particularly. Not until they are a little older, and can hold a conversation, and be left by themselves for awhile if need be."
"You never talk of them like other women do," he pressed. "And you had not mentioned our having children, not once."
"No. You are right. I merely assumed, because it is what people assume; it is what is done... but I had never..."
"-Then what have you to be distressed about?" he said irritably.
At last she looked up at him, and to his shock her face was awash with tears. He could scarcely have been more horrified if they had been blood. He stared at her in mute terror.
"Do you mean to say," she said, "if you had your whole life to live over again, knowing all you know now, after everything you have experienced... you would choose not to be born?"
"What?"
"-What about your wife-to-be? What about your Christine, who loves you tenderly? If I have not at least managed to make you feel your own life has been worth the living, then I have failed you utterly!" Her voice caught.
"Mon rêve...!" Erik's hands shook. He took her face in both his hands, carefully, as though she were very fragile. "My God… what must you be thinking… that is not what I meant at all… No…"
She scarcely seemed to hear him.
He pulled her face close to his. "Christine - being loved by you has atoned for everything."
Christine felt her face crumple in a sob of relief. "Thank God," she whispered feebly, collapsing into his arms. "Thank God." She kissed him with infinite gentleness, and he tasted the salt of her tears. "But then what do you mean by...?"
"...But Christine, don't you see? - there is no one - no one - like you."
"I don't understand," she said in a voice weak from crying, her arms still around him.
"But you do - you know it all too well," he said sadly. "You do not want to admit it - you are too modest - but you know it is true. You are uniquely compassionate."
"No-"
"-I have lived my whole life without encountering a single other soul like you."
"That does not mean-"
"-No-one else could ever love a thing like this. We aren't living in the tale of the Beauty and the Beast. There is no chance that another one of me could ever find such happiness as I have."
"You do yourself a disservice, mon cœur." Christine pulled away and laid a hand around his wrist. It suddenly seemed all bones. All at once he felt terribly fragile. "You give too much credit to my angelic disposition-" Her mouth twisted gently with irony- "and not enough to your own qualities. If you think me some saintly, divine creature, then you will surely be disappointed."
"I will not be disappointed with you." He smiled into her eyes.
"Erik..." She managed a faint smile in return. "I am not the only woman who could have fallen in love with you, I assure you."
Erik empathically disagreed with her on this point, but he said nothing.
"Besides," Christine went on, "love comes in many forms. Whatever else happened, you and I would love our child."
"Of course, but none of that changes the essential facts..." He paused. "The child would have us, for a time, but once we were gone, once you were gone, there would be no-one."
"I see," Christine said. She stood and crossed to the window, looking blankly out into the night. "It is clear to me I cannot persuade you."
He approached her gingerly, putting a pleading hand on her shoulder. She reached her hand up to take it but did not turn round.
"Christine..." he said. "I thought you knew. I thought you understood?"
"No."
The finality of her response robbed him of any possible reply. He simply stood there, paralyzed.
She loved him so much, more than he could ever have imagined. She was so stupid.
He had not known love would make her a fool. If he had...
Whatever he might have been expecting, he could never have anticipated her next words.
"Are you disappointed with me?" she asked.
He stared at her. "Disappoint- with you? How could I ever be disappointed with you? You must never say that again."
"But you seem disgusted with me."
"What? I, disgusted with you, Christine?"
"Yes! For thinking this - for wanting... For not knowing that you didn't want... You act as though it is some horrible perversion for me to want us to have a child together," she said.
"No... no..." How could he make her understand? It was himself he was disgusted with. But he couldn't say it.
"You act as though I ought to have known," she said. "As though I am a fool for not knowing."
"So you ought to, I maintain, yes - but you are no fool, and nothing you could do or say could ever disgust me, Christine."
She nodded quietly, hesitantly.
There was a long silence that seemed to suck his breath away.
She took the veil off and laid it gently on her bed.
He felt as though the floor had disappeared from underneath him. "Christine?" he said.
"Why don't I, ah, make us some coffee?" she said subito.
What? "Ah - allow me, mon rêve," he said, coming out of his stupor. "You sit."
"No - no... Just... a moment, if you please." Gently but firmly, she brushed away the hand he reached out to her.
It was clear enough even to him that she did not want to be disturbed.
He watched, numb, as she struck a match and flung it into the belly of the stove.
"And you are resolved in this matter?" she said after a moment, not looking at him. "The matter of... our family?"
"I am," he said, though it cost him. Even at the best of times he wanted to yield to all her wishes. At this moment, when it seemed everything was at stake, he would have given anything to be able to promise her what she wanted.
But he could not.
Christine did not reply, but flung a pot down on the stove and busied herself with boiling water.
He scrutinized her delicate profile as she worked, busying herself with cups and filters and grounds, but nothing in her face gave any indication what she was thinking.
To his bewilderment, in the midst of all this she took an egg from a nearby shelf.
He watched, powerless to stop, as she cracked it into the grounds.
"What are you doing?" he cried in spite of himself.
"It clarifies the coffee," she replied impatiently.
"But-"
"-Oh, for once in your life, would you be quiet?"
She had never spoken to him in that tone of voice before. He was so startled that he did indeed fall silent. He did not protest even when she poured milk, unheated, straight into the coffee, though every fiber of his French soul cried out against the outrage.
At last, she took two dented tin mugs from the table and poured half the contents of the pot into each, handing one to him.
He took a sip to placate her.
To his amazement, it was perfect, though it could not hold his attention for long.
Christine crossed to the balcony and leaned heavily against the railing. She stared out at the city. She had not said a word since snapping at him, so uncharacteristically, a few minutes before.
At last he could not contain himself anymore. "Oh, Christine, I cannot bear this - tell me at once," he pleaded, "do you still want me for your husband? Tell me you do. I would give anything-"
She whirled around and stared at him in genuine astonishment. "-How could I not?"
He looked at her in surprise. "Oh, thank God. Christine. Thank God."
She put her arms around him. "One does not stop loving someone as easily as that."
"I am sorry," he said miserably. "For all of it."
"What are you apologizing for?" she said, pulling away and looking up at him. "You certainly cannot take any of the credit for my falling in love with you. Heaven knows you did your best to prevent it." She looked out the window.
"Did I?"
She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "It certainly seemed so at the time, mon cœur," she said wryly. "Why, you might as well apologize for blowing up the Bastille."
"Ah, then you haven't heard," he managed to joke weakly.
At last, she smiled.
"But mon rêve," he said, taking her hands, "What if you changed your mind one day... What if you came to hate your Erik for this? I could not bear it."
"Hate you?" she said, appalled. "It is impossible. It goes against my very nature."
"But you are... disappointed by this? I could not bear it if I disappointed you, Christine."
"Why... I..." She paused. The silence that followed nearly killed him.
"No," she said at last, and he could hear that she meant it. "I thought I would be, but I am not."
Hope began to rise inside him.
"I simply wanted to be sure you know I love you - and would love your child, if it came to that," she said. "Now that I know it... I find the rest is not of importance. I had always thought of bearing children as my duty. It had never occurred to me that there could be any other course of action. And now that I think on it, I confess the idea suits me very well."
"Truly, Christine?" he said, his voice weak with rising relief.
"Yes, my love," she said. "The future seems very bright this way. I had dreaded having some injury befall me, and having to leave you behind, you and perhaps our child as well... it is horrible to think of."
"Yes," he said. "I cannot bear to contemplate it."
"Yes - and now we shall never have to. And what is more, this way I shall be able to continue performing," she realized happily.
"But... you are young. You may yet change your mind."
Yes, Christine thought to herself. Precisely. If by some chance she did come to change her mind in the future, there was time to convince him. "I assure you," she said aloud, "I am not so young that I do not know my own heart."
He regarded her in silence, as though trying to read her expression.
"I do believe you," he said at last.
"Thank you, mon cœur. How glad I am."
"And I." He shook his head in amazement. The room suddenly seemed ten times brighter. The chill that had gripped him for the past few minutes was gone.
"Let us talk of some lighter matter," she said at last, downing her coffee and rubbing a last stray tear out of her eye with the back of her hand. "I am worn out with crying. I've been absurd. Won't you forgive me for shouting?"
"Of course I forgive you. And you have been nothing of the kind - but I shall gladly talk of something else." Erik thought at last to hand her his handkerchief, which she accepted gratefully. "In fact, there is something I have been meaning to ask you - I should like for us to celebrate the New Year together at the masquerade ball."
She laughed.
"For once, I am in earnest," he said.
Her face darkened. "At the Opéra?" she said.
"What else would do for my fiancée than the most exclusive party in Paris?"
"But it is not safe," she said.
"What could be safer?" he pointed out. "Everyone shall be wearing a mask. It is the one day a year when I do not attract attention. It is like hiding a tree in the forest."
"Hm, I suppose that is true," she pondered. "But..."
"I must warn you, mon rêve, if you do not come, I shall go by myself. And then..."
"And then...?"
Unable to think of a warning, he settled on, "Some other young lady might see how handsome I am and steal me away from you."
"You may be joking, but that is a very real danger," she said a bit irritably. "You don't seem to understand the power you can exert over women."
"If it is any comfort to you," he said at last, "I have already gone many times-"
"-What?" Christine's eyes brightened.
"Yes, and no-one has ever suspected a thing. I cut such a distinguished figure, you see, that naturally they assumed I was one of the guests." He smiled wryly.
"Did you ever speak to me? I think I would have recognized your voice."
"Of course I didn't. For the past two years that I have been returned from Persia, I was in love with you-" The words still did not come easily, but he said them with more confidence than before- "so I was much too afraid to speak to you."
She kissed him. "Oh, what nonsense, Erik! My powers of intimidation are poor at best."
"You would be astonished, my dear Mademoiselle, how intimidating you can be. And yet, I was always trying to work up the nerve to ask you to dance."
"Were you?" she beamed.
"Oh, yes. I almost did once, but in the end I didn't dare to."
"How delightful! It is romantic indeed. What was I wearing that year?" she asked.
"You were an angel."
"Yes, I know, but what was I dressed as?" She grinned.
He laughed.
"Forgive me," she said, laughing, resting a hand on his arm. "I know what you meant. The angel costume. The theme that year was a Venetian masquerade. 1868. I would have been… eighteen that year. What, you loved me then? With my frizzy hair?"
"Oh, yes."
She smiled. "That speaks well of you. I was frightfully plain back then."
"No, indeed."
"You are too good." A thoughtful expression stole over her face. "It was perhaps fortunate for you that you did not dance with me," she said after a moment, laughing.
"You would have said yes, then?" he asked eagerly, gauchely.
"Certainly." She smiled. "I wish you had asked. I would have fallen in love with you then and we would have been spared all this trouble. Why, we might have been married by now."
He smiled. "It seems unlikely. The thought of two more years with you is delightful, but I am too grateful that things have turned out the way they have to wish them any different."
She smiled. "Thank you, mon cœur. Well, perhaps it is for the best - I probably would have stepped on all your toes."
"I hope your skills have improved, then, for I mean to dance every waltz with you this year."
"I beg your pardon, Monsieur - I have not said I would go," she said.
"What?"
"I had much rather stay at home, open up a bottle of wine together and celebrate the new year just you and I. We would have my appartement to ourselves, for Babette will be out dancing until dawn, and one can see the fireworks from my window, you know."
He smiled at her but said nothing.
"What?" she demanded after a moment.
He shrugged. "How dull you are," he said fondly.
She sat up straighter. "I beg your pardon?"
"You are turning into a little old Swedish grandmother."
"How dare you?" she laughed. "It is a universally acknowledged fact that I can be great fun at parties, thank you!"
"You fall asleep after a single glass of champagne."
"I will have you know my pranks are the stuff of legend!" she protested. "Do you recall the geese they found in the lobby fountain in the summer of '67?"
He smiled. "How could I forget? What of it?"
"That was my doing - all mine, I tell you!"
"No!"
"Oh, but yes. I had to buy them from a farmer!"
"Why, you minx!" cried he. "They blamed that on the Phantom! I was not even in the country at the time! I had to read about it in the papers and helplessly wonder who was besmirching my good name while I was powerless to stop it!"
"Yes. It made the gossip columns, I recall." She smoothed her skirt, smiling demurely. "One of my prouder moments."
"Why... you should not have done that! You might have lost your place at the Opéra!" he cried, horrified at the thought. What if he had come back from Persia and not known where she had gone? He might never have found her again - might never have fallen in love with her. How cold and empty his life would be still.
"Who is the little old grandmother now?" she said, smiling. "Besides, the managers appreciated the goose dinner they got out of the whole affair. A side effect I did not intend," she added, looking momentarily regretful. "Still, I suppose the unfortunate animals would have been destined for the same fate in any case."
"Monsieur Lefevre," Erik said in a tone of mock reverence. "Perhaps the most unfortunate animal of all."
Christine laughed. "I wonder how he is enjoying Australia."
Erik smirked.
"Where was it he was going, exactly?" Christine asked.
"Sydney. If he can find it," Erik said wryly.
She laughed. "He certainly never told us that - he was very secretive about the whole thing. You spied on his correspondence, didn't you?" said she, smiling.
He winked. "I had to know where he was going. What if we wanted to pay him a visit?"
They both cackled.
"What can he be doing there?" Erik mused. "They certainly will never have an opera house in a place like that."*
When their laughter died down, his eyes suddenly assumed a pleading look. "I entreat you, mon rêve. All those years it never occurred to me to imagine that one day I might be able to dance with my bride-to-be at a party. And now... to think..." He tentatively covered her hand with his; it was warm against her skin. "I am engaged to the one woman I adore above any other living soul, and... to think someday I shall finally be able to dance with you after all..."
Christine found she had to blink back tears. "What should we do for our costumes?" she said when she trusted her voice.
"Then... do you mean... Will you be...?"
She smiled and kissed him. "How could I refuse, when you asked like that?"
End of Chapter 30. Thank you so much for reading! Thank you so much to Syri Reed, Lady Myth, and the lovely mysterious guest readers for your reviews and feedback - it means so much to me! Chapter 31 coming soon. :) I've got the rest of the story pretty much planned out so it should flow very smoothly from here, yay!
*Groan... I know, I know. Couldn't resist, sorry.
Note: I took the liberty of inventing a fountain in the opera house lobby. License artistique. ;)
P.S. I am open to suggestions for chapter titles. I like for them to relate to music in some way, e.g. music theory terms that have some connection to the themes of the chapter. Please feel free to pm me with any ideas if you would like, or leave them in the comments. Thank you so much!