Christine dans Deux

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One
Chapter Twenty-Seven – The Unexpected Delivery

We stand looking at one another while he regains control of himself. I notice that Christine has taken a seat on the sofa sometime during our exchange. I look at her more closely and see her color is worse. Her face is grey and faint black circles ring her eyes. Her face bathed with a sheen of perspiration. She is clutching her stomach through her cloak and I see her lips tighten in a grimace. Instantly I move to her side.

"Christine? What is it?"

"I did not wish to interrupt, but I believe my child has decided to make an early debut."

As if to add physical evidence to her claim, she gasps as her water breaks.

"Is there a doctor here?" I exclaim, turning to my father.

"Not here, no, but I believe I can have one here in a little less than half of an hour." He runs from the room shouting, "Daniel! Richard! Come quickly!"

I turn back to Christine and gently lift her from the sofa. I carry her out of the room and back into the foyer. My father is barking orders and the foyer is abuzz with activity. I feel a hand on my elbow.

"Monsieur, please come with me!" It is an older woman with a pleasant face, but beyond that I notice no more. I follow her up the stairs to the second floor. We turn to the right and enter a wide hallway. She opens the first door and moves into the room. I sweep into the room and seeing a bed, I gently deposit Christine there. The woman pushes past me.

"Monsieur, please! Let me take care of her. I need you to go out into the hall. I will fetch you when she is decent. Monsieur? Please! Monsieur?"

I stand rooted in place gazing at Christine. She opens her eyes and wanly smiles.

"Erik, please. Go."

Reluctantly, I withdraw from the room. I spend tense minutes pacing in front of the door when at last it opens I nearly push the woman over in my haste to hurry to Christine's side. The woman has removed her outer clothing and I can see a simple white chemise peaking out from under the blankets the woman has placed on Christine. I take a chair and move it next to the bed and sit. Christine's hand snakes out from the blankets and flutters in the air for a moment until I grasp it in mine. I sit there speaking soft words to her not even knowing what I am saying. I sing a lullaby to her. I recite a poem. I babble incessantly at her. She remains awake and silent. Occasionally, her grip on my hand becomes like an iron vise when one of her pains come, but other than that she remains quiet and calm. I sit and speak to her of who knows what and it seems that at least five lifetimes pass. The time between the squeezing of my hand is becoming shorter and shorter. This cannot be good.

I pray the only way I know how. I sing quietly at first, but as I continue I gain strength.

"Ave Maria
Gratia plena
Maria, gratia plena
Maria, gratia plena
Ave, ave dominus
Dominus tecum
Benedicta tu in mulieribus
Et benedictus
Et benedictus fructus ventris
Ventris tuae, Jesus.

Ave Maria
Mater Dei
Ora pro nobis peccatoribus
Ora pro nobis
Ora, ora pro nobis peccatoribus
Nunc et in hora mortis
Et in hora mortis nostrae
Et in hora mortis nostrae
Et in hora mortis nostrae
Ave Maria."

-- Franz Schubert

As the last word rolls away into silence, I see Christine smiling up at me.

"You have the most beautiful voice. I …"

Whatever she was about to say is cut off by her scream and my hand is pierced by five steel blades.

Silence follows the scream and my hand is set free. I note as if from a great distance that blood drips from my wounds onto the coverlet of the bed. The serving woman's rough hands shove me aside as she rushes to Christine's side. She murmurs words of comfort to the laboring woman.

"Where is the doctor?" I cry. "Surely he should be here by now?"

And with a swirl of cloak and hat, "And, he is, Monsieur! The doctor is here."

A young man enters the room and throws hat, cloak and gloves aside. He is followed by an older man carrying a black valise. The young man walks around to the opposite side of the bed leaving the servant on the side nearest to me. He takes Christine's wrist and feels it for a moment then lays his other hand on her forehead.

Raising his eyes to mine he says, "Are you her husband?"

Startled, I stare at him for a moment then reply, "No. I am her friend."

The response raises an eyebrow, but he continues, "No matter."

Directing his command to the woman, "Quickly woman, I need clean sheets, a basin of cold water, washing cloths and a basin of hot water."

She scurries from the room.

"Monsieur, please assist me."

I nod and walk back to the bed. He rips the blankets from the bed and throws them on the floor. His eyes run up and down the length of Christine's writhing body.

"I need you to hold her still while I examine her. I need to check the position of the baby."

I nod and sit on the edge of the bed next to Christine. I lift her so her back leans on my chest and take hold of her shoulders firmly in my hands. I nod to the doctor and he nods back. I begin to sing quietly into Christine's ear, Ave Maria once more. The doctor pauses casting a surprised glance in my direction then continues. He takes her ankles in his hands and pulls her legs straight. He then begins to part her legs and that is when I close my eyes and turn my head away. She groans and attempts to thrash her body, but I hold her still.

"Good man. Just like that. Fine, Madame. Yes, you are ready to push, but the baby has not turned. This is not good. And, the baby is small. What is her due date?"

I respond woodenly, "I am not sure. She told me late December, monsieur."

Another scream bursts from her lips and I return my attention to calming her.

"Not good. We may lose them both, but I will do what I can. I must move the baby around and this is not going to be easy for her. I need you to keep firm hold of her. Madame! Madame! Can you hear me?"

"Yes. I hear you." She whispers.

"You baby is born too soon as I am certain you are aware. Is this your first child?"

"No, monsieur, this is my seventh child."

"Merde!" The word slips from his mouth. I smile and begin to like this man.

"Madame, I will do my best. I need to move your baby. It attempts to leave your womb shoulder first and this will not do. I must place my hand within your womb and shift the baby. This will hurt, but I need you to try to be as still as possible. Your friend holds you and my assistant will hold one ankle and the chatelaine the other. I will attempt to do this as quickly as possible. Any questions?"

Christine whispers, "Will the baby live?"

"I cannot answer that question. That is in God's hands now."

She groans. I hear the doctor walk up the bedside and I open my eyes. He is carrying a tightly twisted piece of cloth.

"Madame, please open your mouth." He places the cloth across her open mouth. "Now bite down if the pain is too great."

I catch a glimpse of her naked stomach and quickly close my eyes once more.

"Everyone ready?"

I check my hold on Christine and say, "Ready."

I hear two other voices say, "Ready."

The doctor speaks, "Very well. Do not let her move. I start … now."

The doctor continues to speak, but I cannot comprehend his words. My entire being centers on keeping Christine still and calm. I have not used this form of hypnotic persuasion often and it takes great concentration. As my focal point, I do not choose the song, but rather the song chooses me. I croon into Christine's ear a song that I both know and have never heard before.

"Par un beau clair de lune
Ô, joli coeur de rose, joli coeur de rosier

M'en allant promener
Ô, gué lon la de la rive
M'en allant promener
Joli coeur de rosier

Dans mon chemin rencontre
Ô, joli coeur de rose, joli coeur de rosier

Une jeune fille qui pleurait
Ô, gué lon la de la rive
Une jeune fille qui pleurait
Joli coeur de rosier

Ah mais qu'avez-vous la belle
Ô, joli coeur de rose, joli coeur de rosier

Qu'avez vous à pleurer
Ô, gué lon la de la rive
Qu'avez vous à pleurer
Joli coeur de rosier

Je pleure mon anneau d'or
Ô, joli coeur de rose, joli coeur de rosier

Dans la mer est tombé!
Ô, gué lon la de la rive
Dans la mer est tombé!
Joli coeur de rosier …"

Traditional Breton Song

I use the words to sing her to a faraway land. A place far from this bed of pain. I sing her to a place where she is young, carefree and happy. A place where there is no pain. The words of the song fall from my lips and wash over Christine and me, leaving us cleansed of hurt. The words suddenly cut short by a hand gently shaking my shoulder.

"Monsieur, it is done. I need you to release her now. We need her to push!"

I open my eyes to see the doctor's curious eyes mere inches from mine.

"I do not know what you just did, but I believe it saved her life. Now, please allow me to help this baby into this world."

I gently release Christine from my arms and stand. A hand grasps the sleeve of my coat. I turn. It is Christine. She smiles weakly at me.

"Erik, please stay."

Returning her smile and nodding my head I resume my seat next to the bed.

The doctor stands at the foot of the bed with the chatelaine on one side and his assistant on the other. The doctor nods at each of them in turn. They lie down on either side of the bed and each one grasps a bedpost. The doctor places one of Christine's feet on one of the shoulders. He walks to the opposite side of the bed from me. He piles the pillows under Christine's head and back.

"Feel up to helping just a bit more?"

I nod and stand.

"When I say push, I need you to help her push down on the baby. Do not let the pillows fall. It is important that she not lie flat on her back."

I nod.

"Madame, when I say push, I need you to take a deep breath and hold it. Then bear down until I say stop. Do you understand?"

She groans. "Yes."

"You are doing very well. Very well."

He pats her hand and returns to the foot of the bed. Christine's bare legs bend and squeeze tightly together. The doctor places his hand between them and I look away.

"When you feel the next pain coming. Tell me, Madame."

"Yes. Here. It is coming!"

"Very well then, PUSH!!!"

I lift Christine and can feel her straining to expel the little life from her body. I count to her one … two … three …

At ten, I gently return her to the pillows. I take a wet cloth from a basin on the night table and bathe her sweaty brow. I gently kiss her forehead.

"You will be fine, my friend. You will be fine."

"Doctor!"

"PUSH!!!"

I lift her and she bears down. The doctor reports he can see the baby's head.

"Just a little more, Madame. Just a little more. There! Now stop pushing and breathe, Madame. Breathe."

I continue to hold her in the upright position as the doctor gently eases the baby's head from her womb.

"Breathe, Christine. Breathe. You can do this! Do not let him win. Do not let him kill you. You are strong. Breathe, Christine!"

I sense the doctor's gaze on me, but ignore it. My old friend is all that matters now.

"The head is out! On the next pain, push."

"Push!"

I lift her and she bears down, but the strain is much less and suddenly the mound of her stomach deflates. A tiny cry begins. I laugh with startled joy.

The doctor approaches with a small squirming crying bundle.

"Madame, may I present your son."

"What?" Christine is stunned.

"Your son, Madame. And I believe he will live."

"A son? Oh! A son!!!"

She turns to me with despair in her eyes.

"He will never let me go now. Never!"

"Hush, sweet Christine. Attend your child. Plenty of time later for such things. Besides, if I understand things you are not finished with your labors. Is that correct, Doctor?"

The doctor who overheard our conversation looks me in the eye and says, "Madame, you must labor for just another moment. Then you may rest. Ready? Push!"

Soon after, she expels the afterbirth.

After kissing her brow once more I tell her to rest.

"I will be close by. Have no fear you are safe here."

She nods her assent.

We three men leave the birthing room leaving Christine and her son in the capable hands of the chatelaine and her women. The assistant is the last of the men to leave the room.

The doctor asks me where he can wash. I lead him downstairs and into the kitchen. I know there is a water pump here for I had thoroughly researched the château's layout prior to my last visit here. The doctor pumps the handle until water begins to flow. His assistant takes over the pump and the doctor rinses the blood from his arms and hands. When they are clean, he splashes water on his face. And steps back, indicating I may take his place. For the first time, I realize blood covers my hands and the sleeves of my white shirt. Some of it Christine's and some of it mine. I take a quick inventory of my person and can feel drying blood on my face, ear and neck. I glance at my shirt and am shocked. It appears more a red shirt than white now. Grimacing, I remove it and glancing about hand it to a maid. She drops a curtsey and disappears with it. The doctor's assistant works the pump again and I plunge my entire upper body beneath the running water. I scrub the blood from me as best I can and rinse it from my hair. By the time I finish the maid has returned with a large towel. I thank her and dry myself.

The doctor once again takes over the pump and allows his assistant to wash. I see a clean white shirt sitting on a chair nearby and assume the maid brought it for me. I pick it up and shake the folds from it. This must be my father's I think. It is fine linen and smells of spice. I pull it on and as I expected, it fits as if made for me. I am not certain why, but this shirt fitting me opens a connection in my mind to my father. For the first time I truly feel I am his son. The next time I call him father, he will hear the truth of it in my voice. I am certain. He will hear the forgiveness and be comforted. And I am glad.

I realize the young doctor is staring at me and I raise my eyes to meet his.

"Remarkable thing you did in there. I've never seen anything like it. You probably saved both of their lives." He says simply.

"The least I can do for her."

He raises an eyebrow. "Saving her life is the least? I would be most interested in hearing what the most would be. Monsieur, we have yet to be introduced, so allow me. I am Etienne de Wolfe."

His words stun me, but I recover before he notices.

"And, I am Erik de Mornay."

"We are well met, I think."

"Yes, monsieur. We are." I reply.

Again he raises an eyebrow and I laugh. It says nothing, but speaks volumes.

He smiles and soon we are both laughing. My father enters the room and takes in the two of us. He smiles.

"I take it the young lady and her child are well?"

"Yes, father. Thank you." I walk to him and hug him tightly. I feel the surprised rigidity leave his body and he returns my embrace. I hear his voice in my ear.

"Erik, now I have but two sorrows. One that your mother is gone from this life. The other that I wasted so many years without you. But I will not bemoan those. I will celebrate my living son. Thank you, Erik. Thank you. I do not deserve your forgiveness, but thank you, my son."

I return his whisper, "Father, it is a dream to be able to call you that and mean it. You have given me two great gifts today. You returned to me the memory of my mother and given me a living breathing father. I, too, celebrate my living father." A rush of unexpected emotion overwhelms me and I continue. "I love you, father."

His embrace tightens for a moment longer and as he releases me he says loud enough for all to hear, "I love you, too, my son."

"I take it you are already acquainted with M. de Wolfe or should I say Doctor de Wolfe?"

I turn and raise an inquiring eyebrow.

He notices instantly and gives a hearty laugh.

"It is indeed Doctor de Wolfe, but I prefer my friends to call me Etienne."

Friend. Such a simple word. Less than a week ago I never thought to have a friend or a woman to love me. Now, here I am with all that and more. I have a father and a daughter, as well.

I hold out my hand to Etienne. He takes my hand in his and we shake.

"So, Etienne, I had heard you were a barrister. The Parisian gossipmongers are slipping." I give him a wry smile, which he returns.

"Gossip. The bane of our existence. I wish you had not used the word for I am desirous of asking you about my patient and it feels as if I too have lowered myself to the level of a gossipmonger."

I catch a hint of color high in his cheeks and think she has bewitched him already. Just as my Christine did to me. True love takes just one instant and is felt a lifetime.

"I believe you are entitled to ask a few questions and then you must excuse me. Vicomtessa de Chagny and I traveled all night to arrive here this morning. I am fatigued and would like to rest." I cast my next sentence at both men. "As I believe my fiancé will be arriving soon."

My father visibly starts and a huge smile spreads across his face. He rushes to me and grabbing my hand vigorously pumps it.

"You are engaged? So, you had reasons other than just the poor Vicomtessa in coming here! You wished to present your bride-to-be to me? Miraculous! Congratulations, my son!"

"I would like to add to your father's congratulations and say this engagement to another lifts a great burden from our friendship."

"How so, Etienne? I do not understand how this would affect us as friends. Could you please explain yourself?"

"I believe the course of my questions will explain themselves if you will allow me to ask them."

"Ask away, sir."

"The lady whose child we assisted in bringing into this world, I heard you say she is the Vicomtessa de Chagny, is she also the former Christine Daae?"

I answer a little warily. "Yes."

He nods his head.

"I thought I recognized her. I will never forget the night my parents dragged me to the Opera Populaire to hear her sing. It was a gala night and the first performance of Don Juan Triumphant. Its first and only performance."

"You were there?"

"Yes. I paid little attention to the opera. What I noticed most and dare I say enjoyed the greatest were the expressions of shock and horror over the lewd nature of the opera from the old prudes in the audience. But then she walked onto the stage. I couldn't take my eyes off her. And then, of course, the kidnapping and the fire and several deaths, a horrible tragic end. I hear she never sang again after that night."

"No. She never sang on the stage again. It was soon thereafter she married the Vicomte."

"Here is the question I hesitate to ask. How well do you know her? Until you announced your engagement, I assumed she was your mistress and this son born to her yours. Now, I am unable to fathom the relationship."

I smile. "I have known Christine since she was seven years old. I fell in love with her voice the very first time I heard her sing, but never was I in love with her. She was orphaned and that made me feel a kinship to her. I determined that I would watch over her as older brother and I did for nine years. Fate intervened when she was sixteen and I failed her. I could not save her from the Vicomte's attentions. She came to me in utter despair after the Vicomte had ravaged her. I in my foolish naiveté I concocted a plan to spirit her away and thus the alleged kidnapping. I am not certain as to how he discovered my plan, but he did and down that path lay Christine's ruin. I had not known the depths of his baseness. After the kidnap of Christine, de Chagny's lackeys tracked the two of us down and led the Vicomte to us. He actually took me at unawares and knocked me unconscious. He then used my life as leverage against Christine. He hung me from a rope. He told her that she had two choices. The first was if she married him he would set me free and call off the police. The second was she could leave a free woman, but the price was my life. She is a good and honorable woman. Rather than allow me to die for her freedom, she gave her promise that in exchange for my life and freedom she would consent to be his wife. That was ten years ago and everyday I carry the guilt with me. Until yesterday, when I discovered her on a train bound for Reims. She has run from him before, but I was never able to find her before he did. I convinced her to come with me here and I would request sanctuary for her from my father. Which, sir, I do so now make that request."

Without hesitation my father replies, "Done."

I feel Etienne has more questions, but I am fatigued and the brilliant light shining from my beloved's half of our soul is greatly distracting me. I raise a hand.

"Sir, could we resume our conversation later, please? I need to rest. Father, is there a room I could use?"

Etienne smiles, "Of course, I will look forward to speaking with you again. I will check on my patient and perhaps your kitchen could find me some breakfast. I left my home in a slight rush." His smile grows larger.

"Of course, monsieur. I will be right with you."

My father comes close to me, so we may speak privately.

"Erik, you may use my room. No one will disturb you there. I take it from your remark the last time we met, you know where my bedchamber is?"

My head lowers in shame at that memory. How could I have been so blind? I did not hear his word's true meanings and assigned to them those I thought he meant.

"Yes. I know."

He puts a hand under my chin and raises it.

"Now. Now. That is the past. We have the present and the future now! Perhaps, I will live to be a grandfather!" He winks at me.