Christine dans Deux Chapter 53: Reflections of a Man, a phantom of the opera fanfic

Christine dans Deux

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One
Chapter Fifty-Three – Reflections of a Man

I am a married man.

Me.

I walk among the living in the daylight. No one notices.

Women and children smile and nod as I walk along the street. No one screams.

Men treat me as an equal. I am not a monster.

While at one time those things were important to me, the one thing I craved most of all was the love of a woman. To touch and be touched. To be a man.

Christine en Deux.

Christine in Twos.

The first time I heard her sing, I had hoped she was the one who would be my salvation but upon meeting the child knew she was not the one. She accepted me as her angel of music, her tutor, her confidant and finally, her friend. I attempted to be a guardian to her. Her savior. I failed her.

And I was alone once more. Existing, but never alive. A part of the human race, but forever apart from the human race. I sat in my home, a place most others named, a lair, (as if I were more animal and less a man) alone. Waiting for darkness to take me. Waiting for oblivion.

I seldom slept for fear of the dreams. Dreams of Christine. The two of them that haunted my nights. One, the torture of my failure. One, a glimpse of a life unlived.

One night, or day, when I no longer kept track of such things and I could no longer hold open my eyes, I slept. The nightmare of failure came to me again. I dreamt of the gala performance of "Don Juan Triumphant." The secret plans, the hopes, the fears and then the disastrous results. A good and decent man murdered. Christine's escape foiled and my life purchased at the cost of her freedom.

And then, something new. The dream changes. Instead of following its usual course with me awaking to the loneliness and solitude of my world, I find my eyes open on a seemingly eternal night. I almost believe that God is at long last granting my prayer and sending me sweet oblivion, since he cannot send me eternal love. The darkness of my dream blinks and another dream begins.

At first, it seems to be the old dream. Christine makes her choice and saves my life. An innocent 16 year old girl sacrifices her life for me. Me! A monster! Monsieur le Vicomte releases me from my bonds and I flounder for a moment after dropping into the lake at the edge of my home. By the time regain my footing, the Vicomte points a small pistol at Christine and says that if I wish to take advantage of his goodwill, he will simply find himself another bride. Unwilling to chance Christine's life on the sincerity of the Vicomte's casually spoken threat, I turn from them. My shame burns me blind. I cannot look into the eyes of the girl I have failed. And it is here the dream always ends. I was abandoning her! Again! And yet, no! The dream continues. My legs somehow find their stumbling way to my bedroom. Unwilling and unable to take any more chances with the girl's life, I sit on the edge of my bed and listen to my music box. I sing.

"Masquerade!
Paper faces on parade.
Masquerade!
Hide your face,
so the world will never find you."

And then, at the entrance of my room I sense a presence and turn my head towards it. Christine Daae walks towards me. Her head held high. She walks towards me with something in her outstretched hand. The courage and innocence in her eyes breaks my heart. I sing to her.

"Christine, I love you!"

Our eyes meet and she leads my gaze to her hand. In her outstretched hand she holds something. I lean forward straining to see what she holds. A tiny twinkling of light suddenly bursts into a maelstrom of blizzard fire before my stunned eyes. My world consumed in a explosion of roaring thunder. My world blinks out and another blinks in. I find myself sitting in a room the likes of which I have never imagined. My last words to Christine echo in my ears and in my mind.

"Christine, I love you."

I blink. Then close my eyes and leave them closed.

This is wrong!

No! No! A long buried part of my soul emerges from the shadows to correct me.

This is right!

I am not alone.

There is another here with me. I feel her presence before I see her. A stranger and yet, not. I open my eyes and find myself still in that strange room. Sitting before me is a woman. Not the child of a moment before, but a woman. I sit rooted in place, the room forgotten. This woman draws me as no other I have met before. Our eyes meet. This woman of the amazing eyes. Eyes of green-hazel with rings of golden-brown. I cannot breathe! Those eyes look at me, they look within me. They pierce through my defenses and skewer my soul with their beautiful intensity. And yet, in those eyes I see longing, loneliness and a deep sadness. Her eyes as calm as her posture. As if my arrival here is the most normal of all occurrences. It is only my quickness of movement that finally startles her. My springing leap to my feet was the cause of her fall when she attempted to do the same. I remember thinking her clumsy for falling, but was also pleased that she made no attempt at fleeing from me or screaming for help.

Then, she looks and smiles at me. That is the end of me. I am lost. I am lost to the certainty that here was the one. Somehow, the fates had conspired and brought me face-to-face with my true love. And my heart broke in that moment. She was so lovely. She could not possibly ever return my love. All I had to do was remove my mask and the gently smiling face would transform into an unrecognizable mask of horror.

She continues to smile with her mouth and with her eyes as she speaks to me. Her voice is soft, kind and melodic. She holds out her hand to me. I look down at my own hand to discover it already extended to her. She is accepting my offer. Mine! The sight and sound of her stir me. My pulse pounds in my ears. I discover my body stiff and ready. No! I yearn to know her. Knowledge always denied me. God! Why was I born? I do not flinch from her outstretched hand. I hide the power of my desire for her. I am, after all, a superb actor. And yet, the simple act of taking her hand in mind nearly pushes me past the point of no return. Just the momentary pressure of my skin on her skin and my body nearly erupts. I cannot meet her eyes, although she seems to wish it. I become aware that my face is wet with tears and wipe them away with the back of my hand. She speaks. I can hear her first words. The others are not as clear. For as I wipe my tears, I realize to my horror that my mask is missing. And yet, this woman sits serenely across from me and treats me the same as other men! We sit facing one another. She knows my naked face, has only seen me unmasked. She sits there, unknowing of my shock. She accepts me unmasked without fear or loathing. I feel more than acceptance from her. When I look at her, I feel her desire. I feel her desire for me! When she looks at me, I feel normal for the first time in my 36 years of life. When she looks at me, I am a man.

My mind is awhirl with racing thoughts. A lifetime of rejection wreaks havoc with my senses. Surely, I am mistaken. Surely, the desire I feel radiating from her eyes is of my own creation. From my own misguided need for love. Or is it? Has she ever shown any sign of horror at my presence? I think back over the brief time I have been in this woman's presence. I replay every moment from the first to present and realize she has never shown one moments fear or revulsion. Never! Not one! I cannot however, answer my question about her desire. I cannot answer this question. I am unequal to the challenge of answering that. And I let it lie.

I revel in this meeting. This person is the single exception to the cruelty and loneliness of my life. The first person I have ever met whom never had to become accustomed to my face. She accepts me, no reservations, no backward glances, just as I am. Without my mask! And what makes this truly miraculous is this person granting me acceptance is a woman. A woman I find extremely desirable. And yet, I do not wish to continue to tempt the fates by continuing to flaunt my face before her.

I try to turn the ruined side of my face away from her and use my hand as a makeshift mask, but she will have none of it. She is concerned for my comfort and tells me this. She is concerned for me!

She seemed to want to make eye contact with me. I gather my wits, will power and nerves together. I meet her gaze. She welcomed me into her home and into her life. Soon after, she welcomed me into her bed. And lastly, I had to admit to myself, what I had known from the moment we met. We were in each other's hearts.

The rest, as they say, is history.

I will say this about my Christine. Never has there been a woman more intelligent, witty, strong, compassionate, beautiful, sarcastic, funny, dangerous, passionate, brilliant, opinionated, miraculous or irritating than she. She has absolutely no idea how special she is. She is completely and utterly without conceit and completely guileless. I shall stop now waxing lyrical or rhapsodic over her praises before I risk her removing these words when next she adds to this account.

This is for you, ma chére cœur, my beloved, my wife.

I love you, now and always.

I set down my perspective of our first meeting now because I was much too preoccupied with Christine's fading when last I was the one recording this journal of our soul. Through luck and love, I believe the continued existence of my ladies assured. If I am incorrect, we definitely share the will, so that and our love will find the way. We shall not part from one another again. Our soul shall remain as one.

I am a married man.

I walk among men as one of them.

I return to Paris and the opera house today.

I shall help my friend be free.

I shall not do this alone. I am now us. We. Master and Missus. Husband and wife. Erik and Christine.

The mad rush to ready ourselves for our arrival complete.

We are ready.

God help him! God have mercy on the soul of Monsieur le Vicomte Raoul de Chagny! For I certainly will not. Nor, will any of the other conspirators.

We sit on the edge of the bed and mentally rehearse one last time the movements of our train station grand entrance. Our luggage is in the salon ready for the porter. We hold one another and playfully engage in slow easy kisses. Not wanting to become too aroused for our arrival, we move to the salon.

"Erik, will you sing for me?"

"Of course, what do you wish to hear?"

"Nessun Dorma, an aria from the opera, Turandot by Giacomo Puccini. Ahh… nuts! No, not you! I'm sorry, dearest! I was thinking out loud. Turandot published in the 1920's. Puccini died in November 1924 of throat cancer, leaving, "Turandot," his final opera, unfinished. Oh well, never mind. I'll think of something else."

"Do you know this song well?"

"Oh yes! Most people favor Luciano Pavarotti's rendition of it, but I prefer José Carreras."

"Can you hear the song in your mind?" I ask hopefully.

"Of course!" She gives me a slightly wounded look.

"Can I listen with you and then, perhaps, I can sing it for you."

"Yes, Maestro. You may."

My words kiss her wounded look away.

"Tell me when, ma chére cœur."

She closes her eyes, "When."

I listen and I hear a rich tenor voice singing within my wife's mind. I should have known better than to question her ability to "hear" the music.

Italian Lyrics
Il Principe:
Nessun dorma! Nessun dorma!
Tu pure, O Principessa
nella tua fredda stanza
guardi le stelle che tremano
d'amore e di speranza!
Ma il mio mistero
è chiuso in me
il nome mio nessun saprà!
No, no, sulla tua bocca lo dirò
quando la luce splenderà!
Ed il mio bacio scoglierà il silenzio
che ti fa mia!
Coro Donn:
Il nome suo nessun saprà
E noi dovrem ahimè, morir, morir!
Il Principe:
Dilegua, O notte! Tramontate, stelle!
Tramontate, stelle! All'alba vincerò!
Vincerò! Vincerò!

English Translation
The Prince:
No one sleeps! No one sleeps!
Nor do you, O princess
in your cold room
Look the stars that tremble
with love and hope!
But my mystery
it is locked in me
my name no one will know!
No, no, only on your mouth I will reveal it
when dawn's light will shine!
My kiss will break the silence
and make you mine!
Female Choir:
His name no one will know
And we shall have, alas, to die, to die!
The Prince:
Disperse, O night! Set you, stars!
Set you, stars! With the dawn I will win!
I will win! I will win!

As the piece ends, I nod.

"Yes. I can hear it also. It puts me in mind of something. A moment, beloved."

I think I would like to know this Puccini. The words of the song remind me of a story from a book, "Les Mille et un Jours" a French translation by Francois Petis de la Croix. His book was a translation into French of a collection of Persian stories originally entitled, "Hezar O-Yek Shab." The story of Turandokht is the one that comes into my mind. Then my mind makes the connection. Turandokht – Turandot.

"Of course, how foolish of me! Would you like to sing the female choral?"

"I would be deeply honored, Maestro." She dips an abbreviated curtsy to me.

My mouth opens and the words flow off my tongue. The music takes me into another world, as all fine art should.

I am the Nameless Prince. I sing Princess Turandot's edict. Her proclamation commands that no one sleep; no one sleep! I desperately love this cruel, cold princess. I won the contest of three riddles. I won her hand in marriage, but I need her to desire me. She must love me in return. She must want to marry me as much as I want to marry her. So, I add a condition of my own to our arrangement. She must guess my name before dawn. If she does not, I will die at the dawn.

I pour all the loneliness, longing, despair and desire of my former life into the Prince's song. And when I sing of whispering my name into her mouth, I think of kissing my wife's sweet lips. How our first kiss was the light of love.

I pause as sweet Christine sings the people's lament.

I resume by demanding the stars to set and dawn arrive. For at dawn, I know I will win her love. In the light of dawn, I will win.

As the final note of the last word fades, I open my eyes. My beloved stands in the center of the salon her head tilted back and arms outstretched. She has an ecstatic expression on her face and at the same time, tears stream down her cheeks, her eyes blinded by tears.

"Thank you, Erik. I will carry that with me always. It was perfection."

It takes her a moment to bring her emotions under control.

"I look forward to hearing you and Christine performing, "The Flower Duet.""

"We have to find Monsieur Delibes first."

She stops in the middle of wiping a tear from her eye to stare at me.

"How do you know about, "The Flower Duet?""

In response, I grin.

"You shared everything."

"But, you had me play "Nessun Dorma" so you could learn it."

"Only because I love being asked into your mind, beloved."

I rush across the room and gather her into my arms. No matter how many times this woman allows me to hold her in my arms and no matter how many years pass with her at my side, I shall never become accustomed to the fact of her love for me. I believe in it and I trust it. I know her love is true, but I feel unworthy of it.

"You will just have to strive to earn it, my dearest." She whispers.

"Now who is peeping?"

"Tit for tat!"

We both laugh. It feels so easy, so comfortable sharing a place and being with her especially after she presented me with her wedding gift. For the first time in my life, I feel completely happy. Her gift to me the most precious I ever could receive. The world as seen through her eyes and felt by her mind, she gave to me. Never would I doubt, never could I doubt. She loves me as a man. Her man! And she loves no other man, had loved no other man as she loves me.

This is the calm moment before the storm. Soon a porter's knock on the door will sweep us away from this place. I hug her and slowly look about the place where my life changed forever through the love of this woman.

"You do know dearest that it is not places that are special."

"Yes, I am aware that it is the people in our lives that are special. I am simply adding this place to my collection of places I have been with the most special someone of my life."

"He is here."

She speaks the words a fraction of a second before the knock sounds on the door.

"I felt his footfalls. I've pretty much battened down all the hatches in the cottage to protect the two of us in the city. He has a heavy gait and I could feel it through the bottom of my feet. Just one of the things you do when you don't hear."

"That's in the past, Christine. Time to move forward. And now, on to le Hôtel Grand. Are you ready to take on the world of the opera with me?"

"I am ready to take on the world with you, my dearest husband."