Christine dans Deux

An Alternate Multiverse – A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One
Chapter Seventy-Two – Yule be a Man

The five of us arrived at Rennes station nearly one week ago, Nadir, Christine, Henrí, Miriam and me. I noted rather sadly that Miriam had once more withdrawn into her shell. Miriam is a shy girl and at first had been rather in awe of the vivacious Christine. Then as the two women started to confide in one another, she had blossomed, but as my wife began to withdraw into herself, so did Miriam. Therefore, I arrived with not one, but two ghostly women in tow. Even the irrepressible Henri was subdued. Only Nadir seemed unaffected, but only to those not acquainted with the man. I, who know him rather well, am aware that the more he chatters, the more melancholy his mood.

In retrospect, I am unsure as to my reasoning, but I in a sudden rush of certainty felt compelled to instruct Bruno to direct the carriage to the front of the Church of Saint-Etienne and Saint-Augustin. Perhaps I wished for a reminder of a happier time or perhaps, I hoped to wring or arrest some spark of emotion from Christine. I know not. In a karmic coincidence of almost cosmic proportions (now, as my Christine might say, that is one verbosely cool turn of phrase! Wow!) we arrived in front of the church at nearly the same time of night as the night Christine and I wed. I rapped on the roof of the carriage compartment, signaling Bruno to bring the carriage to a halt.

I called out to Bruno. "We shall not be long." Then including the occupants of the carriage, I continued. "All of you are welcome to accompany us, should you wish."

I cast my eye about the interior of the carriage to take in their responses to my invitation. Miriam immediately demurred and after she cast, what appeared to me, a warning glance at Henrí, he, too, declined. Only Nadir accepted my invitation to join Christine and me.

"I have never been inside a Catholic Church. I visited a Lutheran Church once, though. I found it frightfully dark and dull. I have always thought that God as the acknowledged creator of all things must also be the ultimate artist and as such, his place of worship should reflect that. Unless I am mistaken, I believe the Catholics have no aversion to displaying things of beauty in their churches. Am I correct in this belief or do I hold a false assumption, Erik?"

"You are quite correct. Catholic Churches range from simple to ornate, but cathedrals range from the exquisite to the subliminally divine in their design and execution. St. Peter's Basilica in Rome and the Cathedral of Notre Dame in Paris are but two examples, which come immediately into my mind. Shall we alight and you can form your own opinion, Daroga."

I wave my hand to the carriage door, indicating he should exit first. With a nod of acknowledgement, Nadir opens the door and climbs down from the carriage. He wanders away, his gaze riveted upwards on the sight before him. Next, I slide my length through the carriage door and the moment my feet find purchase on solid ground, I turn my attention to assisting Christine. My body starts as if struck by a bolt of lightning and my breath hisses from my mouth. For as I turned to hold out my hand to Christine and looked up into her lovely face, for an instant almost frozen in time, just the briefest of moments, I would have sworn an oath that her eyes contained an awareness of her surroundings or, maybe, an emotion of some type. She accepted my hand and alighted from the carriage. When she raised her face, the moment was gone or I had imagined it. Her face was as beautiful and blank as that of a porcelain doll.

"It must have been a trick of the light and shadow in the carriage. I feel so much worse now that I have been with Christine and known her pleasures, so much worse than before I met her. Before, I longed for the unknown. Now, I have tasted heaven and been consigned to hell. I want her! I need her back!"

A sigh escapes my lips, which catches Nadir's attention and he raises an inquiring eyebrow.

"Is everything alright, Erik?"

"No, it's not alright. Everything is the same as it has been for the last 19 days. I thought I saw something in her face, but I must have imagined it. I just want her back and I don't know what to do!"

"Erik …."

I raise my hand commanding him to stop from saying all of the things I already know.

"I know, I know! There is nothing to do, but sit and wait. It's just so damn hard waiting, especially when I see her like this day after day."

"Um, Erik …I think …."

"Please, Nadir …."

"Excuse me, Erik, why are you waiting?"

"Is that supposed to be amusing?"

The words leap from my mouth in a growl as I turn to face the source of that inane question. I whip about and find myself choking on the words about to spill from my lips in an angry tirade.

"Erik, why are you staring at me like that?"

"Oh, Christine …."

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Stunned does not come close to expressing the state of my emotions when I realize that Christine is the one who dares to speak those confrontational words. Her hazel-green eyes flash with mischief as her sharp mind quickly assesses the situation and correctly interprets the cause of my growl. Our eyes meet and I quite unexpectedly find my arms filled with Christine as she launches herself into me. Her arms wrap tightly about my waist and her body presses firmly against mine.

"Erik! Oh, I've missed you so very much!"

She raises her face from my chest, her eyes glistening with unshed tears of joy and her trembling lips part slightly. I feel as if I am falling as my eyes lock with hers, my lips crash against hers with unrestrained passion. Without either of us showing the slightest bit of hesitation, we immediately deepen our kiss as our lips part and our tongues dart in and out of one another's mouths. I run my hands up and down her sides, up into her hair and down to push her bottom firmly against my arousal. She rocks her hips against me, a cry of excitement escapes her lips and a groan of desire bursts from mine. I shudder as Christine's caressing hand begins to snake its way down my chest. I groan, eagerly anticipating the touch her hand on my hard flesh even if it is through the barrier of clothing. Intent on thrusting her hand between our bodies to caress my heated flesh, she is unaware of our audience, but the sound of someone clearing their throat rips my attention away from our burning flesh and back to our surroundings. Her eyes open and fix upon mine as I gently take hold of her wrist. I raise it to my lips and kiss the inside of her wrist. Her breath hisses raggedly and my kiss-swollen lips press against her sensitive skin.

Again, I hear the sound of a clearing throat. Without releasing my hold on Christine, I speak to the man.

"Yes, Daroga, you wanted to say something?"

His embarrassment evident in the tone of his voice, I cannot help but chuckle wickedly.

"It is amazing how quickly my mood improves when you are by my side."

"Erik, have you been difficult while I was gone?" She scolds me lightly.

"I suppose this means we aren't going to visit the church." Nadir sighs.

"There really isn't any need for us to do so now." I begin, but Christine's thoughts and Nadir's voice interrupts me.

"Dearest, who is this adorable, pouting man?"

"No, I suppose not." Nadir replies dejectedly. "So, Erik, are you going to introduce me to your lady wife? Or, will you force me to do it myself?"

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It is early morning, Christmas morning, probably no later than 3:00 a.m. The entire chateau lies blanketed under a heavy mantle of soft, white snow. The snow flakes dampen the normal nighttime sounds as they fall gently from the nighttime sky. I lie on my back staring at the ceiling and listen to the comforting sounds of the fire popping and crackling. I am tired, yet I am unable to sleep. At 1:00 p.m. today, Christine and I pledge our troth to one another before God, family and friends. After today, I will never sleep alone again; no social conventions can force me to skulk from my wife's bed during the pre-dawn hours and settle my bones in a cold, lonely bed. This morning is the last time I shall awake alone!

"If I can ever get to sleep tonight."

I sigh and turn over. Closing my eyes, the events of the past week rush through my mind. The nights of frenzied, passionate lovemaking with Christine have been the highlight of my week. The low point was when I learned the identity of Erik-Gustave's father. Knowing that the man I thought of as "The Opera Ghost" was the child's father, shocked me to my very core. I still am at a loss to explain how I could be completely unaware of his relationship with Christine de Chagny. I should have known what happened between them when our spirits joined, but I had nothing, no hint that their relationship was anything other than platonic. It has been extremely difficult accepting the fact that the Opera Ghost had an affair with Christine de Chagny and that the result of their affair, was a child. This knowledge plagues me with unpleasant feelings of guilt against which my mind rages. Logically, I know I am not, cannot be the babe's father, but … my heart whispers to me and it tells me that part of me is. I still feel no physical attraction to Christine de Chagny and know that I never will. There is no possibility of that ever occurring, as I would never – could never – love another as I love my wife. My love for her completes me in my mind, body and soul. Thankfully, my Christine truly seems to have no issue with the child's paternity. When I had attempted to discuss this subject with her, she had simply looked into my eyes, smiled and told me she loves me and she knows that I love her. She silenced any further discussion of the matter by placing her lips upon mine. I smile that had been earlier that night, before we had made love and before I had needed to return to my room. Christine said that it was bad luck for us to see one another before our wedding. She was only making two exceptions from this tradition, Christmas breakfast and opening the presents afterwards.

"I am a very lucky man."

"You won't be if you are so tired tomorrow night that you fall asleep on our wedding night!"

Christine's voice scolds me through our bond even though her body rests in another room in the chateau.

"Erik, please go to sleep. I am tired and your thoughts are keeping me awake. I do not wish to look like a raccoon at our wedding! No more, please? Go to sleep. Now!"

"Far be it for me to deny you anything, ma chère cœur. I shall sleep now."

I wince as I hear her grumbled response.

"It's about fucking time!"

Without further prompting, I act the part of the dutiful husband and go to sleep.

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Today is the first Christmas I have spent as a part of a family. Unfortunately, I feel that I remember very little of the blur that was my day. I remember waking to Christine and Trystin pouncing on me, dragging me half-asleep from bed as I grabbed a robe and followed my giggling girls downstairs to the dining room. Christine de Chagny, Erik-Gustave and my father were already in the dining room waiting for us. Christine had commandeered the kitchen and made her traditional Christmas breakfast of pancakes and sausages, which we quickly devoured.

As soon as we finished eating, we moved to my father's study where Santa had paid our home a visit. There was a tall tree decorated with balls of colored glass, satin bows and small toys and lit with dozens of candles. I remember the tree clearly, but after that, my memories are fragmented blurs. I could feel that this Christmas was a bittersweet one for my Christine, as she believed it to be the last one she could expect to celebrate with Trystin believing in Santa Claus, but my dear heart persevered. We exchanged and opened our gifts. We sang Christmas carols and toasted the yuletide with eggnog. My Christine lay on her stomach with her chin cupped in her hands before the roaring fire of the study's large fireplace and read the two books she had packed from her home library just for this occasion. She did not really need the books, as she could recite them both from memory, but Trystin loved the illustrations and I must confess that I thought Christine looked so cute laying on the floor reading to all of us. The first story one written in her time, so I did not know it. The name of the book is, "The Polar Express." The second book is one that I was familiar with, "'Twas the Night before Christmas." The first book was special to them because of the story. The second story, it was the book itself, that held special meaning to them. It was a pop-up, glow-in-the-dark edition of the story. Trystin knew this story so well that she sat next to her mother and recited it from memory. All too soon, it was over and the women had to rush off to prepare themselves for the wedding.

It was a lovely Christmas.

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And a lovelier wedding, I think.

My father had outdone himself. I told him that I trusted him and had left the preparations for our wedding in his hands. When I walked into the chapel, I remember that the first thing I had seen was the huge stained glass window above the chapel's altar. The second thing I remember was the smell of roses. Everywhere I looked, there were bouquets of long-stem red and white roses. Red and white rose petals covered the aisle leading down the center of the chapel. I remember walking down the aisle to take my place next to the priest. I was pleasantly surprised to see that my father brought the very same priest that married us six weeks ago. I stand next to the young priest and realize that I had been such a mess back then, that I never asked the poor man for his name.

I lean and make my inquiry of the man.

"My name is Father Marc du Paul."

Acknowledging his name with a small nod, I continue to stare nervously at the chapel's doorway.

Father du Paul would once again perform the ceremony joining Christine and I in the bonds of holy wedlock. The chapel glowed awash with the light of hundreds of candles my father had instructed be placed about the room. I stood near the altar with the priest on my right and Nadir on my left waiting for the music, which would signal my bride's march up the aisle. I could feel Nadir's gaze darting up to my face and then quickly away. Only to feel him drawn back again and again. After what seemed like several minutes of this, I could take it no longer. I turned to him and impatiently whispered.

"What?"

Embarrassed, his eyes dropped to the floor, so I repeated this time more gently.

"Nadir, what is it?"

I call him by his first name so rarely that my use of it immediately caused him to look up at me and I give him a small nod of encouragement. The dark man pulls himself erect and his hands run along the lapels of his suit jacket to smooth them. He holds his hands at his waist, wets his lips and whispers.

"Please take my words in the spirit of this happy day, no hidden meanings, no criticisms intended. We have known one another for many years and never have I thought to see you happy, Erik. You reveled in the darkness, but now I see you and you are truly happy. You have stepped into the light of love's embrace. On this most auspicious occasion, I extend to you my wish that you and Christine find a life together with only the best of times, my friend, only the best of times for the rest of your lives."

He spoke in hushed tones, as befitting of a place of worship. As he finished, an unfamiliar emotion swelled within my chest. I placed my hand on Nadir's shoulder, looked into his dark brown eyes and gave him a gentle nod of my head to let him know how much I appreciated his words. He gave me a rueful smile.

"So, let's see if your bride will actually go through with this or if she will come to her senses and run like hell as far from here as possible."

"I do not find you the least bit amusing, Daroga."

The graceful strains of violins playing the "String Quartet in C Major, Opus 76, No. 3 – II Poco adagio, Cantabile (Emperor's Hymn") by Joseph Haydn wind their way through the chapel, immediately my attention focused on the arched doorway.

I heard Nadir's response, but my mind did not process the words until a day or so later.

"Yes, well, I find you fairly hysterical, Erik."

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Trystin, our flower girl, was the first to walk up the aisle. She wore a simple floor-length sheath of green and carried a white basket filled with red and white rose petals. Her long, black hair pulled back into a French braid, she slowly skipped up the aisle tossing huge handfuls of petals into the air and flashing a brilliantly happy smile at everyone. Next, came Christine holding Erik-Gustave, our ring-bearer. Christine was lovely in a scoop neck ball gown of green, as did all of her bridesmaids, in her arms she held Erik-Gustave in his ivory christening gown. Christine held a small, red, satin pillow with our wedding bands tied to its center, balanced across the babe's stomach. The babe did not utter a sound as he enjoyed catching the pillow in his fists and shoving it into his mouth. Then, Miriam and Henrí appeared in the doorway and together they walked up the aisle arm-in-arm. Henrí in a black suit and Miriam in the green ball gown. Next, Cecile, who also wore the green ball gown, walked up the aisle.

The music stopped and the chapel, completely silent, it seemed everyone held their breath.

The last clear memory I have is of Christine appearing in the doorway. My dear heart stood poised outside the doorway, her arm linked through my father's arm as he prepared to escort her up the aisle in her wedding gown. Her gown of silver-blue shone softly in the flickering lights of the chapel's many candles. The gown's silver-blue reminds me of the way virgin snow appears under the cold, blue light of a wintertime full moon. Christine wears a simple, shoulder-length lace veil, which obscures her face from me. Here, truly, is my last sharp memory, Christine begins her journey to join me at the altar and as she enters the chapel, I notice that the dress' train goes on and on and on and on.

(Author's Note: Christine's wedding gown is an actual historical gown. It is the 1896 Ceremonial Court Dress of Empress Alexandra Feodorovna of Russia. Bodice Length: 1'3", Skirt Length: 5'6.9" and Train Length: 13'2.7"! Hmmm…so, women are supposedly the weaker sex! Harrumph! Let's see a man try wearing that dress and hauling that train around while at the same time have a corset compress your lungs. Gee wiz! Fashion, you just gotta love it! Sorry! Now I shall return you back to your regularly scheduled program! --ny)

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Standing before the vanity in my father's bathroom, I gaze into the mirror at my reflection, my mind awhirl with the emotions of this day. I am still unsure whether or not I my voice cooperated and provided Father with responses required by the ceremony. Since I now wear a bright yellow-gold wedding band on the third finger of my left hand and Christine did not behead me with her katana, I must have said all of the right things. I am now officially a married man and Christine, a married woman. We did it!

The soft sounds of feminine voices emanate from the bedroom where Miriam is helping my Christine remove her amazing and seemingly never-ending wedding gown and prepare for our wedding night. Not wishing to keep my bride waiting, I begin to remove the layers of clothing I donned for our wedding. When at last I have stripped all of the clothing from my body, I slip on my black silk pajama trousers and loosely knot the drawstring. Lastly, I grab my charcoal-gray silk kimono robe, throw it on and slackly fasten the belt about my waist. Walking to the door leading to the bedroom, I rap my knuckles against the door.

"Christine, are you ready? Madame de Mornay, may I enter?"

I wait for a moment then try knocking again.

"Christine? Hello?"

Placing my hand on the doorknob, I immediately feel Christine's presence on the other side of the door as her unquenchable spirit sends an erotic burst of shocks into my hand and up my arm. I increase my pressure on the crystal handle, which sends the sensual impulses up my arm where they crash into my spine. Turning the knob drives the carnal urges down my spine straight into my loins. Slowly, I begin to push open the door and as I push, the sparks of lust ignite, leaving me gasping at the overwhelming tautness of my ready desire. Suddenly, Christine roughly yanks the door open and I stumble into the bedroom. My bumbling entrance sends Christine into a fit of giggles.

"Oh, Erik, you're so adorable!" She pauses and gives me a considering look. "You did mean to do that, didn't you?"

Pulling myself up to my full height, I summon the old persona, the one, which requires me to become imperious and cold. I adopt a haughty exterior then turn my most arrogant stare upon her and reply.

"Of course I did! Do you think the Phantom of the Opera is a clumsy oaf? Of course not."

Her giggles become full-fledged guffaws as she responds to my perceived silliness. I allow my lips to curl into an evil smirk. She laughs and playfully responds.

"Erik? What do you think you are doing?"

When I do not join her laughter, it quickly subsides as she casts her narrowed eyes on me. She watches me circling her. Her head tilts slightly to one side, her eyes hooded by her thick lashes. She bites her bottom lip. I continue to walk around her until she raises her eyes to mine when I stop and hold out my hand to her. She begins to place her hand into mine, but hesitates. Leering at her, I give a sardonic lift of my eyebrow to goad her into action. She places her hand in mine, but her eyes reveal her confusion. Once more, she questions me, but now she is uncertain, her voice quiet and intense.

"Erik?"

"Silencieux, ma chère cœur. Ce soir il n'y aura aucun coup d'oeil en arrière. Ce soir, le rêve devient la vie vraie et réelle. Ma amour pour vous est pour maintenant et pour toujours. Nous sommes vraiment un." (1.)

As I capture her hand in mine and hold her eyes with mine, I allow a gentle, sincere smile to creep across my lips and the ice to thaw from my eyes. I caress the back of her hand with my thumb, which seems to awaken Christine from her entranced state.

"Ce soir, je vous offre mon amour, ma vie. Vous êtes mon jour, mon nuit, mon monde. Je vis dans vous. Votre haleine est la mienne. Votre joie, votre chagrin et tous mes tomorrows, je rejoins eux tous avec vous, mon plus chèr. Une vie, un amour." (2.)

We smile and drink of one another's essence through the chalice of our hearts, which pours forth from our eyes.

"The bed, ma chère cœur, it calls our names."

An impish smile curls her lips and wrinkles her adorable nose.

"I do believe you are correct, monsieur. Whatever could it want of us?"

"Why don't we go find out?"

We laugh then still holding hands, race to the bed and jump onto it.

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Much, much later … I am drifting into a contented sleep with my tousled wife half-sprawled and half-entangled around my body. My mind hovers in that odd place between wakefulness and sleep.

"God is a strange being.

God created the heavens and the earth separated the lands from the oceans and raised the sky overhead. God created all creatures, great and small. God created man in his image and likeness and created woman from man's rib to act as companion to man. God did all of these things, but I have a question. Why did God create man's obsession with women? Just a thought.

Christine told me that a man's birth pushes him from a woman's womb. He then spends the rest of his life attempting to get back inside the womb. Another thought."

My mind glides across the border into sleep.

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Sighing, I slip my nude body closer to my sleeping wife and gather her carefully into my arms. I press my erection into the firm, warm flesh of her rear. She unconsciously responds to my body by arching her back and grinding her bottom against my heated flesh. A low groan escapes my lips ….

"Oh, yes, my dear heart, help me make the music of the night!"

"I thought perhaps, that the music of the night might be a duet this night rather than an aria. That is, of course, if that is acceptable to the composer, my husband."

Her husky voice fairly purred in my ear.

"I cannot make that music without you, ma chère cœur. You are my muse after all."

"Nor, I without you, Erik."

"Well then, shall we?"

She answers me by turning over within the circle of my embrace so we now lie face to face. She draws me to her lips. At first, our lips touch in a gentle, chaste kiss. All too soon, the fires of passion ignite within our bodies and the gentle kisses rapidly grow hungry and passionate. My hands seemingly never satisfied, renew their endless quest to explore and map the entirety of my Christine's body.

"I am insatiable … in my reckless need for her, in my wanton desire for her, in my immeasurable love for her. Insatiable, yet, like any other fool, I keep trying."

The thought sends a smirk to my lips as I roll atop Christine and join with her once more.

"Oh, Christine …."

Translations of the French dialogue

(1.) Erik to Christine: "Quiet, my dear heart. Tonight there will be no backward glances. Tonight, the dream becomes true and real life. My love for you is for now and for always. We are truly one."

(2.) Christine to Erik: "Tonight, I offer you my love, my life. You are my day, my night, my world. I live in you. Your breath is mine. Your joy, your sorrow and all of my tomorrows, I join them all with you, my dearest. One life, one love."

(My apologies for any gramatical errors - the credit or blame goes to an online translator!)