The Perfect Solution
An Alternate Universe – Phantom of the Opera Story
Nyasia A. Maire
© 2007
DEDICATION: I dedicate this Chapter to all of us who are "different." After all, weird is wonderful!
DISCLAIMER: I do not hold the rights nor did I create any characters found in The Phantom of the Opera or Phantom, nor have I received monetary compensation for writing this story.
The Children of the Owl and the Pussycat
Our mother was the Pussycat, our father was the Owl;
and so we're partly little beasts and partly little fowl.
The brothers of our family have feathers and they hoot.
While all the sisters dress in fur and have long tails to boot.
We all believe that little mice,
for food are singularly nice.
Our mother died long years ago. She was a lovely cat.
Her tail was five feet long and, grey with stripes, but what of that?
In Sila forest on the East of fair Calabria's shore,
she tumbled from a lofty tree – none ever saw her more.
Our owly father long was ill from sorrow and surprise,
but with the feathers of his tail, he wiped his weeping eyes.
And in the hollow of a tree in Sila's inmost maze,
we made a happy home and there we pass our obvious days.
From Reggian Cosenza many owls about us flit
and bring us worldly news for which we do not care a bit.
We watch the sun each morning rise, beyond Tarento's strait;
we go out ------------------ before it gets too late;
and when the evening shades begin to lengthen from the trees,
------------------ as sure as bees is bees.
We wander up and down the shore ------------------.
Or, tumble over head and heels, but never, never more,
can see the far Gromboolian plains ---------------------.
Or, weep as we could once have wept o'er many a vanished scene:
this is the way our father moans -- he is so very green.
Our father still preserves his voice, and when he sees a star,
he often sings ------------ to that original guitar.
--------------------------------------------------------.
--------------------------------------------------------.
The pot in which our parents took the honey in their boat,
but all the money has been spent, beside the £5 note.
The owls who come and bring us news are often ------
because we take no interest in politix of the day.
Edward Lear, 1812-1888 – Unfinished Sequel to "Owl and the Pussycat"
Published Posthumously, 1938
From "The Faber Book of Nonsense Verse" – Edited by Geoffrey Grigson
First published in 1938 in Davidson's "Edward Lear"
Chapter Five – The Children of the Owl and the Pussycat
Warm, brown eyes enveloped him, held him unmoving within their unblinking gaze and he could see nothing else. He desired to see nothing more. If his life could remain forever in one perfect instant, then this was the one he chose. Then the flash of a brilliant smile caught his eye and the moment was no more.
She was falling and the eyes of rich, earthen hue suddenly shuttered by their lids. Without thought, he swiftly moved to catch the falling maiden. He carefully hefted her to cradle her in his arm's embrace. And, he found he could not force his eyes to look away from her. His eyes took in every nuance of her face, the skin was the color of the palest cream, her long hair was a mass of russet ringlets, her face was heart-shaped with dark upswept brows and her lips formed a perfect crimson rosebud. Every part of his body, mind and soul responded to the dark angel in his arms. It was then that the thought struck him.
"I am lost. I am truly lost and hers forever more. This fey creature cannot be human for she weighs the same as a feather."
His thoughts suddenly ripped away from the vision in his arms by a hand clamped to his shoulder and voices shouting anxiously.
"Erik!" Raoul shouted.
"Christine!" Meg screeched.
After the initial calls, the panicked voices blended into a cacophony of sound, of which Erik could only discern a word here and a phrase there.
"Christine!"
"What …."
"This has happened …."
"What do you mean?"
"She forgets to eat …."
"What do we do?"
"My mother …."
"Where …."
"I am not sure …."
"La Sorelli's dressing room …."
"Hurry!"
"Come on, Erik!"
"Erik, let us go!"
"Now, Erik!"
"Please?"
Then Erik felt one large, strong hand grip his upper arm and a small, delicate hand push at the center of his back. Between the two hands, they propelled him down the corridor towards the backstage dressing rooms of the opera house's prima performers. Quickly, they passed the dressing rooms until at last they came to a dimly lit passageway where only a single gas light flickered sullenly on the wall next to an old, battered wooden door. It seemed to Erik that behind this door was the personal quarters of the Ballet Mistress and her daughters. For he could think of no other reason that Raoul and Meg had led him there. His eyes returned to the face of the angel he carried in his arms. Her body was still limp and her mouth hung slightly open. It was only at that moment that he realized her delicate body radiated an unnatural heat and her coloring was ashen. Alarmed, he turned to Meg.
"I believe she is truly ill. This is not a case of the vapors. Has this happened to her before?"
Erik's comment caught Meg just as her hand pushed down on the door latch. She replied without looking at him.
"Yes, Christine often forgets to eat. Sometimes, she may go a day or two without eating. If we do not take note and she becomes agitated in any way, well, this is what happens. However, my mother knows what to do. Please, come with me."
Turning to Raoul, she placed a hand on his chest and shook her head.
"I think it best if you remain here. You must understand. It just would not be proper. Monsieur Destler will join you in a moment, Raoul …."
Raoul blinked and then wanly smiled.
"Of course, how foolish of me."
Meg returned Raoul's smile and then turned to beckon Erik to follow her.
As Erik made to follow Meg, he felt Christine stir in his arms. Suddenly, her eyes flew open and she flung her arms tightly around Erik's neck.
"Oh! It is true! The angel showed you to me and you are here! You are here!"
Christine's voice sounded muffled as she spoke into the crook of his neck. Erik raised his confused eyes to Meg's and she shook her head, simply motioning for him to follow her. He began to follow Meg into the crowded, yet cozy room, when suddenly a voice spoke, softly near his ear.
"I have waited so very long for you to come to me. Please, you cannot leave me now!"
The lilting voice caressed his ear with the pure beauty of its sound. Her warm breath tickled the shell of his ear only to give way to the sudden hot moistness of her tongue running along the outer edge of his ear. He barely contained a gasp as she briefly sucked his earlobe into her mouth. Just as he felt his body begin to respond in a way that caused him to blush, the sound of her voice, more than the words she spoke, hit him like a bucket of ice water causing him to freeze mid-stride and his body to wilt.
"That voice! I know that voice! That voice is the one that haunts my dreams! It is the voice of the angel, my guardian angel. The angel that strips away the last mask from my face. And, then … there is a brilliant light and … and, then I wake up …."
"Mademoiselle, please! We do not even know one another. Please! Do try to control yourself! Think of propriety, for goodness sake! We tread almost outside the strictures of proper behavior now as it is. If we continue in this manner, I shall be responsible for sullying your reputation. Then honor demands that I assuage it by requesting your hand in marriage. Believe me, Mademoiselle, you do not wish for such a fate as to be married to one such as me!"
His words caused her to draw back from her tight embrace of his neck. She craned her neck to look up into his face, her serious eyes searching his face.
"Monsieur, if you believe that I care for the insipid morals of this society, you are sorely mistaken. That I should wish to conform to their rigid ways and small minds when they mock and torment is an absurdity beyond words. The only way I would give reverence to their customs is by thumbing my nose at them. But, wait, your words … your words seemed to imply that anyone marrying you would suffer in that action, a fate worse than death. Please explain yourself, Monsieur. For you have piqued my curiosity. And now, I demand you explain yourself."
His reply, interrupted by the coldest, most emotionless female voice he had ever heard, strangled in his throat.
"While I would adore standing here all evening listening to the two of you discuss comportment and etiquette, I will be frank and tell you … you bore me to tears." Without turning her head, she thunders. "Meg! Why are you leading a young man into our quarters? And, why is he carrying your sister? Or, better yet, do I dare ask why such a thing is happening at all?"
Her icy words are sarcastic and cutting causing the stunned girl to stammer. The woman barks her demand.
"Meg!"
The girl jumps and unconsciously lands en pointe.
"Yes, Maman?"
"An explanation … now!"
The girl began her breathless recitation in a voice barely above a whisper.
"Yes, Maman. Christine went to the chapel instead of staying and watching the ballet. Please do not misunderstand me, Maman. She always watches the first two scenes and if the story interests her, she stays. However, if the first two scenes do not capture her interest, she sneaks away to the chapel. I do not know what happened there tonight, but when I met with her after the ballet, she was not herself. Maman, she was happy! I have never seen her that way, not ever! She greeted Raoul and me with a smile in her eyes and laughter on her lips. Then she saw Monsieur Destler and the next thing I knew, she fainted. Monsieur Destler caught her before she hit the floor. He moved so quickly, Maman! I have never seen anyone move so quickly …."
The woman interjected so as not to allow her daughter's mind to wander from the topic at hand.
"Meg …."
"Oh! Yes, Maman, I am sorry. I thought we should bring Christine here as I know you have dealt with this before."
"Very well. Monsieur Destler, please place Christine on the divan … yes, right there. Now, if you will please excuse us. I must loosen Christine's corset and get some honey into her."
"NO!"
Every person in the room froze at the sound of the powerful voice. Even the cold control of Madame Giry slipped. All the eyes in the room turned towards the source of the command and found the diminutive girl with the cascading ringlets was the origin of the voice. She sat up on the divan, her posture stiff and proud.
"Christine …."
Madame Giry began calmly.
"I said, NO! HE must remain. I have waited 12 years for him. Do you realize that is more than half of my life? I shall not be separated from him again, especially not so soon."
The girl slumped back onto the divan limp with sudden exhaustion, her face waxen and shiny in the candlelight.
"Please, Monsieur. You must stay. After all, you and I, "…we're partly little beasts and partly little fowls.""
Author's Note: As always, thank you to those of you who take the time to review! --ny