The Perfect Solution
An Alternate Universe – Phantom of the Opera Story
Nyasia A. Maire
© 2007
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.
He who knows Love
HE who knows Love – becomes Love,
and his eyes behold Love in the heart of everyone,
even the loveless.
As the light of the sun is one with all it touches,
he is wise with undivided wisdom,
for he lies in Wisdom's arms.
His wanderings are done,
for he has found the Source whence all things run –
the guerdon of the quest that satisfies.
He who knows Love – becomes Love,
and he knows all beings are himself,
twin-born of Love.
Melted in Love's own fire, his spirit flows
into all earthly forms, below, above;
he is the breath and glamour of the rose.
He is the benediction of the dove.
By Elsa Barker
Chapter Thirteen – He who knows Love
Erik awoke early the next morning feeling oddly refreshed.
"Well, it seems I was finally able to sleep undisturbed for more than half of an hour! I had forgotten how that felt. It seems like it has been years … could it really be true? Has the dream plagued me for that long?"
He thought about his silent questions and then shrugged.
"Does it really matter? I have something much more important to ponder … am I really going to propose marriage to Mademoiselle Daae … Christine, today? Oh, Christine."
Her name alone caused goosebumps to creep across his flesh and his face to feel flushed. If he thought on her further, the flush swept from his face to the center of his chest and then downwards. He grimaced as he realized just how aroused he already was.
"I must keep myself under control or I am going to make a fool of myself today."
He walked to his dresser and opened a large wooden music box. A small, midnight-blue velvet box was the only item inside. Erik withdrew the box and closed the lid of the larger box. Carefully grasping the box in his hands, he pried it open. A flash of yellow gold and a sparkle of blue fire caught his eye. He sadly smiled. Inside the box were his mother's betrothal ring and her wedding band. She had told him to give them to the woman he loved. That had been four years ago.
"It was as if she knew what was coming …."
His mother had died less than a month after giving him the rings. She had caught a slight head cold. Erik, through a simple coincidence, had been staying with her for a long overdue visit. He wanted to fetch the doctor, but she would not hear of it. By the time he left a week later, she seemed to be on the mend. He had stopped to visit Raoul and Phillipe at their estate in the country before returning to Paris. He had stayed with them five days. When he arrived home, Elaine had met him at the door and handed him a telegram. The note was brief. Two days after he parted from her, she took a turn for the worse. She had developed pneumonia. By the time he arrived home, it had been thirteen days since they parted. However, his mother had already made her final departure two days earlier. She was gone and he was alone.
"I was fortunate to have you, mother. I will never know where you found the courage or the love in your heart that night, but I thank you. You gave me a life. If there is a heaven, you deserve to be there for giving me the life you did. I love you and I miss you, mother. I think about you each and every single day. You always told me I would find her. Yet, I never believed you. Well, I must eat humble pie now, as I found her. I finally found her, the woman I am going to marry. I plan on asking her to marry me today. Mother, could you put in a good word for me, please? You know I was never one for praying, but if there ever was a more perfect moment to begin, I cannot begin to think what it could be. This definitely is an excellent time to start! And now …."
He opened his bedroom door and called loudly.
"Elaine! Elaine! I require your assistance! Elaine!"
♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥
Amazingly, Erik found himself perched upon a rather comfortable seat inside a lovely brougham, which sat in front of the Opera Populaire at 11:45 a.m. He now held an internal debate with himself over where it would be proper for him to wait for her. After much hemming and hawing, Erik decided that the front door of Madame Giry's flat would be the proper thing to do and the safest bet. He wished that Raoul had been more forthcoming the night before with advice. He had no idea what he should do, but Raoul had been strangely reticent. He seemed distant and preoccupied, and Erik thought it best to leave him to his thoughts.
"Now that I think upon it, his behavior was quite odd. I must remember to call upon him this evening and inquire as to his health. And, if everything goes well today, I can announce my engagement. Well, enough procrastinating. It would be bad form to arrive late."
The man hopped out of the carriage and made his way through the deserted opera house to the Giry's living quarters.
♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥
The couple sat somewhat awkwardly next to one another in the brougham. Due to his intended proposal, Erik decided to dress in the more formal morning dress, rather than wear the slightly less formal and more comfortable stroller coat. He wore a black, single-breasted coat, which met in the middle with a single button and curved away to a pair of tails in the back. His black waistcoat matched his coat. He forsook wearing a long tie as he despised them and opted to wear a charcoal grey cravat instead. He wore a white shirt with a winged collar and double-cuffs. His formal striped trousers were black and charcoal grey and held up by a pair of braces. On his hands, he wore a pair of black kid leather gloves and on his feet were a pair of black, Oxford boots with punching across the toe caps. His head was bare as his deformity made wearing the stiffly formed top hat difficult at best. He thought that his appearance was presentable and he hoped Christine thought he looked passable.
On the other hand, Erik thought Christine looked stunning. She wore a simple off-white, day dress of pale blue-striped washing silk. The square-cut bodice and three-quarter length sleeves were hand-smocked. The front-panel draping had a seamed waist, edged with pastel blue. The dress draped into a small bustle and did not have a train. Erik noticed when she stepped up into the carriage that an elegant pair of sky blue, ankle-high boots encased her tiny feet. Her head was bare and she wore her hair pulled up into a loose chignon, but a few tendrils of her curls had escaped and entranced Erik as they bounced atop her shoulders and back when she walked. She carried a frilly, bright blue lace parasol to protect her from the sun. On her face, she wore just a light dusting of powder and blush, nothing more. Erik admired her grace and sense of style. He smiled.
"She is perfect."
The coachman's call interrupted his thoughts, informing them of their arrival at the garden. Erik scooped up the basket containing their lunch and alighted from the carriage. He quickly turned and offered his hand to assist Christine from the carriage. She blinked rapidly as her eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight. Erik paid the coachman and then smiled at Christine, offering her his arm. She returned his smile and entwined her arm around his. The awkward silence fell away as the two entered the garden at le Musée du Luxembourg. They strolled past l'Orangerie, slowly making their way to the main octagon pond and the former Luxembourg Palace, which now housed the Senate. They admired the numerous statues, the lushness of the palm trees and the wide variety of flowering plants. They made small talk, commenting on the architecture, art and the fountains. Erik was surprised to discover that while Christine had never received any formal schooling, she was quite conversant in several studies. The opera house had a large library and Christine had made use of her spare time by reading extensively on a wide range of subjects. Her favorites being mathematics and musical composition. When he expressed his surprise, her response astounded him.
"Well, Monsieur, one cannot have music without mathematics and as music consumes my soul, so therefore, must mathematics."
As Christine spoke those words, Erik felt his fate decided. Never had he been so attracted to a woman in both body and mind. He replied.
"Yes, Mademoiselle, but it is a rare mind that is able to grasp what spills so easily from your lips."
Her face became deeply blushed, but Erik noticed that her smile broadened considerably.
With each step they took, it seemed the pair became more and more comfortable with one another. All the while, Erik directed their walk towards la grotte du Luxembourg and la Fountaine Médicis, which was the place he planned for them to eat their picnic lunch and hoped to find the courage to make his proposal.
At last, they arrived at the tree-lined, rectangular basin pond of the fountain. Christine gasped at the beauty of the place.
"I had no idea this place existed and I have lived in Paris for 12 years now."
Erik felt himself grinning.
"Yes, unless you come here often and explore it thoroughly, you would never know it exists. It is Sunday and, yet, as you can see, it is deserted. Come."
He led her to the end of the grotto, next to the central niche of the fountain. He swept his hand towards a small bench and Christine released his arm gracefully to take a seat on it.
Erik placed the basket on the grass near Christine's feet. Opening the lid, he reached inside and pulled out a soft, brown blanket. He shook it and spread it upon the ground then removed a varied assortment of delicacies from the basket. He spread them along one edge of the blanket and then turned to Christine, holding out his hand with a smile.
"Would you care to join me, Mademoiselle?"
"Oui, Monsieur."
They settled themselves on the blanket and Erik served Christine a luncheon of cold mince pie, cheese, bread and strawberries. Erik felt that with each passing moment, this woman won more and more of his heart. He enjoyed her unaffected speech. She did not simper or demur to his comments, but told him her sincere opinion on whatever matter they were discussing. If she were not familiar with a topic, she showed no embarrassment. She would tell him that she did not know and would ask him to explain or would tell him she had no interest in the matter. He found her honesty entirely refreshing, but the trait he most adored was her total disregard of his birth defect. Twice, he had caught her staring at him, but each time she had been looking at his hands, not his face. He found that extremely curious and strangely exciting; especially as both times, she had blushed furiously when he surprised her.
He lifted a bottle of red wine from the basket and asked.
"Would you care for a glass, Mademoiselle?"
"Oh, yes! Please! The cheese is wonderful, but very salty. I am quite thirsty."
He poured them each a glass. Lifting his eyebrow, he inquired.
"May I propose a toast?"
"Of course, Monsieur."
"Please, call me Erik."
"Only if you will call me Christine."
"Very well, Christine."
They stared smiling at one another for a moment, before Erik blinked and cleared his throat. He lifted his glass and gazing deeply into Christine's eyes, he spoke in a husky voice.
"Then, Christine, let us drink to love. Love, may it be forever joyous and blissful. Love, may it never be cruel or tragic as it was for Acis and Galatea. Love, may it always be returned tenfold. Love, may it never be unrequited as it was for Polyphemus."
They touched their cups together with a clink. They sipped their wine quietly then Christine lowered her glass.
"Well, Erik. Obviously, I will drink to love, but who are Acis, Galatea and Polyphemus?"
He smirked slightly at her curiosity, pleased that his toast evoked the intended reaction from Christine.
"See the two white marble statues there in the center of the fountain?"
She nodded.
"Those two are Acis and Galatea. The bronze statue above them is the Cyclops Polyphemus. Would you like to hear their story?"
"Oh, yes! I love stories! My Papa used to tell me stories of Sweden when I was a little girl and I have missed that so very much!"
Erik grinned.
"Ah, yes. Tales of the dark North, little Lotté and the Angel of Music."
"How did you know?" She began and then her eyes widened. "Oh! That Raoul! I shall have to give him such a tongue lashing the next time I see him. I cannot believe he told people about our secret story times with my father!"
"Oh, Christine. Do not be too hard on Raoul. He always spoke of those times with the greatest affection. He never belittled you, although he sometimes became rather tiresome with how often he would tell the same story."
The two shared a comfortable laugh, the man's rich tenor and the woman's light soprano voices blended as music, which ended abruptly as they both noticed how strangely beautiful their joined laughter sounded. In order to bridge the sudden silence, Erik spoke.
"So, would you like me to tell you their tale?"
He nodded towards the three statues in the fountain.
Christine's smile returned and she nodded happily.
"Oh, yes! Please do, Erik."
"Very well. Well, let me think. In his book, Metamorphoses, the Greek writer, Ovid, tells the tale of the Cyclops Polyphemus, the Nereid Galatea and Acis, a beautiful Sicilian shepherd. Galatea, a sea-nymph whose name means "she who is milk-white" loved Acis, the son of Faunus and the nymph Symaethis, but Acis had a rival for the affections of Galatea. The Cyclops, Polyphemus, the one-eyed son of Poseidon, god of the sea, and Thoösa, a nymph, loved Galatea. Unfortunately, for Polyphemus, Galatea did not return his affections. Galatea and Acis fell deeply in love, but due to the envious Polyphemus, they kept their love a secret. One day, the jealous Polyphemus followed Galatea to a secluded grotto where she and Acis had arranged to meet. He had caught them in a lover's tryst. Furious, Polyphemus climbed the cliff behind the grotto in order to spy upon the two. After listening to their words of love and witnessing their passionate embraces, he became enraged, lifted a boulder, cast it down upon Acis, crushing him beneath it and killing him. Wildly distraught and inconsolable over his death, Galatea metamorphosed the blood of Acis into a river bearing his name. The Acis or Acinius River flows past the town of Akion near Mount Etna in Sicily."
Christine's face had grown sad as Erik told her the tale. At its conclusion, she leaned her head against Erik's shoulder and sighed.
"I will never understand why writers feel the need to end stories with a sad or tragic ending. If Galatea had told Polyphemus she could not love him, perhaps, the story would have ended better. I do not understand women who do not know their own minds, but …."
Still leaning against his shoulder, she lifted her head to look into his eyes.
"Now I know the story that this fountain tells. Thank you, Erik."
Erik found he could scarcely breathe as he looked down into her eyes and savored the feel of her pressed against his chest. He wrapped his arms about her waist, her eyes closed, her chin lifted slightly and he felt an irresistible pull downwards. He lowered his lips to hers and kissed her. Her lips tasted of the wine and she smelled of honeysuckle and jasmine. The combination felt intoxicating and he drew her closer to him. He felt her lips part slightly under his and a small groan escaped his mouth. He slowly broke their kiss and pulled back, but did not release her from his arms.
They sat locked in their silent and blissful embrace, gazing into each other's eyes. Erik took Christine's mouth in another heated kiss, which quickly deepened. Their mutual moans of passion brought Erik back to his senses. He gradually and gently released Christine from the caress of his lips on hers. He looked deeply into her eyes and realized that she looked at him in the same manner. He brushed a curl from her face, but still did not release her.
"Christine?"
"Yes, Erik."
"Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"
Author's Note: Okay, you can all let me know what you think. Should Christine say: yes, no, maybe or I don't know? Please read, review and let me know! --ny