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When Marianne comes over today, Karl is with her. She sits and talks to me for a few hours, until Karl insists they go. Looking troubled, she agrees and sets off to leave.

I follow them.

Perhaps it is Erik rubbing off on me, or maybe I am really just so curious—and so sure that they're going to talk about me.

Marianne whines, "Karl, there was no need to drag me off like that."

He responds in Swedish, and she looks disdainful. They turn down the hill, so I follow their retreating backs.

"Christine said once that he was deformed… maybe an accident." Marianne replies softly. "It is not for us to judge."

Karl's tone is superior.

"You're right." she replies, and I wish more than anything that I could understand what her husband had said.

He speaks again, and this time his words are much faster, and he uses his hands to gesture. Marianne interrupts, saying, "Perhaps he didn't mean to be." But Karl shakes his head, and she briefly touches his arm.

She murmurs in Swedish, and then closes with, "It is not for us to judge. You are right… he was frightening in many ways. It was hardly his face that scared us, I would say. His manner… his way of moving... very unsettling, I agree." She shivers. "And Christine… but I will not question my friend. I am only sad to be leaving her alone… with him. Does he frighten her as well?"

I follow them for a few more minutes, but they walk in silence. She links her arm around his, and they walk at a patient pace, husband and wife together in their musings.

I have no need to be jealous of their… what would be the correct word? Happiness? No, Erik and I were happy. Love? No, Erik loved me and I loved him. Perhaps… Serenity. Yes, I envied their serenity.

Although it has not snowed for a few weeks, February still has its cold moments, and a gust of wind reminds me that I should be getting home before I catch a chill… oh, how terrible that would be indeed? Would Erik care for me now?

Oh yes, Erik. Say what you like, but I am not doubting you. I am simply expressing my concern that you, the man who loves me more than anything else put together in this world, has locked himself in his study for the past five days.

And Erik, I heard you one night, up and about downstairs while you thought I was asleep. So that means you are not punishing yourself, not wallowing in misery, not locking yourself up because that's what you do. No, you are hiding from me, dearest, and you are doing a very good job.

But not tonight, Erik! I shall demand you come out, and you will, because I know your weaknesses, and I will use them.

You know I cannot bear to be away from you, and yet you have committed that act.

I know you cannot bear my tears, my pleadings, and my little moment that I have been thinking about for the last week, which I will spring on you at the right moment. Oh yes, Erik, you have made me into a clever young woman.

I snort. I have been having a conversation, in my head, with my husband!

Reigning in my sanity, I reach my beloved cottage and push open the door with confidence. Half of me hopes that Erik may be out by now, might have been lured away from his hiding spot by Mari and Karl; I search thoroughly, but the study door is locked, and he's in there.

I have thus avoided him, as he has been doing to me. With a twisted feeling in my stomach, I wonder if maybe he has been waiting for me to come to him. Sometimes, when Erik is in his bold moments of power, I forget how fragile he is on the inside. I also haven't checked to make sure he's eating… what if he's gotten sick or hurt all alone in there? I wouldn't know.

I pound on the door. "Erik?"

I try to have confidence in my voice, as well as a careful familiarity, but I fail when I hear my voice squeak. "Erik, I want to talk to you."

His voice is unbearably calm and steady. "Oh, do you?"

Surprised that he's answered, as well as encouraged, I say, "Yes, I do. You've been in there a long time. Don't you think it's time to come out now?"

"No, I don't think so." he replies.

Ah, his voice is so smooth, so disguised! I wonder what he is really like in there, hysterical, probably without his mask, maybe slumped on the floor in misery, maybe pacing with fury. But none of that matters when he speaks, for his voice can channel any emotion he desires.

"You're sulking." I say.

He is silent. I know he agrees.

"Are you mad at me, or yourself?"

I can hear him exhale. "Careful…"

Unsure if he is talking to himself or me, I continue with, "Everything was fine one day, and then you decided to be all angry! You purposely scared my friends, when they were very nice to you, nicer than you had to be expecting, admit it—then you come home and start yelling at me for no definable reason, and then start making ridiculous claims that you refuse to justify, and then lock yourself in your study for several days! Really, Erik, that's not decent marital behavior at all. I've had no one to talk to, no one to sing with, and no one in bed with me at night. It's all rather… un-chivalrous of you. You have been acting very melancholy and rather… childish, I must say, and I have decided that I want you to stop at once and come back and live with me like a normal human being again."

I can hear movement in the room. He says quietly, "Well, when you put it that way, my love… it really was not so unexpected."

Confused, I say, "How do you mean?"

His voice sounds far away. "Your voice brings me back." he says slowly. "It is so nice, so comforting, when you bring me back. Only you can, you know… I cannot myself."

I do hate it when he speaks so strangely. I hesitate, and say, "Do you know what tomorrow is."

He seems to think for a moment. I try not to be hurt. I wondered if he would have this date memorized. "No." he finally replies.

I rock back and forth on my heels. "Tomorrow is our anniversary."

His tone is blank. "Our… anniversary?"

I foolishly nod to the door. "It is the day we—we married."

I taste the new silence, trying to detect his emotions, but it's quite impossible with him in a different room. "Erik, will you please open this door?"

"It is unlocked."

It wasn't eight seconds ago, but when I push on the heavy handle, the door falls open with ease.

He's sitting at the piano, and he turns his face towards me, looking expectant. "Come sit by me."

I do so. I hadn't really expected him to still be so angry, not five days later, but I hadn't expected him to be quite so welcoming either. I had to stop expecting things with Erik; he always surprised me! Why did I even bother?

He looks ahead, not at me. "You know the date?"

"I think so." I say. "I had to count back the days with the calendar you gave me, but I did it several times, and I know I am right."

"How kind," he muses, "for my wife to remember our—wedding day."

I suddenly blush, for no real reason that I would share with Erik. I remember other dates as well: the day I first kissed him, the day he first willingly kissed me, the day which our wedding night really occurred…

"I just thought you should know." I mutter. " I thought it would make you come out, at least." My tactics have not worked, but in the end, they had really not been used.

He looks at me wistfully. "I was wrong to leave you alone for so long."

I smile weakly. "No matter." I lie.

He sees through my falsehood instantly, of course, and frowns. But he says nothing.

I wonder if I should bring this up, but I say, "What did I lie about?"

He winces, and looks down.

"Never mind!" I say desperately. "I—No need—do not tell me now, we'll—we'll talk about it later!"

He looks up briefly at my face. "Don't be distressed." he pleads soothingly. "You know by now, my anger… it… you know what it does to me."

"You're honest in your anger." I reply softly. "Even if it is untrue, you still believed it at the time. It was my fault, I should not have pushed you so towards Marianne—I thought it would be different this time, I thought you would see what I was trying to tell you, but I—"

"—did not know any better." he finishes, his finger pressing softly against my lips. I savor the sensation for a moment, until he drops it and smiles warily. "We'll talk later?"

It is a request from him, a chance for me to forgive him. I nod very slowly.

"Good." he says, and he suddenly looks very tired. I wonder how much he's slept in here… probably not very much.

But he has composed a new piece, I can see. I look it over, and he watches me, as I study the chords and time signature. He has no poem to it yet, but he has simple vocal instructions written over held notes and vowel sounds over rests.

I point at it unnecessarily. "Could we sing this tomorrow?"

He fingers it delicately. "If it pleases you."

I take his hands. "Tomorrow, then." I agree.

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