September 8th 1892: Christine
As I hurried up the corridor leading away from the room Mme.Giry was still in I always had to think about the decision she wanted me to make. I had to find out what I felt for Erik or leave the opera forever. Walking past door after door, then around a corner I looked around. It was a nice place, actually. In fact, I could even imagine coming here every now and then with my family to attend a performance. Maybe on a day when that dreadful diva didn´t sing…
Yet the price for it was high, very high. What if my soul would come up with a result I didn´t like? Would I have to talk to Erik? And what about Raoul? No matter what I did, one of them would be disappointed. Unless… unless I didn´t do anything. Suddenly I was completely calm again. Yes, that was the solution. If I didn´t decide, nobody would be hurt.
Just as I had come to this wonderfully simple conclusion I noticed two people approaching me. It was quite dark in the corridor, yet I knew who they were at once. "Now I´ll show you the room in which all costumes and wigs and things like that are kept. It´s not far away from here. Usually visitors aren´t allowed to go in there, but I think we can make an exception for you. After all, you want to work here as well someday, don´t you?" "Yes, I want to become the prima ballerina, just like you!"
Only now I interrupted their conversation. "Antoinette! Meg!", I called, stepping into the light, so that they´d see me. "Hello Maman!", my daughter said, letting go of Meg´s hand and walking over to take mine. I was reminded of Mme.Giry and squeezed it tightly. "You startled us.", my friend complained, but she was smiling. "Why are you here? I thought you were talking to my mother on the stage."
I didn´t know what to tell her. On the one hand I longed for someone who´d comfort me, but on the other hand I sensed that the time for a friendly conversation and good advice was over. I had decided that I wouldn´t decide anything, and I didn´t feel like justifying myself. So I replied: "We´re finished now, and I went looking for Antoinette. We´ll have to meet Philippe soon.". "But it´s only half past five.", my friend argued. "There´s still plenty of time."
"I want to go now.", I said simply. "Goodbye Meg!" With these words I led my surprised daughter away. I heard footsteps in the corridor and was sure Mme.Giry would be here any second. She´d certainly tell Meg everything, but in this moment I couldn´t have cared less. All I wanted was get away from here as soon as possible without seeing that look of pity in anyone´s eyes.
I was marching so quickly that Antoinette could hardly keep pace with me. At least she was too busy walking to protest against the unfriendly treatment. I knew I should have stopped and explained everything to her instead of dragging her along like a dog, but I couldn´t. After all, I hardly understood it myself, so how could I have explained it to a child? Besides, it was much too private to talk about it, even to my own daughter.
After a little while we reached the Rue Scribe entrance and started waiting. Meg had been right: It was too soon. Philippe was nowhere in sight. As there was nothing to sit on we leaned against the wall. I tried my best not to think about anything in particular, especially the fact that I´d never see the inside of this opera again. Coming back would have meant making a decision. So I wouldn´t come back. It truly was the easiest solution.
"May I ask you something?", Antoinette muttered, just when I had hoped this peaceful silence would last forever. "Of course.", I answered, though I felt like saying ´Of course not!´. "How many people can a person love at the same time?" This question came as a surprise. Looking at my daughter I asked: "Why do you want to know that?". "How many people do you love?", she went on, ignoring what I had said.
It occurred to me that I could be glad she wasn´t interested in why we had left Meg that quickly. Moreover, we still had a lot of time, so we could as well have this conversation right now. "There are different kinds of love.", I said. "The love I feel for your Papa is different from that I feel for your brother and you. And there´s a third kind for my friends." I gave her a gentle smile, not sure whether this was enough to satisfy her curiosity.
It was not. "And which kind of love it is Uncle Erik feels for you?", she asked. For a moment I stared at her open-mouthed. If I had been able to think more quickly, I´d have replied ´The friendship kind.´ and the topic would have been finished. Yet my mind seemed to be in a state of shock. I could only whisper: "Who told you that Erik loves me?". It couldn´t have been Meg, could it? But who else had my daughter talked to?
"Well, I… I read it in that letter he gave you.", she admitted in a small voice. "I found it on the floor in your bedroom and I… I only wanted to find out why you´ve been acting all strangely in the last days." Quickly I decided to discuss the least important part first. Then I´d still have time to think about her initial question. "You know that it´s wrong to read other people´s letters, don´t you?", I said sternly, trying to hide my confusion. Antoinette nodded hastily. "Yes, but… but I didn´t understand half of it anyway.", she argued. "And I didn´t show it to anyone." A brief image of Jacques and Larisse reading the letter flashed before my mind´s eye, and I blushed. That would have been unbelievably humiliating.
My daughter glanced up at me, a slight spark of hope in her eyes. "I´ll never do it again.", she promised. "But Maman… can´t you explain to me what´s wrong with you? It has to do with Uncle Erik, hasn´t it?" It was an entirely new experience to see her approach a topic that cautiously. Maybe she really deserved a little honesty this time. At least I could be sure she wouldn´t judge me.
"It is a very long story.", I started, moving slightly in a fruitless attempt to find a more comfortable position to stand in. "Many years ago I worked here in this opera as a chorus girl. Meg already was my best friend, and your Aunt Antoinette was our teacher. Then I got to know Uncle Erik, who promised to make me an excellent singer. Well, he managed to do that, but some time later I found out that he loved me… the way your Papa, who was my fiancé at that time, loves me."
At this point I had to stop for a few moments, thinking about how to put our complicated relationship into the right words. Finally I said: "Naturally your Papa and Uncle Erik didn´t get along very well. One day they had a big argument, and your father and I ended up leaving Erik alone.". "And still he loves you?", Antoinette asked, frowning. "Wasn´t he very angry at you?" I gave a little shrug. "I don´t know.", I said honestly.
Silence followed my statement. I stared into the direction from which Philippe had to come soon, wishing I had a watch to check the time on. As I glanced down at my daughter again I noticed she was chewing on her bottom lip, like she always did when something was worrying her. "What´s the matter, dear?", I wanted to know softly. "Maman, you don´t… love Uncle Erik the way he does, do you?", she blurted out. I could see the fear in her eyes and instantly felt the urge to comfort her. "The only person I love that way is your Papa.", I assured her. This time I didn´t even know myself whether I was lying.
"Then you should tell Uncle Erik.", she said. "That letter… I didn´t understand much of it, but somehow it made me sad. Perhaps Uncle Erik would feel better if you told him what a great friend he is for you." I sighed deeply. My nine-year-old daughter was giving me advice? Was the whole world conspiring against me now? I felt as if the pressure I was under had just doubled. If I didn´t find a release soon, things could end badly. "Why don´t you all just leave me in peace?" The cry had poured from my lips before I could hold myself back. I pulled open the door and left the opera at a run. "I just need to be alone…", I muttered. "Alone… alone…"