September 9th 1892: Erik
"And this… is Box Five." I opened the door with an exaggerated gesture and entered the box after my little pupil. A satisfied smile appeared on my face as he looked around everywhere. When he had first come to me he had always asked politely before doing so. But by now he had understood that I supported his curiosity. Unlike most people, I thought it a very positive character trait. Yet Philippe also knew his limits. He'd have never touched an object in my study without my permission. That sensibility couldn't often be found in a boy of his age. It was the combination of the two that made me glad he had a good teacher. With a bad one the balance could have easily got lost.
Philippe's delighted call interrupted my musings. "I can see the whole stage!" "That's the point of being here," I explained, suppressing a chuckle about his enthusiasm. It had been just the right time for the first big tour through the opera. "People pay a lot of money for sitting in the boxes. They are far more comfortable than the rest of the auditorium. You have more freedom for your legs… and an excellent view on stage, although you'd be surprised about how many people think the former to be more important."
He sat down at once, stretching out his little legs. "You were right, Uncle Erik. Yet now I can hardly see a thing anymore," he then complained, craning his neck. "That's because unfortunately this place isn't meant to be visited by children. I'm always alone here, you know. Tonight there'll be an additional cushion for you to sit on," I promised. "Tonight?" he echoed, glancing up at me in surprise. I nodded. "It won't be an actual performance, just a dress rehearsal, which means that everyone will sing and dance while wearing his or her costume. And we will watch."
"But surely Maman will be worried if I'm not home for dinner," he argued, looking from me to the stage and back. It was clear that he'd rather have attended the rehearsal. It was far more interesting than eating dinner. Yet I could also understand his concern about his mother. I had already answered countless questions about whether she was truly all right and about what had made her run away, and I wondered if Christine knew what a chaos her irrational behaviour had caused in the sensitive boy. "If things work out the way I want, that won't be a problem," I replied, trying to sound casual rather than worried. I had sent a message to Christine in the morning, and it was early afternoon now. Why did she let me wait for the answer for such a long time?
Looking at me wide-eyed he asked: "What things? What did you do? Has it something to do with Maman?". He seemed almost anxious, and I cursed myself for having mentioned it in the first place. It hadn't been my intention to make him distraught. Yet now that I had started, I had to continue explaining. I couldn't leave him in the dark with his fears. "I asked your mother in a letter whether it would be possible for you to stay with me for a little while," I answered. "Tonight's dress rehearsal will be the basis for a lot of work for the two of us. Besides, I thought you might like being with me." Only now it occurred to me that maybe I should have asked him before sending the message to Christine.
Yet to my relief he apparently was fond if the idea indeed. "I like helping you. It's nice," he stated. "But has Maman already said yes?" "Not yet," I replied. "She surely has to discuss it with your father first." The expression on my face grew very serious as I imagined such a conversation. I was aware that he was the main obstacle. Christine might have been reluctant to let her son stay with me, but I was confident she'd agree in the end, if only because of her guilty conscience. Her husband, however, was a completely different matter. I could hardly think of a way in which he'd approve of my wish.
Philippe obviously sensed my discomfort, for he didn't say anything about the subject. It was so quiet that a knock at the door of the box made both of us jump slightly. I approached it quickly, curious to see who it was. Usually no one dared disturb me in Box Five… at least not twice. Perhaps somebody had to be taught a lesson. At once my hand wandered under my cloak and pulled out the Punjab Lasso.
I opened the door inch by inch and came face to face with none other than Mme.Giry. "Oh, do put that thing away!" she said in an annoyed voice. If she had been a less respectful person than she was, she'd have probably rolled her eyes. Quickly I tucked away the Lasso, feeling a bit stupid. "What brings you here, Madame?" I asked. "Do the managers want to talk to me again? Tell them I don't have time for their childish complaints now – Philippe is with me." I gestured at the chair from which he was just standing up.
"Bonjour Madame," he greeted the ballet teacher, making a little bow. I smiled, very content with his manners. "Bonjour Philippe," she said. "At first I didn't even notice you were there. Those chairs have a rather high back. Maybe you should think about getting another one… But that's not why I'm here. I have a message for you, Erik, and it's not from the managers. A boy delivered it to the opera, yet he wasn't sure where to put it, so I offered to take it to you. Well, I was on stage and saw you in Box Five. That's why I've come here."
I threw her a suspicious glance. It wasn't like Mme.Giry to do deliveries. I assumed that she had wanted to find out how I was doing after my outburst last night. If it had been possible, she'd have perhaps even questioned Philippe. Yet the moment I spotted the handwriting on the envelope all those things grew unimportant. "Thank you very much," I muttered, snatching the letter out of her hand. "Goodbye." With these words I closed the door again.
"That wasn't polite, Uncle Erik," the boy remarked. "It's not nice to shut the door into someone's face." Most people wouldn't have survived such a reprimand. Yet turning around and looking into his honest blue eyes I realised something: I was no longer alone with him. As soon as we were surrounded by others he inevitably started drawing parallels to the life with his family. I'd have to pay even more attention to my behaviour than I had done before. Otherwise I might spoil his manners. I would have expected that thought to make me angry, for I didn't like being controlled. But it made me strangely happy. It was a good kind of responsibility. "You're right," I told him. "Sometimes other things just appear more important than politeness for a moment. You see, this is your mother's reply."
Without further ado I sat down on the nearest chair and opened the envelope. I didn't mind Philippe standing next to me and looking at the letter while I was reading. His own ability to do so still left a lot to be desired. But then, that was normal after just a few weeks´ practice. Besides, even if his skills had been better, he probably wouldn't have been able to read Christine's fancy writing.
With every line my heart grew lighter. So she had persuaded the Vicomte after all. Sure, the holiday was a catch, but at the moment I was willing to overlook it. It had certainly been his condition for agreeing. "What does she write?" Philippe asked excitedly. "She allows you to stay here," I answered. "In fact, your father and she will use the time while you're not there to go on holiday. They'll be back in five days. Oh, and there's also a postscript – That is the last paragraph here, see? – addressed to you. It says that if you miss your home a lot, you can come and stay with Jacqueline and Antoinette till your parents are back."
He shook his head, making the blond curls fly. "I'd rather be with you," he told me. "I don't even like being alone with them for an afternoon. They talk about boring things all the time and only play what Antoinette wants. She says that Jacqueline is her maid and not mine, so she can decide about everything." Giving a little sigh he admitted: "I miss Marielle. She was always there when I needed her.".
"Now I'm there for you," I reminded him gently. "I promise that I'll take good care of you till your parents´ return… and afterwards as well, of course." "I know," he whispered. "I love you, Uncle Erik." Before knew what was happening, he had pressed a brief kiss to my left cheek. "Are you going to show me all the other rooms now?" he then asked, as if he had done nothing special. "Why don't you go outside and wait for me there? I'll be with you in a moment." I replied, and he followed my instructions. When he was gone, I took a deep breath. Since Philippe had become my pupil I had learned to explain many things; his thirst for knowledge made sure of it. Yet today I'd have failed. How should I have explained the tears in my eyes?