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Chapter Forty-Five

September 9th 1892: Erik

The concept of time had always fascinated me. Often it seemed to crawl, maybe because I spent so much of my days waiting for something to happen. Today, however, it was working in exactly the opposite direction: I hadn't even shown Philippe a third of the opera's many rooms when I looked on my pocket watch and realised we had to stop.

"I'm afraid we'll have to continue this another time," I said, earning a disappointed glance. "But I like it so much," the boy muttered. "Hidden doors, secret corridors – it's exciting." He brushed a little dust off his shoulder and shook his curls. We had just emerged from a passageway, and getting a bit dirty was natural. I was glad it didn't seem to bother him too much. It was impossible to avoid while walking my usual paths. Maybe I should consider purchasing a fedora like mine for him. It kept the dust out of my face. Besides, I was rather fond of the idea.

Looking into his shining eyes I nearly grew weak. I pulled myself together just in time to reply: "All these things will still be there tomorrow. But we have to go to the market and buy food before the stalls close. And afterwards we'll fetch a few things from your home. We can't let you wear the same clothes for five days, can we?". "Oh… all right," he agreed, taking my hand. "We can go."

We weren't far away from the entrance hall, so it only took us a few minutes till we left the building behind us. Two or three of the opera's coaches were always standing in the street, waiting for someone to use them. I approached the first one quickly. There was no time to lose; the sooner we got away, the sooner we'd be back. "Good afternoon," I said to the coachman, who appeared to be sleeping with his eyes open. "My little companion and I would like to go to the market. Can you take us there?"

The man turned his head slowly. The bored expression on his face turned into one of panic as he realised who his future passenger was. "O-of course, M. le Fantome! Of course…" he muttered, leaving the coachbox with amazing speed and pulling open the door. "Take a seat, please!" I helped Philippe over the high steps and sat down next to him. Just a moment later the ride began.

"That man is strange," the boy told me in a whisper. "He acts as if… as if he were afraid of you." "Yes, well…" I murmured, not at all sure what to say. The truthful answer would have been that all coachmen behaved like that since one of them, who had been unfriendly to me, had woken up the next day to find his coach burned down and his horse cantering down the street. But that was a story Philippe was a little too young for. I was glad that we reached the market in this moment. "I'll explain it later," I said hastily.

Having told the coachman he should wait for us I left the coach and helped the boy out as well. I took a deep breath and pulled the brim of my hat into my face. Outside the opera it was difficult for me to maintain my calm self-confidence. It was one thing to lurk in the shadows and watch others, but here I'd face many people at the same time. I hadn't done so for quite a while. Usually I had food delivered to the opera, and many other things could easily be bought at night if one knew the right places. But such a market in broad daylight… As much as I hated to admit it, I was frightened.

"Uncle Erik… you're hurting me," Philippe complained in a low voice. Glancing down I noticed that my grip around his hand had grown much too strong. Smiling apologetically I loosened it. "I don't like being around other people," I said softly. "And they don't like me either." "But why not?" he asked. "You're so nice." For the third time on this day I was lost for words. I was saved having to answer by the first stalls coming into earshot. "Later," I whispered once again.

We spent barely an hour on the market, yet to me it felt like days. All people treated me with the same hectic friendliness. Other customers were pushed aside, as if letting me wait would sentence all of them to death. All in all I felt as if I weren't a human being, but a barrel of gun powder ready to explode any second. The worst thing about it were the sympathetic glances at Philippe. A few men even seemed to think I had abducted him; my excellent hearing enabled me to listen to their whispered conversation.

Putting the bags with fruit and vegetables, meat and bread, butter and milk into the coach I couldn't help giving a sigh of relief. Hopefully the visit to Christine's house would be more pleasant. If only she and her husband were already gone! In the letter it had said they'd leave today, but what if she had meant the evening? I didn't want to see her. It would have been a lie to claim I was feeling wonderful at the moment, yet at least I had the impression that life could go on like this. Meeting Christine would have meant talking to her, possibly hurting her feelings or mine. I simply wasn't ready to come face to face with her.

The ride was short and silent, for each of us seemed to be busy with his own thoughts. A minute or two after it had begun I noticed Philippe was dozing. The little sleep he had had the previous night was taking its toll. As we stopped in front of the right house, I was glad to see no other coach was here. It had been one of my secret fears that we might arrive and watch them packing, a happy couple on the way to a holiday just for the two of them. The thought made me slightly sick. Fortunately I didn't have to endure that sight.

The door was opened just a few seconds after I had knocked. "Oh, it is you, Monsieur, Jacqueline greeted me, curtseying. "I'm afraid to tell you that Madame has already departed." "Very good," I said shortly, trying to ignore her surprised glance. "I've come here to get some clothes for the boy. I guess you know he'll stay with me till his parents come back." "Of course," she muttered. "Madame told me about it when she asked me to care for Antoinette. But where is Philippe?" "In the coach," I replied. "He has fallen asleep, and I didn't want to wake him up."

She nodded and took a step backwards. I regarded it as an invitation and entered the house. "Would you like to drink a cup of tea while I fetch his things?" she asked. "I'd just have to make it first. It's the cook's afternoon off, and Jacques isn't here either. Antoinette is still at her teacher's house. We're… all alone." The next moment she clapped a hand over her mouth and stared at me in horror, as if she had just revealed a terrible secret. She walked a few more steps backwards, and I realised that she didn't want to turn her back on me.

I sighed deeply. If I had ever forgotten why I didn't leave the opera more often, the past few hours would have reminded me of the reasons. "Have I ever harmed you in any way, Jacqueline?" I wanted to know. "Or have I done something to your sister? Has Philippe complained about me?" "N-no," she admitted, looking down at the floor. "You've always been friendly to me, and my sister has never even seen you. And the boy… he likes you anyway. It's just… all those rumours one hears at the opera… Clarille tells me about them…"

"I do not want to hear them," I said firmly. "Just keep in mind that without me your sister wouldn't be able to become a dancer." "Of course, Monsieur. We're very grateful for your generosity," she muttered. "Go and get the clothes now!" I ordered; her constantly bowed head made me suspect she'd start kissing my feet before long. "I'll wait here if my presence bothers you that much." I didn't have to repeat my request. The words had barely left my mouth when she was hurrying up the stairs.

She returned a few minutes later, carrying a small suitcase. "Tell Philippe he can always come here if he needs something," she murmured, still not daring to look at me. Nodding I took it out of her hand and made my way back to the coach. "Goodbye!" I called over my shoulder, but she had already closed the door. It was a good thing that I wasn't easily offended. I entered the coach quickly, longing to get home at last.

By the time we reached the opera Philippe had woken up again, but he was still a little sleepy. "I'll cook a wonderful dinner in my house," I promised, lifting him out of the coach. "And then we'll go to the dress rehearsal." "Oh yes," he said, smiling. He turned around and began to walk up the stairs to the entrance doors. I myself preferred the privacy of the Rue Scribe entrance, yet he liked this one better.

"Be careful! The steps can be slippery," I warned him, still busy unloading the coach. Philippe turned his head to face me… and bumped right into Donatella Marchesi. "Ragazzo stupido! Are you blind?" she called angrily. "Get out of my way!" Then she marched away, not even caring about the fact that they boy had nearly fallen down the stairs. I threw her a glance of pure hatred. She would pay for her insolence.