September 14th 1892: Raoul
If there was one thing to be said about the applause at the end of the performance, it would be that it wasn't very enthusiastic. In fact, some people only clapped their hands two or three times before jumping up from their seats and joining the steadily growing crowd moving to the doors. It was clear that all they wanted was finding out whether the entrance doors were indeed open now and leaving as quickly as possible.
In my opinion that was quite rude. All those people on stage deserved their praise, especially on a first night. I could see that some of the chorus girls appeared to be close to tears because of the lack of approval, and I imagined Christine standing among them, the expression on her face just as sad as theirs. Yet unfortunately I couldn't do anything but applaud harder myself and encourage the people in my box to so the same.
But there was a certain person who could do more. Just as the first people reached the doors leading out of the auditorium, they slammed shut, the sounds echoing from the walls. Naturally everyone looked at Box Five at once. It seemed that apart from us the Opera Ghost and Philippe were the only ones still sitting on their seats. While the boy appeared rather surprised, the Phantom looked angry.
"Do you really think your behaviour is appropriate for the opera?" he called. "You're very bad examples for my little heir. Do you want him to learn that it's good to leave as soon as the performance is over, without applauding properly? This is a first night, and everyone did… more or less well. Look at them! They deserve your applause."
Actually the singers and dancers on stage seemed to be frightened of the Opera Ghost rather than disappointed about the lack of enthusiasm from the audience now. Gradually the expressions on their faces changed as they understood that for once he was on their side. It occurred to me that apparently he was of the opinion that he could treat them as badly as he pleased, yet nobody else was allowed to do the same.
The people standing in front of the doors and between the rows of seats exchanged anxious and helpless glances. Some of them were shrugging. Obviously they didn't know what to do. But I did. I started clapping. Others joined in, and after just a minute the auditorium was filled with applause. Now the people on stage were beaming, bowing and curtseying and enjoying themselves.
Above all the noise I noticed the Phantom staring at me in bewilderment. He seemed completely confused about me supporting him. It was my turn to shrug. For once I shared his opinion. Yet frankly I doubted it would ever happen again. So he better shouldn't get used to it.
After a while the applause subsided. Apparently it had been enough for the Ghost's taste, for the doors opened again. This time, people were running out of the auditorium even more quickly than they had tried to before. The sight of a man making his way through the crowd with a massive amount of using his elbows and a couple of women yelling at each other for not getting out of the way made one forget this was a first night at the opera. It more resembled the market place on a Saturday morning… or so I had been told.
I exchanged a few brief glances of understanding with my wife and the maid, and we all nodded, silently agreeing to stay here till most people had left. This unfriendliness, sometimes close to open hostility, was nothing we felt like exposing ourselves to, especially not with Antoinette being with us. Her first evening at the opera shouldn't have such an unpleasant end.
"I think we can go now," Christine remarked a few minutes later, leaning forwards and peering over the balustrade.
"What about Philippe?" I wanted to know as I pulled out her handbag from under the chair and gave it to her. "Will he be brought to us or do we have to fetch him?"
"I guess they're already on their way," she replied, pointing at Box Five. It was indeed empty. I hadn't noticed when they had left their seats. But then, I hadn't paid attention to it. Watching the people in the auditorium had been much more interesting. It reminded me of the games Christine and I had played when going to the opera years ago, guessing what people's thoughts or professions were.
I had just turned around to ask my wife whether she still remembered those things as well when there was a knock at the door. Obviously she had been right with her assumption that the Phantom would take our son here. As if we had practiced it before, all of us stood up to welcome Philippe. I was strangely excited about seeing him again. Despite the wonderful time I had had with Christine, I had missed him.
Narelle opened the door, and two people entered the box, a tall one and a small one. Apart from that fact, they were almost identical in their black clothes with cloaks and fedoras. Seen from such a short distance, their similarities were rather eerie. I could hardly wait for us to come home, so that I could put Philippe back into his normal clothing. It had been all right as a game, but now it was enough.
"Maman! Papa!" the boy called, running over to us. His mother took him into his arms at once, which left me to merely pat his head.
"Welcome back," I muttered.
After a few moments we let go of our son, and our daughter immediately seized the chance to push herself in the centre of attention. She hated feeling left out. Taking her brother by the arm she started hurling questions at him right away.
"So, what did you do all those days? Did you have to study a lot? What did you learn? Wasn't it boring to be with your teacher all the time?"
Philippe threw her an incredulous glance.
"Boring?" he repeated. "But no! Uncle Erik showed me so many interesting places here. He says I know more about the opera now than the stagehands will find out in all their lives. And he taught me a lot of things. He showed me what to put into the dancers' powder, so that their faces would become blue in the right light. And he…"
Our boy went on and on, his sister hanging on his every word. It was amazing. I was used to Antoinette being very talkative, yet Philippe usually wasn't like that, particularly in her presence. Too often he was living in her shadow. But today it was different. It wouldn't have surprised me if our daughter's eyes had turned green with envy. She'd have loved to be in his place.
"If he keeps talking like that, you'll soon have a second pupil," my wife addressed the Phantom, who had watched the scene with a stony expression on his face, or rather, the part of his face we could see.
Christine's voice had sounded deliberately cheerful, probably to improve his mood a little. Yet it didn't work. When she had opened her mouth, he had looked almost hopeful for a moment. But as she had only uttered a casual comment, he had grown serious again. It was clear that he had expected something entirely different, although I had no idea what.
He forced his lips into a thin smile.
"I think one pupil is enough for me," he said. "Your daughter is a lovely girl, but two children asking as many questions as Philippe would simply be too much."
Christine nodded, whereas I didn't do anything except watching the two of them. It was far more revealing than joining their superficial conversation, which now dealt with the progress our son had made in reading and writing.
There were strange new dynamics between my wife and that man. It wasn't in what they said, but in what they did not say. Combined with the meaningful glances they exchanged every now and then, those unspoken words made me very uneasy. Something had happened between them, and I didn't know what it could be. Of course my mind produced more than enough images, one more detailed and dreadful than the other. Yet I tried not to let myself be influenced by them.
Without one of them telling me, I couldn't find out what had happened, but I could at least determine the time. Maybe it would help me cope with my imagination to know whether they had had five minutes or an hour. Christine and I had been together since the time we had come back from our holiday. We had also been together during the opera, except… except for the second interval, when she had gone to the bathroom. At least I had assumed she had gone to the bathroom. Actually she had never said so. Could it be that they had met? There was but one way of being sure.
Of course I couldn't ask my wife now, with everyone listening. So I waited. I waited during their conversation and as we left the box. I didn't pay attention to the surely very touching farewell scene between our son and his teacher, for I was too keen on it to be over. I waited as we sat in the coach and rode home. I waited till I had bid goodnight to our children and Jacqueline and had persuaded Christine to take a drink with me in the living room before going to bed.
It was only then that I finally let out the feelings that had threatened to suffocate me all the time.
"Christine," I started, trying to suppress the trembling in my voice. "I know something happened between you and… and him in the second interval. I want you to tell me what it was."
With a certain satisfaction I watched the colour drain from her face.