September 17th 1892: Erik
Orpheus was sitting on his perch in a corner of Christine's room. Or was it Philippe's room now? After all, he had slept in it when he had stayed with me. But the copies of Christine's dresses were still in there as well. So the room probably belonged to both of them. Yet the bird only belonged to the boy. It had been a present for him, even though he hadn't played with it since the first time I had made it sing.
I hadn't started teaching him that trick yet. It was too early. Ventriloquism was a very useful tool for a future Opera Ghost, but learning it was a long and difficult process, and I didn't want him to be disappointed because it didn't work for him. Besides, I couldn't teach him everything at once, or he'd grow confused and would end up knowing nothing properly.
The bird's pearly feathers shone in the candle light as I lit a lamp in the centre of the room. I heard the others gasp for breath and smiled. Even I, who had built this amazing machine and many more, was still astonished by its beauty. Every minute of working on it had been worth it.
"Shall we begin?" I asked.
Christine and Philippe nodded eagerly. They sat down next to each other on the bed, facing the bird, whereas I remained standing at its side. I took a deep breath.
"Would you like to sing for us, Orpheus?" I wanted to know. My arms were hidden by the bird's body, so no one saw me press a button. At once Orpheus sprang to life and nodded meekly.
The melody I now let stream out of its beak was a very cheerful one. This time I'd be careful and avoid the mistake I had made last time. I didn't want to make Christine sad or even depressed. Of course it was in the nature of music to influence people, but I only planned to influence her for the better. It had been so nice of her to say that she loved me. The things that had happened afterwards hadn't been her fault, and I wanted to make her forget them for a while.
At first it was working very well. The two persons on the bed were smiling, looking at each other or at Orpheus. It was one of the signs of a good illusion that they never looked at me. In their eyes, I had vanished, only to become a part of the bird, which was singing and singing without pause.
Yet I couldn't maintain the cheerful character of the song forever. It would have been too exhausting, like smiling all the time. Slowly, gradually, the song grew more serious. A certain melancholy made its way among the bright notes, slowing them down a little. The atmosphere in the room changed with it and became more sombre.
The effect on Philippe was instant: His eye lids grew heavy, and his head fell against his mother's shoulder. Without even noticing it, I had turned the song into a lullaby for him. That wasn't too bad, actually. He could do with a little rest. Yet which effect would the song have on Christine? I glanced over at her anxiously.
ChristineI had read the story of Orpheus and Eurydice several years ago. It had touched me, yet at that time it had been buried under many other stories with couples just as tragic. Sure, the fate of managing to get back one's dead beloved, only to have her snatched away and led back to into the underworld was terrible, but so were the fates of Cupid and Psyche, Jason and Medea and many others.
Now it was different. It was as if by listening to the bird's song, I became Eurydice. I could feel the searing pain of being bitten by a snake on my wedding day, the agony of being pulled into the underworld, away from my beloved Orpheus. Yet most of all I felt the longing. I yearned for being with him, for holding him in my arms and telling him how much I loved him.
Yet he wasn't there. I was all alone. There was only darkness surrounding me. I opened my mouth to call for my beloved, but no sound came out. My hands were groping for someone or something to hold onto. I scrambled to my feet, hearing something heavy fall next to me onto the place where I had been sitting, but not turning around to look at it.
A shadow was moving in front of me. Was it my Orpheus? I flung my arms around him, and the song ended. Slowly I came to my senses again and looked up at Orpheus. No, of course it was Erik. It took me a moment to get back the knowledge of who and where I was. It was like waking up from a very strange dream.
"What has happened?" I whispered.
"I have no idea," he replied, shaking his head in wonder. He seemed to be just as confused as I was. "I only changed the melody a little to make it more serious, and suddenly… you changed as well. It was as if you were dreaming with your eyes open… but I didn't mean for that to happen. You've got to believe me…"
"I believe you," I assured him. "Why should you try to influence the way I'm feeling, when it already is just like you want it? I love you and I want to be with you… Still it did feel strange… that longing… Well, I guess if I feel like that tonight, it'll be all right, won't it?" I tried to make a joke, even giving a short laugh.
Yet Erik didn't laugh. He looked uncomfortable, as if my remark had reminded him of something very unpleasant.
"There's something I've got to tell you… about… well, about tonight," he stammered, staring over my left shoulder to avoid eye contact.
I had rarely seen him this nervous, and I couldn't even find a reason for it. So I decided that he was probably just excited. I ran my hands over his back soothingly.
"What is it?" I asked, when he hadn't said a single word for one or two minutes.
"There won't be a ´tonight´," Erik blurted out. "Not the way you want it. There will be no kissing, no touching, no undressing and no… you know. There will be no wedding night, Christine."
I felt as if someone had hit me over the head with a heavy stone. I couldn't believe it. Yes, he had said before that he wasn't looking forward to tonight, but I had assumed it were just his nervousness talking. Yet to cancel the whole thing was much more serious.
"You can't really mean that," I mumbled. "The wedding night is a tradition. We didn't do many things the traditional way, so I thought it would be nice to have at least that one."
He shook his head.
"It's simply not possible," he told me. "I have to be outside tonight, to look around for the attacker. I can't leave the house unprotected, just because I have better things to do. If something happened…"
He was right about that, of course. Still I wouldn't give up that quickly.
"What about a compromise?" I suggested. "You'll walk around in the garden for an hour at dusk, so that anyone planning to attack us will see you're there. Then you come to bed, stay with me for a few hours, and go outside again. Like this, you could do both things."
"No," he said sharply. "Nothing will happen tonight, and it'll be best that way. Believe me, it'll spare you a lot of disappointment."
With these words he let go of me, so suddenly that I staggered backwards. I could see the horror in his eyes and knew he had revealed more than he had wanted to. Still I couldn't understand what he was talking about. Which disappointment?
"Why should I be – ?" I started, but by then he had regained his composure and interrupted me.
"Forget it!" he told me hotly. "Forget the whole thing! I know just what this is about. You felt lonely in your bed last night and want to fill the gap your dear husband has left. All you want is have a good time – if not with me, you'll find someone else! Why don't you take the coachman? He's young, handsome and surely experienced enough to fulfil your wishes, much better than I even could!"
I had barely heard the last sentences, for I was too shocked. Had the man who claimed to love me really just accused me of being willing to sleep with anyone, only for the sake of having a good time? What kind of person did he think I was?
"I didn't mean to say any of that," he explained hastily, his eyes as wide as mine. "I'm sorry…"
I watched the colour drain from his face.
"Go," I said calmly, feeling as if I'd explode any moment. "Go!"
And he left indeed, without uttering another word. I wondered whether it had been like that for Eurydice when Orpheus had left her once and for all.