September 17th 1892: Erik
It had gone all wrong. Marching down the corridor with long strides I felt like kicking myself. How could I have been that stupid? I had planned to tell Christine about where'd spend the night at a time when many other people would be around, so that she wouldn't have been able to show her anger. By the time she'd have talked to me alone, the worst would have been over.
But no! I had ruined everything, just because I hadn't been able to pull myself together. It had clearly been my frustration speaking, my frustration about being such a failure. The opportunity to sleep with the woman I loved, to fulfil one of my biggest wishes had been offered to me on a silver plate, and I had been too much of a coward to seize it.
On the first look, it might have seemed a little strange to blame Christine, yet with every moment I thought about it, it became more plausible. If she hadn't had ten years of experience with the Vicomte, there wouldn't have been any reason for me to be afraid. Pulling the door to my room open with far more power than necessary, I groaned. So I was blaming Christine for having gotten married? Wasn't this taking things too far?
Well, actually I didn't blame her for the marriage. That would have been foolish. I had always wanted her to be happy, even if that meant having to watch her with the Vicomte. No, the thing that was bothering me was something entirely different, I realised as I lit a candle and let my gaze wander around in the room, looking for a place to stay till I had calmed down.
The problem was that she had begun to talk about the wedding night again and again, oblivious to the fact that it had tormented rather than pleased me. It wasn't surprising that at one point I had no longer been able to hold myself back. Yet I also knew that I had said some very bad things, things I couldn't take back anymore, no matter how hard I tried.
I had accused Christine of having loose morals, which certainly was not the case. In all the years I had watched her, she had always remained faithful to her husband. I doubted that she'd have ever been willing to make love to me if we hadn't gotten married, at least symbolically. She had talked about it before, yet she probably wouldn't have gone through with it. She was a young woman who wanted to enjoy herself with her husband, which happened to be me at the moment.
So, who was to blame? I, of course. I had pushed her away, I had insulted her, even though what I had wanted was hold her close and whisper sweet nothings into her ear. I had done everything wrong. Suddenly I felt very exhausted. I wanted to sleep, sleep until things would be all right again.
The lid of my coffin was open. It looked very inviting, at least to me. I knew it would be warm inside, warm and soft. I longed for the sweet oblivion only sleep could bring. Quickly I slipped out of my shoes and climbed into the coffin. I pulled the blanket up to my face. With a content sigh I rolled onto my left side, so that I didn't have to lie on my mask. It was just as comfortable as I had thought it would be.
Forgetting everything for a while… it was very tempting. Besides, I was truly tired, though not even the afternoon was over yet. The day had been exhausting. It didn't take long for my eyelids to droop, and within minutes I was fast asleep.
ChristineI stared after Erik, even when the door was already closed behind him. I couldn't believe that he had left, just like that. Why hadn't he tried to argue? Why hadn't he thrown me out instead of going himself? After all, it was his house, not mine. He had the right to be in every room he wanted, whereas I was just a guest.
Yet had that been the right way of treating a guest? Accusing her, more or less openly, of being a harlot? Thinking of it made me clench my hands into fists at my sides. What had been going on inside his head, talking to me like that? He had never done that before, at least not since we were on friendly terms again. And I had thought he loved me…
But he did love me. The thought hit me so suddenly that I sank down onto the bed, next to Philippe, who was sleeping. Absent-mindedly I stroked his hair. Yes, Erik loved me. It was one of the things in my life I hoped would never change. The things he had said had nothing to do with that fact. Maybe he wasn't even really angry at me, but just… frightened.
It was only now that the last sentences he had spoken seemed to have reached my mind. And suddenly I understood why he had been so irritable, why he hadn't wanted to talk about tonight, why he had been hiding behind the excuse that he had to protect the house from possible attackers. From somewhere, Erik had got the idea that he couldn't be good enough for me, that he couldn't please me. He was frightened. That was all.
Little he knew that this idea was ridiculous. I wasn't very experienced myself. Raoul had been my first and only man so far. Yet even if I had been as experienced as some of the chorus girls had always claimed to be, it wouldn't have mattered. I wanted to sleep with Erik because I loved him, and not because I hoped to learn many new things from him.
Yet even with all that on my mind, I knew I couldn't just go to him and tell him to stop worrying. It could have offended him. Besides, there was always the possibility that my assumption could be wrong. In that case, my words would only hurt his male pride, and I knew how sensitive it was. I didn't want to risk making him angrier than before. No, I'd have to approach the topic cautiously.
I sat there for several minutes, stroking my son's hair and thinking, but I didn't come up with a good idea. Finally I decided to look where Erik was first. Maybe he was in such a good mood by now that I wouldn't have to say anything. I didn't really believe in that, but I was glad about any chance to stretch my legs a little. Perhaps I'd have better ideas in a different room.
Slowly, as not to wake up Philippe, I came to my feet and left the room. The kitchen was empty; I could see it through the open door. No one was in the living room either. Well, I hadn't expected it to be any different. If Erik had been trying to free himself from his bad mood by playing the organ, I'd have heard it.
I knocked at the door of the bathroom. It was not a place I felt like entering without being asked to, just in case he was doing something private. Yet there was no reply, and I couldn't hear any sounds. Since I didn't dare simply open the door, there was just one place left to check: his bedroom, which also was his study. I had always avoided going in there because of the coffin. I had never understood how a person could choose to sleep in such a thing. Yet if I wanted to find him, I'd have to take the risk of seeing it.
Again, there was no answer when I knocked. But this time I opened the door. What was the worst thing he could be doing in that room? Making another dissection, possibly. The thought made me feel a little sick, but I resisted the urge to close the door again.
The room was almost completely dark. There was a candle standing on a table, but it had burned low and was close to going out. Still I could see the outlines of the coffin. A shiver ran down my spine, combined with a certain sense of foreboding. I wanted to run away, yet at the same time I was drawn irresistibly to the coffin. I simply had to have a look inside.
Yet when I did so, I had to stifle a scream by clapping my hand over my mouth. Erik was lying there. For a terrible second I thought he was dead; his face looked ghostly pale. Trembling, I brought my fingers in front of his face and felt his breath on my skin. He inhaled deeply and nuzzled my hand, muttering something that sounded like my name.
It was clear that by lying down with him, I'd have made him very happy. Yet it was the kind of plan that cost a lot of courage. ´It's just a bed,´ I told myself encouragingly. ´There are pillows and a blanket in it. Only stupid people are afraid of a bed.´ Deciding at at least do it quickly, I took off my shoes and slipped under the blanket, lying down next to him. This was only possible because we were both lying on our sides, of course. I pressed my face against his shoulder, embracing him from behind. It was a good, comforting feeling to hold him in my arms.