September 18th 1892: Meg
I didn't feel too good about leaving Christine alone to go to my mother. Admittedly my friend claimed that she was all right, but anyone could see that it was far from true. Her cheeks were flushed, and despite my efforts there were still traces of tears on her face. I dreaded to think about what rumours would be created if some of the less friendly chorus girls saw her.
Maybe we should have stayed together in one group, yet Christine liked my initial idea much better and didn't listen to anything else I said. Secretly I suspected that she wanted to go on her own because she felt the need to cry again, this time without me seeing it. Of course I wouldn't have cared about it. After all, she was my best friend. If she shed tears when I was around, I did all I could to comfort her. Yet I also sensed that she needed some time alone. The last hour with all its revelations and surprises hadn't been easy for her.
So I left her behind at the door leading down into the cellars and hurried to the stage. I kept throwing anxious glances over my shoulder, for I couldn't shake off the feeling that someone was watching me. It was strange, but not completely unreasonable. Yes, Erik had been at the opera all the time and had fulfilled his duties with care and even pride, so I should be used to the feeling of being watched. Still this was different.
I had got to know him as Erik by now, and we were friends. It was very hard for me to accept that this might no longer be true. He had been so nice when I had talked to him on the journey to my home, and I had had the feeling that it could become a good friendship that would last for a long time. And now he was merely the Opera Ghost again, a shadow without the slightest interest in things such as friendship… and also love?
It was no wonder that Christine had cried. Thinking about it brought tears to my eyes, but I wiped them away impatiently as I walked. I had to be strong. I had to support my friend. After all, she had lost her husband, whereas I had only lost a friend. I couldn't afford to be weak now. That particular thought made me smile grimly. After all those years, I had finally become like my mother.
Well, that wasn't entirely true. If I were like my mother, the Opera Ghost might have listened to me instead of simply vanishing. No, I needed the real Mme.Giry. I could only hope she'd still be on the stage by the time I'd arrive there. If she had already left, I'd have to look for her everywhere, and I wanted to save my energy for the search that really mattered. I sped up even more, till I was almost running.
Fortune was smiling upon me. My mother was indeed still on the stage, and no one was with her, which meant that I didn't have to make up an excuse why I had to talk to her right now.
"Meg," she said, looking up in surprise as I entered the stage. "What are you still doing here? I thought you had already left with Erik."
I merely shook my head. It was as if she were talking about another life, in which another Meg had invited another Erik to lunch with her husband. It all seemed so far away now.
"Yes, I left, but only to fetch Christine," I replied hastily. "Something's wrong with Erik. He…" Quickly I told her the story. Since I was doing it for the second time, it all went very smoothly. I could leave out the first part because my other had been present on the stage, which saved me another few minutes. Yet I had to add Christine and the ring.
When I was finished, I felt completely exhausted. I couldn't remember the last occasion I had talked so much in such a short period of time, at least not about such a serious topic. Fortunately my mother was an understanding and intelligent woman, which meant that I didn't have to repeat more than a few things for her. Moreover, talking to her had the advantage that she believed me right away. She knew I wasn't someone who made jokes about that kind of subject. Of course Christine knew that as well, but the shock seemed to have made her forget it.
There was also something else that made talking to her this easy, something Christine had no idea about and would hopefully never find out: When I had arrived at the opera this morning, I had told my mother a little about what had happened between Christine, Erik and Raoul. I knew that I probably shouldn't have done so, but I couldn't have kept it secret any longer. It had been such a relief to talk to someone who knew them just as well as I did, and my mother wasn't one to pass judgement on others, so I didn't have to be afraid that she'd despise my friend for her decisions.
Anyway, it saved me at least half an hour of additional explanations, which was excellent. I'd have probably passed out with exhaustion if I had uttered one more sentence. While I sank down on the floor next to the chair my mother was sitting on, she seemed to think about everything carefully. She wasn't a person who spoke before she actually had something to say. Several long minutes passed in silence.
"I was afraid something like that could happen one day," she finally remarked pensively.
"You were?" I asked incredulously. "But how could you? I mean, not even Christine suspected anything, and she was with Erik all the time in the last days…"
"She doesn't know him the way I do," she said simply. "There's a difference between getting to know someone as one's friend and as someone one could have a relationship with. Moreover, Christine missed ten years of his life. That cannot be made up by a couple of kisses."
My cheeks grew a little rosy. I knew for certain that more than a few kisses had been exchanged beteen the two of them, but that was one of the details I had left out for my mother, and I wasn't willing to add them now. So I remained silent.
"And even if more happened between them…" she went on, interpreting my silence correctly. "…that doesn't change the situation. Ten years of waiting and hoping, of trying to forget and not being able to do so… I must have been the only one he talked to in that time… the only one he really talked to, I mean, not just a few orders. He was so miserable in those years."
"But he wasn't miserable enough not to follow Christine and her family around and see what they were doing," I reminded her, looking up.
"I have to admit that I didn't know about it before you told me, but I could have guessed it was something like that," she gave back. "Sometimes he left the opera for days, and when he returned, he was almost… cheerful. Of course that never lasted too long…"
"Did he cry at your shoulder?" I wanted to know curiously. If I was honest with myself, I had to admit that I had hardly thought of the Opera Ghost in those years. There had been too much going on in my life and also in Christine's: her wedding, my wedding, her children, my new home. Yet it seemed that my mother hadn't given up the contact with him, even though she had had all those problems with her back. I couldn't help admiring her a little for her strength and loyalty.
She shook her head.
"Erik would have never shown such weakness as to cry in front of me," she replied. "But we talked. Officially we met to discuss what was going on at the opera, but we also talked about ourselves. Erik was in desperate need of someone he could trust, and I was willing to be that someone. So I do think I understand him… at least a little."
"Buw how can you say that you suspected something like that could happen?" I asked, bringing our discussion back to the present. "We don't even know what happened. All we know is that for some reason Erik thinks himself to be the Opera Ghost – the Opera Ghost he was more than ten years ago, before he told Christine who he truly was. And you think you can explain that?"
"Well, I didn't have that much time to think about it, but I do have a theory," my mother said hesitantly. She shifted her position slightly, so that she was closer to me. "What is the difference between Erik and the Opera Ghost he was ten years ago?"
"Erik is a person," I answered, feeling a little stupid for stating the obvious. "Of course the Opera Ghost was a person as well, but he pretended not to be one. He didn't care about other people, with the exception of Christine and you. His only interests were his music and the Opéra Populaire."
"Yes," she agreed, nodding. "In a way, that way a very simple life, for he didn't have to worry about much. And now compare that life to the one he has at the moment, in which he's responsible for the woman he loves, for a godson and for all the other people living in their household. I can't blame him for feeling the urge to break free. This is what I meant when I said I saw it coming."
"I still don't understand it," I admitted. "So Erik wanted to have his old life back because it was easier. But one cannot simply do that. One cannot forget all the unpleasant things and go back to a time when it was better. That's just not the way life works. If I did, everyone would do it like that."
"Erik has always been different," my mother stated. "Still I doubt it was a conscious decision. I think everything simply became too much for him, and he broke down under the pressure. It's just like… Do you remember your uncle Antoine? What did he do every time he couldn't cope with the fact that his wife had died?"
"He started drinking too much, and after a while he fell asleep," I replied, the memory making me shudder. He had never been one of my most pleasant relatives. "But when he woke up, he remembered his worries. Do you think the same will happen to Erik? Will he just wake up after a while and be fine again?" I threw her a hopeful glance.
"I'm not sure about it," she said gravely. "I think Erik will wake up when he wants to wake up. Not a moment sooner."