September 18th 1892: the Opera Ghost
It was common knowledge that it were the most absurd stories which tended to remain in one's memory for the longest time. How else could it be explained that the strange tale of me being married to Christine Daaé was still in my head? I thought about it all the time while I watched everyone prepare themselves for the rehearsal.
It had even been on my mind while I had attended the rehearsal in Box Five. And indeed there were a few things that made me wonder whether there wasn't a grain of truth in it after all… such as the fact that I didn't know more than two or three dancers. Most of the musicians seemed to be new, too. And where was La Carlotta? Wad that woman with the terribly loud voice her understudy? And why didn't I even know the opera they were performing? I couldn't recall having approved of it.
All this was very strange. I sat in Box Five even after the rehearsal was over, massaging my temples and thinking hard. Could it be possible that Mme.Giry's story was true? But that was absurd! There was an alternative, of course. Maybe I was simply starting to forget things because I was… growing old. The thought made me shudder. The Opera Ghost must not grow old. Ghosts didn't age. They could be around a thousand years and still look the same. It was part of what made them special.
But I was not a ghost, not really. Sometimes I forgot that fact because it made things easier for me. Yet there was always something that reminded me of it after a while. Christine Daaé, for example. On some occasions I was barely able to correct her mistakes while she was singing because I was too busy listening to her angelic voice and watching the light play in her dark hair. Sometimes I would even find myself staring into space, thinking of her.
I knew the name of the infection I had caught. It was love. I had felt love before, but it had never been this strong, this all-consuming. It frightened me like few things had frightened me in my life. Yet I fought against it. I frequently scolded myself for having the kind of romantic thoughts that should have had no place in my mind.
This was one of the reasons why I couldn't imagine being married to Christine. Being married meant admitting openly that one was in love, and I didn't think I had done that. Admitting something was showing weakness. I never showed any kind of weakness. No, it was impossible. It couldn't be true.
But if it wasn't true, it meant I was getting so old that I even forgot things that were important for my life. Would I forget the way to my lair next? Or the location of my traps? That was a thought too terrible to contemplate. At once I jumped to my feet. I had to prove that I still knew everything. I had to prove it to myself. I'd go down to my lair, avoiding all the traps. Perhaps I'd find something in my home that would help me, something like a list on which I had written down the names of the chorus girls or my thoughts about the new opera. Perhaps… perhaps I already knew that I was forgetting everything, but couldn't remember it now. My worries were truly getting worse with every moment that passed. I had to go back to my home.
I had just locked the door of Box Five and marched down the corridor, when I noticed a man coming towards me.
"Oh, the Opera Ghost," he said, sounding less than pleased to see me. "I didn't realise you watched the rehearsal. Did you enjoy it? Was everything the way you want it?"
"M.Firmin," I greeted him with a brief nod. This was one of the managers, I told myself, in the way people spoke to small children. As long as I still knew that, not all could be lost. "Yes, yes, everything was acceptable," I added. I had no intention to admit that most of the time I had been busy trying to figure out who on earth those people on stage had been.
"Will you attend the performance as well?" M.Firmin asked. "Shall I tell everyone to give their best because you'll be sitting in the audience?"
"Tell them that if they don't always give their best, they can as well look for new employment right away," I replied matter-of-factly. "Good actors also give their best in front of an empty auditorium."
"Erm… yes," the manager muttered. "And your little friend? Will he come here again, too?"
"Who?" The question had left my mouth before I could think better of it.
"Well, the boy you had with you on the first night," he replied, frowning. "Philippe Charles, isn't that his name?"
This time I was faster to react.
"Yes, that's his name," I said. "But I haven't decided whether he'll join me again tonight. Maybe he'll stay with his mother." I had chosen my words carefully. If M.Firmin told me who that mysterious boy's mother was, I'd perhaps remember something as well.
"Oh, Mme. de Changy can come as well," he told me with a smile. "It was such a pleasure to see her again. Surely she misses the stage very much… doesn't she?" He threw me a questioning glance, and I couldn't help feeling that he was trying to use me to get answers, just like I used him. My mind was working quickly. Mme. de Chagny… misses the stage… it could only be one person.
"Yes, Christine misses the stage," I stated slowly.
To my relief, M.Firmin nodded.
"It's a pity that she has never returned after… that night," he murmured wistfully.
It was becoming too much for me. I didn't understand anything. Which night was he talking about? Why had Christine never returned to the stage? Why had she left the stage in the first place? Why was she called Mme. de Chagny? Mme.Giry had said she was married to me…
Without a word of explanation I walked away, aware that the manager was staring after me. I was used to people doing that, and I didn't care. I was determined to go to my home, now more than ever. If there was one place where I'd find the answers I needed so desperately, it would be in the rooms that were familiar to me. Maybe I'd even find a marriage certificate… or traces of someone living with me.
Could it be possible that I had a child and didn't remember it? No, surely Mme.Giry would have mentioned something that important. She hadn't said a word of a child. But then, M.Firmin hadn't called that Philippe Charles my son at all. Perhaps I had taken in Christine and her child after the marriage to the Vicomte – Who else should she have been married to? – had failed and was raising the boy as my own now. I shook my head. That didn't sound very likely. Why should I have taken in that man's child?
I was still pondering on that question and a lot more when I reached my house. At least I had had no difficulties in finding it, and I hadn't landed in one of my traps either. Walking from room to room I noticed that I seemed to have abandoned my home for a while, probably in order to stay somewhere else. There were clothes missing from the wardrobe, my favourite hat was gone from the coat rack, and my suitcases were nowhere to be seen. Had I been on holiday with my new family? But why was I here then? And where were the others?
Questions and questions, and none of them I could answer. What was wrong with me? I had always been able to answer every question. It was one of the things Christine admired the most about me. Or did she no longer admire me? I couldn't be sure about it. Mme.Giry had said I had lost my memory, but she hadn't known how I could get it back. So how was I supposed to know it? I didn't know anything…
I sat down at the organ and started playing the first melody that came to my mind, but for some reason I was unable to lose myself in the music today. Apparently Mozart couldn't help me either. I buried my face in my hands, feeling very helpless. It was a feeling I wasn't used to, and I didn't like it at all. I enjoyed having everything under control, yet it seemed that I couldn't control the things that were going on inside my head anymore.
I didn't cry – I had at least that much dignity left. Yet maybe crying would have made me feel better. I didn't know it. I was a complete wreck. I – What was that? There was a sheet of paper dangling from the organ, threatening to fall down onto the keys any moment. It wasn't one of the usual sheets of music. It was a hand-written document of some kind. I seized it and started reading. I hereby declare that on September 16th 1892 I will move…By the time I was finished, I didn't understand much more than before. But I had an address. I had a place to go.