Chapter 4
Dad spent the rest of the afternoon with me. I am very grateful to him-without his company, I could have easily sank back into a very depressing mood. We spent most of the time just watching various shows on TV. Mainly those silly reality shows about remodeling homes in a given amount of time or keeping up gardens. Mum used to have a small garden behind our house and Dad has poured much of his time into expanding it. I suppose it's his way of keeping her memory alive, just as I have mine.
I fell asleep sometime after that, and much to my dismay, it wasn't a dreamless one. I found myself walking through an exquisitely decorated Victorian apartment. How I became aware of this knowledge, I have no idea. But, in any case, it seemed to be a parlor. I know I've seen this place before. But when? I don't remember ever being here, but everything looks so familiar. An eighteenth century settee occupied the center of the room. Light poured in from the mullioned windows with the cream colored curtains pushed to the side. The walls were an off ivory cream color, which matched the beige rug with a large fleur de lis printed in the middle.
But what struck me most of all were the last two objects in the room. One of which was a grand piano in the corner of the parlor. It was painted black with gold trimmings around the edges. And in the center of each trimming was a raised relief of Louis XIV depicted as the Sun King. What perturbed me the most was that I had no idea who Louis XIV was or what he did, and how I happened to know he was the "Sun King". Why does this keep happening? How do I know these things that I'm positive I never learned? I feel an intense urge to walk over and play the delicate instrument, but I know for a fact that I cannot play to save my life.
Instead, I walk over to the other object that has caught my interest. A copy, and a very large one at that, of Sandro Botticelli's The Birth of Venus. But what is even more peculiar is the fact that it's in the same likeness of the original-tempera on canvas surrounded by an ornate gold frame. Why is this happening to me? I'm not supposed to know any of this! I've never read about it. I never learned it. I am not supposed to know that canvas is less stable than wood and egg tempera!
The soft sounds of a piano broke me from my thoughts. But the piano is right here. I walked down a narrow corridor and the source of the music grew louder. It sounded on the verge of depressing. Yet, there was so much passion in it. It was almost erotic. Can music be erotic? I feel tears course down my cheek. In all my life, I can't remember ever being moved by any one thing on a scale such as this.
I came to the door where the music seemed to be coming from. I turned the knob and pushed it open slightly. I was surprised when I saw very little light coming into the room. Instinct told me that it was impossible to read the notes in the dark, and yet the music played on without any hesitance. I opened the door further. A cello and violin lay against the wall and other various instruments were placed carefully on shelves.
However, it was the person playing the piano that I held my interest. His back was to me and he-I know for a fact that this person is a man-is clothed in all black. I try to walk into the room and move closer to him, but I feel something pull me back. The room is getting further away from my grasp and the man fades out.
And I woke in a sweat.
My hospital room came back into view. The lights were dimmed but through the window, I could clearly tell it was midday. The room was empty; I really thought Dad would be here when I woke up. But I didn't think about that-my thoughts went back to my dream. If you want to call it a dream. It seemed so real! Perhaps I was reliving a memory? Maybe I was there as a child? But I don't ever recall being in that home. And yet I was able to navigate it as though it were my own.
And the music. It was so powerful! I've never even heard Dad play that passionately. I've never heard so many different emotions in one piece of music. Well, actually, when I normally listen to music, I don't care to listen for emotions. So why do I now? Why do I know all these things about music and art and architecture? I'm not very well cultured in any sense of the word.
"Good morning, love." Dad walked into the room with a cup of coffee, breaking my thoughts. "I turned down the lights for when you woke up-they're ungodly bright." He crossed the room and sat back in the chair. "I was talking to the doctors out there. They said you would be okay to leave this afternoon."
I stared silently at the wall across from my bed. I could go home. Why would I want to go to a place that reminds me of everything I lost? I would be left to sit and wallow in my thoughts of how I have a failed marriage and an empty, half finished nursery. But what I was most terrified of was the stain at the bottom of the stairs. I know I'll never be able to enter that house and think of it as a home again.
I looked down at the sheets and twiddled my thumbs. "Dad…do you think…would you mind…if I came to stay with you? I-I can't stay in that house," I said weakly. I felt tears sting my eyes again and I didn't stop them this time. Dad rushed up and gathered me in his arms.
"Oh, Christine." He sat on the bed holding me and rubbing my back. He stayed silent for a time until my crying had ceased. He placed me back among the pillows and pulled the covers up. "Of course you can come home. You never need to ask, little one." He smiled at me and kissed my forehead.
"Thanks Dad," I managed to say once my tears had subsided. My thoughts went back to the strange dream again. I thought carefully about how to approach Dad about this. "Dad, do you know anyone who is talented at the piano? Well…not so much talented as a prodigy, I suppose."
Dad arched his eyebrow. "What is with you and music lately?" He laughed lightly, which made me feel slightly better. "I do know many men with talented fingers, but I don't think I would call any of them prodigious, no. May I inquire as to why?"
"I just had a vivid dream. That's all," I said, trying to mask my disappointment. But why am I so bent over trying to find out if this person exists? It was only a dream. He may not even exist at all. But how tragic would that be if he didn't? I may never hear that music again.
A nurse came knocked on the door and came in. "Excuse me, Mrs. de Chagny? You're free to leave whenever you're ready. Just press the buzzer and we'll come in with a wheelchair for you."
"Wheelchair? No, see, I don't need a wheelchair. You must have the wrong-"
"Christine, don't argue," Dad said firmly. The nurse looked at him with gratitude and left. I grunted unceremoniously and crossed my arms to my chest. "Don't be like that, little one. We all have to accept help once in a while. Besides, it is hospital procedure."
I leaned back into my pillows and looked out the window. "Is it alright if we leave now?"
Dad smiled slightly. "Of course it is." He reached behind the chair and pulled up some clothes. "I picked some clothes up from your house. I didn't think you would want the other ones…"
"Thanks," I said a little darkly. "Sorry, I didn't mean it like that."
"Christine, it's alright. I shouldn't have said anything in the first place." He came over and helped me stand and led me to the small bathroom. "I'll be right here if you need anything."
"It's fine. I just need a minutes." I closed the door and quickly slipped the hospital gown off. I bent over to pull my sweater on and a stabbing pain seared through my abdomen. As if I haven't suffered enough. I pushed through the pain and put the rest of my clothes on without bothering to check my hair, which I knew must look like a gigantic brown shrub.
"Ready?" I nodded and Dad got up from the chair and hit the nurses' button. Moments later a nurse walked in with the wheelchair ready. Dad looked over at me and I sat down without putting up a fight. Thankfully it only took five minutes to get out of the wretched place. I stood up as soon as we reached the door and felt another pain in my stomach again. Don't show you are in any pain. Hide it. I straightened up and hid any sign of weakness or discomfort. A dull throb persisted, but I kept on walking.
"Do you need to stop anywhere for anything?" Dad asked as he held the car door open for me. I shook my head in the negative and he climbed in on the drivers' side.
And then it hit me. "Wait! Stop at a music shop!"
Erik slammed his fists down on the piano and let out a yell of frustration. He peered out the window and saw a man using a jackhammer in the middle of the street, along with other various construction workers. All damn day! He had awoken early this morning with one task in mind-to finish his Don Juan Triumphant. Erik didn't believe in any sort of higher power, but he knew that if there was one, it had to be cursing his name today. Men had been tearing up the street ever since he set to work on his opera.
"That's it." Erik stood up from the bench violently and caused it to fall over. Without taking a second glance at it, he stormed out of the room. As he was halfway down the corridor, his mobile rang in his pocket.
"What?" He growled into the phone.
"Monsieur Destler?" A man asked with a thick French accent.
"Yes?" His patience was running thin.
"We have finished with the renovations in your flat that you asked for. You may come back any time you wish," the man said quickly, not wanting to stay on the phone any longer than necessary.
"What the bloody hell took so long?"
The man's forehead began to perspirate slightly. "We had a little trouble getting the grand piano inside. But I can assure you that it is exactly where you told us to place it. There was no harm done to it," he said, sounding winded.
"For your sake, it better be. What about the painting?"
"It is over the fire place, just as you said."
"Good. I am on my way back now then. If I find anything unsuitable, I have your number." With that, he snapped the phone shut. Going back to the study, Erik placed his compositions in a travel bag, donned his suit jacket, and headed out the door.
"Where are you off to?" Nadir called from in the sitting room.
"Back to Paris." And he closed the door. The brisk London air hit his face, but he continued on without another thought. He had only gone one block before he heard his name being called. Groaning, he reluctantly turned around. I swear, if one more person-
His thoughts were interrupted when he realized that it was Sophia who was calling after him. Erik was very unsure about how to handle his relationship with Sophia. She was a very charming, sweet woman, but she had a tendency to be clingy, which irked Erik to no end. Often, during her breaks at the hospital she would stop by Nadir's flat and ask Erik to accompany her to lunch. He indulged her wishes sometimes, but generally declined, saying that he had work to do. What bothered him more was the fact that she would come back and ask him to dinner and a club or, on nights that weren't terribly chilly, a walk in the park.
Erik had never felt guiltier. He didn't know how to end things with Sophia. He knew he would hurt her, but it had to be done. Why he felt horrible, he had no idea. He had ended the lives of men without so much as a second thought, but he couldn't break up with a woman? That made no sense at all. Perhaps it is because she is the only one to ever show you any kind of compassion.
"Erik!" Sophia caught up to him and pulled him into a long, open-mouthed kiss. Even her lips don't feel right on mine. Erik had begun to notice that Sophia's lips were rather small and thin. What right have you to choose what kind of lips you prefer? You should feel honored that she kisses you at all. He couldn't explain it; he sought after full, plump lips, no matter how ridiculous the notion sounded. And her hair. Something about her hair bothered him. It was very dark, almost as dark as his, and absolutely straight, while Erik found himself wishing it were curly and brown. Ah, what he would give to run his hands through a mass of soft, curly tendrils! Since when do I have a hair preference? And when did I start fantasizing about it?
"I'm so glad I managed to catch you!" She said breathlessly when the kiss ended. "I don't know if you are busy or not right now, but I was wondering if you would like to go to lunch?"
"Em…Not today, Sophia. I am actually going out of town." He scratched his head wondering how word himself. Before he could go any further, Sophia spoke again.
"What do you mean you're 'going out of town'? Why didn't you tell me?" She looked distraught.
Erik began to perspirate. "It was really last minute. The remodeling on my flat has been finished and I would like to go see it."
"By hell it was last minute!" Erik had never seen her so angry, but deep down he knew he deserved it. He led her on to believe that he felt more toward her than he really did. "You probably planned to go back to Paris and not say a word to me! That's why you've been avoiding me, haven't you? Don't think I haven't noticed, Erik! You've been planning to return to Paris and never come back! That leaving like this 'last minute' was the easiest way to get rid of me!"
Erik was flabbergasted. He underestimated how much fire and spirit Sophia contained! But he wasn't about to correct her in her misjudgments-better she hate him forever than know the truth.
There were tears streaming down her cheeks now. "Fine, Erik. I'm through. If this is what you want, then fine. I really do sincerely hope you live a life of happiness." She turned away and began walking down the street slowly leaving Erik with conflicting tear ducts. What she had said really hit him. A life of happiness. He knew it was the exact opposite of what he deserved, especially now. He let a single tear roll down his cheek before walking on toward the train station.
To take his mind off the days events, he took a detour to the music store. There was a new recording of Mendelssohn's Fourth Symphony by the London Symphony Orchestra that he had been meaning to get his hands on.
Erik walked through the automatic doors and immediately walked to the classical section. He found the "M's" and just as he reached for the CD, his hand came into contact with another, sending an electric shock up his arm. He pulled back, startled, and realized that there was a young woman reaching for the same CD.
"Ouch, sorry about that. Did you feel that too?" The young woman asked, rubbing her hand. Erik, still dumbfounded by the encounter, looked at the woman in front of him. Long, curly, chestnut hair. Plump, full, red lips. I know her from somewhere. But why don't I remember? Surely I would remember a creature this beautiful?
Erik shook himself out of his thoughts and realized that she was staring just at intently at him. "Sorry, em…looks like we went for the same CD," she blushed. Good Lord above, even her blush is beautiful! "You can go ahead and have it-it looks as though you came here on a mission for it. I can always find another one."
Recovering from the shock, Erik was finally able to speak. "No, no. You have it. I already own a copy of this particular piece." He took the CD and placed it in her hands. He reveled in the fact that he could touch her hands again. So soft and little! Erik imagined himself holding one of her soft, delicate hands on a stroll in a park on a sunny afternoon…
"Thank you, that's very kind of you." The woman glanced down at her watch. "I must be going. My Dad," she gestured to the window, "he's waiting outside. Thank you again." She smiled and went to the front of the store to purchase the CD.
"An angel," Erik whispered to himself, as he watched her leave the store. Perhaps there was a god in this cruel world.
A/N: I'm really sorry about the long wait. I promise I'll never take another Anthropology course for as long as I live! I've heard the word "culture" enough to last me the next four lifetimes. Plus the last two weeks or so I spent with my boyfriend as he graduated from the Marine Corps and came home for ten days. But I'm glad I was able to sit down and finish this (even though I'm supposed to be writing a research paper....)
Let me know what you think-especially my handling with Sophia. She was beginning to annoy me and I just didn't know what to do with her. Maybe I should have kept her to increase the angst, but in all honesty, I didn't feel like it.
Anyway, please don't hesitate to hit that nice green button! I'm in a baking mood, and I can't very well eat a plate full of Erik cookies by myself, so I would love to share them with all of you.