I didn't come out all night, and Christine didn't bother me. I would doze, toss uncomfortably, wake and begin to brood. I thought about my need to be alone, and about Christine's need to talk things through. She wants to be a companion and a confidante, but when something bothers me, all I want is to be alone with my black thoughts. She probably felt rejected and excluded. By the morning, I had decided that I'm not fit to be her man; and I'd tell her so when I got home tonight. I'd tell her I was a selfish, moody, set-in-my-ways, gloomy freak, and she should go back to her normal little Comte. It didn't make me feel any better; in fact it made me feel like death on fine china. But…it was the right thing to do.
On the way back to the cave-in, I slipped an envelope with ten thousand francs under each of the Jean widows' doors, and fifteen for Thierry's wife and all her tribe. I peered into her window; mistake. Two bleating toddlers were on the floor, she had a baby at her breast, and she was trying to fix breakfast for the odd four or so that were running amok. I was so depressed I could barely find the energy to walk to work.
Jules took one look at me and held forth.
"You didn't listen, did you? You didn't get drunk last night—you didn't get laid either! What did you do? Sulk? Fret?" He cracked me on the side of the head and proceeded to shake me senseless. I was numb. "How long have you been at this work, Mask Man? How long? This is not your first cave-in. Are you turning into an old woman?"
"I never knew what it was like to lose someone before, " I whined. I've always been alone until Christine. I'm not used to this."
Jules' granite visage softened noticeably. "Come; work."
He set me to shoring up an area with rubble; it was hot, thirsty work, but by lunchtime my mood was not so dire. We ate together silently and he offered me a cigarette, which I accepted.
"Did you tell your Christine what happened?"
"Yes; then I secreted myself in my room for the night."
He nodded. "You never thought she might be suffering alone, thinking of how you nearly died that day?"
"No," I confessed. "I did think about how I want to be alone when I suffer, and about how she wanted to talk and comfort me. I thought she might be better off with Prince Charming."
"If she wanted Prince Charming, she would have him, Beauty. Us ugly men have to treat our women well, you know; we have nothing to fall back on."
He cracked me in the head again as we set back to work.
"What the devil was that for?" I demanded.
"You deserve it more than anyone I ever met."
At the end of the day, we were relieved to be able to say that we'd not found anything unsafe. We shared another cigarette and took a few pulls from my hip flask.
Jules groaned at the cognac. "You drink this all the time?"
"You don't like it?"
"Like it? It's like a beautiful woman—a mute, beautiful woman!" he roared at his own joke. "Listen, Beauty, you do what I told you tonight," he reminded me as we parted.
I was filthy and I stank, so I went straight upstairs to get clean and dressed for dinner. I collected some fresh clothes and nearly crashed into Christine in the hall.
"How was today? Any better?" After the way I treated her, all she cared about was whether or not I had a better day. I don't deserve her, I don't deserve her.
I nodded. "So far it looks as though the rest of the caverns are safe, which is good."
Christine slipped her arms around my neck, encouraging an embrace. I demurred.
"No, Christine, I smell like a goat."
To my amazement, she pressed her nose to my chest. "You smell like a man; I like it. It makes me feel amorous." She drew my filthy shirt out of my filthy trousers.
"I'm really dirty," I continued, worried for her clothes.
"I know; I want to be dirty with you," she whispered. She unbuttoned my trousers and drew back into our bedroom.
"I was planning to come home tonight and tell you I'm too moody and selfish to be your man."
"Oh really?" We were sharing a cold supper in bed between bouts. "Would you pass me the preserves, please? And you changed your mind, I hope."
"Raspberry or um…ew. Fig." I grimaced. Quite a sight, when I grimace. "Raspberry or fig?"
"Fig, please—never mind that face; I happen to like it."
"Yes, I did change my mind. I realized quickly that your plans and mine would not dovetail nicely, so I was forced to make a snap decision about which of the two plans to jettison."
"We dovetail nicely, though," she leaned over for a kiss.
"Perfectly."
"I'm happy to see you chose correctly." She popped a strawberry into my mouth. I would have preferred a nipple, truth be told.
"It was a foregone conclusion, really. You, ah, had me…as they say," I reminded her.
"Oh yes, I remember now. I did have you," she beamed. "Erik, you smell so good when you've worked hard all day! I wish you'd do more of that hard physical labor." Christine was spreading those dreadful fig preserves with such meticulous precision, it was a wonder to behold.
"I am happy to do hard physical labor for you anytime, Darling."
"Are you ready again?" she paused in her food preparations, expectant.
"Mm, nearly so—go on and eat, Angel; it'll keep," I chuckled, refilling our glasses. "Hm, that bottle's dead. I'm afraid I've got to flit downstairs and fetch more wine."
"Flit? You're going to flit? Naked?" She giggled until she wept.
I picked at a bit of beef diffidently. I abandoned it, realizing I was not hungry; but out mutual exertions always seem to engender an appetite in Christine. "Nevermind. You're drunk already."
"I am not; anyway, it's that much easier to have your way with me if I am…" she suggested.
"I haven't noticed you posing any particular challenge so far, frankly; although I do have an idea, whenever you're finished reviving yourself."
"Oh, well then, I'm finished," she replied, setting her bread aside.
"Excellent. I have an inspired idea involving these raspberry preserves. Bring your delightful crumpet over here…"
I barely had the strength to wrest myself from Christine's arms in the morning. She'd gone insatiable on me; it was glorious. She promised the world if I would abandon work and sty in bed all day. Honestly, I went to work for the rest.
"You look better today, Beauty," Jules looked me over. "Does the Comtesse have a smile on her face this morning?"
"I certainly hope so. She was nearly the death of me."
"I've never heard of a man dying of too much love, but if anyone could do it, it would be you," he chuckled. "Come along, Lover Boy."
My thought turned gloomy again as I worked. I pictured Christine heavily pregnant as little Annie was. Decent, hard-working young Jean had promised to take care of her for life; his life was done, but what now for Annie and her child? Her life had barely begun, by the look of her. Even if a cave-in doesn't get me, Christine will be left young; I have a lot of years on her. It seemed every way I turned it, Raoul was the better choice. If I could have a chat with him, encourage him to pay her more attention and indulge her whims a bit more, maybe he could make her happy again. My mind was awhirl. I couldn't make sense of it anymore. Each time I was decided, another equally compelling opposite thought assailed me.
I felt guilty brooding in sight of Jules; he was like an omniscient schoolmaster. I kept expecting another crack on the head. I quieted m mind by taking a vow to talk it over with Reza.
Gaston was there when I arrived home. I took up a brandy and a cigar and told them I felt Christine would be better off back at Chagny. I explained about the cave-in, and the widows, and all my reasoning since then. It was a very compelling, well-conceived argument.
"Erik, my friend, she doesn't want to return to Chagny," Gaston pointed out.
"Well, no, but once I explain it to her, once she understands how much better off she'll be, she'll see the sense of it."
"You're sure of that, are you?"
"Yes, of course. My Christine is a very clever girl."
"Ah. And this is what you want to do?" he asked, gently.
"Yes. Absolutely; my heart is full. If it's best for her, then…yes." I sounded almost convinced.
"Well?" Gaston demanded of Reza. "Are you going to sit there and say nothing?"
"I refuse to get excited by his daily dramas. You shouldn't engage with him, Gaston; it only fuels his addled thinking."
"This is not a daily drama," I replied imperiously. "I've mulled this over quite extensively, and I've come to a rational, relatively emotionless decision about my Angel's welfare."
"I don't see how you could have mulled it over extensively. You've barely been thinking about it long enough to get a good brood on," Reza retorted.
"I've had a good two days!" I insisted.
"Hardly—you weren't thinking about it last night," Reza replied pointedly.
"You old gossip! We were quiet as church-mice!"
"If you say so," he shrugged.
I caught Gaston's bemused expression. "It's not funny, Gaston, I've absolutely no privacy! He's got no life of his own, so he's forced to live vicariously and spy on me!" I accused.
"Spy, indeed. It sounds like there's a troupe of acrobats moved in. It boggles the mind," Reza retorted. "I can't imagine what they get up to."
Gaston smiled broadly. "It doesn't sound as if she'll be easily parted from you, Erik. She is quite the determined girl, after all. Why would you want to part with such a marvelous creature?"
"I don't," I whined.
"Well then, thank the gods for your undeserved good fortune and enjoy her!"
"I'm old. She'll be alone a long time when I'm gone. I brood too much. She needs someone more…normal."
"She knows all of these arguments. We've been through this before," Reza reminded me impatiently. "I think we all agree that Christine is not a conventionally-motivated young woman; one only has to look at her taking it upon herself to leave Chagny and risk social ruin to recognize that."
"Reza is right," Gaston agreed. "She is extraordinary. You'll have to come to terms with the fact that you simply don't know her mind. She is with you for her own reasons. I doubt she'd appreciate you debating her disposal as if she was an aged racehorse."
"Racehorse," I remembered.
"What's that?" Reza asked.
"Oh…nothing. I told Chagny once that she was not his prize racehorse."
"Well then, you see, you have your answer," Reza replied.
Gaston raised his glass. "To the lady, then."
"And her miserable, most undeserving suitor," Reza added.
"And to dear, true friends," I added.