Reza was correct; our son was a theater fiend, smitten from the start. Christine and Reza made a strange couple at the opera with Masson, but there was certainly no trouble about them occupying Box 5. The only ones who were brave enough to question Christine about her situation were the ones who didn't need to.
"Papa, you won't come to the opera, like you won't come to Mass?"
"Not exactly like that, but yes. I don't feel comfortable with so many people around me."
"Are you afraid they will say mean things?"
"Mm, perhaps."
"I wish you could come."
"Perhaps sometime I will; we'll see."
"Papa, will you take me back to the theater in the daytime and show me how all the theater magic works? Mama says you know all about theater magic. Please?"
I admit I knew the day would come. Did I expect it so soon? Never. I confess I was moved, proud, bewildered. The boy was so far above me…and yet, he was still just a little boy.
"Alright, Masson. After Christmas, I will be honored to take you to the opera house, and show all that I know."
I did not forget that I needed to return and kill Bishop Richard. I planned several times to go and see to it, honestly. It's just that since Masson came along, all of my priorities have gone topsy-turvy. I can't leave bath time, duck-feeding time, story time, music time…strangely, these perfect, ordinary moments are so much more important to me than doing murder. I still intended to see to it; I just didn't know when.
Anci popped her baby out in about ten hours the week before Christmas. This irritated the hell out of Christine. She whacked me when I pointed out that she likely would have been irritated no matter what Anci's outcome had been.
It was a baby boy they named Fahim—not a very big child, but Christine reminded me not to judge by our bear baby. Reza told me there was quite a commotion when Anci, still not the shiniest apple on the tree, made a play for 'Fahim Erik'. That, however, received all the consideration it merited, and it was 'Fahim Naser' after all.
"When can he play?" Masson popped up and down anxiously.
"Masson, he's so tiny," Christine advised. "He can't even sit up or walk now. Would you like to see him?"
He nodded briskly.
"We must whisper so we don't wake him up. Ssshhh."
He nodded again, solemnly. "Ssshhh."
Masson looked deeply disappointed when he came from meeting Fahim. He climbed up into my lap forlornly.
"He's no fun ever, Papa." He slumped against my chest dejectedly.
"I told you new babies aren't much fun, remember?" I smoothed his hair. It was darkening slightly as he grew up.
"New babies are yucky," he spat. "Bleah."
"Bleah." I echoed. Masson's eyes began to twinkle.
"Bleah!" He stuck his tongue out much further this time.
"Bleah!" I did the same.
"Bleah-ah-ah!" He embellished with a fabulous hairball-coughing-up sound and giggled so badly he nearly fell off my lap.
"Bleah-ah-ah!" I coughed up a hairball too; just in time for Mama to come in and see.
"Erik! What are you teaching him? Can't he find enough trouble without you leading him right to it?"
"Ooops, sorry, Mama."
Christmas was the most glorious holiday season of my life. I don't have much to compare it to; that's true. But when the most beautiful girl in the world rests her head on your shoulder and sighs, "Our first Christmas married, Erik." Think of it! Me!
We were indescribably happy. I knew I had no right to the joy I was living every day, but I was honestly grateful. I tried to talk to God; I felt like a jackass doing so. I told Him how grateful I was for Christine's love, and that Masson was healthy and beautiful. I pleaded for the baby in Christine's belly to be healthy and beautiful, too. Not for me, Sir; I know I don't deserve it, but for Christine, and the child itself.
I reminded Him, too, that I was still waiting to learn what He wanted from me for the safe return of my son.
Christine's belly was blossoming, and it was such a miracle to see what she could do with her body. I mourned every day that I missed placing my hand on her belly to feel Masson dancing inside her. I pleaded her forgiveness tearfully on many occasions.
"No, Erik," she said, "it's in the past. Forgive yourself; I couldn't have found a better father for my babies anywhere."
Masson broke off playing and set down his bow thoughtfully.
"Papa, I am disappointed in you and Mama."
Good heavens. "Yes, Son?"
"Does Mama have a baby in her tummy?"
"Yes; yes, she does. But why should this disappoint you? You don't want to be a big brother?"
Masson sighed with great drama.
"No," he replied, as if it should be self-evident. "Fahim is no fun. Why would you and Mama want a no fun baby like that when you already have me?"
"Masson, your Mama is an only child, and she feels quite strongly—and I agree--that you should not be an only child. It can be quite lonely, and Mama and I have wished to spare you that." I rather felt I was speaking with a thirty year old man. It was hard to know which pieces of Masson were childlike and which were not. I suppose one could say the same about me; certainly Reza would.
"Well. I still think you two should have asked me and Christine if we wanted any more babies. I hope it won't expect to share my things," he sniffed imperiously. Well, imperiously as one can sniff with the second cutest nose in Christendom.
We'll have to work on the thing-sharing.
I told Christine that Masson was most disappointed in us about the baby. She had a good laugh at the idea that the two of us could actually be so organized as to plan a child. I took a bit of offense at that.
"Come along, you silly old man; don't take yourself so seriously," she laughed, holding her sides. "What have you and I ever planned?"
"I beg your pardon! I planned to marry you!"
"Oh, I see," she nodded. "And it all happened just according to the Phantom's grand plan." She rumpled my hair; I hate that. She laughed and nibbled on my ear; I love that, so I forgave her the rumpling.
"The Phantom has a rather grand plan just now, as it happens…"
"Oh?"
"Mm. Concerning a fabulous couple, a blindfold, a bit of ice, and a few ostrich feathers."