Ratman brought my managers through. Amid the mumbling I gathered Ratman was asking them to confirm that they'd seen me, that I really was their ghost. I didn't see why they'd want to harm me; frankly, I'd done nothing but help them. They certainly couldn't run the theater themselves.
When Raoul and Reza came, I told them the managers had come. Raoul didn't stay; he ran off to worry them. I worried aloud to Reza how I'd repay all the kindness people have shown me. He waved it off. He said Raoul had even called on the Bishop's secretary about putting in a word.
"Erik, when this is behind you, you might think about leaving Paris—France, even."
"Leave France?" I gasped.
"Erik. You're not the ghost anymore. The opera doesn't need you, and you won't lose your muse if you let that theater go. You have your Christine; she is the reason you were there, don't you remember? It's finished now."
I shook my head vehemently.
"I know this is frightening to hear now, my friend." He squeezed my hand to the point of pain. "Just let it dance in your mind."
"Has Christine mentioned wanting to leave?"
"No, we haven't discussed it at all."
"You and Raoul, then?"
"No. It seems to me that you shouldn't feel hunted forever, Erik. Doesn't your family deserve a fresh start? You can go somewhere and be whoever you want to be, be like anyone else."
"Oh? My face is going to be magically transformed? I cross the Alps into Switzerland and I'm a beauty like Raoul?"
"Erik, stop with your damned face, will you? Please, remember when you first came to Paris? Remember how it felt to escape Persia?"
"Jesus Christ, Daroga, I was running for my life!"
"Isn't it your family's life now?" he murmured. As gently as he'd said it, it still took my breath away.
"Where would we go? What would--?
"You needn't decide all that now. Just let it dance in your mind."
-0-0-0-0-
A priest came to see me. He didn't look old enough to understand what celibacy was, much less agree to it. I urged him to go; I was only Catholic enough to marry Christine, and I didn't feel up to forging friendship with Jesus at the moment. He looked so wounded at my rejection. Just like my son, I thought. Every 'No!' is personal to a child. I relented and gave him a short version of my story. I told him where I'd been, told him about Christine, and the children, and the promise of life I was only beginning to glimpse. Could he imagine being my age before ever wanting to wake up to another day? I was daring God to offer me something other than platitudes, crying out for something to cling to, but His fresh-faced ambassador had nothing for me. He gave me a copy of the New Testament and escaped. I hope I didn't shake his faith; I'd been hoping that he'd infect me with his.
-0-0-0-0-
Raoul nudged me awake. Nothing against him, but not what one dreams of seeing first thing.
"Listen, your instincts are amazing. It seems it's the managers. That and a couple of minor bureaucrats in the city administration, just as I said, who want to make careers on you. Word's been about of sightings of a man answering your description; now that you're not in the lair anymore, it's unavoidable."
I couldn't understand it about the managers. "Raoul, I'm fucking filthy, I'm losing my smidgen of sanity, and I refuse to eat the crap they claim is food; you'll forgive me if I don't follow your puppy dog logic. Why would the managers want me gone? What the hell would they do without me--besides cock it up completely?"
"They don't want to pay you, Erik; they want you gone. It's just as simple as that."
"They'd send me to my death over money?" Incredible.
He nodded. "Neither Gaston nor I've found anything else."
"Well, bugger it, then. I'll get a proper job if they let me go, it's nothing to me."
"Right, what should I do? Should I tell them you'll quit the opera house if they let you go? I've no idea what they'll want for guarantees, and—"
I had to pace on that for awhile. "Talk to Gaston and Reza. I could deal with the managers, if they'd meet me. But I don't know how to persuade the cops to let me be."
"Reza says you should leave the city," he murmured.
"I know. Easy to say," I admitted.
"You could stay with us at Chagny—I mean, until you had time to take a proper decision and get things in order."
"You're a good fop."
Raoul nodded again. "Be back later."
"Raoul, I'm sorry I was—"
"Leave it. Where will it end if you and I start apologizing to each other?" he smiled.
-0-0-0-0-
I didn't tell Christine about the conversation with Raoul when she came. I didn't want to create any hope in her until I really had something to say. She was much subdued compared to the last time, almost shy around the police. Naturally when they left us, I questioned her about the change. Turned out it was Catholic drama I was witnessing. She'd been to confession that morning, and it was the worst one in a long time. Her exact words: "I think I've got more penance over all the swearing and evil thoughts than I did over the adultery."
Well, it was the only laugh I'd had since being arrested, besides Masson biting the policeman. When she took exception, I cautioned my little firecracker against striking her husband, as surely there'd be further penance associated with that.
"You're right. I'd better kiss you instead, then."
"Mm. Come here, my incorrigible sinner."
"Don't say that, Darling. No more sinning for me. I've had quite enough," she admitted, turning pensive.
"Alright, I'll permit this penitential mood, but only until I return, Angel. I shall expect a good fortnight of sin when I get home," I smiled, trying to tease her out of her mood.
She whispered. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but it's no sin now we're married."
"We'll see about that. I'm sure we'll be able to think of a sin between us."
She turned her rage on me then, demanding what I'd eaten, how I was sleeping. I wasn't looking after myself, wasn't even trying to return to her safe and healthy, she accused; the boy was pissing his bed, the baby was fussy and had a nasty rash on her bum. I bore her abuse happily, my poor angel. It was my fault; and after all, she was merely trying to tell me that she needed me home, as if I didn't know it.
When she finished berating me, we sang. It was a tremendous help to us both. She'd bought me several books, and a picture Masson had made of the ducks, so I wouldn't miss them. Gaston was making inquiries, she said. It was encouraging, as he knew nearly everyone in Paris. Raoul was worrying all his noble connections, she assured me.
The officers reappeared and made Christine leave. She made me promise to eat, said she'd send a treat later in the day with Reza—that was fine, I had no appetite. All I really wanted was the ribbon from her hair. I told her not to worry, swore I was holding up well. What good would it do to tell her that I felt cracks forming along the edge of my sanity?
-0-0-0-0-
The nighttime duty officers were bored, and I looked like easy amusement.
"I saw your bitch, Monster."
Recalling the old saw about having a battle of wits with an unarmed man, I crawled into a space behind the bed to ignore him.
"Did you hear me? Monster! I saw your bitch!" He began chucking coins at me. "How long do you think that saucy cunt will wait for a creature like you? How old are you anyway? Are you deaf? Hey!"
His friend chimed in. "Answer the officer, Beast!"
Their aim with the coins was improving. I was tired and sore, and I wanted to tell them to just kick me around and have done with it. It's not that the anticipation is worse than the event; no, I was confident these two would give a good accounting of themselves. I just wanted to sleep if I could, and there would be none of that til I'd had my bedtime story.
My mind returned effortlessly to that place where regular beatings are expected. Once, when I was about twelve, I got a whipping because I'd made a dog bark. The boy and his thug friends said I'd scared his dog. Now, the way this works is, if you don't make the dog bark, you still get a whipping for simply being there. I've been 'there' many times; I almost felt I could bear it, going back to that life. I'd certainly had more experience of it than this new life where I had a proper bed, a woman to love, two perfect children. Friends. A reason to live in the light, try to be a man, and not hurt people.
I wanted to ask God about this. I wanted to know why I should be given a taste of something I couldn't finish. I wanted to know why I was being sent back into the sewers. But mainly, I wanted to know why Christine and the babies were being made to suffer.
They all worked together; the coins and insults, my grief and terror, the memories. I gave in to the despair, though Christine had pleaded that I not allow it to consume me. I gave them the show they wanted. I threw myself against the bars. I strained to reach them from my cage. I wanted their throats in my hands; I told them so. I tried to dash my brains out; I should have been more careful; I know perfectly well how blood stings the eyes. They burst in, confident I'd do myself if they didn't stop me, and trussed me up like a boar fresh from the hunt. I could not be permitted to cheat the government of France of its pleasure by killing myself prematurely.
My mind couldn't stay with the body bound and caged there. It has always longed to escape the flawed carcass it's chained to; I don't blame it wanting to fly away.