"Paa-paa." Masson peeled my eyelids open.
"Paa-paa." He felt like a cement sack thumping on my chest.
"Papa is a bony, spindly old man, Son. Please don't bounce on me like that."
"Why?"
"Because you may break me."
"Papa, get up."
"What time is it?" We only passed out around five.
"Why you can't look at the clock?"
"Because I can't move."
"Why?"
"When you're older you'll understand."
"Old people have aches and pains," he announced.
"That is absolutely correct."
Masson gave up on me for the moment. He'd be back, but perhaps Mama was a better candidate for abuse this morning. Not likely.
"Maa-maa."
"Get Papa." My loving wife.
"Papa says he can't move."
"Mama can't move either, Darling. Maybe Mademoiselle Silke will get your breakfast."
Masson grunted disapproval at his lazy parents and thumped away with Christine. Masson was dragging something along behind him; it made a solid clunk-clunk as it followed them downstairs. God only knew what he'd found. He had accumulated a pirate's treasure of junk pilfered from everyone in the house.
"Erik."
"Yes, my Aphrodite; the depleted husk of your late husband is beside you."
"Will you please be my angel and get me some coffee?" she purred.
"Nothing would please me more, Christine, but I really can't move."
"Liar," she groused. "If I said I wanted to go again, you'd be here in a heartbeat."
"You want to go again?"
"Do you?"
"Do you?"
"Mm-hm."
"Outstanding."
"See? That was even quicker than a heartbeat." She was smiling.
"You didn't make me drag myself over on false pretenses, did you?"
"Oh no, I couldn't let this beast go to waste. But, um, Erik?"
"What? Coffee now?" I couldn't believe it.
"No; you'd better lock the door."
-0-0-0-0-
When I finally dragged my carcass downstairs, Darius said he'd bring coffee to the parlor. The cabal was already in session; I was fashionably late. Raoul sat grinning at me. Disagreeable before coffee.
"What is that idiot grin about? Haven't you got a family to attend to?"
"Thanks for joining us today, Lord Shagwell."
"You prat; don't provoke a man before his coffee."
We joined the debate over the best place to go. Switzerland's obsessive neutrality had its appeal, as did England's historic animosity toward France, should French authorities locate me and demand extradition. America was a blank slate; there was no fresher start possible anywhere. Me among red Indians and outlaws; what a ghastly idea. Masson would adore it.
Frankly, imy managers' behavior remained a puzzlement to me. For pity's sake, one insignificant madman in a damp cellar. It seemed absurd that they'd come after me. Perhaps in my heyday I would have been a worthy trophy, but now, defanged as I was? Christine was more of a hellion than I, and a much more fetching trophy.
"Are you sure I couldn't just duck out of Paris and lay low awhile?"
"You won't lay low," Gaston insisted. "You must be free to play with your children. You can't hide in a cave anymore."
I couldn't disagree with that.
"I still think we could hide you at Chagny," Roul suggested.
"Hide? Erik?" Reza was incredulous.
"It's alright, Raoul. You're a moron, but it's part of your unique charm. Gentlemen, if only women fucked brains," I sighed.
"Look; now you've wounded him."
"Oh, I don't know; he looks adorable when he pouts."
"I'm serious. I've given it considerable thought!" Raoul insisted. He was genuinely offended. "No one comes on the property without permission, and if you had a good, thin leather mask which matched your skin; they couldn't get terribly close, they'd have to use a telescope."
"HA-HAAAH!" The door crashed open. Had I more wits about me, I might have pissed myself. We gazed in horror at the apparition: Masson in full Phantom rig. Shoes, waistcoat, cape; mask on his head like a party hat and gloves (where the devil did he find them?) His trusty accomplice was draped in his arms—an added personal touch. He was also dragging my lasso along behind him—where the devil did he find that?
"He's here!" I squealed. "The Phantom of the Opera!" Much muttering ensued.
Masson beamed. His menacing scowl needed work.
"There is no Phantom of the Opera!" Raoul scoffed.
"Raoul, I've seen him!" I pointed at the giggling fiend.
Raoul leapt up and dashed from the room in wide-eyed terror. Masson released Christine and drew his sword before clomping after him. Good; let the young Comte race around like a fool today.
"Erik, how in heaven's name did the boy come by your lasso?" Reza demanded.
"Don't look at me! What do you take me for?"
"Well, alright then," he grumbled, relieved.
"I'd never teach him to use a lasso before he was, say, twelve."
Gaston howled; Reza mumbled something about incorrigible and delinquent. Reckon he meant me.
-0-0-0-0-
The cabal was in session all afternoon and into the evening. We debated the relocation problem half-heartedly, welcoming any distraction with relief. We didn't want to go; they hated to see us go. I knew I had to go. Gaston was perfectly right. I couldn't hide. It might have been alright for Christine and me, but we have to think of the babies.
It sounds trite, but babies really do change everything. My god, I didn't even care about my own ugly hide anymore. Imagine the scene in the park without my children there: the police would have beaten me to death before they'd've taken me. Nothing but my cherubs could have brought me to a public park in broad daylight to begin with.
When I think of my mother now, I feel a new confusion. It's true they are flawless, but would I have turned my children away if they were not? I know I wouldn't. Their pull on me is visceral. I find my previous explanation for my mother's rejection no longer satisfies. I have a new idea: perhaps Mother was mad too. What if madness prevented her from heeding the ageless impulse to nurture her offspring, no matter how flawed? I don't know what to do with these ideas. I lay them aside whenever they surface.
In much the same way, my partners in crime and I laid the relocation debate aside for more attractive diversions. We got oiled up and went on a raid. Christine caught us just before we escaped. Incredibly, she went for Raoul. She promised him she'd have his head if the police nabbed me again. Two husbands, as I said.