Erik waited all the next day for Gus, but he never appeared. He did show up the following day, just before the afternoon rush.
"I hope this is ok..." he started.
Erik held up a hand. "It will make the afternoon go by more quickly. Please, be my guest."
And thus began the relationship between Gus and Erik. Every day or two, Gus stood in a corner near the newsstand and played his violin through the afternoon rush. Erik would have the City Paper and two packs of orange tic-tacs ready for him when he finished. Any conversation tended to be one-sided since Erik did not have much practice in that particular art. Gus, on the other hand, was quite affable. Erik learned Gus's opinions on music, politics, and food. The fact that would change Erik's life was that Gus was married to his high school sweetheart, Lotte.
"We grew up together. Small town. I have to admit I didn't really notice her until I was a senior. She was just a sophomore, only 15. She got the lead in the spring musical. Boy, were there a lot of pissed off girls at school that spring." Gus chuckled. "We did The Sound of Music. She was Maria, I was in the pit orchestra. I forever in trouble- first chair and I kept missing cues because I couldn't take my eyes off her."
"We both came here to Philadelphia for college. Or I came here and she followed me. I wanted to go to Curtis, but my father convinced me to go to Temple instead. I majored in graphic design and minored in music. Better to have a useful career, you know."
Erik cleared his throat. "Pardon me, but that seems like a waste. You are a gifted musician."
"Thanks. Music is what keeps me sane, but designing graphics pays the bills these days. Before the boys were born..." Gus sighed. "You should hear Lotte sing. We used to play the clubs and coffee houses back in the day. Thought we might even get signed to an indie record label, you know? But then Peter came along. Lotte refused to keep performing. She wants the kids to have a normal childhood, whatever that is."
"Trying to recreate her idyllic childhood, is she?" Erik scoffed.
"No, no, nothing like that. Her childhood was pretty unsettled. Ended up being raised by her grandmother and great-grandmother. If she had her way, we'd move back to their farmhouse in Lancaster County. She hates the city. Not much call for graphic designers in farm country, though. So she teaches music to preschoolers and I sell my designs to assholes in fancy suits." Gus shrugged. "I couldn't live without her, so what else can I do?"
"What does she think of your busking career?" asked Erik.
"Oh, she has no idea. She'd kill me if she knew." Gus hung his head, blushing. "I just can't help it, though."
Erik nodded. Gus reminded him of an addict. Jittery when he arrived each afternoon, Gus slipped into a blissful state as he played. He came to the station more and more frequently, staying longer and longer into the evenings. Erik understood the pull of music. He had also found solace in melody, counterpoint, and harmony.
Erik thought if he were to have a friend, he could do much worse than Gus Daae. His passion for music was appealing, certainly. In addition, he never questioned the gray sweatshirt that Erik wore, hood up, every day. If he noticed the leather mask that covered the right side of his face, Gus never mentioned it. Perhaps he was too caught up in his own life to notice, perhaps he didn't care. The reason was of little consequence.
Later, Erik was to think of that last afternoon as "that fatal Friday," which seemed odd at first, until he was reminded that in J.M. Barrie's Peter Pan Mr. and Mrs. Darling referred to the night Peter Pan came as that fatal Friday. If only it had been a page from a children's story and not what it was, at least for Gus. Erik could not quite wish the whole thing away. Somehow, it felt like a gift, a redeeming gift from a God who had otherwise ignored him.
On that Friday, Gus was playing an improvisation on what seemed to be a melody by The Clash. Unseen, Erik arched an eyebrow and listened with interest. Gus found inspiration everywhere. A group of students, heading off to a weekend in New York, came to the stall, stocking up on magazines and candy for the train ride. As Erik was ringing up the final sale, the great marble station shook. One of the students screamed. Another supposed that somehow there had been a wreck on one of the platforms below. Another tremor shook them all, followed by a deafening sound. Smoke and dust billowed from nowhere. The students fled, joining a sudden stream of people. Erik grabbed the cash drawer from the register and stuffed it into a shopping bag. He started to follow the stream of people, now assisted by SEPTA guards, but first he looked back for Gus.
The wall behind Gus had disappeared. In its place was a pile of rubble. At first Erik though Gus had already run, but no, there he was, crawling towards the newsstand. Erik ran to him and tried to help him up. Gus screamed in pain. Erik helped him to the newsstand and sat down beside him. His left thigh and leg were awkwardly twisted.
"I think my leg is broken," said Gus.
"I would agree. Hang on. Help is sure to be on the way," answered Erik.
"My phone..." Gus tried to reach into his pocket but shied away from the pain. "Could you? My phone?" He pointed to his front pocket.
Erik reached in and pulled out Gus's phone. Gus took it and made a call with shaking hands. Erik was surprised when Gus laid the phone on his lap. The picture on the phone showed a young woman hugging Gus's sons. "Lotte," it said.
Gus had set the phone on speaker. "Gus?" answered a woman's voice.
"Hey, darling. I'm having trouble getting home. There's been an accident."
"Oh my God, Gus! Where are you? I'll come get you. Are you ok?"
"Lotte, honey. Just stay put. I'm at 30th Street...there was an explosion. I just..."
"Gus? Gus?"
"I'm here. I just wanted to hear your voice. I think this might take...a while."
"Ok. Ok. I'm here. Gus?"
"Lotte? Lotte, it hurts. Would you sing?"
"What? Are you alone?"
"No. We're waiting together. I'm ok. It just hurts and I have to wait..."
Softly at first, singing came through the phone. It took Erik a phrase or two to realize she wasn't singing in English. It was the same folk tune Gus had played that first afternoon. "Tryggare kan ingen vara...Än Guds lilla barnaskara...Stjärnan ej på himlafästet...Fågeln ej i kända nästet..."
Erik felt as though he'd been punched in the gut. Even through a cell phone, the purity, the beauty of that voice shot through him. He wanted to cry and throw up and sing all at the same time. This was Gus's Lotte? This was the woman who had stopped performing in public? This voice, this perfect, beautiful voice...Erik wanted to own it, to bend it to his will. He wanted that voice to sing his music.
As Lotte sang, Gus picked up the phone and held it to his chest. The singing was muffled, but still audible. Lotte had finished the first song and started another, "As we go marching, marching, In the beauty of the day..." The soprano voice pierced Erik to the very core. Gus groaned faintly.
The singing stopped. "Gus? Honey?"
"Don't stop, please," Gus sighed.
Lotte began singing again, "For they are women's children, and we mother them again..."
Erik closed his eyes to concentrate on the voice coming from the phone. Selfishly, he longed to make Gus show him the picture of his wife. He wanted, no, he needed to see the face belonging to that voice.
Something beside him moved. Erik roused himself from his reverie enough to realize that Gus had slumped over the leg that was broken. That must hurt, he thought. Erik reached over to pull his friend upright. There was no response. Gus was hard to move, a dead weight. Quietly, so as not to disturb the voice on the phone, Erik knelt beside Gus and felt for a pulse. Finding none, he gently laid his friend down on the floor.
Carefully, he slipped the phone from Gus's hand. The voice on the phone said, "Gus? Gus?" Erik pushed "End Call" and slipped the phone into his pocket as he walked away.