Here's Chapter 11! This is a new phase of the story so the pace will change a bit. This particular chapter feels a bit disjointed - it's just to give you an idea of Erik and Gustave's early days/weeks together. All comments and suggestions are welcome!
I can't pretend that everything was fine after that night, but Mister Y and I were a little less awkward around each other, which was a positive step. He still filled me with awe and perhaps a little fear, with his imposing, commanding presence but I no longer thought of him as a monster.
The morning of our first proper day together he was reluctant to take me outside, because of all the reporters flocking around. But later that day when things were a bit quieter he took me on a tour of Phantasma. "It's the end of the season," he explained, "so the rides will be closing up today, but you will still be able to go on some of them. I will arrange it for you." He seemed so eager to cheer me up and make me happy, despite his own grief.
Everyone in the park knew what had happened by now, of course. Workers were closing up food stalls, rides and other attractions, and they were all looking at us as we passed. Some persistent reporters would return over the next few days to try, unsuccessfully, to secure an interview with Mister Y, but soon they would turn their attention to other events.
He took me over to the Ghost Train and introduced me to Adam, the attendant in charge, who looked surprised to see his mysterious boss out in public. "My son is to have a free ride on this train, as many as he wants," he told Adam, with a meaningful look, and the young man agreed straight away.
It was scary and exciting, I have to admit. But it somehow felt wrong that I should be going on it by myself. Mother and I were supposed to be trying it out together. As the train emerged from the dark tunnel and jerked to a halt, I could feel tears trickling down my face. "You all right, sonny?" Adam asked me, as he pulled up the safety bar. I nodded, but nonetheless he guided me out my seat and led me over to Mister Y, who was standing nearby. "What did you say to him?" Mister Y demanded of the poor fellow.
"Nothing, sir, honestly! He just got a bit upset at the end of the ride.."
My new found father just put a hand on my shoulder and hurried me away.
"You were thinking about your mother, weren't you?" he sighed.
I nodded. "I'm sorry. It's just.. I wanted the two of us to go on it together and now..."
"It's all right, Gustave. Maybe we should just go home."
A thought occurred to me.
"Will you take me on it? And some of the other rides too?"
He stared at me. "You want me to accompany you?"
I looked at the ground. I shouldn't have asked him. It was a stupid idea.
"I can't believe that you... yes, Gustave of course I will!"
He looked so happy, and I felt so relieved.
I was beginning to realise that Mister Y was a very reclusive and secretive man, who did not visit his "ground troops" very often. The park manager, Joe Harris, who later became a good friend of mine, was in charge of all the day to day running of the place. There were supervisors and other staff who met with Mister Y occasionally for business meetings, but apart from that he kept his distance and rarely appeared in the park itself. So not surprisingly most of the employees gathered to watch us board the Ghost Train.
"Look, there he is! I can't believe that's Mister Y!"
"All this time I've worked here and I've never seen him!"
"And that's his son!"
I felt like a celebrity as the train trundled into the darkness.
After the roller coaster and perhaps one or two other attractions, Mister Y felt it was best to let everyone close up for the season. So we returned home together. As we walked, he held his hand out to me but I still did not feel comfortable taking it. If he felt rejected he did his best to hide it. Back in the little apartment, he busied himself with making some soup for our lunch.
"We'll need to go shopping for food, Gustave", he told me as he chopped vegetables, "I don't eat very much but I need to buy food for you. And some clothes too; you've only got a few outfits in your suitcase and anyway, you will need more clothes as time goes by."
Having to buy things like clothes just reminded me that I was no longer on vacation. I did not answer him, but sat quietly at the table. He rummaged around, trying to find some bread to accompany the soup, but to no avail. Sighing, he turned around wearily to look at me with those sad eyes.
"This is hard for me too, Gustave. I've never looked after a child before. I never even thought I would ever have a child, and yet here you are. It's all so new to me, I don't know what things children like, what they need… I've seen so many of them of course, on vacation here in Phantasma with their parents but this is so different…"
I was not sure what to say. Everything was new to both of us and I had no idea how to console an adult in this situation. The room was silent again, with just the two of us and it felt a bit unnerving. I just sat there, lost in my thoughts as Mister Y worked away on our lunch, probably lost in his own thoughts. So many things to think about! Here I was, in this strange apartment on an amusement park, with a man I hardly knew, but who was actually my father... And Raoul was not my father. All my life I'd been calling the wrong man father and Mother had known this.
The implications of this revelation were dawning on me slowly, as I drank my soup.
Raoul was not my father. I was not the future vicomte de Chagny, and never had been. The estate and the title were not mine.
Grandmother was not my grandmother. She was just a bitter, hateful old woman and I began to feel rather sorry for her.
My Aunt Sylvie and Uncle Francois, and their horrible son Richard, they were not my relatives, nor were Aunt Gabrielle and Uncle Robert in England, nor were their three spoilt daughters. None of them belonged to me, and with the exception of Grandmother, none of them ever tried to contact me in America. And even that piece of correspondence was a brief, formal note, telling me that her son had explained everything to her, that she understood I would not be returning and that she wished me well. It was signed Veronique de Chagny. That was all.
Raoul was right; I'd never wanted to be an aristocrat and here was the reason why. I was not his. Mother had loved me, but she had hidden the truth from me all my life; every time she had referred to Raoul as "your father" she had lied. It would be a long time before I could make any sense of this. In the meantime, I suddenly realised that I had no reason to return to my former home.
That does not mean that I did not miss it. Already, even as I sat at Mister Y's table, I missed my room, with all my toys and books, and my sheet music. I missed the piano, the table in the kitchen where I could sample the cook's latest pastries and biscuits, the low window sill in the drawing room where you could sit and look out when it was raining. And the vast grounds, where all my adventures took place.. I missed the orchard, the walled garden, the tree with the low hanging branch that you could swing from. And I missed Louis and Alfie, of course.
I finished my lunch but remained sitting at the table, thinking quietly. Finally I spoke. "Mister Y, could I.. could I write a letter please?" I asked, trembling a little.
"Of course, Gustave, you can do anything you wish. I have paper and ink, and a reliable fountain pen; if you need anything else you only have to ask."
"Thank you", I replied softly, "It's just.. I want to write a letter to Louis, to tell him that I'm staying here."
"Who's Louis?"
"My friend. He's the gardener's son and we always play together. Well, w-we used to anyway. Alfie too. We had great fun together, especially in the summer.."
My voice trailed off and Mister Y looked at me sympathetically. "Of course you must write; you can do it any time you want. I have some stamps too, and there are envelopes somewhere…"
I continued sadly. "We used to throw sticks for Alfie and he would run after them. And he always got a nice bone from the cook."
Mister Y stared at me for a moment. Then, it hit him. "Oh, Alfie is a dog! For a moment I thought he was another boy!"
He chuckled, and I felt embarrassed for not explaining this. He looked so human when he laughed, and it was such a normal mistake to make, that soon we were both laughing.
I did write to Louis, trying to explain that I had a new father now and that I would be living with him from now on. It still felt very strange and disconcerting though and I struggled to find the right words. Mister Y and I walked to the letter box together as the sun was setting. It was on the promenade, which was mostly deserted now, apart from a few visitors getting into cabs or day trippers hurrying to the station. The season was over. On the way back, he reached out his hand to me again, and, after hesitating a little, I took it. He looked down at our joined hands but although he said nothing, I thought I saw a smile on the visible side of his face.
Louis wrote back on a sheet torn from his exercise book, saying that he missed me and that Alfie was happy in his new home but kept wandering over to the front door of the chateau to sniff around and to look for me. He thanked me for the toy soldier too, which the vicomte had given him, and said that it worked really well. I can just imagine the day that Raoul came home; poor Louis seeing the brougham coming up the drive and running over to it, eager to greet me and ask me all about Coney Island – and just one person getting out.
We exchanged a couple of letters, sharing news about our lives, but inevitably lost touch after a while, much to my regret. I have always remembered my old playmate fondly; the gardeners son who played with the son of the chateau.
Raoul sent over the toys I had listed for him; mainly smaller items, like my marbles and my beloved tin soldiers. "I'll buy you some more toys, Gustave, whatever you want," Mister Y promised me, and he was as good as his word. However I still missed the toys I'd left behind; my kite, my hoop, my spinning top, the old rocking horse that I couldn't bear to part with... and my stuffed animals. My bear was my favourite, and became a treasured possession, but in the chateau I'd had a giraffe, an elephant, a monkey, perhaps other things too.. I thought of my old brass bed, and the space underneath where you could hide things, and the ships painted on the walls.
Sometimes I used to think that my old room waited for me, just as it was on the day I left it. Like a shrine.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOO
But I don't wish to give the impression that life with Mister Y was always sad or depressing. He was busy during those first few weeks, as Phantasma closed for the winter, but assured me that we would spend plenty of time together. "We have plenty of time to get to know each other," he told me kindly. Sometimes I had to attend meetings with him, which was fairly dull, but I usually brought a book with me. Other times Miss Fleck or her two friends looked after me. They were not so strange when you got to know them. But Mister Y always tried to bring me with him as he inspected his empire. He did not enjoy going out during the day but sometimes it was necessary, especially when we had to buy food.
We had so much in common. Our love of music, our love for Mother, our fascination with mechanical things and architecture, as well as the darker side of life. He never tired of hearing about Mother, but I felt too shy to ask him about his memories of her, in case it made him sad. There was so much I wanted to ask him but couldn't quite find the words.
Along with my toys, Raoul sent me a framed photograph of Mother, taken earlier that year by a local photographer. At least I had something to remember her by. This picture has always been one of my most prized possessions as it captures a particular moment in time. And despite the stiff looking pose and monochrome image I can still see the gentle, chestnut haired mother I once knew. It now sits – where else? - on top of the piano.
Mister Y took me to the Aerie during those first uncertain weeks and taught me how he repaired the automatons that he used in his shows, including the monkey playing the piano. He showed me all the tiny parts inside and how they worked together to create noise and movement. We even took apart the toy he had given me when we first arrived, and put it back together. He explained that the second, mysterious tune was called "Masquerade" and that he used to have a monkey toy which also played this tune, but on the cymbals.
Our explorations gave us something to discuss after we went back to the apartment. I watched and learned as he worked on plans for more automatons, and newer, more exciting rides and sideshows for the next season. The master and his apprentice.
He kept an eye on what the other amusement parks were up to but never slavishly copied them. He improved on whatever his rivals were doing. He was constantly looking for new ways to do things, for innovation, for perfection. If a new snack was becoming popular, it had to be on offer at Phantasma, only better than before. In fact the other parks often copied him. New inventions and technology were all a means of enticing more people into his little bit of heaven by the sea.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Not surprisingly, Meg's dance troupe broke up not long afterwards. Most of the girls left Coney Island altogether, and those that remained were embarrassed and awkward around me. They expressed sympathy about Mother, telling me how talented and kind she was. They told me how Mother's dressing room had never been used until a few weeks ago when she arrived for her performance.
And nobody ever used it again.
Nobody ever sang her song again either. Mister Y took his own copy of the libretto and the copy he sent Mother (Raoul must have given it back to him) and burnt them both, in front of me.
"It was for her, only for her," he murmured sadly, as we watched the pages burn.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
One Sunday – I'm not sure how long I was living with him at this stage – I was woken gently by Mister Y. We still shared the bedroom and he was working on making an extra bed for one of us. He always insisted that he didn't sleep much but I felt guilty that he was still sleeping on the floor and sometimes the sofa.
"Gustave, it's Sunday, you need to get up and get ready for church."
I looked up sleepily. Church? I hadn't even thought about that. But I'd always gone to church back in France, with Mother and Raoul, even after our disaster. It would be so good to do something familiar.
Soon Mister Y and I were strolling to the local Catholic church, St Michael's, which was a 15 minute walk away. We could hear the bells ringing as we approached. It was large and beautiful, despite being grey in colour, and it was located on a quiet street, set back a little from the pavement.
"I'll come back for you when the Mass is over but wait for me outside if it finishes early", he told me causally when we reached the gate.
"You're not coming in with me?"
"No, I never attend any religious service. But your mother would want you to go, and I will make sure you do, every Sunday. This kind of thing"-he indicated the church- "was very important to her. Now, in you go and I'll meet you back in this exact spot."
The service was just starting as I sat down, near the back. Glancing around, I could see that the other children were attending with their parents. I was fairly shocked that Mister Y didn't go to church. Surely everyone went? At home, or rather, my old home, everyone in the village and the surrounding area went to St Martin's church on Sunday. Everyone in Paris went to church too, as far as I knew. Notre Dame Cathedral was always busy when Mother and I went in there. Some Parisians belonged to other religions, but everyone went to a religious ceremony of some kind, didn't they?
Nonetheless, I enjoyed it. It was comforting to hear the familiar words of the Latin Mass again. I liked listening to the choir too. Raoul would never let me join the choir in St Martins. Maybe I could join it here?
Mister Y met me outside, as he had promised and we walked home together but he never asked me anything about the ceremony. Wasn't he interested? He had wanted me to attend but had no interest in it himself. There were so many questions to ask him if only I could pluck up the courage. So many things I didn't know about him! Gradually, piece by piece, I would learn things about him, but in some ways he remained a mystery to the very end.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Of course, Mister Y and I played music together. It brought us together like nothing else could.
There was no piano in the apartment but we spent most of our time in the Aerie anyway, so Mister Y would play the piano and I would sing, or the other way around sometimes. He was deeply impressed with my ability and wanted to teach me ever more complex pieces. All the tunes I had in my head finally came to life under his tutelage. He played for me. He played a piece called "The Music of the Night" which sounded familiar. I vaguely remembered Mother humming it once, when I was younger, but Raoul did not approve. I heard him sneer "That's one of his songs isn't it?" to Mother while I played nearby. Now I knew why. So many things were beginning to make sense.
He was more than happy to read my favourite stories and fairy tales to me, and often it turned out that we liked the same stories, including the Snow Queen. It was as if I had finally found the other half of myself. I was indeed his son, but I have always maintained that I am a product of both my parents. Indeed, Mister Y used to tell me that I had Mother's kindness and gentle temperament, as well as her smile. That made me happy, as Mother was one of the kindest people I knew.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
One day, a few weeks after I came to live with him, we were sitting at home having just finished our dinner. "How can you be hungry again?" was his constant refrain, as he tried to get to know my appetite. He did not eat much; there was always so much for him to do that he hardly found the time and apparently he had never liked eating anyway. But I had eaten a nice big dinner, and would not be bothering him for food for some time. All was quiet, as usual. We were still at that awkward stage, to some extent, but the silence was quite comforting, with the fire crackling away in the background. Mister Y was unmasked, which was more comfortable for him when he was eating. The white mask was sitting on the table between us, and it fascinated me.
"Can I look at it?" I asked tentatively, nodding at it. He looked at me curiously. "If you like.." he replied with a degree of uncertainty.
I lifted it up. It was made from white porcelain, carefully crafted to reflect each contour of Mister Y's face. I traced my finger over its surface.
"Is it comfortable?" I asked him.
"Not particularly," he replied gloomily, "It gets hot under there and it often chafes my skin".
I looked at him and could see those places where it rubbed against his skin. "As if I'm not hideous enough…" he commented darkly. Suddenly, inexplicably, I felt the urge to see what the mask felt like. I slowly placed it against my face.
It was snatched from my hand in an instant.
"Don't ever put it on again!" he shouted, his face red with fury and I sprang up from my chair in shock.
"You do not need a mask and you never will! Never cover up your face, do you hear me?"
"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"
He was filled with a terrible rage and his breathing was ragged. He stood slowly and clutched the edge of the table, trying to calm himself. Then, with a deep sigh, he replaced the mask on to his face.
"I'll never do that again, I promise", I told him fearfully. And I really meant it. Never had I seen him this angry. He fumed in silence for a while, before finally apologising.
"Forgive me; I have a truly dreadful temper."
Soon all was well again, but for a few minutes I had seen a different side to him.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
It was true Mister Y had a temper, but he also had a huge capacity for love. I knew that he loved Mother but he told me that ever since he found out that I was his son, he felt a huge, overwhelming surge of love for me. "My own son, my child.." he would murmur as we sat together by the fire in the evenings. He was always affectionate, stroking or ruffling my hair whenever he passed me, kissing my cheek at bedtime, hugging me.. Indeed he was far more affectionate than most middle class fathers in the world of 1907. It would embarrass me as I got older but in those early days, I was so desperate for a parent, for a father, that I welcomed this love, and gradually learnt to return it.
Sometimes I caught him just gazing at me adoringly, hardly able to believe I existed. He called me "son" or "my son" with great pride and when my toys arrived from France, he allowed me to show them to him, listening to what must have seemed like inane prattle. No question was ever too difficult or too trivial. He had a huge collection of books on every subject, art, architecture, history and of course music, in both English and French, and we pored over them together.
This led him to ask about my education so far. "No doubt it was the best in the land, with a vicomte for a stepfather!" he commented drily. And so I told him about my tutor, Professor Chapelle, and all the things he had taught me, including some English.
"Yes, I've heard you talking to Joe and I've noticed your English isn't bad. He taught you well."
"I still make mistakes though. And the professor had to…leave a few months ago so I didn't have lessons over the summer." I didn't elaborate on the reasons for this departure; no doubt he could guess.
He tested me in other subjects like mathematics and was impressed with my knowledge. "This professor sounds very learned. You were very lucky, Gustave."
"Yes, I liked him. I missed him when he left."
"You know, you will have to go to school soon."
Ignoring my downcast face, he continued. "It's the law, I'm afraid. But I have no doubt you will be fine. You are a very bright boy and will probably be ahead of your classmates. There are lots of good schools here in New York. The local elementary school is supposed to be very good; Joe's children went there, and most of my employees have children who are enrolled there."
"But everything will be in English!"
"Well, it is America! But don't worry, I'll teach you. We can work on it together. And maybe we should try and use English with each other from now on? Even just for a few days a week?"
Reluctantly I agreed. I showed him the dictionary and grammar book that I had and he immediately set me some complicated grammar exercises to work on. It would be fun too, he assured me, we would read my book of adventure stories together and he would explain the English words that I did not understand.
"I will have to enrol you soon; the term has already started. I could hardly send you to school straight away, but I think it's time now."
This was the first time I would have to be parted from Mister Y, even if it was only for part of the day. But it would be an adventure. Much and all as I respected the Professor, I had sometimes wondered what it would be like to go to school with other children. Louis used to tell me about it sometimes but that was not the same as experiencing it. This would be another new start for me. I was no longer a little aristocrat; I was Mister Y's son. I lived in America, I was trying to perfect my English and now I would attend an American school.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
When I woke from yet another nightmare, in which Meg was trying to pull me beneath the waves this time, he did not become irritated. Instead he told me to get dressed and when I was ready he led me through another door from the kitchen, up some steps and through another door, which, to my surprise, led on to a balcony of some kind. It overlooked the park and I could see other parts of Brooklyn, and indeed of New York, off in the distance.
"I built this a few years ago. I often come up here when I can't sleep. It's so peaceful here, with no-one around, and I can see for miles. My own private kingdom." He looked at me. "Our kingdom".
We sat together on a bench that was built into the side of the tower.
"You can join me here any night you want, whenever you have a nightmare or you can't sleep. Unless it's the middle of winter of course."
"Thank you, Mister Y. It's so beautiful up here."
We just sat quietly for a little while and then Mister Y spoke again.
"I have nightmares too, you know."
"You do?" I was surprised, but then again I was a heavy sleeper.
"Indeed I do. Sometimes I fear them. And sometimes they have been a source of great inspiration to me. My music, my automatons, the Ghost Train, the Haunted House.. All kinds of things."
Mister Y was unlike anyone I'd ever met before. He was strange and still a bit mysterious, but he was all I had. And I was all he had. Not until I became a father myself did I understand this overwhelming love that he had for me.
I even leaned against him as we sat there, until it got too cold and we had to go inside. After I got back into my bed, he came to sit with me for a while. As he gently tucked me in, he picked up my bear and began making him "dance" on the blanket. Mother liked to tease me with my bear too, when we played together. Sometimes she pretended he was an opera singer, with a silly voice, and even manipulated his jerky limbs to make him look like he was bowing and waving.
I laughed at the silly song that he sang as he moved my toy along the bed before giving him back to me with a soft chuckle. "Mother liked to play like this too," I smiled, and for once sadness did not grip my heart when I spoke of her. When Mister Y bent down and tenderly kissed my forehead, I suddenly felt a rush of.. well, perhaps not love, not just yet, but it was some kind of affection. A feeling of happiness and security that I did not think I would ever feel again.
He sang to me and told me another instalment of an exciting story that he had made up just for me. Even though I felt more contented, my heart still ached for Mother and he seemed to realise this. Somehow he knew that it was sometimes possible to be happy and sad at the same time. Putting his arms around me, he held me close.
"I think we'll get along together just fine," he grinned, as I returned his embrace.
After a little while he tried to gently remove my arms from around his chest.
"Don't leave me, Mister Y," I begged him.
"I won't." he whispered, and he climbed into the bed beside me as he sang me another soothing lullaby.
We were still in each other's arms the next morning.