Sorry for the delay with this chapter! Things are moving on a bit now. Please review!

Yesterday Helen and I drove over to Coney Island, something we do not do very often nowadays. We strolled along the beach, lingering in front of the vacant site where Phantasma once stood, and we gazed wistfully at the former ballroom we used to frequent in our courting days. Now it's part of a block of fairly bland looking apartments, like so many other former attractions in the neighbourhood.

"So sad to see all these changes, and none for the better," I mused aloud sadly. We reminisced about the old days and the fun we had, as a young couple sprinted past us, the young lady shrieking playfully as her beau caught her around the waist and pulled her into a passionate embrace. I winced at their extended public display of affection but Helen was quick to interject.

"We used to do that, don't you remember?" she reminded me.

"Bet we still could," I retorted and my tone made her chuckle, dispelling my cynicism. And I did chase her although we both got out of breath after a ridiculously short space of time.

As we made our way back to the car, I looked back at the sea, and remembered …. Helen slipped her arm through mine with wordless understanding, the kind that only comes after a marriage of over four decades. And as we passed that vacant field of concrete on our way to the parking lot, I paused briefly and when I closed my eyes I could still hear the laughter of children, the rush of the roller coaster, the Coney Island Waltz and Dr Gangle luring curious visitors into the theatre…

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

We were on the beach by the water's edge once more and I gazed sorrowfully out to sea as I stood there, self-conscious of my father's arm around my shoulders.

"Four years," he muttered sadly, "I can't believe it's been four years."

"Neither can I." I replied softly, trying not to break his reverie. But the night was unseasonably cold and I kept wondering when we could go back inside.

"But, that means I've had you to live with me for four years and I can't complain about that," he grinned; at least I think it was a grin, behind that mask.

He was as mysterious as ever, with his black cloak and gloves, and his fedora hat. He continued to intrigue me but he was more comfortable leaving his mask off when we were alone, which pleased me. I was used to that face by now, strange as it may seem. A person can get used to pretty much anything.

The last few years had not been easy, at least not all the time. Papa was irritable and bad tempered sometimes and I supposed that would never change. Luckily I was able to pacify him with music or with passages from his favourite books, and we got along well most of the time. But some things were changing, for me at least. I was fourteen now, and growing taller at last. And there were other things happening to me too, to my body and my emotions; I was beginning to realise how strongly I could feel things such as love – and hate.

He always insisted on visiting that spot on the same day each year, without fail. And although I continued to miss my mother, I found myself wanting to mourn her in my own way – in the privacy of my room perhaps, not in the place where she had been taken from me. I was a teenager, although the word had not been invented yet, and although I loved my father sometimes I just wanted to be alone, or with my friends.

Lord knows, I've had the experience of two teenagers and it was not always easy, but that was different; my wife and I raised them together and we could always ask the advice of other parents. Papa was alone with me. I'd been thrust into his self-sufficient world as a grieving boy and although it was difficult, he could make me happy with songs and stories. But now I was growing up. To make things worse he had no friends to consult with. All his employees, even Joe, were kept at a professional distance and he could hardly ask the Trio about such matters. So I have nothing but sympathy for him as he tried to raise a sometimes difficult adolescent.

"Why does he do that?" I asked Miss Fleck later that evening. It was so good to visit the caravans of my slightly odd friends and talk to them, away from my father. But Miss Fleck was the best of all, for she always made me a delicious hot chocolate with marshmallows and usually had a bag of candy lying around too, or some other treat.

"I mean, why does he make me do that, every year? There's hardly a day goes by that I don't think of my mother, why do we have to visit the spot where she died? And he's always embarrassing me in public. Putting his arm around me, trying to hold my hand when we cross the street – I'm fourteen for heaven's sake! And he called me "darling" in front of a group of boys my own age the other day; they were laughing their heads off!"

Miss Fleck just smiled benignly at me in that curious way.

"He loves you very much, Gustave. Remember, he had no-one for so many years. I remember visiting him in the Aerie in the years before you came and he would be mourning over your mother, composing beautiful songs about her. You're all he has left of her; of course he's going to fuss over you."

I thought about this for a while and felt guilty. Miss Fleck could always bring me down to earth whenever I started ranting or complaining like that, without ever condemning or chastising me. And poor Papa, yes, she was right of course. Sometimes when I passed by his bedroom door at night I could hear him crying himself to sleep over my mother. He couldn't be like other fathers, not after the life he'd had. Embarrassing as he was, I did love him. And so I went home and told him that and allowed him to embrace me.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The final show of the season took place the following night and Papa attended in his private box as usual. This year, I was taking part in the show, playing the piano. I accompanied the singers, played something suitably tense for Mr Squelch's act and performed a short piece for the start and end of Miss Fleck's trapeze act which I had composed myself.

"Thank you so much for that tune, Gustave, it was just perfect! I can't believe you wrote it just for this act," she told me enthusiastically as she returned from taking her bow. She kissed my cheek and I felt myself redden a little.

"You're welcome, Miss Fleck, pity I was facing away from you the whole time, but I'm sure you were great! You got a huge round of applause!"

She was great. She put so much work into her act and she always made it look so effortless. Everyone loved her.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

All too soon the park was being closed down for the winter and I helped Joe compile the end of season accounts as well as helping to lock up the rides and all the other chores that needed to be done.

And I was starting a new school too, a private high school in Brooklyn, which I would be travelling to by train. Some boys my age were already working for a living, but my father would not hear of it. He wanted only the best for me and had investigated all the private schools in the area before settling on this one, Broadbury High School, which had an excellent music department. When I came home and told him that I'd passed the entrance exam, he was so excited and happy that, heedless of my age and height, he lifted me into the air and spun me around, taking me by surprise. Then we'd gone straight down to Mario's for a celebratory ice cream. And even in that happy moment, although neither of us mentioned it, we both knew that there was one person missing from this occasion.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

George was going to a different school but as we lived nearby we continued to spend time together, either on the beach or in Phantasma. Papa was giving me a small allowance by now and sometimes my friend and I even visited the rival parks, just to try them out, and discreetly keep an eye on what they were doing. By this point, George had a fairly noisy, fractious baby sister called Amy, so he liked spending time away from his house and sometimes even stayed over at my house. He jokes now about how he was so desperate to get away from a crying baby that he slept in the house of a masked oddball.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

I'd long since given up the church choir. I just didn't have time any more, with school and Phantasma to occupy me. At least that was what I told myself. But deep down I felt there was no point to it, when Papa never came to hear me sing. Mr Fraser, the choirmaster, was disappointed but we both knew I hadn't been singing at my best. My voice was breaking so perhaps it was the right decision, but I remember thinking how lucky the other boys were, with their parents in the congregation.

He still didn't come to church and that troubled me. I was usually able to get myself out of bed on time on a Sunday these days so he didn't even need to call me any more. I just slipped out of the house. Thankfully I had Father Donovan to talk to about spiritual matters during these difficult years. Finding that he shared my concern about Papa we prayed together and hoped that he would change his mind one day.

I had to ask him about it.

"Papa, why do you not go to church?"

He paused before answering.

"How can I go into a church and praise the god who made me like this?" he replied darkly, indicating his face.

"But he's given you so much, all your talent and knowledge-"

"I gave those to myself, through hard work and perseverance, when I realised he had abandoned me."

There seemed to be no arguing with him.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

School was fairly tough, with new subjects, several teachers instead of just one and plenty of homework, but Papa was always willing to help me. I had an excellent music teacher, Mr Grenier, who, despite his French surname was actually American by at least four generations. But I thrived under his tutelage, both in the classroom and after school. He was already talking about the possibility of a place at the Juliard School, one of the finest music colleges in the country and assured me that if I worked hard it could become a reality.

I gradually made new friends at school but the music students tended to be looked down on by the more sporty ones, and I realised that I would never be in the main "gang". Yet again I tried to play down my French accent, so that they would not have something else to tease me about.

Throughout my high school years it was always difficult to listen to the other boys complain about their mothers or grumble about having to go somewhere with them. "You don't even know how lucky you are," I would tell them sometimes, with a little bitterness, which would usually earn me a few uncomprehending stares. And there was sometimes a gauntlet of whispers as I walked down the corridor or across the schoolyard.

"Isn't that the boy whose mother got shot over in Phantasma?..."

"Yeah, she was killed by some dancer who ended up in the nuthouse. And now he lives with Mister Y..."

It was good to rest at home at the weekends during the off season, and spend time with my other friends or with the Trio. I knew their real names by now but still preferred to call them by their stage names and that is how I still think of them. Being older and taller now, I no longer wanted Mr Squelch to carry me on his shoulders, although, of course, he was still more than capable of doing so.

Now that I was at high school, a lot of the conversations with my friends revolved around girls. Up until recently they had always seemed silly and annoying, but that was changing. And I was discovering new feelings and how strong they could be.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

One evening, just after my fifteenth birthday I was sitting in Miss Fleck's caravan, talking about school, music, and the upcoming season, among other things. I loved spending time here as she was always so welcoming and kind. When I first came to live with my papa, she would comfort me if I got upset about Mother and would tell me old gypsy stories as I rested my head on her shoulder. She was not conventionally beautiful, in fact she was not conventional at all, with her unusual costumes and hairstyles, but I'd learnt to see past such things. And I was not sure how old she was but she was considerably older than me. But despite our closeness, I honestly do not think that my feelings were romantic. At least, not all the time...Even at this young age I just felt this overwhelming urge to look after her and make sure no-one hurt her again.

But lately she seemed particularly awkward and uneasy around me, and this evening was no exception. When I sat next to her, as I often did, she immediately moved further down the bench. At one point she made some reference to her sad past and I innocently put my hand over hers but she withdrew it quickly. And when I was leaving, she did not hug me like she used to. It wasn't like her at all.

My mind was racing with conflicting thoughts as I made my way home that night. Things really were different. Even my relationships with others were changing.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

In the summer there were always plenty of girls around the park, on vacation with their parents. Some of them were quite pretty and George and I often wandered around on my days off trying to look nonchalant while eyeing up some of these girls, although we must have looked pathetic. We got a few dirty looks from their fathers too. I met Janet when her little sister got lost in the park and I returned the distraught child to her family. She became my first girlfriend, although it was more like a friendship, when I look back, and it broke my heart when she didn't write to me after returning home. But I met quite a few girls through Phantasma and they never failed to be impressed that I was the owner's son. In those days, my relationships - if they could be called that = were painfully innocent, probably due to the fact that I barely had a clue about girls despite my bravado. Older girls of around nineteen or twenty were a popular target for George and I as they didn't usually have their fathers with them, but they usually just rolled their eyes and laughed at us when we offered to show them around.

Now that I was starting to get to know the opposite sex a little better, I started to wonder about my parent's relationship. Mother must have loved him if they'd had me together, I reasoned. With much persuasion, Papa shared me a few more details about how he watched over my mother when she was young and listened to her fears and secrets.

"What happened when she was reunited with Raoul? Did you know he called to her dressing room on the night of her debut?"

"Of course I knew. I was watching them through one of my two way mirrors."

I shuddered.

"I was angry as you can imagine. She had never shown the slightest interest in any man before. It was I who had.. arranged for her to take the lead role and she had made me so proud that night. I truly thought that after all this time I could show myself to her and she... well, she might grow to love me. But now, with this handsome young suitor…"

He clenched his fists.

"I warned her, you see. I warned her that she must devote herself to music entirely and not allow her head to be turned by some man, and here she was, disobeying me… And so, after that young fool left her I lured her away, using my music. I brought her, in a trance, to my underground lair, taking her on my boat across the lake. I showed her my world, all my creations, my organ, everything. And then, she fainted."

"Fainted? Why?" I gasped.

"I showed her the mannequin of her that I owned. "

"You had a mannequin of her even then? "I asked incredulously.

"It was wearing a wedding dress and she fainted upon seeing it. She wasn't ready you see. But I caught her and carried her to my bed – but don't worry, I left her there to sleep."

I could not believe what I was hearing. I remembered the automaton I'd found by accident and thought of how frightened Mother must have been.

"In the morning, she came to me, while I was playing my music. But it was a trick, she pulled my mask off when I wasn't expected it… I was so angry with her. I will never forget how frightened she was. Just like you, the first time you saw my face…

"I begged for her love, but she just looked at me in pity and.. gave me back my mask. And so I brought her back above, heartbroken that she could not love me. But I continued to follow her and ensure that she always got the best parts, through a series of strongly worded notes to the two managers. Carlotta, the diva of the Opera at the time, got all the good roles and I did not approve of this."

Mother had not told me much about Carlotta but she never seemed to like her. However Papa's actions still disturbed me.

He told me other things too, things which shattered my preconceptions about Mother and Raoul's engagement on the rooftop. Raoul hadn't brought her up there just to propose to her. They'd been fleeing from him. Gradually he told me about his unexpected appearance at the Masquerade Ball and the encounter with Mother and Raoul in the graveyard, when she was visiting Grandfather's grave. And there always seemed to be things he was leaving out. The worst thing about all these revelations is that I only have his perspective.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

We seemed to be arguing more. Papa was determined that I should study and practise my music but there were so many other distractions at this time. And there was the little matter of his past too and his obsessive hatred of my stepfather. He told me all these terrible things yet still expected me to respect him. It was all in the past and he had changed - I had first hand experience of that- but still, it had happened. And yet.. and yet he was still my father and the thought of that just made me even more confused.

Life was good nonetheless in those pre-war years, for a young person in Coney Island. I liked going out with my friends, to Mario's perhaps, or to a party, but it was difficult when I knew how lonely Papa would be. Sometimes, against my better judgement, I would stay in, just to keep him company.

One evening, while Papa was washing the dishes in the sink, I asked him if I could go to the nickelodeon that had just opened in the area.

"Certainly not. Those places are dirty and squalid, from what I've heard, and there's usually trouble there too."

I scowled at his back.

"And you can take that look off your face too, young man," he warned me, without even turning round.

As it turned out, that particular place gained a bad reputation for itself, with fights breaking out on a regular basis. So perhaps my father was justified on that occasion. But he wasn't always.

"Please, papa, everyone in my class is going to be there-" I pleaded with him another time.

"And you won't be. You've been working hard on your music, which I commend, but you've neglected your other subjects. You need to stay in tonight and work on your history and English; there's no reason why you can't get A's in those subjects."

"Everyone else's parents have allowed them-"

"I am not "everyone else's parents"" he replied firmly, in what must be the understatement of the century.

And because I loved him I knew how to hurt him. When he demanded I come home from a party at 10p.m I was indignant, especially as I was almost sixteen at the time. But he stressed over and over how dangerous the streets were, and that I was to come through that door at 10p.m on the dot, or-

"Or what?" I interrupted with a sneer, "You'll come down there and get me, in front of everyone? Looking like that?"

In a split second, he had slapped my face and I was reeling backwards from the impact, rubbing my cheek. I don't think I ever knew what pain was until that moment. But he wasn't finished. With surprising violence, he pinned me against the wall by my shoulders and glared into my face, with those scars right up against my eyes.

"Don't – ever – speak to me like that again," he snarled, in that low tone that I feared more than his temper.

He released me and I sneaked away to my bedroom, locking my door. I just lay on my bed, rubbing the red mark on my cheek and feeling sorry for myself. I remembered how Mother had comforted me after I had a nightmare about a monster chasing me. "Monsters aren't real," she had told me. Now I wasn't so sure.

Later he came to me and begged for my forgiveness. What choice did I have? He held me and told me how sorry he was, and I apologised for my own behaviour, and he was my father again, not a monster. It was such a relief to see him calm again and I would do anything to keep him that way. But it was at moments like that when I wanted my mother the most.

Once I saw him gazing out of the window into the night, "talking" to my mother.

"It's you he needs, my angel, not me. Oh, Christine, why did you have to leave us? He's growing up and I can't do anything for him, I can't do this without you…"

My heart broke.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Not long after we'd returned home from the remains of Coney Island and I'd written down all my thoughts, I remarked to Helen how difficult I must have been to live with as a teenager.

"I know I complain about the youth of today, but honestly, I wasn't much better! The things I used to say to poor Papa! It made me ashamed to think of them this evening…"

She smiles indulgently. "Well, teenagers are hard work! But, you have to admit, dear, your father wasn't the easiest person to live with either. Such an odd character."

"That's what George thinks too. And you're right, of course, but think of the life he had. It's not surprising he was so cynical and eccentric. But despite it all, he had a lot of goodness in him too, you know."

"You brought that out in him, Gus. If you ask me, you saved him."

All these memories have got me thinking about our own son, Charles, who lives in Boston now. It worries me that we don't see each other very often. I'm going to call him on the telephone tomorrow and have a long overdue conversation with him. We've had our disagreements over the years but he's still my son, just as I was my father's son.

I've also been thinking about the idea of "saving" Papa. In fact I pondered that very idea as I fell asleep last night, wondering what might have become of him if I had not entered his life.