VI

It seemed all my inclination to fight my circumstances went out of me after I received Mother and Father's first letter. I had been counting on them coming to my rescue, and not on their telling me that they would see me in a month. I supposed that a month wasn't really all that long, but it seemed interminable to me. Would I see no one else but Erik? What if I made him angry? Would I spend the entire month tiptoeing around the house, trying to avoid him?

Erik did not seem concerned about Mother and Father's letters in the slightest. After all, he had said that they could write, but he never asked about what they wrote. I received a letter from Pierre and the rest of my friends, and they wished me luck. (They thought that I was being kept at home by my parents as punishment for sneaking out to go to the Opera.) They told me all the school gossip and said that they couldn't wait until I got back to school. I wrote back, saying that I couldn't wait, either.

It was true. Every day I felt as if I were walking a tightrope over a deep chasm, and demons were on either side, shaking the rope so I would fall in. Why did I feel this way? Because of Erik. I did not know if I could trust him, and the tone of Mother and Father's first letter made me feel as if he were dangerous. What would I do if he were? How could I get away if I were suddenly threatened? I had no idea how to get back up to the Opera and the world above. I kept my distance from him as much as possible, but it was difficult. Half of me wanted to trust him most of the time, and the other half did not dare trust him all of the time.

Our days followed a pattern. He would wake me by playing music, and we would have a hearty breakfast together in the kitchen. After that, we would retire to the study and work on my lessons for a few hours, and then we would have lunch. After lunch came an hour of doing what I liked, then more lessons, which were followed by some time spent in exercise. Erik insisted on that. He showed me several stretches and exercises to do, and I could actually feel myself getting stronger. After exercising I would have a quick wash and join Erik in the dining room for supper. As always, the food was superb, but as time passed, my appetite diminished. I was sure that Erik noticed, but he never mentioned it.

After supper, we went back to the study, not for lessons, but just for quiet evenings together. Often, he would play music or read aloud, and I was content to listen. The music was every bit as intoxicating as champagne, and when Erik read to me, I felt as if I had suddenly gone to live inside the book. When we did not have music or reading, Erik would pull out a game of some sort, and we would play together. I knew how to play chess and checkers, but not solitaire, backgammon, or go. The latter three he taught me so we could play, but I was an indifferent player. When games, music, or reading did not occur, we talked. Actually, Erik talked and I listened. He told me of his travels all over the world—India, Persia, Russia, Italy, Spain, and other places—and in each location he visited, he heard stories. Folk and fairy tales, so he told them to me. These tales were very different from Perrault's and Grimm's collections of tales that I had been familiar with, so they were a treat to hear. I heard of Baba Yaga the witch, Katschei the Deathless, Beautiful Vasilissa, and Father Frost in Russia, of Prince Rama and Princess Sita and the Monkey Nursemaid in India, Prince Khorshid in the Simorgh from Persia, Strega Nona in Italy, and the stories of the Water of Life, the Wounded Lion, and the Bird of Truth from Spain. Often, the tales would so draw me in that I would take a seat near Erik, often beside him on the sofa, leaning forward the better to hear. One night, when he told me the story of Katschei the Deathless, he had me so enthralled that I had not noticed how close I had come to him, and when he described the entrance of the evil wizard and spoke his curse of doom in an evil cackle, I jumped from my seat and landed on top of Erik. He chuckled and shifted me off his lap, saying that he hadn't meant to scare me, and perhaps we had better stop? No, I wanted to hear the end. Was I sure? Of course I was sure! What I hadn't noticed was that he kept his arm around me, and when I realized it, I found I hadn't minded it at all. Even more surprising, I'd enjoyed being so close.

I had been there about two weeks when Erik surprised me with a row on the lake and a walk about the cellars. He said that it seemed as if I could do with a change of scene, so we would take a walk. I walked with him, and as we walked, he described how the Opera had been built, and how it had taken ages to pump out the cellar so the foundations could be put in, and what it was like to flood the lowest level again. He told me how every now and then the firemen would walk through the cellars to make sure that the gaslines and other appurtenances were working properly, and how he'd accidentally frightened one poor young man called Pepin.

"I'd forgotten that they'd be in the cellars that day," Erik explained. "The poor man looked as if he had seen a ghost."

"Ten to one, he thought he had," I pointed out. "You certainly make an effective ghost!"

Erik gave a quiet laugh. "Most likely." He'd sounded pleased at that, and it made me wonder.

"Erik? Could I ask you something?"

"Yes?"

"Why do you live down here in the cellars?"

He stopped and regarded me quietly. "Your mother did not tell you?"

"No. Does she know?"

"Oh, yes, she knows."

He'd become quiet, so I persisted. "I can understand a wish for privacy, but isn't this taking it a little far?" Something occurred to me then, and I spoke before I could stop myself. "Is it the same reason that you wear the mask?"

He looked at me quickly. "Your mother didn't tell you the reason for that, either?"

I shook my head.

"What did she tell you? About the mask, I mean."

"She said that I shouldn't ask you to take it off, or try to remove it myself, or even mention it, but I can't help thinking that the two—the cellars and the mask—are connected."

Erik nodded. "Yes, they are. I wear the mask because I frighten people with my appearance, and I live down here because even with the mask, I frighten them. They see me, scream, and run away. Either that, or they demand that I take it off, and what they see when I do frightens them. It is better that I am down here, alone, than up there terrifying people."

"You still manage to terrify people down here. What about all the stories about the Opera Ghost?"

He chuckled. "That is so I am left alone, Phillippe. No one is daring enough to brave the Ghost in his lair."

I nodded. "I see. Is the mask really necessary?"

"It is. I'm surprised you haven't asked about it before."

"Mother's warning," I explained. "She said that you would become angry, but I suppose that I couldn't help asking this time."

"When your mother first saw it, she tried to snatch it from my face," he said, sounding sad. "Later, she managed it, and that was one of the few times I have ever lost my temper so completely with a lady. I thought she was going to die because she had seen me, and she thought I was going to die for the same reason."

I tried to imagine this but couldn't. "Because she had seen your face?"

"Yes. It is not pretty, Phillippe."

I couldn't be sure if he were joking or not. "A lot of people aren't pretty. You should see my Latin teacher!"

"Does your Latin teacher cause people to run away screaming?"

"No, but there are times when the students are tempted to do so, especially when he starts about the Fall of Rome."

"Well, people run from me without any prompting. It is better for everyone that I wear a mask."

"But that can't be comfortable, can it? To always have your face covered?"

"As long as the mask fits correctly, it's comfortable. Besides, I'm used to it."

I fell silent then, thinking about this. It sounded as if he had worn a mask for his entire life, but if he had, what had he done when he was a child? "What about when you were a child? Did you wear one then?"

"My mother made me one, and I wore it, yes."

"Did you ever ask her why?"

"Yes."

"What did she say?"

He stopped then and took my arm, turning me toward him. I had not noticed how his demeanor had changed; he had gone from relaxed and thoughtful to tense and seething with emotion. For the first time in quite some time, I felt truly afraid of him.

"Why are you asking these questions all of a sudden?" he demanded. "Do you not believe what I'm telling you? Do you need me to take off my mask and terrify you so you will believe me? Trust me, Phillippe, if you see my face, you'll never be the same again! You will wake screaming from nightmares every night, and the specter of it will haunt your days, and you will never be rid of the sight of me!"

I couldn't speak, and when I tried to pull away, his fingers tightened about my arm, pulling me closer.

"You should know, Phillippe, that your father is a corpse, a corpse that lives and breathes and feels; a corpse that terrifies! I am built of Death from head to foot, and the only fitting place for such a corpse is under the ground! Because I am a corpse, my mother gave me my first mask, and I have worn one ever since. Now, will you cease your questions, or do I need to remove my mask to make you believe me?"

Wildly, I shook my head, for I was terrified enough. I believed what he said.

"Will you keep asking questions?" he wanted to know, giving me a little shake with each word.

Again, I shook my head, wishing only to be released.

"I'll hold you to it," he said calmly, letting go my arm.

I fled. I turned from him and ran, thinking only to get away and to the world up above, that world where he did not wish to go. I was terrified that he would become angry again, and that when he did, he would kill me. I had never seen anyone so angry and so furious before. My arm ached where he had grasped it, and my head hurt, and my heart pounded with fear. What if I asked him a question again? What if I couldn't stop myself from asking about the mask or a past he did not want to discuss? Often, I blurted things out without thinking, and such a scenario could happen again so easily. Better to run now and live than to remain and be killed, I thought.

"Phillippe!"

I ran faster, for I heard his hurried footsteps behind me, and I was certain that he was ready to kill me this time for running from him. In my terror I heard what I thought was his anger, and I kept running, pelting headlong down dimly-lit corridors and rushing up and down stairways, anything to keep away from him!

"Phillippe! Stop! Don't go down that way!"

I kept running.

"For God's sake, go to the left!"

I heard his warning just as I went to the right, and a moment later I felt the floor underneath my feet give way. I screamed, certain that I was moments away from death in the dark, but a hand grasped the back of my collar and held on tight as rubble fell around me. I felt a large piece of stone strike the hand and my neck, and for the second time, I fell. I struck water along with the falling pieces of brick, and I thrashed about, trying to find some sort of purchase on the walls to get out of the icy cold pool that was sapping my strength. My clothes were soaked and were dragging me down, and I thought with panic that I was going to drown.

Once again, a hand fastened itself on my collar and began to lift me, and I realized that it was Erik, pulling me out of harm's way and back onto firm ground. I grasped his arm and began to inch my way up with my feet, thanking God and whatever saint that watched over fools that Erik was there. As I was pulled away from the opening, Erik set me on my feet and looked me over, checking me for injury.

"Are you all right, Phillippe?"

"Y-y-es-s," I managed to get out from between chattering teeth. I had never been so cold before!

In the next instant he grabbed hold of my shoulders and gave me one almighty shake. "What did you think you were doing, you stupid child?" he demanded. "Didn't you hear me shouting that there were traps up ahead? Why did you keep going?"

Now he was angry, but it wasn't the cold anger that had frightened me before. Still, it frightened me, and the next thing I knew, I was sobbing. I kept sobbing even though he had wrapped his arms around me and was telling me that he was sorry, he hadn't meant to frighten me so badly, and that it was all right to be scared, and that he should have known better than to let his temper get the better of him because of a few innocent questions. Despite my being almost grown, he wrapped me in his cloak, picked me up, and he carried me all the way back to the house. He ran a hot bath for me, helped me undress, helped me wash and dry off, and then practically dressed me again in nightclothes and put me into bed. During all of this, I cried like the smallest child, and it felt as if I would never stop. I didn't care how old I was or that young men didn't cry. All I knew was that my tears were bringing the most wonderful relief, and I welcomed them. Through all of it, Erik sat on the side of my bed and kept hold of my hand, smoothing my hair and keeping me well-supplied with handkerchiefs and cool water.

Eventually, my flood of tears turned to a river, then a stream, then a trickle, and then they stopped. My head ached, my throat, eyes, and nose were sore, but I felt so much better that I was amazed. My sense of dread—the fear that I'd lived with since waking in Erik's home—was gone.

"I have a feeling that you've been carrying that around in you since I brought you here," Erik said quietly. "Have you been afraid the whole time, Phillippe?"

"I think so," I admitted, my voice thick with tears.

"I'm sorry," he said, smoothing my hair again. "I didn't mean to have you so frightened. I just wanted to get to know you."

I nodded. "I understand. I mean, I understand why you brought me here to get to know me, at least."

He nodded. "I'm sorry it's been so difficult for you, Phillippe. I'd thought that once you were here a while, you would be all right with it, but I suppose that hasn't happened."

"I'm all right, now," I assured him. "I was so afraid that I would do something that would make you angry enough to kill me. After Mother's warnings, I became sure that the possibility of that happening was very great. Why would she have mentioned it, otherwise?"

He sighed. "Why, indeed? Do you feel as if you can trust my word that I would not hurt you, Phillippe? You are the one joy in life that I'd never thought to experience, and I would not extinguish that joy for anything. I can't promise never to be angry again, but I can promise not to frighten you with my anger again."

Amazingly, I started crying again, and I had wrapped my arms around Erik and buried my face in his chest, sobbing. I felt his arms go around me and he rocked me back and forth, humming a lullaby to calm me. I was so close to him I could hear his heart beat, as steady and strong as a drum. His humming voice was a steady thrum in his chest, and slowly, I could feel myself relaxing again, and I was perfectly happy to sink into my pillows with Erik stretched out beside me, his arms still around me, letting me know he was there. For the first time, I went to sleep being held by Erik, and for the first time, he went to sleep holding his son.