Chapter II: Erik

Anything I might have imagined when listening to Little Jammes's description of Erik, could not have prepared me for the sight that met me when I opened the door to his room in the basement of the college. It was not a large classroom, there was only room for a table, two chairs, an old-fashioned blackboard and a grand piano. The walls were painted black and there were no windows. Instead, the room was lit by countless candles. The heat and the absence of air was almost unbearable, but what made my head spin was the strong scent of incense or Oriental perfume, and behind that, a weak but sickening smell I didn't recognize.

However, the strangest thing of all was the man himself. He was tall and thin and wore a cape of black velvet, almost like something you might see on a stage. His whole appearance was very theatrical. Like Little Jammes had said, his face was almost entirely covered by a white mask - only his chin and part of his jaw was visible underneath it. I could barely see his eyes, but they seemed to be a very pale blue, almost colorless. It seemed impossible to connect this figure with the soft, melodic voice that had just spoken to me. And yet, when he spoke again it was in that very voice:

"Welcome, Meg Giry. I take it my reputation has preceded me?"

I didn't know what to say, so I simply nodded. There is something very awkward about talking to a person without being able to see their face.

"As you must already know, I do not have many music theory students. You might say I pick my students with great care. Do you want to know why I have picked you?"

I nodded again, feeling too uncomfortable to speak. Erik continued:

"I have picked you because you do not want to be here. Am I not right? You do not want to be a music teacher. You do not want to play the guitar and sing nursery rhymes with rude children who can't keep their hands off the drum set. You want something entirely different, and what you want, you can't have!"

This was such a perfect summary of what I had been thinking the whole day, that I could only stare at him, dumbfounded. How did he know? And why did it even matter to him? He had spoken those last words with true bitterness, as if he spoke from personal experience.

"I used to be a dancer", I said. "I was very good at it, people said I was very promising. Then I was in a car accident and I haven't been able to dance since. But really I should consider myself lucky to be alive."

"That was the accident that killed Martin Daae, the violinist", Erik said, a statement rather than a question.

"Yes", I confirmed. "It has been very difficult for his daughter, Christine. She's my cousin."

"Christine Daae..." Erik spoke slowly, and in his voice, those words sounded like poetry in a foreign language. "She is a singer, isn't she? I remember having heard her name not long ago."

"She is new here, too", I said. "She has a fantastic soprano voice, or, at least, she used to. When Martin died, I though she would stop singing entirely. I think she has lost the passion for it - she doesn't really seem to make an effort anymore."

"It is very sad when that happens", Erik said, and there was genuine regret in his voice. "True talent is much too rare."

We were both silent for a minute. I didn't know what to say next. This conversation had already taken an unexpected turn and I felt a little uneasy about it, especially since Erik seemed to already know everything I told him.

"As for your lessons", Erik finally continued, "you may come at any time, any day of the week. It does not matter. The only thing I want to make clear from the start is I want you to take them seriously. I think you will - being a dancer you are used to discipline. Music is not a game, it is not entertainment. It is a fine are, a true craft, and it should be treated with respect. I know the management would like music education majors to study theory just in order to be able to write arrangements of Michael Row Your Boat Ashore for one flute and five bad violin players, but I won't teach that. You will study harmony, counterpoint and instrumentation. You will learn something about the heart and soul of music. You will not waste our time. Is that understood?"

"I...yes", I stammered. He had spoken with great authority, and his voice had changed. It was now resonating and powerful, almost frightening. For the first time, I noticed that despite his thin frame, he was probably a man of considerable physical strength. He was not a man you would want to argue with.

"There is one last thing", Erik said. "I am a very private person. I would prefer if you do not ask any questions about me. As for my mask, you will have to take my word for it when I say that I have a very good reason for wearing it. Also, I would advise you not to talk too much to your friends about our lessons. Not even your cousin Christine or the little Jammes girl."

I started when I heard Little Jammes's name. I had only been talking to her this morning and Erik hadn't been around then. Or had he? At this point, I started to believe he knew everything that went on at the music college.

As it later turned out, I was right.