Chapter XVI: A Rainy Night
How can I even begin to describe La Sorelli's performance? She was a dancing genius if ever there was one, soaring around the stage with an air of effortless weightlessness, which I knew to be the result of years of practice and enormous strength and control. Her every movement was music, and she danced not only to the traditional ballet music of old, but contemporary music as well. She seemed to master every move, every style, and blend them into something quite distinctly her own. It was pure magic.
For me, however, it was quite a bittersweet experience. I was thrilled at the opportunity to see this magnificent performer live, but at the same time I found myself tracking her movements, wondering how she had learnt them, almost automatically trying them out in my mind, only to realize seconds later that I would never be able to copy them on the dance floor. It hit me several times during that evening as I watched La Sorelli, and every time it was more painful. After the final number, which was the most difficult and beautiful of all, I was nearly in tears. The dancer smiled, took a graceful bow and was rewarded with a standing ovation. I had to look away from the stage, and as I did so, I happened to spot Erik in the audience, his eyes fixed intently on me. When he saw that I had noticed him, he nodded his head at me slowly, and then vanished among the cheering crowd. So brief was his appearance, that I later wondered if I hadn't imagined it all.
I decided to walk home from the theatre. Watching Sorelli's performance had torn open all my old wounds, and the winter night was cold and rainy, just like the night of the car accident a little less than a year earlier. It was nearly eleven o'clock, and the streets were shiny and empty. A kind of gloom came over me, as I remembered how much had been lost in that accident in a matter of minutes. I would never dance again. Christine would never see her father again, or hear him play the violin. And Erik! He had played on those very weaknesses to gain entrance into our minds. Why had he felt forced to do so? Could his face really be as appalling as Christine had described it, and what pain had he suffered because of this? Who was he?
As I walked through the lonely streets, I half expected Erik to jump out in front of me every time I turned a corner, but he never did. Still, I felt his presence everywhere. He was the very embodiment of broken illusions, of talent going to waste, of everything I thought of myself at that moment. I didn't want it to be that way! I shouldn't be studying to be a music teacher, I should be dancing, like I always did before! A sudden feeling of defiance came over me, and in spite of the cold, I threw off my heavy boots and thick winter coat. Standing in the middle of the pavement, my socks already soaking wet, I tentatively took a few steps I had seen La Sorelli make earlier that evening. It was a wonderful feeling to at least pretend to be dancing again, and I went on, trying yet another step, another move, all the time wondering whether or not my legs would continue to carry me. But they did, both of them! I grew bolder by the minute, warming up slowly in preparation for an elaborate pirouette which I hadn't practiced since before the accident. Finally, I threw myself into it with everything I had, thinking that maybe, after all, I would prove all the experts wrong. What followed was a split second of pure joy, a moment when everything felt just right. Then, without warning, came a sharp surge of pain which almost made me scream out loud, and before I knew it my leg had given way and I was sitting on the wet pavement.
I don't know which was worse, the throbbing in my bad leg or my disappointment and anger with myself. I should have known this would happen. And if I necessarily had to go on and make a fool out of myself anyway, I could have chosen a better time and place for it. Now, it was late at night, it was dark, I was soaked to the skin, I had to get up early in the morning, and as if that wasn't enough, I heard footsteps. Someone was coming.
As quickly as I could, I rose to my feet, gathered my coat and shoes and limped behind a van which was parked in a nearby driveway. I didn't want to let anyone see me in this state if I could avoid it. Standing there, I could here the footsteps approaching. There were obviously two of them, probably a man and a woman, I guessed, and they didn't seem to be in a hurry in spite of the weather. To my great annoyance, the steps halted just on the other side of the van.
"It's a good night for a ghost story", a familiar woman's voice said.
I was astonished. It was Christine!
"Why don't you tell me one?" Raoul de Chagny's voice answered, jokingly.
I wondered what the two of them might be doing out here, in the street, in the middle of the night. Then it struck me: as I left to go to the theatre, I had heard Christine talking to someone on the phone. She must have been making plans with Raoul.
"I could tell you something frightening", Christine said, hesitantly, "but it wouldn't make a good story."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't know how it ends."
"Now I'm intrigued", Raoul said, "do tell!"
"I will tell you some day", Christine said, with the voice of one who has made up her mind. "But not now. I had better get home."
"Of course", Raoul replied, sounding a little taken aback.
"Thank you so much for inviting me out to dinner", Christine said, "I really enjoyed it. I wish we could do it more often."
"We can, whenever you like!" Raoul said enthusiastically. "You just have to say the word!"
Christine was silent for a minute. When she replied, there was a hint of sadness in her voice:
"It will have to be only once in a while for now..."
Then they stopped talking. I could hear their footsteps once again, as they continued in the direction of our apartment. I put on my boots and followed the couple at a safe distance, arriving at our front door a few minutes after Raoul had turned to walk back home and Christine had gone inside. I found her seated at the kitchen table with a telling blush on her cheeks. She started as she saw me.
"Oh, Meg, I didn't see you come in! You look terrible, did you miss the bus from the theatre?"
"Yes", I said, unwilling to tell her any details. "I'm very tired, so I think I'll go to bed."
Good night!" Christine said, with an absent-minded smile.
I think - yes, I am almost certain - that she had been kissed.
