Chapter 17: Breakfast in a Garden Beneath the World
When Alice went to speak to Erik early on Tuesday morning, her mind was still spinning with all that she had learned about him. Her thoughts flitted from the mystery of his past to the magnificence of his talents to the disappointment of her research. She had been unable to find a definite cause of his deformation, let alone a cure, and feared that to tell him so would crush all of his hopes.
The sun was only just beginning to rise when she arrived at the quiet Rue Scribe. She shivered in the freezing air and tugged the collar of her cloak closer around her neck. The path down to the lake lay in darkness, and she hadn't brought a lantern. She was dismayed to find no fire circling the lake as she had seen on her last visit, and no boat awaiting her at the end of the path. There was little light, and she could only make out dark shadows in the weak dawn that transcended through the gate and down the twisting stairs. The air was warmer here, and she removed her cloak as she peered into the darkness to see if any light were burning by the house.
The blackness swam before her eyes and played tricks with her mind—soon she saw tiny, bright spots swaying in the empty space. She diverted her eyes, and the spots disappeared. When she looked up again, there they were, closer now than before: three spots, one brighter than the others…
It wasn't her imagination—it was Erik coming with a shaded lantern, his golden eyes glowing high above the lantern's flame. As he came closer in his boat, she could see that he wore the dressing gown with the art nouveau print that she had found hanging in his apartments. The wide belt was tied around his thin waist like the sash of a sultan. She noticed that his bare hands and neck were without blemish, though frightfully pale.
He arrived at her feet and stared at her from inside the boat. He had seen her several times before, but never like this: her hair hung unbound, the luscious ringlets cascading to her waist. Her olive green dress brightened her eyes and made them shine like two lustrous gems. Astonished, he wondered for a moment if it were he whom she desired to impress.
It was several minutes before he could compose himself. "Forgive me, Mademoiselle, I was not expecting you quite so early, and now you see me as I am," he said in his rich voice, gesturing to his casual attire. "I heard my doorbell and knew that you had arrived."
"I'm sorry to have woken you, Monsieur," she responded, wondering about the doorbell. "You asked me to come in the morning, but Dr. Mechnikov rises so early. I could only break away while he was asleep, to avoid raising his suspicions."
"Then it is I who should apologize for having disturbed your schedule. But as you are here, and if you have not yet eaten, will you join me for a little breakfast in my garden?"
Alice was quite confused by his invitation, for she had explored his little house quite thoroughly and did not remember finding any kitchen, let alone a garden! And this wasn't the season for picnicking. Nevertheless, she offered a radiant smile before giving him her hand so he could help her into the boat.
Yet as soon as his fingers touched hers, she instinctively withdrew her arm.
"How cold your hands are!"
"Ah, yes," he moaned, "I'd forgotten that I wore gloves when we last met."
He did not extend her his hand again, but held the boat steady while she stepped over the rim and seated herself. Then, without another word, he guided his vessel homeward.
The water lapped against the boat in rhythmic splashes. With the lantern between them, Alice watched Erik at his work. Although he was quite slender, yet there was such strength to his every movement. He wasn't even winded by the early exercise.
She ached to ask him so many things, and not knowing where to begin, said nothing.
He sensed her discomfort and struggled to make some conversation. "I beg you, please excuse my earlier behavior. When we met in the catacombs and when you last came to my home… I confess that I'm not used to visitors." He turned to watch the oily ripples swirl against the hull of the boat as it glided across the lake.
"It's no more than I deserved, for my ill motives. I don't regret our having met."
"You're unusual, Mademoiselle. Very few have seen Erik, but those that have met him rue the day." He sighed as though he had forgotten she was there. Alice understood: It was very rare indeed for the Phantom willingly to take another to his home.
When they arrived at the dock, he tied the mooring and offered to her his arm to assist her. Then, taking up the lantern, he gestured towards the left. "My garden is this way."
She followed him around a corner, and watched as he pressed his fingertips against one of the stones in the wall. There was a muffled click from somewhere beneath her feet, and then a piece of the wall in front of her began sliding backwards with great rasping sounds, revealing a dark and empty corridor. He led her inside, their footsteps echoing in the hollow space.
When they had stepped only a few meters into the hallway, she saw a lever with a rotten leather handle jutting out from the wall. Erik pulled the lever as wordlessly as he had performed his other tricks. Then he led her down the hall, while she wondered what pulling the lever had accomplished, since it had made no sound, and none of the walls that she could see had moved.
The air in the narrow corridor was very stale. She kept her arm in his, to give her balance on the uneven ground, and she was grateful for this contact in the unfamiliar darkness beyond the lantern. She again caught the earthy scent that seemed to fall from his dressing gown like heavy smoke tumbling from a burning censor, and it comforted her.
The hallway ended in a large sheet of metal, very much like a door but twice as tall and without any doorknob. Flakes of rust coated its grimy surface. With a flashing grin in her direction, Erik kicked a wall stone by the floor. Alice heard the echoes of more machinery beneath her feet and in the wall beside them. Soon the metal wall began to move, rotating on a central pivot. Light spilled out from the other side, and Erik turned down the gas in the lantern. When the wall had moved enough for a man to fit through, he led her into his garden.
Alice had only seen the torture chamber in the flickering shadows of her lantern, on the night she had explored Erik's house. Now, the octagonal room was bathed in beautiful light, springing from an unseen source recessed in the ceiling. The cheerful rays reflected off of the mirrors and gave the appearance of a forest at midday. The iron tree that she had seen was now a thousand trees, and she and Erik were alone together in a garden beneath the world.
He watched her turning around and around, her features radiant with an endearing expression of amazement. He took his leave, afraid his eyes would engrave her dancing form on his heart forever. "If you'll excuse me, Mademoiselle," he said in his velvet voice, "I will bring breakfast. I'll leave my trapdoors open, should you need anything." He offered her a courtly bow in his dressing gown before taking the path back the way they had come.
It was well that he left the doors open for her, for she had not forgotten that the lovely garden was a replica of a torture chamber built in Persia.
Nevertheless, the secluded forest in the warm sunlight was a relaxing place to await breakfast. More than once, she had to touch the glass to remind herself that it was an illusion. She even imagined that she heard birds chirping high in the treetops, although these were more likely rats squealing behind the walls. At last she chose to sit with her back braced against the great iron tree, thinking how wonderful it would be to eat every meal in such a garden, without ever worrying about unfavorable weather.
Erik returned, dressed in a dashing swallowtail suit and carrying a tremendous armload of items, which he spread out at her feet. First was a gingham linen they could use as a picnic blanket. Onto this he unloaded a basket brimming with food. A baguette stuck out of one side of the basket, and there were sharp cheeses and venison with other coldmeats. There were even a few fruits, a warm teapot, and the plates and teacups and other utensils that they would need. To amuse her, he had also brought his violin. This he laid carefully off to one side before taking a seat facing Alice.
He could not explain why he had brought her here.
"May I offer you some Mazenderan tea?" he asked instead, showing her the teapot.
The brew was sweet and smelled of lilacs and jasmine. "Did you take these leaves with you when you left Persia?"
He nodded, hardly surprised anymore at how much she knew about him.
"You've been to such interesting places! M. Ippolitov-Ivanov told me about a boy he had met at a Russian fair. I'm certain that was you."
He nodded again as he spread cheese on a piece of bread and handed it to her. "Yes, it was Erik. It's good that my managers have taken my advice. Ippolitov-Ivanov certainly doesn't have much of a commanding appearance, but at least his music is cultured."
"And it was you, then, who wrote Don Juan Triumphant, which the managers used at the séance to summon the Opera Ghost?"
At this question, made in such tones of obvious admiration, he smiled and at last lifted his eyes to hers. "Yes, it was me."
Alice returned the smile. "It was incredible! Your music conveyed such indescribable moods!— inspired intense feelings!"
He well understood what she meant, and could imagine what effect his music had on her young, impressionable heart.
"You are quite a magician in that sense," she continued. "Your creations arouse powerful sentiments. Like this garden, for example." She lifted her chin as though enjoying a stirring summer breeze. "One can't help but be happy here."
"It isn't always so," he answered, and lowered his eyes as he remembered… ("The wall is hot! The wall is burning hot!")
But of course, Alice didn't know what had happened between Erik and Christine. Instead, she thought he only meant that the garden had also been a torture chamber, or at least the one in Persia had been. "Is that why you built another one here in Paris—to have a garden you could visit without leaving the cellars?"
He nodded as he poured more tea. In the uncomfortable silence, she could hear the flowery drink gurgling into her cup. Erik's unusual reticence vexed her.
"What did the lever in the hallway do?"
"That gave us light."
"Charming! and quite clever, too! Why all this? Why did you invite me to have breakfast with you, here in your wonderful private garden?"
He cleared his throat and set down his plate. "You remember well, I think, what happened when we last met. Your words had a great effect on me—no one ever had such kind words for me… I'm in earnest when I say that I owe you my life… And I never regret anything as much as I regret how I mistreated you then. I'm… I'm sorry. And I very much hope that we can be friends."
"Let us be friends, then. My name is Alice."
He took the hand she held out to him, and his heart glowed when she didn't recoil from the chill of his fingers. At last he seemed to relax. "And my name, as you already seem to know, is Erik."
"Tell me then, Erik, what took you to so many places—Nizhni Novgorod and Persia and the cellars of the Opera Garnier?"
This prompted a long, exciting conversation, in which Erik confided his lonely adventures, describing for her the unusual people whom he had met and the strange things that he had seen. He performed for her on his violin, and like magic, the music took her to those exotic lands.
His eyes never left her as his bow stroked the violin's strings. He watched her eyes close and her lips curl into a smile. She inhaled, as though the sounds from his violin emitted a delightful fragrance. When the last note of a Chinese melody faded away, she opened her eyes and grinned.
"That was lovely! If I may visit again, I must ask you to sing for me."
Overwhelmed by her compliments, Erik offered another bow.
He knelt with her on the gingham linen. "It's your turn, Alice. What have your remarkable talents in modern medicine achieved as of late?"
In an instant, the smile left her lips. She fussed with the sleeve of her dress as she explained, "I'm afraid you'll be disappointed in me, Erik. I read everything I could—both in M. Mechnikov's library and in the Bibliothéque. I-I even tried some cellular experiments in Mechnikov's laboratory when he was ill. I found nothing that could help you! Nothing!"
Alarmed at the sudden transformation of her mood, Erik took her hands in his. "I don't doubt that you did what you could."
"I would have given anything to grant you your one wish."
"Ah, but you've at least made Erik smile… Look, your tender words brought tears of joy to my eyes." His eyes were two dark holes in the daylight of that ethereal forest, but she saw two trembling tears make their way along the edge of his mask. "I'm no worse off for your having tried. To the contrary, I've gained a good friend. Thank you… for thinking of poor Erik."
"Then I'm successful after all. I only wanted to make you happy."
He closed his eyes, heady from her words. "No one has ever said that to me."
She lifted his chin until their eyes met. "I love you, Erik."
He could not have been more surprised. For many heartbeats he stared at her, then the smile left his lips. "No." He gently removed her hands from his face.
"Yes—I do! It came so naturally, I don't even know when I started having feelings for you. It was your artistry and genius that attracted my affections."
"Alice! Stop this!"
"Everyone criticizes me because I'm so focused on studying death and disease! And the irony is that you are the feared Opera Ghost! Ha ha! I wouldn't even mind living down in the cellars, in your charming house!"
"Please! I beg you to stop!"
Alice paused. She reached for his hand, her eyes brimming with emotion. "I'm asking you to marry me, Erik. Please don't think me foolish for speaking what's in my heart."
He gently pulled his hand away and stood. "You don't know what you're asking."
"Yes, I do!" she cried, tears springing to her lovely eyes. "And you won't have me, because you still love Christine Daaé!"
He drew back as if she had struck him. His mask could not hide his reaction. She covered her mouth and wished to take back the words that had spilled from her lips. Springing from her seat, she seized her cloak and the lantern and ran from the room.
"Alice!" he called after her.
But she was gone.
a/n: I enjoy feedback, so please leave a review and tell me what you enjoy/ hate about my writing, the story, etc. You can leave an anonymous review, if you prefer.