CHAPTER 8 Eden is a lonely place

Gustave visits quickly became the brightest spot of Lisa's day. They spent most of the time in her studio talking while she painted, then listening to Madam Aguilar tell stories, and helping Kara prepare meals or reading in the well supplied library. But his favorite thing to do was playing piano, either for the ladies or composing by himself at the grand piano of the ballroom. Of course he had an instrument equally as fine at home, but hearing his music resonating through the high ceiling room gave the boy a particular thrill.

He'd imagine performing for a crowd of smartly dressed men and women. In his mind he saw them gliding across the dance floor, even seeing his father, mother, and Lisa among the throng. He'd play, his mother would sing, and everyone would applaud them. It was his favorite fantasy and often Lisa would find him smiling broadly as he pounded away at the keys. The boy had become a part of their lives; his presence was breathing new life into their sullen existence.

Lisa even set up an easel, canvas and lounge in the ballroom so she could sketch and paint while he played. The music inspired her in ways that hadn't surfaced for years. During breaks the two would sit companionably talking about any subject that caught their fancy. But despite the pleasure she had in his company, the part of Lisa the longed to be a mother had become concerned.

Gustave was growing into a young man, and it was the habit at such an age to be in the company of other young people with whom to socialize and form lifelong friendships. Lisa felt she was aiding in his deprivation of those life experiences, so she brought it up with him one day.

"I thought you'd prefer to spend your free time on Coney Island. I'm sure Phantasma is like your own personal playground with your father as the owner." Lisa inquired as her paintbrush continued to stroke the canvas. Gustave sighed with dismay. Lisa's observation made him feel the ever present guilt of not committing all his time to his father.

"The park is great, and I've spent a lot of time there. But it's gotten kind of lonely."

"Don't you have any friends you'd like to visit?" she asked.

"Other than you," he chuckled, "Not really. I don't get on very well with children my age." He said flatly, feeling a little embarrassed by his social inefficiencies.

"I can sympathize with that. When I was your age I found other children to be such a nuisance, especially girls. All they were interested in was their hair, their clothes and shoes. They had such a warped sense of the world that frustrated me to no end, especially in large groups." Gustave smiled wide as he listened to Lisa. It was exactly the way he felt about others his age. He'd thought perhaps his life had just been too sheltered, and his discomfort around other adolescents was a fault in his own personality. To know that he wasn't alone made him feel relieved.

Gustave's father had told him that he'd never had any friends, apart from Christine, and didn't feel there was a need for them. He couldn't understand Gustave's desire to see and meet people, but he could empathize with the boy's discomfort around those his own age. As a child he'd been a captive until later when he'd come to live in the opera house. Then he'd been happy to be alone and hidden away from the eyes of people.

The man had grown up knowing nothing of a mother's care and acceptance, only seeing the world as a gauntlet of pain and hatred. It was only in loving Gustave's mother that he'd learned what it was to care. Gustave didn't know the entire story of their courtship and union, or what had separated them and forced Gustave to live 10 years as the son of the Vicomte. He knew only that times had been difficult and both parties had acted in the best interest of the other.

"That's exactly how I feel. I'd much rather spend time around grown-ups and I've never liked crowds either. Unless it's a concert, then everybody is enjoying the music."

"But who do you play with?" she inquired.

"Nobody since my mother died. But that's ok, playing is for little children. I think I've just grown out of it." He replied ruefully. Lisa sighed. It was something she'd have to think more about.

"Do you go often to concerts?" she asked.

"My father took me once to the Metropolitan for a performance, but it reminded him to much of mother and we've never gone back. In France I wasn't old enough to go to my mother's performances, which were rare. But she would sing just for me at home when my father wasn't around. Oh… I mean the Vicomte, the man I'd thought was my father." Gustave blushed at the statement, feeling apprehensive to have mentioned such a scandalous situation. Lisa was unfazed by it and continued on.

"That must have been lovely. I remember my mother singing Spanish arias to me growing up; they are her favorite, although she didn't have your mother's talent." Lisa sighed deeply at the memory of simpler days. Gustave looked curiously at Lisa's face as it concentrated on her paint strokes. As their friendship and familiarity grew, Gustave felt Lisa's already striking beauty had become like the light of the sun to him.

"Lisa, you mentioned once before that you were an admirer of my mother's talent and just now you compared it to Mrs. Aguilar. Have you heard my mother perform?"

Lisa's hand stopped in midair, and she slowly lowered it and turned to look at the boy. She wasn't sure how much to say, worried that anything she said might do more harm than good. She didn't know how much Gustave knew about his parents or the strange events of so many years ago. After all, even she couldn't be sure how much of the fantastic and horrible story could be true. She knew she couldn't leave the question unanswered, especially with the boy staring back at her expectantly.

"I have actually. Just after the death of Charles and my father, momma and I stayed in Paris with a cousin. She wanted to cheer us up and took us too see a performance of Il Muto. Christine Daae had… she performed the role of Marguerite too perfection. It was truly a once in a lifetime performance." She smiled broadly at him, making sure the corners of her mouth reached her ears. He only smiled back.

Lisa was sure, that had he known more of the mystery surrounding those events he'd have pressed her for details. But how much could she really have offered except what the papers and gossip had given her, especially since she was still wrapped up in her own grief at the time. She went back to painting hues of violet and blue on the canvas and allowed the subject to move on.

For the rest of the afternoon Gustave and Lisa talked about his own music, and by the time she walked him to the curb he'd promised to one day play her a special song his father had written for his mother. As soon as he'd disappeared from view Lisa's mind was caught up in the thoughts she'd been trying to avoid all afternoon.

Her memories of that performance of Il Muto so many years ago had started to blossom in her mind. By now two distinct things were echoing in Lisa's ears; the melodic voice of Mademoiselle Daae and the threatening words of the opera ghost. All of Paris had been alight with gossip for weeks after, but at the time it had all meant so little to Lisa.

She was sure there was much more to the story, but she was just as sure that it wasn't anything good. People had died, and now even Miss Daae was dead at the hands of a mad woman, or so said the papers. Though her curiosity was peaked Lisa had no intention of asking Gustave about the subject. There were definitely skeletons in that closet, and Gustave was already haunted by so many.

But the father, Lisa shuddered to consider all the possibilities.