Chapter 13 A cry for help
It was hard for Gustave to imagine things having gone any better. His father's introduction to the ladies had been interesting, but still an unmitigated success in his eyes. In the weeks that followed his father no longer gave him harsh looks at just the mention of his friends, nor did he actively try to deter him from visiting. But Gustave could see that there was definite resentment brewing, and he was starting to feel guilty with each passing day.
The boy could feel a fissure growing between him and his father. Remembering how the Vicomte had distanced himself from his wife and child made Gustave fearful that his real father could also be lost to him. He endeavored than to give the man some of the joy he'd found, but it was an imposing goal.
Erik had refused every offer or invitation Gustave made to accompany him back to the mansion, and often would make him-self scarce on those days he knew the boy would make his visits, as if he didn't want to be reminded.
Then there was Mr. Gangle, who had been appointed his escort on every visit. Gustave knew he was reporting back to his father. It didn't bother him really, but it showed that the man was still incredibly uneasy about the women.
The boy was soon at a loss at what he could do to alleviate his father's worries. He even asked Lisa one day what he should do. She'd become his confidant and Gustave felt she was a part of his life he never wanted to be without.
"Maybe he just needs time?" she said. Lisa had seen the sour look on Gustave's face as he sat at the spinet in the music room. It made her ache to solve all his troubles.
"No. He's just shut down. He doesn't really know how to express himself except through his music; otherwise it just builds up until it explodes."
"He sounds rather immature. Um, explodes how?" She asked, anxious concern filling her stomach.
"Not violently I mean he's not that kind of man. He just says things, and makes accusations. I don't really understand sometimes, but I'm sure it has to do with how he grew up. It's not his fault. He didn't grow up like normal people. I don't know everything, but I know he was put into one of those old European carnivals as a child. So he didn't have parents or friends. He's never really had anyone; even now he doesn't have friends. Except for Madam Giry maybe, but she's not really around much." A sudden lump caught in Gustave's throat.
"Is that a… special friend of his?" Lisa inquired, unsure of why she felt apprehensive about the answer.
Gustave understood the nature of her question, and though he'd considered many possibilities about the relationship between Giry and his father he was very sure it wasn't romantic.
"No. My father doesn't have relationships like that, not that I've ever seen anyway. He's only ever talked about my mother that way, when he does talk about her at all." He paused for a long moment before continuing. He never liked talking about the Giry's and didn't know why he'd even mentioned the dance mistress.
"They came over from France with him and helped him start his business; her and her daughter, Meg." It was hard for him to say the name. Gustave realized suddenly that he couldn't remember ever saying the name of the woman who'd been the instrument of his mother's death before this moment.
Lisa had been carefully examining a canvas. She had started applying a base coat of amber and turquoise paint to when she heard a soft whimper from behind her where the boy sat. Instinctively she turned and went to sit next to him, putting her arms around him and pulling him close to console.
"Oh my dear, did I upset you with all my questions? I'm so sorry." She stroked his head lightly as he rested against her shoulder. After a few seconds Gustave straightened and looked up into her emerald eyes. Her caring concern immediately lifted a heavy weight in Gustave's chest.
"It's not that. You see, Miss Giry is the one who shot my mother. It was an accident of course, but she'd been actually pretending that she was going to drown me. Then she let me go and pulled out a gun and put it to her own head. Mother had tried to cover my eyes, but I knew what was happening. Father tried to stop her and they struggled, then the gun went off and mother fell." His voice finally broke and the tears spilled slowly on a stifled sob, but he regained his composure quickly.
"Oh my, you don't have to tell me any more if it hurts too much. It's really not my business anyway." She said, trying to keep from shedding the tears that threatened.
"Actually I feel a little better saying it all aloud. I've never spoken of it with anyone really, even father. But I can trust you and I know you care." Gustave smiled up at her, understanding at once that Lisa had been a blessing to his life.
He thought for a moment that he'd be betraying his mother's memory by loving Lisa, but his mother had always taught him to be thankful for having people in his life to love and be loved by. True and lasting friends were always a blessing she would always say, and he should never take them for granted. That he should always cherish and honor them.
"Oh darling, thank you. You mean so much to me." Lisa wanted to say so much more, but in the moment that was all she could muster.
"After she was shot my mother told me about Mister Y, my father. I was so scared I ran off, so I wasn't there when she died. I went and found the Vicomte to get help. She was gone when we got back. Father was weeping over her." He took a moment to let the memory of that other time pass. Gustave felt so guilty about his actions on that night he could barely breathe.
Lisa had pulled a lace kerchief from her pocket and had begun dabbing his eyes. She was going to let him say all he'd holding back for all these years. She was happy being the outlet he needed to find comfort, though she knew there couldn't be closure until father and son could face the past together.
"Father sent Miss Giry away to dance in a hall in Chicago after the funeral. He told me that she and my mother had been great friends since they were children and she wouldn't want her friend in jail. Her mother, madam Giry, stayed behind and still works at Phantasma." He said looking and feeling dried out.
"Does it bother you that she is there?" Lisa asked. She found it hard to believe that he'd forgiven those responsible for Miss Daae's death, even for someone as charitable as this amazing child.
"Not really. I understand that she's very sad about what happened, and that Meg was sent away." He said.
Lisa wanted to understand more. She felt that Gustave needed more answers as to why his precious mother had been stolen from him. If she could, she'd help guide him to those answers and through the emotions of their revelation.
"Maybe you should ask your father more about what happened. Maybe he needs some help to talk about it too?" she offered.
"I don't think I could do that. It would hurt him too much and he's already suffered so much." He explained. Lisa was getting frustrated with the idea of a father who put so much on a child's shoulders.
She had learned that it was in Gustave's nature to think more of the people he loved than himself, but he sacrificed his own needs in doing so. It was a load so young a child should not have to carry. His ability to love unconditionally was a rare jewel in an increasingly cynical world, especially considering the heartbreak he'd endured. That he didn't hold some resentment or hatred for the Giry's was a concept hard for even Lisa to fathom given her own history. But being so sensitive a child made Gustave more vulnerable to other people's petulance, and more likely to become a victim of their corrosiveness. Especially that of the man he idolized.
"You shouldn't be made to feel responsible for maintaining your father's mental health." She stated.
"But I am all he has. If I don't take care of him no one else will." He contested.
"Unfortunately just loving someone isn't enough to make them happy. They have to be willing to do what is needed and make the changes that need making. Otherwise you're just going to go down with the ship. I'm sure your mother would want you both to be happy, but not for you to sacrifice yourself on his behalf." Lisa knew she was sounding exasperated, but she couldn't help her growing concern for Gustave's situation. "Have you tried talking to him about how you feel?"
"I don't think I know how."
"You're able to talk to me about it."
"Because I know you'll understand, but he gets frustrated and angry so easily, and I know it hurts him." Gustave huffed out a frustrated sigh, feeling defeated. Lisa pulled him close again, wishing to relieve the strain.
"I know its hard Gustave, but the most you can do is try. What more can you do? Just don't blame yourself for his failings. It breaks my heart to see you suffer needlessly." She told him, trying to sound as comforting as possible.
"I'm not suffering, just sad." He didn't resist the embrace. While she held him, Lisa's mind was filled with all that had been said. A man raised in a circus, no parents, no family, and no friends, now expected to raise a son on his own. Could such a man be seen as more than a child himself? Especially never having learned the social skills necessary for survival in such a cruel and unforgiving world?
She was sure the man had found ways to cope with his situation, but not the kind of skills that should be passed on to an innocent child. Lisa leaned back to look into the young man's eyes. They held so much innate wisdom and compassion that the weight he carried seemed to be a herculean feat.
"Come on; let's go bother Kara in the kitchen. Maybe we can convince her to make chocolate mousse. Then when momma gets up from her nap we can take her to walk in the garden. I think there's a new litter of kittens hiding out there." Gustave gave her a weak smile and they both headed out of the room.