(A/N: This is a translation of the German story Gefangene der Angst by E.M.K.81, which I am uploading with the author's permission in the hopes that other English-speaking readers will enjoy it as much as I did. Further chapters will appear as and when I finish translating them. For a link to the original, see my profile.)
The confession
After these dramatic events the following week passed in the greatest of peace. Erik was confined to bed and Christine likewise, and hence there was no particular need to make explanations since the two of them never encountered one another. Raoul told Christine that they were out of danger now, but he could not tell her everything; it would agitate her too much, and Dr Martin had forbidden that. It was the truth, even if it was not the whole truth.
With a rueful shake of the head Raoul realised that he was behaving just like Erik. Telling a part of the truth, leaving out as much as possible and letting people fill in the rest for themselves is the best way of lying. But in this case it was for Christine's own good. She accepted what he told her, but she was not really comforted either.
The second week also went by entirely peacefully. Then Dr Martin asked to speak with the Vicomte in private.
"It's Bertrand," began the doctor. "He's been refusing food and water for days. So far as I can tell he just lies in bed, barely stirs, sleeps very little and no longer eats or drinks. If at first he was struggling for his life, now it seems that he has suddenly given in. Neither his dogs nor Babette can cheer him up.
"He himself says that he knows this condition and has often been like this before, and we should just leave him alone. But this is the third day — if he doesn't drink soon he will die of thirst. I think he has fallen victim to a kind of melancholia; somehow or other we must get him out of this dark frame of mind, or he will be in serious danger."
"And you already have some idea of how you intend to do it, or you wouldn't have come to me?" asked the Vicomte.
Dr Martin nodded. "Yes. The sole subject that can still get a response from him is that of your daughter. He reacts only to her name, and to nothing else. I think he ought to see her. If he could see her, it would help."
Raoul considered. "Is there any danger for Marie?"
"No. Monsieur Bertrand's state is not aggressive, but depressed."
Raoul sighed. "Very well, then — but only under supervision."
~o~
He decided to go to see Erik himself. When he knocked, it was Babette who opened the door.
"He's not at all well," she said unhappily. The curtains were drawn. Erik was lying on the bed with his three dogs nestled up to him. Even the dogs appeared dejected, as if their master's mood had communicated itself to them.
He was not wearing a mask. Raoul could see that Babette had trimmed his beard and so the sunken cheeks and prominent bones of his skull were more clearly visible, in addition to the remaining swelling of his lower jaw.
"Erik," said Raoul softly, but the man thus addressed scarcely reacted, save that he opened his eyes and regarded Raoul.
"How are you?" asked the Vicomte.
"Wretched," said Erik quietly.
"Dr Martin says that you are not eating or drinking enough," continued the Vicomte.
"I'm not hungry," came the answer.
Raoul looked around. Babette had prepared a bowl of gruel for her beloved, who with his swollen jaw and his mouth still partially swollen shut could eat nothing solid. "If you eat that up and then drink something, you can see Marie tomorrow."
Erik sat up with a jerk, and observed: "This was Babette's and Dr Martin's idea." Then he turned to her, took the bowl and spoon and began to eat. He could only manage a small teaspoon, since he couldn't get a normal spoon in his mouth, but he ate at least something, and when Babette gave him a glass of water he drank it without protest.
Babette took the Vicomte to the door and accompanied him outside. Then she closed it. "Of course he'll give the rest to the dogs," she sighed, raising her eyes heavenward. "He's as unreasonable as a small child."
Then she turned to the Vicomte. "I'm grateful to you. Marie means so much to him — if he can see her again, he'll recover the will to live."
Raoul didn't care for the idea at all, but he had promised that Erik might see Marie. Accordingly, he found himself sitting in the music room with his daughter. She was eating a croissant — which was to say that she was sucking on it, crumbling most of it onto the carpet, spitting out a portion over her dress and with a great deal of luck managing to get a small part into her mouth.
There was a knock on the door. Marie looked at once at the door, which was opened cautiously. Erik, in his full disguise as Pierre, came in.
When Marie saw him, she thrust the dribbled croissant into her father's hand and cried out joyfully "Er! Er! Er!" Erik knelt down and opened his arms so that the child could run to him as fast as her little legs could carry her. No sooner had she reached him than Erik caught her up and whirled her round the room.
Raoul felt a sudden pang of extreme jealousy: now his rival had turned the head of his daughter as well. But he did not interfere.
Erik pressed Marie close, and she removed his eyepatch and the false nose in the most natural of gestures. It was clear that she had often done it before. Then she kissed him on the forehead, stroked his beard and said happily, "Er, Er, Er there again."
"Yes, Princess, I'm here," replied Erik with tears in his eyes. He took the false nose and the eyepatch and laid them carefully on the piano. Marie reached out her little hands and tried to stick a finger in Erik's nose-hole.
"No, no, Erik doesn't like that," he protested, and held her out at arm's length. Marie protruded her chin and lower lip and began to wail. Erik imitated her sounds and actions, and Marie fell suddenly silent, staring at him in astonishment. She was not used to grown-ups starting to cry so easily.
"Er dance, Er dance, Er dance!" she demanded.
Erik pressed her close once more against his breast and began to whirl round the room. At first it seemed to Raoul that Erik was simply revolving, and then he realised with surprise that the man was clearly carrying out dance steps — so far as he was able when wearing riding boots, since he apparently didn't own a single pair of shoes.
Erik danced with Marie in his arms to a music that was audible to him alone; or perhaps to Marie, who laughed and squealed with joy. Barely had he come to a halt when Marie demanded again "Dance, dance, dance!" and he began a new dance. It seemed to Raoul as if Erik and Marie were quite cut off from the rest of the world and were now in a little world of their own, which consisted only of Erik's elegant movements and Marie's laughter. And he, her father, was shut out.
"I can't go on any longer," panted Erik, and sat down on the carpet.
"Er dance!" insisted Marie again. Erik seated her on the floor. He was completely out of breath and had trouble distinguishing between up and down, while all other directions were long since the same to him.
"I can't," he groaned. "Let me get my breath back first."
Raoul glanced at the clock. For almost half an hour Erik had done nothing but dance around the room with the little girl in his arms, and that at a fast tempo and without pause. Only now did he realise that Erik had deliberately refrained from defending himself; now that he had seen Erik's smooth and elegant movements, and above all his endurance, it was clear that in a fight Erik would have had an easy job of it.
"Dance!" demanded Marie again, and tugged on Erik's now shorter beard.
"Ow! No, stop that!"
Marie simply laughed. "Lala," she demanded.
"Erik will sing for his princess," said Erik, and seated himself at the piano. Marie sat nearby on the floor and watched him with great blue eyes, her fair hair in disarray.
Erik sang an aria, "Son lo spirito che nega..." Even though he could not understand the words, Raoul knew that this was Mephistopheles' introductory aria from Arrigo Boito's opera "Mephistopheles". And it was a bass role. Erik sang it effortlessly. Raoul found this incomprehensible; according to Christine Erik had only sung tenor roles, but now he was singing bass without the slightest problem.
Marie watched him with anticipation, as if she were waiting for the best part. When he reached the point where Mephistopheles whistles, Erik stuck two fingers in his mouth and let out a whistle, and Marie, delighted, clapped her hands and laughed.
"Er lala, Er lala, Er lala!" she demanded.
"All right then, one more," said Erik, and began: "Plaudete, sonat tuba..."
The piece meant nothing to Raoul, but he would ask Erik about it later. A tenor role, a difficult one: there were many tenors who could never manage those passages. And Erik had said that his voice was ruined? What then was this? And — if this were really a voice completely ruined by smoking — how incredible must his voice have been previously? Clearly the man had mastered everything from the higher bass roles up to the tenor: a gigantic vocal range. Marie sat very still and gazed at Erik in admiration.
When Erik had finished, Raoul told him: "Your time's up."
Erik looked at him in confusion, like someone just woken from a deep sleep who first needed to get his bearings and work out where he was. Then he said, quietly, "Yes, of course. My thanks for allowing me to see Marie."
"Er lala!" said Marie tearfully.
Erik knelt down on the floor next to her and said softly, "It was very nice of your father to let me visit you. We mustn't abuse his generosity, or I shan't be able to see you any more. So be a good girl, and don't cry. And if you and I are both very very good, then perhaps I'll be allowed to pay you another visit. Will you promise me to be a good girl?"
Marie nodded eagerly.
"That's right. And I promise to be very very good too," said Erik, and gave her a kiss.
The little girl made a face as if she were about to cry, but she was brave and swallowed down the tears. Erik picked up his eyepatch and false nose, put them back on, and looked at Raoul.
"Thank you," he said, and it was not difficult to see that it was Erik now who wept, while Marie still gallantly held back her tears. He left the room almost noiselessly.
Marie ran to her father and held up her arms to be lifted into his lap. Then she put her little arms round his neck and said "Love Papa, love Papa, love Papa lots! Ma love Papa!" She had recently begun to call herself "Ma".
Raoul could not be angry with her, and in that moment he understood clearly that he would be making his little daughter very, very unhappy if he banned Erik from the chateau entirely. He sighed. He would have to find some solution that allowed Erik at least to remain in the vicinity. If Erik stopped coming, Marie would never understand it.
~o~
A few days later Raoul went to see Erik, who had secluded himself in his room and no longer emerged at all.
"You don't have to lock yourself up," the Vicomte observed in a friendly tone. "You're not my prisoner."
"Really?" Erik's eyebrows rose. "I thought..."
"You thought wrong," Raoul retorted somewhat curtly. "You are permitted to leave the room, to go into the garden, and also into the kitchen if you so wish. The family rooms are out of bounds. Understood?"
"Yes, Monsieur."
Raoul couldn't help but laugh at seeing Erik so meek and obedient. "What's so funny?" demanded Erik, taken aback.
"If only the managers knew," Raoul spluttered. "All one needs to do is simply tell the Phantom that an area is out of bounds, and he stays away!"
Erik had to laugh himself. The image was just too funny.
"They'd put up a sign — No Entry: Phantoms Prohibited..." He grew serious. "Thank you, sir, for letting me see Marie. Did I go too far when I promised her that I could see her again, just as long as I'm very good?"
Raoul had to laugh again. Before him stood the man who had terrorised the entire Opera — the Phantom of the Opera, that monster of whom he and Christine had been so terrified — talking like a little boy.
"Marie would be unhappy if she were not allowed to see you again," he told Erik. "And my daughter's happiness means more to me than throwing you out. But I want to make one thing quite clear: my house, my rules. I'm the master of the house here. If you stay, then you'll have to work. I'm not feeding and sheltering you for nothing, understood?"
Erik nodded, and stared at the floor. There was something ridiculous in the way he was attempting to look up to Raoul, when the difference in heights between them made this quite simply impossible.
"So — what line of work can you do?"
Erik stared at him. "Is this a job interview?"
"More or less... so let's find you some kind of role. You're a musician; when Marie is older you can give her lessons on the piano or some other instrument, but until then you will have to do some other line of work. I have no need of an architect, conjurer or actor here. What occurs to you?"
"I'm good at handling horses, and you have a stud farm," suggested Erik, looking not at all displeased at the idea.
"Very well. If you are willing, I'll take you on as a horse-breaker for the hopeless cases — all the animals that are only fit to be sent to the knacker otherwise — and we'll see if you can do anything with them. Do you want the job?"
"Of course. To be honest, right now I would do anything, even if it were as a stable-boy..." It made no odds to Erik what work he did, as long as he was permitted to remain.
"Good. So let's talk about your salary."
"Anything," said Erik. "Whatever you think approriate."
"You've certainly no head for business," observed Raoul, amused.
"No, not at all," admitted Erik, "even though I was a building contractor and made a tidy sum. But I had an excellent accountant..."
The Vicomte gave him a stern look. "If you suppose that you don't need any money because you can just steal anything under the sun, you're barking up the wrong tree. We'll do it this way: you'll work for your food and board, and in addition any clothing and footwear that you may require. In addition I'll pay you a bonus for every horse that is sold instead of being sent for slaughter — 30% of the difference between the sale price and what the knacker would have paid."
Erik looked rather helpless. He had no idea if the offer was a good one or not; he understood a great deal about horses, but he knew nothing whatever about the economics of horse-breeding. But he assented. After all, it wasn't about the money.
"You can keep the dogs," added Raoul as he departed, leaving behind him a thoroughly bemused Erik.
~o~
At supper Dr Martin pointed out to Raoul that Monsieur Bertrand would not be able to work as a horse-breaker with as yet unhealed ribs, and certainly not while he couldn't even eat normally.
"You'll have to tell him," Dr Martin warned the Vicomte adamantly. "Today he asked me for strapping that would be strong enough to withstand a fall from a horse — he wants to start work tomorrow."
"He did what?" Raoul was aghast. "I thought it was obvious that he couldn't start yet."
"Not to him. I'm afraid you'll have to tell him even what seems self-evident. It's only two weeks since his... riding accident, and it will take him at least a month to recover."
~o~
The next day Erik came to Raoul's study. "Dr Martin has told me I can't ride yet." He sounded positively aggrieved.
"Yes, I know," said Raoul. "Could you construct some toys for Marie? Some building blocks, for example?"
"Certainly. I'll need some thin planks, a saw, and a large and small file."
"Good, then that can be your employment for the next month," Raoul decided. Something in the way of punishment was necessary, and the idea of Erik having to spend a whole month sitting in his room cutting and filing little wooden blocks to size appealed to him.
Erik simply accepted this. Then he asked diffidently: "May I ask, sir, how things are with your wife?"
Raoul sighed. "Better. It was a false alarm and she can get up again. Currently Dr Martin and I are considering whether it would be better for her to know the truth or not: which is better, a shock followed by peace of mind, or ongoing — but on that account less serious — disquiet? I just don't know."
"If I might express a preference — I'd rather have it over and done with. Believe me, I've had ample practice at begging forgiveness... But it's not my decision. I'll do whatever is best for your wife."
~o~
After a further two weeks, Dr Martin decided that it would be best to tell Christine. She was too agitated and was worrying so much that it would be better if she were to know the truth.
So Raoul went to get Erik. He was, as anticipated, in his room, but Babette was with him.
"Aren't you sick of it?" she asked. "For the last two weeks you've been trimming wood to a size of 1cm by 2cm by 4cm — or, for a change, 1cm by 2cm by 8cm!"
Erik laughed. "It's for Marie," he explained cheerfully, "so I'm not sick of it at all."
"May I come in?" said Raoul, and Erik opened the door.
"What can I do for you, Monsieur?" he asked politely, stepping back so that Raoul could enter. On the floor Raoul could see a handsome wooden box which was already partly filled with little wooden blocks.
"Tell me, how many hours a day are you working on this?" he asked in astonishment. He was convinced that Erik could never have got together so many blocks, and certainly not in two weeks.
"Twelve to fourteen hours — depending on how much I get... distracted." Erik cast a meaningful glance in the direction of Babette, who went red.
"Dr Martin thinks you should tell Christine the truth now," Raoul said.
"Right now?" Erik looked horrified.
"I thought you wanted to get it over and done with?"
"Yes, of course, but... I have to confess I'm scared. What if she insists I leave?"
"Then you'll obey her!" was Raoul's verdict. He'd had more than enough of Erik putting his own desires first.
"What if she... she demands a punishment?" asked Erik, seeming to become smaller and smaller.
"When the time comes, we'll see."
"I'm afraid," confessed Erik, looking at Babette.
She took his hand and said firmly: "I'll stick with you however it turns out."
"Babette... if I survive this, would you marry me?" Erik said with gratitude."I'll recognise all your children as my own, even though I know they can't have been mine."
"Would that be a proposal, now?" enquired Babette.
"A ham-handed one, but... yes," said Erik uncertainly in reply.
"Men will say anything when they're scared," retorted Babette, shaking her head. "Ask me again when it's all over."
(continued...)
Links to the arias in question on YouTube (remove the "+"):
Son lo spirito: https:+/+/www+.+youtube+.+com+/+watch?v=-PZS_L6mH1M
Plaudite, sonat tuba: https:+/+/www+.+youtube+.+com+/+watch?v=5zhz-4KUh1E