(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.)

Wedding preparations

Little Christian's christening threatened to become a disaster when a fresh dispute broke out between Christine and Erik over his mask. Erik had now set his heart on being the godfather, but the idea of standing by the font with the baby in his arms and not being allowed to wear a mask terrified him. He didn't trust himself to be able to stand up there in front of a crowd, and he was worried about what would happen to the baby if he were to lose his nerve. Besides, a christening was not an appropriate place to undertake to present him to high society, with all due respect for Christine's wish to restore herself in general opinion and in that of society in particular. Christine had certainly had no intention of turning the christening into a public display, but she would have liked to invite a great many guests.

Finally a small celebration within the immediate family circle was agreed upon, in return for which Erik promised that at the next ball which was held at the chateau he would prepare a magic show worthy of the court of the Shah of Persia himself. Raoul found it distasteful to allow Erik to express any opinion in this matter at all, but in the end he agreed that a small private celebration would be much more appropriate than a huge event full of people most of whom he hardly knew. It was increasingly getting on his nerves that he was always being obliged to show consideration for Erik. Erik had ensconced himself in their home, showed no thought of leaving, and constantly expected people to show consideration for him instead of keeping quiet and being grateful that he was tolerated at all.

And then the next debate loomed up, namely with the priest, who, after everything that he had learnt in the meantime, queried whether Erik was indeed a believer or not; if not, there could be no question of his becoming the godfather. Erik wanted to know how he was supposed to prove it.

"It is enough if you give me your assurance," explained Father Johannes.

"And what if I'm lying?", said Erik, for whom it was an alien idea that a stranger would trust in him.

"That is no problem of mine — that is between you and your conscience," the priest answered pragmatically.

Erik glanced at Christine, who had Christian in her arms, and Raoul, who was carrying Marie. Then he looked at the priest sitting opposite him. Then back at the children. It was clear that the answer was not an easy one for him. Finally he declared that he was indeed a Christian, but that he constantly suffered extreme doubts. The priest, delighted by this honest answer, gave it as his opinion that doubts were entirely normal.

The service was short and soon over. Erik had insisted this time on singing the Salve o Regina himself, something on which for once they could all agree. All save for Marie, who wanted a different song.

"No, Son lo spirito doesn't belong in church," Erik told her. "I'll sing it for you afterwards."

Christine couldn't help laughing when she heard this. She knew Erik to be a far from Godfearing man, but apparently even he had his limits. Naturally Marie couldn't have known — she was only a child and had no more understanding of the aria's meaning than she did of the christening itself. She spent it playing happily with the buttons on her father's jacket until she had pulled one of them off; then she chewed on his hat.

Immediately after the christening Babette approached Christine. The latter had already learned that Babette had boxed the ears of the Vicomte as well as Erik, and was more amused than annoyed; Babette offered her apologies. Of course, a cook ought not to box the ears of a Vicomte, but after explanations the Vicomte and Vicomtesse forgave her.

"Those two have certainly made an ideal match," Raoul murmured to his wife. "Erik is constantly coming to me to apologise for this and that, and Babette to you. It's never going to be dull..."

A few days later Babette came to the breakfast table, where the Vicomte and Vicomtesse, Dr Martin and his wife, and Erik were seated.

"Excuse me, Madame, I need to ask about the menus for today," she began innocently. "I thought we could have lentil stew followed by cherry cake for dessert."

Erik went white as a sheet — so far as this was possible for him — and dropped everything he was holding. He covered his face with both hands and shrank back into his chair.

"What's the matter, Erik?" asked Babette, turning to him with an ostensibly innocent air. "Oh, of course — you don't like cherry cake."

Erik looked as if he were about to be ill, and neither Raoul nor Christine could help bursting into giggles. This promised to be better than any stage comedy.

"Who gave me away?"

"That's got nothing to do with this!" exploded Babette. "What matters is that you want to marry ME — or do you? What was it you called me? A comfortable arrangement with a bowl of lentil stew? Filling but ordinary?"

"I didn't mean it like that..." said Erik, trying to wriggle out of it.

"So how did you mean it?"

"Please don't make a scene here," he begged.

"This is not an argument!"

"Let's clear this up in private," implored Erik, to whom the affair was hideously embarrassing.

"Why should I? If you call me a flavourless stew in front of everyone, then you can put it right in front of everyone!"

Erik cast a pleading glance in the direction of Raoul and Christine in the hopes that one of them would come to his aid and rein in Babette. But they were looking on with interest, exactly as if awaiting the premiere of a new comedy.

"I didn't say flavourless," he began, "I said I liked lentil stew with ham in it..."

He got no further, for Babette clouted him round the ear.

"Give up — you're just making it worse for yourself," Raoul advised, in a sudden access of male fellow-feeling.

"With chilli, I meant with chilli!" said Erik, trying desperately to extract himself.

"I'll give you chilli!" Babette yelled at him. This was too much for Erik, who seized her by the wrists and dragged her out of the room, slamming the door, in order to continue the argument in the neighbouring room. What had not occurred to him in his fury was that both he and Babette had powerful voices and that both couples in the breakfast-room were listening so hard you could have heard a pin drop.

"Do you have to make a fool of me in public?" he yelled.

"No more than you did of me! Or do you think it's pleasant for me to find out that I'm nothing more than some bland stew to you, a comfortable arrangement?"

"Babette, I... truly, I didn't want you to find out." Erik tried a fresh approach, but this clearly backfired, for Babette burst out in real rage: "Of course you didn't! All you want is for me to make you comfortable! And don't try to talk your way out of it by saying you made the right decision — if you had really wanted to do the right thing, you'd have made your decision and kept your mouth shut, and plain and simply ACTED right in private. But no, that was too much to ask — you have to have applause. If for once in your life you don't do anything stupid, if you once do the right thing, then you don't just make a scene about it, you act out a whole opera! You probably want people to come and thank you daily because you haven't cut their throats in their sleep!"

"Now that's definitely going too far," Erik shouted back at her. "Do you really think I'll stand for that? Anyone else would have shoved your teeth right down your throat by now — you're embarrassing me!"

"I'M embarrassing YOU? You're the only one here who's behaving like a hysterical prima donna all the time!" cried Babette, and once again Christine could no longer hold back her laughter. Babette had just described Erik as a hysterical prima donna, and she couldn't help thinking of the Paris Opera.

"You take that right back!" Erik demanded. "You've got no right at all to say anything to me, you slut!"

Something crashed and broke. Raoul made a mental note to check the inventory afterwards.

"Not on your life!" retorted Babette. "And as for this stew you've dished up for me to swallow, my dear, you can take it and choke on it!"

"Oh yes?"

"Oh yes! Or what would you say if I were to go in and get myself a helping of Dr Martin's juicy sirloin, or the Vicomte's cream puffs?"

Dr Martin went scarlet, and got a highly sceptical look from his wife. "Cream puffs?" said Raoul indignantly.

"You wouldn't dare!" thundered Erik, his voice by now probably audible throughout the whole chateau.

"Want to bet on it? You... you.. you fried egg!"

"Why 'fried egg'?" Erik was baffled.

"Burnt on one side, and slimy and half raw on the other," retorted Babette. There was a crash, then the sound of furniture being overturned and a shriek from Babette.

"That must have been the chest of drawers," Raoul decided, "with the fruit bowl on it. Oughtn't we to intervene?"

"You shameless impertinent termagant," thundered Erik's voice, "you really are the most impossible creature if you think that I..." A few phrases followed, which were unfortunately not comprehensible from the neighbouring room. Then they heard Erik's voice again. "Just you wait, you brazen witch, you'll regret that!"

"I'll give you chilli, and may you choke on it!" countered Babette, and Raoul breathed a sigh of relief that she was still alive. Then they heard another door slam, and after that it was quiet.

Raoul and Dr Martin went to have a look. There was no-one in the next-door room or in the corridor. The chest of drawers had been overturned and the fruit bowl had fallen off, as if someone — presumably Babette — had been pushed up against it. But there was nothing to be seen of either of them.

Raoul and Dr Martin turned back to the breakfast-room. "What do you think — can we expect lunch to be on time today?" enquired Dr Martin, and promptly received a kick on the shin from his wife in response.

~o~

At lunch Erik appeared to be in a good mood, as if nothing at all had taken place.

"We've agreed on a date," he reported cheerfully. "Next week I'll get to know her children and we'll put up the banns, and then we'll marry as soon as possible."

Christine stared at him. "After that scene, I thought it was all over between you," she said, astonished.

"Of course not," said Erik, whose mood was getting better and better. "That was just a tiny little lovers' tiff."

"A lovers' tiff?" The Vicomte couldn't help laughing. "What will it be like if you have a real domestic quarrel?"

~o~

Babette had in fact prepared steak for lunch, with lentil stew as a side-dish with a fried egg on each portion. For dessert there were cream puffs and cherry cake.

For once Erik displayed a healthy appetite, to Christine's astonishment, almost as if he wanted to prove something to Babette. "I think you may get lentil stew more often now," she observed, with an amused smile.

"I've no objection to that," rejoined Erik. "And I already know too that it was you who gave me away. What was it you said: that you didn't want her to be unhappy?"

Christine flushed. "I'm sorry, Erik, but I had to tell her. I couldn't allow you to lie to a good woman and take advantage of her."

Erik put on his innocent expression. "But when have I ever taken advantage of anybody?"

Christine sighed, and Raoul cast his eyes heavenwards.

A week later, a policeman came to Raoul and reported that some children who had gone to bathe in the little pool in the woods had found a body. The corpse was caught on something underwater, but it would have to be recovered, since it was probably related to the case of a serving-maid who was missing from the village. As the landowner to whom the woods and the water belonged, Raoul had to attend, as it might prove necessary to lower the water level, which was very high after a violent thunderstorm. He took Erik with him, since he had by now learnt that it was Erik who had come up with the idea of the underground lake during the construction of the Opera, and therefore knew how to divert water.

There were various people already present at the pool: the father of the missing girl, the two boys who had seen the body while swimming, several curious onlookers and more policemen. Erik rode up to the little lake while Raoul spoke to the police. Then he dismounted, keeping his horse near the policemen and making every effort to keep his back to the spectators and in particular to the girl's father, his broadbrimmed hat drawn right down over his eyes.

"We can't divert the water," he said. "There's no sluice — we'd have to install one first — and we'll never get steam-pumps into the woods either."

"We can't leave the corpse down there either," Raoul pointed out.

"Then I'll take a look at it."

"There's a body snagged on something underwater, and you want to dive down there?" said one of the policemen, appalled. Clearly this idea, simple in itself, had not occurred to anyone.

"What else am I supposed to do?" enquired Erik. "Kindly get rid of the people over there for me. Once there are only police present, I'll make a start."

The police told everyone that they would have to wait somewhat further away in a small clearing. Raoul turned to Erik.

"Why are they not supposed to watch?"

"Because I don't want them to see me alongside a corpse. It's too macabre a sight, and for the father of the missing girl it would be unbearable."

Erik took off his hat and coat, pulled off his boots and stockings and went to the little wooden jetty. He sat down and let himself slip almost soundlessly from a sitting position into the water, then dived. Raoul found himself instinctively holding his breath. When he could hold it no more and had to exhale, Erik's head surfaced again.

"She's attached to a rope that's fastened to something heavy. I can't get to it; there's too much weed and mud. The water's about four metres deep," he reported. "I think if I cut the rope I can get her out."

One of the policemen, who seemed to be the senior officer, wanted to know if it would not be possible to haul out the dead girl on the end of a line.

"I've no idea what she is attached to. It will be quicker if I cut the rope."

"Then try it," decided the officer, at the same time sending one of his subordinates to fetch Dr Martin so that the doctor could examine the corpse.

Erik dived again. The task proved difficult, since the clothing of the corpse and the weeds were in his way and he had to hold his breath. For him that meant taking a breath, diving, sawing through the rope, coming back up, taking a breath and going under again, until there came a jerk and the rope parted. The body drifted slowly to the surface of its own accord.

For the police and Raoul a terrible spectacle ensued. First of all they saw something pale moving in the greenish water, then Erik's disfigured face surfaced right next to it. Erik gasped for air and swam to the jetty in order to hang on to it until he could breathe normally again. Meanwhile the dead girl glided slowly to the surface, back upwards, with head, arms and legs hanging down into the water.

Erik caught hold of the body by the fabric of its dress and towed it to the little jetty, where two policemen pulled it out. Both of them were quite green in the face and stared at Erik. It was as if Death himself had come in person to deliver the corpse.

He got out of the water and walked towards the body. Erik next to the drowned body was a terrible sight, for bloodless and pale, with weeds in its hair and clothing, it still looked better than he did. He took a brief look at it, then turned away, took up his possessions, and withdrew into the woods so that he would no longer be visible. Since his horse was still there, however, presumably he was planning to stay in the vicinity.

The girl's father had to come in order to identify her. His first reaction was: "No, that's not her. That's not my daughter." Only when Dr Martin arrived, examined the body closely, and found a bracelet knotted from coloured wool around its wrist, did the father recognise his child.

The police led the weeping man away. "Looks like suicide," was the senior officer's verdict. "She will have tied a stone to her waist before jumping into the lake."

Dr Martin agreed that he could find no wounds and no trace of any bonds save the rope at her waist, and the latter had been knotted from the front. "Cause of death: suicide by drowning."

Not until the police and the onlookers had gone did Erik come out from his hiding-place in the bushes. He was soaked through and shivering with cold. "The poor girl," he said.

For a while he and Raoul rode side by side without speaking. Then Erik said gloomily, "She won't get a proper burial, will she? A grave in unconsecrated ground, and no funeral service."

Raoul confirmed this. "It's a pity."

"But I could sing my Requiem for her, if her father permitted it," continued Erik, and Raoul was not sure whether it was he who was being addressed or whether Erik was talking to himself. "I'd like to do that. Could you speak to the father and to the priest? I couldn't bear it if he had to see my face."

(continued...)

Claudio Monteverdi: Salve o Regina, YouTube link (remove the '+'): https+:+/+/+www+.+youtube+.+com+/+watch?v=GvZq2B-tzqk