(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.)
A wedding, two visitors and a ball
After the first reading of the banns, Babette no longer sat in the 'pew of shame' but retreated to Erik's gallery. He had by this time laid claim to the organ bench for himself and refused to let anyone else play unless they could perform better than he could. Father Johannes had agreed to this, and the previous organist — also the teacher at the village school, who didn't really know how to play the organ but treated it like a piano — had no chance of displacing him.
Christine welcomed Erik's new enthusiasm for the church, but she knew that all he really wanted was to get near the organ; if that meant he had to take up the duties of the church organist and play for services every Sunday, then for him it was worth the price.
In the meantime Erik had found a solution for his problem of how to avoid having to leave the church along with everyone else: he waited until the church was empty and then vanished via the side entrance of the sacristy, in front of the door of which his dogs and his horse were waiting. It didn't suit Babette, since she then had to go home alone, but she preferred that to having to ride behind Erik on horseback. Horses gave her the creeps, and she didn't want to so much as go near the animal.
That Sunday afternoon, as they were taking a stroll in the garden together, Babette asked Erik: "And how are we going to pay for the wedding?"
Erik froze as if rooted to the spot. "I have no idea. I'd completely forgotten about that."
Babette shook her head. "I have no money — I've always given it to my children."
"I have none either. What I had... saved... in Paris, my good friend used in order to compensate my... ahem... so-called victims. And what I earned here, I frittered away, since I expected any day to be recognised and killed. There was no point in saving."
Babette laughed. "Wonderful — and what do we do now? My daughters are sewing the dress for me and the suit for you, and the landlady of the inn is my daughter. Owing the money isn't an option. So borrow some."
"Never." Erik shook his head violently. "At the moment I have no income — how can I borrow anything when I know perfectly well that I'll never be able to pay it back?"
"Ask the Vicomtesse," advised Babette, "she's got a soft spot for you."
"NO, NEVER — out of the question!" yelled Erik. "I'm certainly not going to beg from HER!"
"Then we'll have to think of something. Have a talk to Dubois — he can turn just about anything into money."
Erik massaged his temples. "Dubois of all people! Can't you think of anything better?"
"Not if the wedding is to take place in three weeks. So swallow down your pride, and ask him."
Erik grimaced. He didn't care for it at all, but as he had no better idea and they really were pressed for time, there was nothing else for it but to take her advice. However pride demanded that he reject it, at least initially, in an adamant refusal. Instead he suggested that maybe a little simple burglary or theft — or even a minor murder and robbery — wouldn't be a bad notion; it would bring in a lot of money quickly and would be easier than having to ask Dubois, who constantly got on his nerves with his mania for exact figures. But Babette insisted that the wedding at least should be paid for only with honest money, and that she would settle for nothing else. And — which had just occurred to her — she also wanted rings.
~o~
After two days during which no better idea had come to him, at least none that didn't include crime, Erik crept into Dubois' office, taking great care not to be seen by anyone. If he had to ask for help, at least no-one should know of it.
Dubois was more than a little surprised to see him. Not least since Erik had not, as usual, come to him with complaints that something had not been done months ago or excuses as to why he had yet again felt obliged to buy something, but asked him politely whether he, Dubois, could demonstrate that he could live up to his reputation.
"I don't understand what you want," said Dubois.
Erik took a seat uninvited and began: "You have the reputation of being able to turn anything into money. And that is precisely why I have a question for you. Do you know anyone who is in need of an architect?"
Dubois stared at him for a while. "Why come to me with such a question just now? Your fiancée has been pestering me since Sunday as to whether I knew anyone who would pay for new musical compositions."
Erik's first reaction was: "I'll kill that woman. This time I really am going to kill her!" Dubois reacted with immediate horror and would have called for help at once; Erik, however, assured him that he certainly wouldn't kill his fiancée, since after all one often heard of men murdering their wives but not of a murder committed by an engaged man. Statistically, therefore, at present Babette was completely safe from him.
Despite himself Dubois had to laugh. Erik really had taken the trouble to put his argument at least to some extent on the level of 'facts and figures'.
He reached into one of the drawers, where he had an addressbook, searched through it for a while and found a name and address. "Ah, here he is. Clement St Clair. A builder. Every architect he employs walks out within a month; that's why he's constantly looking for architects who can cope with his way of working. If you need a job in a hurry then he's the man for you. You should write to him."
Erik grimaced. "If he's that impossible, why suggest him?"
"Two reasons. One, because you won't find anyone else who's that desperate to find an architect — and two, because he's an obnoxious character who thoroughly deserves a colleague like you."
Erik sighed. What choice did he have? "I'll write to him. Since you know him — what's most important?"
"You'll need references. And tell him not to be scared when he first sets eyes on you, otherwise he'll run a mile before you manage to bid him good day," Dubois advised him.
Erik felt his anger rise. But he could not give in to it now, or he would destroy this chance before he had even tried it. He gritted his teeth and clenched his fists in the hopes of being able to control himself better. Then he asked Dubois to write the name and address out for him, and left.
Three days later Clement the builder received the following letter:
"Monsieur St Clair, my humble regards.
"You don't know me, but we have an acquaintance in common who referred me to you. He says that you are in search of an architect, and as chance would have it, I am myself an architect and would be glad of the opportunity to speak to you about the possibility of working together.
"If you desire references, ask Charles Garnier, the architect of the Paris Opera, whether he is able to recommend Erik Bertrand in the role.
"Your humble servant,
"Erik Bertrand.
"P.S. Unfortunately I am not in a position to pay you a visit since my physical condition does not permit me to come to town. You can reach me at the following address..." The address was that of the chateau of the de Chagny family. It was enough to make St Clair so curious that he proposed by means of a telegram a meeting in the nearest inn to the chateau.
Erik immediately told Babette about the letter he had written.
"Do you really want to subject yourself to St Clair?" Babette asked. "He has a reputation of being a pedantical tyrant. Why else do you suppose all his architects leave?"
Erik simply shrugged. "Even if he pays me only 2,000 francs a month, the costs of the wedding will be paid off in a month and I can hand in my notice without a problem. And I had the reputation of being a pedantical tyrant myself — but me they called an utterly insane monster into the bargain!"
~o~
The meeting took place in Cecile's inn one evening. Erik entered the room and saw at once which was the man to whom he had come to speak: he was the only one who was sitting at a table alone. St Clair was a man of middle height with a crippled left hand. That answered the question of why he could not draw up his own plans; with only one hand it was impossible to hold both set-square and pencil at the same time.
Erik took a deep breath and went up to him. The other patrons of the inn were paying no attention; Erik's face was seen so often that it was no longer anything new. People avoided coming too close or making any kind of personal contact with him, but he was no longer stared at or insulted so much. However, this man did not know him.
"Monsieur?" he asked. The man looked up, and stared at him, appalled. "I am Erik Bertrand," Erik said, introducing himself, and sat down uninvited.
Cecile set down a double schnapps in front of St Clair, who emptied it at a gulp and signalled for another. After the third glass he broke out: "My God, you look just the way he described. I thought it was a joke."
Erik felt a strong desire to punch the man in the face, but mastered himself. "Perhaps we might come to the point?" he enquired, unable to conceal his anger.
"Forgive me," St Clair said, embarrassed, "I didn't mean to insult you. I... I thought Garnier was pulling my leg with his description."
"Ah, so you applied to him for the reference?"
"Do you want to know his reply?" asked St Clair. Erik nodded. "I sent a telegram saying that an Erik Bertrand had applied to me and asking what he thought of him, and he replied by express post. He said that if it was the Erik Bertrand who wore a mask on account of his hideous deformity, he would advise me to engage him at once, since I had before me one of the best architects in France. However, I should be prepared to find myself lumbered with the most difficult, disagreeable and eccentric man in the country. If he had not strangled me within three months then I should have a good chance of getting an extremely reliable employee, provided I kept all customers and officials out of his way and prevented him from murdering the workers."
Erik thought about what he had just heard. Well, it was what might have been expected. Garnier and he had worked well together, but there had been problems enough which Erik had brought down upon himself by his own impulsive temper and Garnier had had to sort out. On the other hand, Erik had solved a great many problems that without him would never have been solved.
He smiled as he thought back to the construction of the Opera. It had been, in retrospect, a very good time, assisting in the birth of a great monument. If Garnier was the father of the Opera, Erik considered himself to be the mother. While the father had made himself scarce after the conclusion of the building works, like a mother Erik had remained to nurture the Opera further.
He shook his head; that was all over now, and he had no regrets. Instead of a stone monument to love, he had found something much better — Marie and Christian, two living, breathing, warm human children, whom he could love and watch growing up.
St Clair observed Erik closely. Then he said: "What would you require in order to complete the plans for an unfinished project?"
Erik thought briefly. "First a drawing-board and the usual materials: paper, pencils, set-squares, rulers, compasses and so on. Then I need the project description: the sketches, memoranda and naturally the complete site surveys. Then I can draw up the plans. If you could simply send me the files, that would be easiest for everybody."
"Good, then let's talk about the remuneration," began St Clair.
"I get three percent of the overall project cost, however much that may be."
"Three percent just for drawing up the plans?" St Clair retorted. "Are you out of your mind?"
Erik grinned, which drew back his lips from his gums and displayed a gap-filled row of teeth. St Clair felt a sudden desire for another schnapps and looked around for Cecile.
"MY plans are well worth it," Erik said.
"Prove it," said St Clair. "My good madam, have you perhaps paper and pencil that we could use?"
Cecile did not. She had only an old slate from her husband's schooldays and a slate pencil. "That will do, let's have them," Erik decided. Then St Clair, on impulse, asked Erik to sketch a school building.
Erik considered. As he had never been to school, he had never seen the inside of a school building and could only guess. A school needed classrooms and a large general-purpose hall, perhaps accommodation for the teacher, and a latrine would have to be available.
"What sort of school? How many classes and with or without accommodation for a teacher — is there gas, running water and electricity, an earth closet or a sewer connection... or does the nightsoil wagon come round?"
"All right, all right, you win. Something simpler, as it's only supposed to be a test. A pretty little suburban villa."
Erik nodded, took the slate and pencil and began to sketch. "I'll have to draw the plans at a scale of 5mm to a metre, or the slate will be too small," he observed. St Clair's eyes grew wider and wider as he saw the drawing grow, not least because Erik was managing without any aids such as compass or ruler. This was a sketch on a school slate that was almost as accurate as a blueprint.
It was two hours before Erik was satisfied with his sketch. He pushed the slate across to the other man and leaned back. Neither of them had noticed that in the meantime the landlord had turned out all the other customers and closed the pub.
St Clair studied the drawing, then made a proposal. "Since you won't be overseeing the construction and I'll have to hire someone else specifically to bring you the documentation and fetch back the finished plans — two percent of the budget."
Erik knew that for drawing up the plans alone this was already an extremely good fee, but he would not have been Erik if he had not haggled at least a little. "Very well, then — how about 2.75 percent?" In the end they agreed on 2.35 percent.
The next morning, as Cecile was opening up the inn, she saw St Clair standing at the bar, the tables and chairs cleared off to the sides, and Erik kneeling on the floor making chalk sketches which she could not understand. She couldn't help laughing at the sight. She wasn't particularly worried about the chalk; she'd had to wash off far worse things in her time as landlady. But while she was used to drunks behaving foolishly, to see two sober men drawing on the floor with chalk was something new.
Erik looked up. "Oh, sorry — is it closing time already? We're almost finished..."
"Closing time? I'm just opening up!" retorted Cecile, laughing. "So put back the furniture, Father."
Erik jumped to his feet; Cecile had called him 'Father'. He began to put everything back into place immediately.
"The landlady is your daughter?" said St Clair, surprised. He couldn't imagine how a man of such repulsive appearance could have found himself a wife.
"Oh yes, I have five children," said Erik with some pride. "And another two, but they don't know it. In addition I have three grandchildren and a fourth on the way, and two more grandchildren from the two who aren't aware of it..." He bit his lip. Had that been a lie or not? He decided that it was near enough to the truth not to count as lying.
~o~
At midday Erik asked to speak to Raoul and Christine in private. "What have you been up to this time and how much is it going to cost me?" Raoul asked suspiciously.
"Nothing — when do I get up to anything?" said Erik, and did his utmost to look innocent. However, Raoul and Christine knew that Erik automatically responded to accusations with "Not me" or "Have I ever..?" whatever the issue; it made no difference to him whether his dogs had dug up a plant in the garden or he had placed someone's life at risk. He would probably even react the same way in the case of a murder.
So they had a brief conversation in the salon. Erik found it as always very difficult to begin, but he had no choice. He cleared his throat and began: "As you know, Babette and I and getting married in a couple of weeks and... a wedding like that costs more than the savings I currently have at my disposal... to be honest, I don't have any money... and so I hoped you might lend me something?"
Christine smiled: so it truly wasn't anything bad. "But of course," she anwsered, before Raoul could say anything. "How much do you need?"
"I don't know yet," Erik said, visibly relieved that it was all so straightforward. "A dress for Babette, a suit for me, two rings, the customary contribution to the church, a meal at the inn. I really have no idea how much it will come to, but I promise you that I'll pay back everything I owe, and everything you've paid on my behalf up to now."
"How?" enquired Raoul, who really couldn't see why Erik should have a wedding celebration when he and Christine, fleeing from Erik, hadn't been able to allow themselves one at all.
Erik drew a folded paper from his pocket. "I'm currently working as an architect for the builder Clement St Clair. At a rough estimation it will take me about two years to pay off all my debt to you, perhaps three, but I'm certain that I'll be able to manage it."
With these words he gave Raoul the handwritten contract which he and St Clair had drawn up. Raoul read through it and nodded approvingly.
"You've been talking to Dubois," he realised. "But what are you going to offer me as surety? If you want to borrow money from me, I think you should give me some kind of pledge as security."
Erik considered. He had a pair of pistols, several knives, a gun — but he needed those. Then he had the pocket watch and the cigarette case, but he could hardly offer Raoul and Christine as a pledge things that they themselves had given him as presents. What else was there, apart from clothing? He shut his eyes as he took the difficult decision. "My violin," he whispered, as if he could barely force out the words.
"Your violin?" said Christine, horrified. "That magnificent instrument? Erik, we couldn't take that."
"Why not?" said Raoul. "Finally a sensible, properly thought-out suggestion from Erik — and you say it's no good!"
"Please don't argue on my account," put in Erik. Then he allowed himself a crooked grin. "Although I should naturally prefer it if you simply take my word that I'll pay off my debts in full. I'll speak to Dubois and get him to take care of the book-keeping, and then you'll have full access to everything from the start. I won't be able to cheat even if I want to. Agreed?"
Christine gave her husband an imploring look and laid her hand on his arm. "Raoul, please. Erik's suggestion is a totally honest one. We can't take away his violin — you have no idea what that would mean for him."
Erik tried to keep from smiling. Christine had clearly recognised how hard he had found it to offer the violin as a pledge. If he were to be entirely honest with himself, he had to admit that he had counted on Christine's kind heart to make it unnecessary. A risky game, but in order for the wedding to be able to take place he had not been able to think of any other solution than to stake his valuable violin.
"All right." Raoul gave in. "And where do you want to work?" Privately he hoped that Erik would be moving away.
"It's all arranged. Tomorrow the documentation and the drawing-board are going to be delivered. I've already dismantled the bed in my, ah, wardrobe chamber and put it in storage. That should do to start off with."
"Erik, what about 'no alterations without my permission'?" said Raoul angrily.
"It wasn't an alteration. Two men could put it back in a day," Erik contradicted him. But all the same Raoul didn't like Erik simply converting a part of the chateau — even if an unused part — into a workroom without asking beforehand. He would have preferred it if Erik had moved out and only come back to visit now and then.
Erik turned to Christine. "I'd like to invite you to be the witness to the marriage, if you would permit? Naturally the invitation extends to you both." His tone was friendly, but almost sad.
Christine's face lit up. "Oh yes, with the greatest of pleasure. I wish you very happy indeed, Erik!" she exclaimed, and clasped his hand.
~o~
The marriage took place on a rainy Sunday afternoon. In the church there were only the bride and groom, the bride's five children — without their respective spouses or offspring — and the Vicomte and Vicomtesse, who were both acting as witnesses to the marriage. Somewhere between the pews the three dogs, which Erik, to make matters worse, had brought with him, were making themselves comfortable.
Babette wore a dark green dress, and Erik a suit made from the same cloth. Christine noticed that Erik had put on weight since taking up with Babette, which was a good sign. He was still extremely thin, but at least he no longer looked as if he would die of starvation at any moment. Babette looked radiant. She beamed as only a happy bride can. Erik's teeth were clenched, and far from looking happy, he looked extremely tense — but no-one could have told he was not simply suffering from a bridegroom's normal nervousness.
Babette's children appeared pleased, or at least some of them: that is to say Alain and Cecile, who had by now been able entirely to accept Erik, while Hector appeared furious and Heloise and Leonie were making an effort to look happy even though that was clearly not the case. It was clear to see there would be trouble coming to Babette and Erik from that quarter.
Raoul and Christine seemed very pleased — partly because they were happy for Erik and the plump cook, and partly because they could now be all the more certain that Erik would make no attempt to come between them.
After the very short ceremony the whole party repaired to the inn. It was against custom, but Erik himself played his violin. He wanted no other music; it could only have been a disappointment. While Cecile warmed the food, the little group sampled some wine — a gift from the Vicomte, who was well aware that the usual house wine was, to any refined palate, undrinkable.
Christine embraced the bride and groom. "I'm so happy for you!"
Erik stiffened and did not return the embrace. Although it felt wonderful to have Christine's arms around him, he dared not reciprocate — not when he had just married Babette.
Hector made his excuses and left. He wanted nothing to do with his 'father'. Alain, on the other hand, was very interested in getting to know his new father better, and in fact the two of them were able to have a good talk together about horses, as the smith naturally knew something on that subject. At length Erik had an idea and asked specifically about Alain's abilities in the forge, and the two of them were soon discussing to what extent Alain would be able to construct an object if Erik accurately described to him what he needed. It was a question of a component for some kind of apparatus.
The celebrations were rather short, and limited to a meal. After that, first of all Raoul and Christine made their goodbyes and drove back to the chateau, then Babette's children, Babette and Erik decided to go for a stroll in the rain and return to the chateau the long way round.
(continued...)