First off... if you're reading this while chapters are being posted, I have 18 written so far, which means I will update twice a week (hopefully) over the next few weeks. Secondly, THANK YOU so much for your reviews. It's nice to know if people are reading along-especially since I've been gone for so long.
Without further ado, Young Erik...
Chapter 6
For the better part of the morning I stared at the violin and could not help but think of Gustave Daae; womanizing, philandering musician and all around scoundrel. His real life was much more exciting than my made up pirate tale, which delighted me to no end.
Even so I could not decide if I should curse his name or celebrate this young Don Giovanni and his apparent exploits so lurid he was run out of Paris. I wondered where he was now and if he had been forced to leave his violin behind or if he had purposely walked away from the theater.
Truly his life-at least the details I was aware of-should have been immortalized in an opera. His sordid tale would have left women fainting in their seats, I thought to myself. No doubt the most prudish aristocrats of France would have left before the second act.
I thought of how the traveling fair had been forced out of a town in Austria once after the circus strong man had been caught cheating in a card game. They called him Eros. I was certain his name was the literal translation of strong in Hungarian and not meant as tribute to the Greek god of the same name.
Eros was billed as seven feet tall and six hundred pounds, which was an outright lie. He was a couple inches taller than me and although much heavier, he was certainly not as big as the circus barker claimed.
He was, however, strong beyond comprehension and lumbered around like a giant, his wide gait swaying back and forth, tree-like arms dangling at his sides. His thick, black mustache covered his upper lip and he shaved when he felt the need, which was quite rare. A thick carpet of hair covered his arms, chest, and back, which earned him the nickname The Hungarian Bear. He was always sweating profusely, but he never had an offensive smell. Instead he smelled like pipe smoke, which was pleasant enough for a giant.
For whatever reason, the giant Eros had taken a liking to me, and when he traveled toward the back of the circus-which was rare-I had company, food, and the protection of his presence. When Eros was near, Garouche stayed away.
On the nights he held back from the lead wagons, Eros would sit beside me in silence and smoke a pipe while I ate the rest of his supper. He would purposely walk to the fire for a second and sometimes third helping, stare down Garouche and his sons, and deliver the food to me.
"Me strong," he would say in Hungarian as he pointed his wide thumb at his chest. "You clever." His words were always accompanied by a flick of his finger against my head. I had no idea why Eros called me clever instead of a monster like everyone else, but I appreciated the compliment.
No one ever told me precisely what happened, but after three nights in the small Austrian village, Eros decided to gamble with locals. The contest ended in a brawl that spilled out of the public house and into the streets.
As long as I would live, I would never forget the blood-curdling scream of women and children as the locals poured out from seemingly every corner of the village with torches in hand. Flames engulfed the tents, thick smoke billowed into the night sky, and chaos ensued as both gypsies and Austrians ran in all directions.
I was chained to a wagon as always, caught between horses and mules in a panic and the tethered dogs frantically yelping as smoke wafted toward us. Unable to escape, I crawled beneath the wagon and called the dogs toward me. One by one I pulled off their leather collars and hoped they would run off to safety, but instead they followed me toward the horses.
The horses were spooked to the core and quite agitated, which made it impossible to safely approach them. Against my better judgement, I walked behind them and managed to untie the knots in the ropes keeping them huddled together. One by one they took flight and galloped into the darkness, the stampede of hooves shaking the ground beneath my feet.
The fight drew closer to where I was chained, the may lay far too close to avoid. I dropped to the ground and crawled on hands and knees beneath the wagon once more and hid, wide-eyed and terror stricken. Women were knocked to the ground, their screams unanswered by their husbands. Children wailed as metal clashed against metal, glass broke, and the fires continued to spread.
This is where I would die. I was sure of it. Either I would succumb to the smoke or burn alive.
Boots pounded past my hiding place and I heard a loud thump above the wagon, followed by sparks flying out around me like dying fireflies. The smoke grew thicker and I bellied halfway out only to realize the wagon itself was set aflame. Heat and smoked rolled off the burning contraption, making it nearly impossible to see or breathe.
Desperate, I tried to crawl away, but the chain shackled to my ankle had caught beneath the rear wagon wheel, which trapped me beneath the burning wood. My only choice was to crawl back beneath the wagon and around the front wheel, which gave me a bit of distance from the flames-as long as the wagon didn't disintegrate first.
The small dogs barked and lunged at the flames, and in vain I attempted to shoo them away but they refused to leave my side. Twice I attempted to yank myself free, but the chain was far too heavy and the shackle tight around my ankle.
Before I could put my plan into action and make my way beneath the wagon, Eros lumbered up beside me, his face bloody and an ax in his hand. He came to an abrupt stop and looked from me to the chain wound around the wagon. Without a word, he hefted the ax above his head and cracked the chain in two.
Awestruck, I stared up at him, my jaw slack at his inhuman strength as well as his mercy in freeing me.
"Up," he instructed in his thick Hungarian accent. He grabbed me by the shirt and pulled me to my feet. He pointed his thick finger toward the woods. "Leave here."
I scrambled to my feet and took off running, but the fight ended before I could escape the gypsies completely. Anyone else who had found dragging several feet of chain behind me would have assumed I was an escaped prisoner and I most likely would have been hanged or sent to a worse fate in an asylum, so I thought of my capture as somewhat of a blessing. Garouche's daughter, Lipa, had seen me free her horses and considered my actions somewhat heroic-or at least not worthy of being punished.
I never saw Eros after that night and wondered if he had perished or walked free. The gypsies called him a cheater and said he had nearly killed us all, but I had my doubts that Eros was fully to blame. It didn't much matter as the Hungarian Bear was not around to tell his side of the story.
I doubted Gustave Daae had left Paris in such dramatic fashion as the strong man, but I imagined he had quite the tale. Again I turned my attention to the violin and frowned.
Such a beautiful and well made violin had to belong to a refined gentleman with perhaps licentious tendencies. This work of art should not have been cast down into the cellar to be forgotten. I wondered how many performances Monsieur Daae had played this violin and if anyone was aware of the fine workmanship.
I squeezed my hands into fists and knew my novice skills were not worthy of playing such a magnificent instrument, at least not yet. I hoped to find a lesser instrument, one with which to practice.
However, since I did not have another instrument at my disposal I found other ways to occupy my day while I awaited Madeline's visit, which mostly consisted of exploring a number of crates.
Like a mountain goat on the Alps, I scaled the larger crates and delved into the rear of the cavern where there were two dressers and a bed frame propped up against a crate large enough to hold a piano. There were several mirrors as well and three armchairs covered in heavy cloths, most likely to keep them free of dust and cobwebs.
The day passed quickly as I cleared a path with the intention of creating a living space that consisted of more than a table, two wooden chairs, and a pillow and blanket on the floor.
I moved the arm chairs first and was surprised at how heavy and well made they were. At first glance I expected roughly hewn stage props, but these must have been used in an office or parlor at some point. It took a great deal of strength to move the first two, which I positioned near the table. My chest heaved, sweat pouring down my forehead as I labored alone. The third one would stay put as I figured entertaining company was highly unlikely.
The only good part of the circus was that I had grown accustomed to tearing down tents and erecting them all over again in the next town. I enjoyed the hard labor and the physical strength required to move and secure poles. I found the work strangely relaxing and an outlet for my mounting frustration. It was the only time I was treated as more of an equal than a spectacle, and being young, quite limber, and strong, I finished my work swiftly in the midday sun while the older men wheezed and mopped their brows.
Alone in the depths of the earth, I had no reason or desire to plow through my work. Gone were the threats of my father and Garouche. My wounds slowly healed and bruises faded. I came to realize there would be no more beatings or forced performances, no crowds gathered to gawk at my ruined face or scream in terror when I moved about the cage.
I was safe as long as I remained here-and I intended to remain as long as possible. Most of my childhood I had spent attempting to escape a cellar and now I wanted nothing more than to remain unseen underground.
At least this is what I told myself.
Once I rolled out a beautiful Persian rug and dragged a small table and a matching pair of candelabras out from the furthest corner of the heap, I decided to rest a while and read one of the many books I had discovered. It seemed like a gentlemanly activity to relax in an overstuffed armchair with my blanket draped over my legs and read. The only thing I appeared to be missing was tea and perhaps biscuits.
My stomach growled the moment I sat in one of the dark green chairs. I glanced at my pocket watch and discovered it was a few minutes past four. Although Madeline hadn't given a time of arrival, I suspected it would still be hours before I saw her.
As I rummaged through my food supply I wondered what they were performing for the Queen of Spain. There would most likely be a large banquet with drinks and dancing. Madeline had mentioned an award presented by the Queen herself.
I glanced toward the door. Perhaps I could hear a bit of the performance if I ventured into the upper levels. Surely if I stayed to the third cellar no one would notice me. The second cellar would be a risk, but with royalty attending the performance I suspected no one would be in the cellars. Perhaps I could even stand behind the closed door at the top of the stairs and listen to the commotion within the Opera House as they passed from the stage through the halls to the dining room.
I tapped my finger impatiently on the table as I ate a pear and considered my options. Most assuredly I would never have the opportunity to see royalty again, even if she was an undignified, unrefined, plain-faced sow.
My heart raced as I ventured closer to the door and pulled it open just enough to feel a woosh of cool air against my face. For a moment I thought I heard footsteps, but it was the tap of water dripping in the darkness.
I took a step out of the cellar and felt along the wall for the railing leading up the stairway. My toes curled against the cold, smooth stone and I held my breath as I pulled on my boots and ventured into the hall.
It was darker than I imagined, pitch black as far as the eye could see. The walls were cold and slick with moisture, and I shuddered as my fingers touched the unknown darkness. Please do not be earthy creatures. Insects had never bothered me before, but in total blackness I didn't know what was within reach.
Somehow I reached the third cellar without turning back. I stood pressed against the stairway, hand reaching out in front of me for the door leading into the second cellar. I swore once I reached the second cellar I would go no further. There was too much risk involved and I was far too great a coward to chance being caught.
The sound of trickling water turned much louder and more distinct from the second cellar and I was certain there was an underground waterfall somewhere. I did not hear it on the way down with Madeline, although in those moments of sheer panic I hadn't noticed anything but her hand in mind.
Slowly I became more comfortable climbing the stairs, and before I knew it I saw a sliver of light outlining a doorway and realized I had reached the main floor of the Opera House.
I would have turned back if not for the sound of music echoing faintly in the distance. Body pressed to the wall, I stood and listened to the performance. Someone walked past the doorway, a man cursing under his breath. I gripped the railing as though this would somehow keep me from being seen if he were to open the door. Once he was gone, I sank to the ground and sat on the uneven stairs.
An hour may have passed. After every song there was applause, usually followed by brief moments of silence before the orchestra played and the stage performers sang. Eventually there was loud applause for several minutes and I heard voices yell Brava! Encore! Perfecto!
The performance had come to an end, and within minutes the sliver of light beneath the doorway seemed to blink as people rushed past. The performers must have passed by the cellars on the way to their dressing rooms or to meet with the Queen. The sound of the orchestra was quickly replaced with people shouting and the rumble of carts. Seconds after the carts rolled past I smelled roast and fresh bread.
I imagined a great feast was about to be served for the Queen.
"Majesty, majesty!" I heard a young woman shriek.
I ducked down lower in hopes I would see her royal feet sweep across the floor.
Several people walked by at once, and I swore I saw jeweled shoes and a long train.
If I stayed a moment longer I feared someone would open the door and I would be caught. Like a rat I started to slink away, but I was no rat. I was a clumsy, disoriented boy who lost his footing in the unfamiliar darkness. I stumbled and reached for the railing, but my fingers slid against the wet stone walls and before I knew what was happening, my feet were out from beneath me. I fell hard down the stairs, tumbled sideways with my arms splayed and legs out.
I had no idea how many steps I tumbled down or precisely when I hit my head, but a warm trickle down the side of my face and the coppery scent of blood made me well aware that my curiosity had led to my demise.
I blinked in the darkness, unsure of what was up or down. Afraid to move, I lay with my face against the ground and sucked in a breath. Cobwebs and debris covered every exposed inch of flesh.
This was how I would die. I would bleed to death on the stairs in darkness.
Minutes passed, perhaps even an hour. The initial adrenaline wore off and my body ached from the fall. My knees and shins throbbed, my shoulders both hurt when I sat upright. Somehow I needed to gather my wits about me and return to the fifth cellar.
Before I had moved an inch, the latch on the door flipped, the sliver of light widened, and a figure stood at the top of the stairs peering down.
I had been discovered.