Chapter 21
The rooftop was miserably hot with a steady breeze that felt like we stood in front of an open oven door. Still, despite the heat, I had no desire to complain as the sun was bright, the air was perfumed with the flowers nearby, and there was music in the air thanks to the festival. I was content merely being outside again after weeks of being indoors.
We spread out food on the ledge overlooking the fountain in the middle of the square to the left of Apollo. The large square was crowded with brightly colored tents and vendors squeezed into every available inch of space. Smoke from outdoor cooking wafted into the air along with the smell of the bakery.
"You look well considering when I saw you this morning you looked about ready to burst," Madeline said with a grin.
"Had you not shown up when you did I would have most assuredly been found split into several decent sized pieces."
"Messy."
Madeline took a piece of cheese and sat back with one hand planted behind on the wide ledge and her legs tucked beneath her. She leaned back as though she posed for an artist.
"There are so many people," I commented.
She made a noise of agreement and reached into the bag, producing a bottle of wine.
"Would you like some?"
I shook my head.
"Do you mind if I have a glass?"
Her question drew my eyes to the streets below. I shook my head, knowing full well why she asked for permission. "My father favored hard liquor, whiskey mostly, I think. He did not drink wine that I can recall."
Neither of us spoke for a long moment after that.
"The festival just started, really," Madeline said suddenly. "Give it another few hours and you will see a real party, although for the most part the crowds move that way once it gets dark," she said as she pointed off to the right. "More drinking in bigger tents. And louder music."
I nodded to myself, unsure if I wanted to witness people below us drinking and weaving in and out of tents. Absently I rubbed my right forearm. Whenever I blocked Garouche's blows, it always seemed to be with my right arm crossed in front of the left as a shield. I felt where bruises had taken up permanent residence on my flesh for months on end, deep and dark and tender. The laughter below us made me shiver as I thought of what always followed a beating.
"You are wearing the mask again," Madeline said as she casually sipped her wine.
"It's quite comfortable," I said. Compared to the wooden mask my father had forced me to wear and the cloth one I had lost along the way from my time with my uncle to traveling with the gypsies, the collection of masks I had found in the cellar were truly an improvement.
"Even in the heat?" She turned her head and squinted at me as she faced toward the sun.
I shrugged. "I don't mind."
"Neither do I."
I wasn't sure if it was her words or the noise below us, but I felt more uncomfortable than I wished to admit. Rather than continue speaking, I popped grapes into my mouth one by one and stared at the city before us.
I told myself that had it been nighttime I would have ventured onto the street, but I knew that was not true. There were far too many people, roving eyes to steal a glance at my masked face and quick hands to search my pockets-or worse.
"Oh, I meant to tell you this morning," Madeline said as she leaned forward and tapped my knee. "Kimmer."
A single name garnered my full attention. I swallowed the grapes and turned to look at her again.
Madeline frowned. "I'm afraid I do not have good news. The list of patrons says the name P.H. Kimmer. Your cousin's name is…"
"Joshua is his middle name," I answered. After a long moment I added, "Valgarde Joshua, I think?"
It had been so long since my uncle had said the name of his son that I couldn't remember my cousin's first name.
Madeline snapped her fingers. "Yes, that's right. You told me Joshua. Definitely not a P.H., then." She took another sip of wine and pursed her lips. "Perhaps still related? Is he old enough to have a son in his late teens or early twenties?"
"I wouldn't think so." I knew my cousin was older than me, but by ten to fifteen years at the most.
"Was there mention of another uncle?"
I shrugged. My hope of finding my cousin had been fleeting for so long that I had completely forgotten about him and I suspected he had done the same with me. "If we are related, whoever he is would not know who I am."
"Well, this P.H Kimmer should be there tonight," Madeline offered. "Third row, seat number fifteen. It wouldn't hurt to at least see what he looks like."
What would I do, I wanted to ask? Stroll up to a complete stranger in the middle of a crowded theater and introduce myself? My story seemed concocted at best, even in my own mind. There was no feasible way I could approach a man with my uncle's last name, tell him I had been whisked away from my parents' home in a town I could not recall the name and ended up in Paris after ten months of being held on display by gypsies. Worse still, I lived like a rat beneath the Opera House in the cellar.
"I have no family to find," I said.
"Your cousin is still out there somewhere," Madeline offered. There was a sort of forced cheerfulness to her voice and I was certain she did not believe her own words.
"Somewhere," I muttered. "But not looking for me."
"You don't know that for sure."
Joshua had no reason to look for me and I felt no reason to track him down. The only information I had about my living relative was that he resided in Paris. I could not recall my uncle ever saying what his son did for a living, if he was married, had children, or any other detail that would have proved useful.
I struggled with the idea of Joshua Kimmer giving me a second thought once the letters from his father stopped arriving. As I watched the crowds, I wondered if he could be in the swell of people down below, completely oblivious to the fact that a member of his family sat on the ledge some sixty to seventy feet above him. To him I was nothing more than a name in a letter.
The stone ledge became uncomfortable after sitting in the same position for son long, and I swung my legs over the ledge, feet dangling. I shifted and pulled up my mask to wipe my face as I leaned forward to see the street below. Looking straight down proved to be a mistake, and my stomach flipped as the distance we sat above the city threatened to get the best of me.
Madeline gasped and dropped her fork onto her plate. "Erik, no!" she exclaimed.
Her words were spoken with such desperation that I pulled myself away from the ledge and toward the rooftop. In the same moment Madeline shot forward, her hand grasping a fistful of my shirt. Our collective movement was jarring and I almost tumbled flat onto my back. My shoulders dipped down, my back arched safely over the rooftop with Madeline practically on top of me.
I clenched my stomach muscles to sit upright again, but had to twist and grab hold of the ledge before I rolled to the pebbles beneath me. Releasing my shirt, Madeline inhaled sharply and said something under her breath that I could not make out clearly.
Once I had my barings I realized Madeline stood over me, her body rigid, skirts gently drifting around her ankles. Her left hand was held over her heaving chest. Her wine glass that was either tipped over by her sudden movement or blown by the wind, tumbled off the edge and shattered on the rooftop.
"I was not…" My voice trailed away. I wasn't sure what to tell her.
Madeline took a deep, trembling breath and nodded. Her cheeks were quite flushed, more from the heat I suspected than anything else. She fanned herself before attempting to pull her hair back from her face, but with the wind her effort was futile.
"I thought you were going to fall."
"No, you thought I was going to jump," I said under my breath.
She stood for a long moment and looked from me to the streets below. I followed her gaze to the stream of people moving in different directions. No one bothered to look up as the sun beat down on the streets and suddenly I had no desire to look at them either.
"I did not know what would happen," Madeline said under her breath before she finally lowered to the ledge and sat beside me again. Before my eyes she turned several shades whiter. Absently she reached for her wine glass, then remembered it had fallen off the edge and onto the roof. With a frown, she pulled the cork from the bottle with a trembling hand and took a long swig.
Her actions surprised me, but I did not question her. Now that she was seated again I felt quite ashamed that the only person I had to call a friend thought I would jump from the roof.
"You have been upset lately," Madeline said at last. She tucked the bottle of wine into her bag and stared straight ahead. "I do not know what to do."
"You do not need to do anything," I answered.
"But I feel like I should," she said, her tone almost defensive. Her damp lips formed a deep frown, her eyes forlorn.
"Why?" I asked.
"Because I brought you here," she said firmly. From the corner of my eye I watched as she turned to look at me again. "You are correct. When you stopped talking, I did think you were going to jump. I thought you would slide off the rooftop and onto the street without speaking another word to me."
"I had nothing more to say," I answered meekly.
Madeline rubbed her eye with her knuckles. "I truly wish you spoke more."
I was not sure what to say to make Madeline believe me. Not only did the height make my stomach queasy, but the thought of falling from such a distance made my skin prickle. Now that I was seated further from the edge, I regretted dangling my legs over the side of the building.
"I am a coward," I said quietly, more for my own ears than hers.
Madeline brushed her hair back from her face. "Pardon me?"
"I said I am a coward." I refused to look at her, to see the judgment in her eyes. "I would not jump from here."
"I did not mean to insinuate that you would. My apologies if I insulted you. It's simply that..."
She didn't finish her thought. Silently I filled in the rest of her sentence in the only way I knew how; through the most self deprecating thoughts I could conjure up.
You are a boy who was never wanted.
You wear a mask because your face is so hideous no one wishes to see it.
You spend more time sitting in silence than making polite conversation.
You belonged in a cage.
You are evil.
You are nothing.
You are not real.
...I wish you were real.
I blinked several times once I realized I had resorted to silence again. No wonder Madeline thought I would jump to my death. I wondered if I could come up with an equally long list of reasons I wished to live.
"I fear what would happen if I were to jump," I told her, my voice so low I was not sure if she could hear me. It was as good of a reason as I could think of off the top of my head and quite possibly the most honest one. "Not the fall, really, but death, I suppose."
"Isn't that what most people fear?" Madeline asked with a shrug.
I didn't know what else to say, and so I said nothing.
"Are you upset with me?" she asked after a long span of dreadful silence.
"No," I said quickly. "Never."
I scooted further from the edge and toward the safety of the roof. My plate was empty and our food gone, giving me little distraction.
"My silence has nothing to do with you," I told her. "It's just..."
She blinked, quietly waiting for me to continue. Something about her sullen expression hinted at hurt feelings.
My chest felt suddenly tighter, like something squeezed my heart and lungs. I attempted to take a deep breath, but the air refused to fill me. I was going to suffocate on my own sorrow, on these feelings that had spilled out from me and now threatened Madeline as well.
"No one has wanted to speak to me for a very long time," I finished at last. The aching continued, almost burned through my chest. "My uncle was the only one who ever cared to hear my voice. Most of the time when I do not speak it is because I do not know what to say."
"Neither do I."
"Is that what most people fear?"
"Maybe." Madeline twisted her hair and attempted to pin it back unsuccessfully before she gave up and let it tumble over her shoulders. She muttered something under her breath and reached for her bag again. Three apricots rolled out and bumped against my outstretched leg.
"I forgot about those," Madeline said. She offered an uncomfortable laugh.
My hands were large enough to hold all three at the same time, and I thought of how I had amused myself during the early hours of the fair when no one was around by trying my hand at juggling.
It took me almost a month to successfully keep three objects in the air and I was careful to keep my hidden treasures and talent to myself. I never advanced to anything like knives or batons on fire, but I could keep small pebbles or hollow wooden balls in the air long enough, sometimes even with small tricks like bouncing a ball off my forearm or catching a pebble behind my back.
"What are you doing?" Madeline asked.
"I have no idea," I answered as I tossed them into the air one by one to test my reflexes.
I was terribly out of practice and had not a single ounce of faith in myself that I would be able to catch two of the apricots, let alone all three. The wind was strong enough to blow them out of my reach with a decent gust, and yet I wanted the distraction, even if only for a heartbeat.
Legs crossed tailor-style, I cleared my throat and straightened my back. Again I tossed the three pieces of fruit in the air and kept them from hitting the ledge for several exciting seconds.
I caught all three apricots awkwardly but smiled to myself nonetheless. At no point were all three out of my grasp at the same time, but I did not care. I bounced one off my forearm, miscalculating the density, and watched as it rolled off my forearm and landed on the bend of my knee.
"Well," I said.
"That was…" Madeline worked her jaw and gestured as though she struggled to catch the words from the air.
"Terrible," I finished on Madeline's behalf.
She smiled at last. "Now you must eat the fruit you bruised up with your juggling."
I took a bite of the first one and felt juice drip down my chin. My stomach was full, but I finished the first apricot and wiped my mouth. With the sun behind me, I looked up at the statue of Apollo and closed my eyes for a moment. Several different musical performances took place around the Opera House, the sound weaving together in tangled melodies. I wrinkled my nose and pulled them apart in my mind, listening to one particular meter before I turned my head and picked up another song. What I lacked in my ability to juggle, I made up tenfold in music.
Madeline gasped and my eyes popped open in time to see Madeline's fingers tap me on the arm as she leaned forward.
"Look!" Madeline exclaimed.
I squinted and followed her finger pointing far below. "What am I looking for?" I asked.
"The navy officers," Madeline said. Her fingers stopped tapping and tangled in my shirt sleeve momentarily. She used my shoulder to brace herself and climbed to her feet, then hopped off the ledge and landed smoothly onto the rooftop gravel.
Dusting her hands off on her skirt, she knelt and began picking up shards of glass. Unsure of what to do, I slid off the ledge and knelt beside her, and together we picked up the broken pieces.
"Are you expecting the navy at the performance tonight?" I asked.
Madeline giggled to herself. "No, no, not all of them. Perhaps one of them."
Again she pushed her hair from her face and I noticed how rosy her cheeks appeared. The gleam in her eye made me realize the flush to her face had nothing to do with the heat on the rooftop. I studied her for a long moment while she was preoccupied with picking the glass from the rooftop, noticed the smile still lingering on her lips. My heart sank, and when Madeline glanced up at me, I looked away.
She was expecting a visitor. Her time was about to be divided three ways: her duties in the Opera House, a suitor, and lastly me.