Ch 36

Cathedra di Carlo was incomparable in every way imaginable. She spoke to me as though we had known one another for years, and although our conversation was not one for the scholars, it was as natural and normal of an exchange as I'd ever dreamed of experiencing.

"What is your favorite color?" I asked.

"Blue, like the color of a peacock, not the pale blue of the sky or the greenish blue of the sea. Yours?"

"Yellow." It was the first color I saw in her skirt. Truly I had no preference in colors, but I felt I owed her a sufficient answer.

We took another careful step. She looked fondly up at me despite the mask I wore, the look of friendship and admiration that had been foriegn.

"What is your favorite flower?" she asked me.

"Roses."

Cathedra scoffed.

"You don't fancy roses?" I asked.

"Not particularly and that is far too common of an answer," she said.

"I see."

"I've nearly drowned in a sea of roses tossed upon the stage every night of the week for years. Give me hyacinths and lilacs and freesia to cover every inch of the stage."

"I shall stick with roses nonetheless."

Cathedra chuckled. "I don't expect you to change your answer for me." She patted my arm and I felt a sense of pride as I studied her bejeweled fingers resting atop my sleeve.

"Is the mask to hide your identity or is there a mark on your face which you don't want others to see?"

"Identity," I quickly answered, bowing my head as though I could disguise the truth by looking away.

She grasped my arm tighter. "Were you scared at birth or later in life?"

"Birth," I said, feeling the hairs on my arms raise. I fully expected her to step away from me in disgust, but she made no attempt to distance herself.

"Is Erik your real name?"

"Yes. Is Cathedra your real name?"

"Heavens, no."

"May I ask what your true name is?"

Cathedra sniffed. "Brusilda Ana-Catarina Valdez de Negro," she announced, sticking her tongue out in disgust. "My Aunt Catarina gave me the name Cathedra when I was two years of age, shortly after I became famous in our city for singing on that little box. She said it was elegant, the name of a child blessed by God, and I suppose she was correct. Cathedra di Carlo has a much better ring to it than that hideous Brusilda. No one wants to hear that cow sing."

"I disagree," I said.

"Do you?"

"Your voice would be remarkable regardless of your given name. Brusilda is enchanting. I would sit front row to hear her."

"Brusilda appreciates the brief resurrection and flattery from Erik, but Cathedra has another question for the Opera Ghost."

"Of course, Senora."

"What brought you to the theater?"

"Fortune," I said. "The likes of which I never expected to experience as I was…I was never one favored."

She searched my masked face briefly, and I held my breath, concerned she would wish to return to her previous inquiry and ask to see my face and the scars. I dreaded such a question and what I knew would follow: Cathedra attempting to remove my mask and me swatting her away before I darted off down the hall, far too ashamed of my appearance to allow her so much as a heartbeat to view me.

"Your eyes widen and your jaw becomes tense when you are uncomfortable," she observed. "That was not my intention and I will not pry into secrets you do not wish to divulge. Tell me instead what you enjoy about the theater."

"Everything," I answered. My heart beat faster, my mood lightened as I thought of the raised curtain and the first notes played by the orchestra. "The first performance I witnessed with my own eyes was beyond my wildest dreams. The costumes, the music, the sets…even the audience captivated by the performance took my breath away. There is indescribable magic contained within these walls that I would like to bottle and keep with me for eternity."

"You've given me goosebumps. I very much wish I could experience the theater for the first time again," she said, keeping her voice low.

"Was the night I saw you the first performance you attended?"

"Yes, and you were magnificent. Beethoven would have considered you the living embodiment of Florestan."

"You are far too kind," she said, dipping into a very shallow curtsey, her accent much more noticeable.

I noted the mischievous twinkle in her dark eyes. "Have any of the young ladies caught your masculine attention? Perhaps one of the dancers? There are many very beautiful girls twirling about the stage that would welcome the attention of a boy rather than disgusting old men."

"No, not really," I bashfully answered.

"One of the men, perhaps?"

I grunted. "No, I am enraptured by music. She is the only mistress I desire."

"Poetic but very disappointing," she teased. "I had hoped to find my ghost is involved in quite the sordid affair with at least two of the dancers and perhaps the manger's wife as well."

"The manager's wife?" I gasped. I'd seen her a handful of times and despite the amount of color she added to her eyelids and cheeks, it was clear the woman was old enough to be my grandmother.

"She is a decade my senior, but that woman will take anything with a pulse into the nearest empty dressing room. I've heard quite the passionate exchange on many, many occasions," Cathedra said. She nudged me in the side. "But you didn't hear that from me."

"Not a word."

"Now it is your turn to ask another question."

"What would you have done if you were not a soprano?" I asked.

Cathedra thought for a moment. "I would have married Giullermo di Carlo and had a dozen babies."

"Guillermo?"

"My husband's brother."

I raised a brow. The answer seemed scandalous, and I wanted to know more.

"He was in love with me well before I knew my husband," Cathedra explained without me prompting her to continue. "One of many young men who groveled at my feet when I was much younger and quite the beauty in those days. I could have had a harem if I had so desired. Perhaps you can imagine the figure I had with these hips. They were meant to be grabbed."

She spoke with great confidence and I envied the way in which she was still able to present herself despite obvious declining health. I had no doubt suitors fell over themselves to earn her favor. In fact, I was certain men would still flock to her.

"Make no mistake, Guillermo was not the correct choice. He would have never been happy married to a diva as he wanted a large family and a wife who was always with a child in her womb and another on the breast." She nodded and we moved forward again, shuffling like a chess piece on a board nudged forward. "I never truly wanted children. Strange, isn't it? A woman who fancies a life with nothing to show for it in the end."

"As long as you are content, what does it matter if you bear children or not? You are celebrated and accomplished as a performer."

"Am I content?" she wondered aloud. "Now that there is no possibility of children, I think I should have had at least one. A precious little girl to sit vigilant at my bedside and practiced her needlepoint. Perhaps she would have brought me fulfillment in my final hours."

"Not all children bring fulfillment," I said.

Cathedra gazed up at me, her expression not immediately readable. "Not all parents are deserving of the children they produce."

I fought the urge to reply, to say that my parents had deserved to bear a child as hideous as myself. Their ugliness was laid out before them in the form of a vile infant, a product of their sins and hatred.

"I have been a selfish woman, Erik, and I have stopped at nothing to achieve what I have felt the world owed me for honing my gift. My success was equal parts talent, determination, and disregard for others. Several attempted to stand in my way and I stepped over them," she said, a cruel edge to her voice.

I blinked at her, unsure of what to say or how to react. When she caught me staring, she merely smiled warmly as though she were transformed into a character on the stage.

"What is that you wish to achieve in your life?" she asked me. "Something within the theater or outside of it?"

"I wish to create music," I said without a moment to consider an answer. "To be known as one of the world's greatest composers."

And to prove that Cathedra was correct; as ugly as I was, my parents had still not deserved a child, not even one born as terrible on the outside as me.

Cathedra cocked a brow and nodded in approval. "My phantom writes his own music?"

"I am nothing more than a novice–"

She snapped her fingers and I flinched at the unexpected sound. "You will not discredit yourself. Do you write your own music or not? And don't slouch when you answer me."

I lifted my chin and mustered what meager confidence I could summon. "I am a composer," I said, my voice still meek.

"Say it again."

I swallowed. "I–"

"What happened to the mysterious entity I saw at curtain call?" she queried. "You were caught by surprise when I noticed you, were you not?"

"A little."

"It is a yes or a no question."

"Yes," I said under my breath, feeling as uncertain as a dog with its tail tucked between its legs.

"Even when you are caught unaware, you must present yourself with confidence, like you are entering the stage for your first scene, much to the anticipation of your eager audience. No shrinking or second-guessing yourself."

Instinctively I reached for my hood, but Cathedra shook her head and I froze.

"Keep your hands at your sides and lift your chin when you speak. You will not hide beneath your hood when you address me, is that clear?"

"Yes, Senora."

"Good. Now tell me, what are you, Erik?"

I steeled my nerves and ignored the voice in my head saying I was nothing. I met Cathedra's eye, refusing to give in to the thoughts of being taunted and exploited for nearly a year. That version of me was no longer allowed to exist.

"I am a composer," I said firmly. "And my music shall be heard the world over."

The corners of her lips tipped upward. "Very good," she praised. "I think you may at last believe your own words. Now, tell me what you write."

"I've written a couple of concertos, sonatas, a symphony, and the start of a six-act opera. I had planned on performing some of my music outside of the theater across from your home, actually."

"Is that so? Why didn't you?"

"It was raining far too hard to perform."

"A ghost afraid of the rain?" she teased.

"A ghost who prefers the comfort of a wool blanket and warm fire to shivering alone in a storm. I have done quite enough sitting in the rain for this lifetime and I have no desire to do it again."

"A wise ghost." She looked me over again, evaluating me to some unknown standard. "Symphonies, concertos, sonatas and operas, but my ghost has no arias to his credit? I must say I am disappointed."

"No arias yet. But I will."

She smiled at me again. "Yes, I believe you will. And I would be honored to hear you play one of your original compositions."

I inhaled sharply. "Senora, the honor would be entirely mine."

We had somehow reached the end of the hall. I looked from Cathedra back to the chapel entrance and frowned, realizing our conversation had come to an end. I had no desire to leave her side, but knew she was in need of rest.

"Play for me tomorrow, in my home," Cathedra said. Her voice sounded weaker to my ears, her face showing signs of the exhaustion she felt. "At two in the afternoon when the maid is gone for the afternoon, my husband is at the barber shop, and my cousin is in rehearsals. The house will be quiet for at least two hours and I would welcome your company."

I couldn't help but grin like a fool, grateful for her offer. Intoxicated by our conversation and the way she continued to clasp my arm, I nodded readily, my mind racing with a dozen different thoughts of what I would present to Cathedra.

"What would you like to hear?" I asked.

"Everything," she said. "I can see how much the light within you shines when you speak of music. She is truly your greatest mistress, one I look forward to you sharing with me. Or perhaps I have hopes that your muse will share you with me."

We stood in such intimate proximity that I felt dizzy, my stomach somersaulting with elation. She gently lifted my sleeve and caressed my wrist, sending a jolt through me that stole my breath. It was a frustrating yet welcomed feeling, one that consumed me in ways that were foreign and inexplicable.

Cathedra offered a closed-lipped, knowing smile suitable for a vixen. She glanced down the length of my body, seemingly quite satisfied with the way in which she left me desiring more.

"Farewell for this evening, Erik, I have much enjoyed your company. It has been quite refreshing to hold a conversation without someone constantly asking how I am feeling or insisting I return to bed–for rest, not for pleasure," she said with a wink.

Heat consumed my cheeks. "There are not sufficient words to describe how much I have cherished every moment of your time."

She reached into her skirt pocket and pressed a silk cloth into the palm of my hand. "A gift," she said. "For the Opera Ghost, one that you shall receive monthly for as long as you haunt this theater."

I furrowed my brow and unfolded the cloth, revealing a thick stack of crisp banknotes.

"What is this?" I questioned.

"Ten thousand francs," she answered. "Half of your monthly salary."

"Salary?"

"Yes, your salary for warding off other spirits who may attempt to haunt the theater. I've already told the managers that I have asked for your favor in exchange for a meager gift, which they will eagerly relinquish, unmarked, to the Opera Ghost. If they do not obey the whims of their resident spector, there is no telling what fate may befall the opera."

"This is by no means meager," I said.

"The gift, I hope, matches the ghost," Cathedra said.

I stared back at her, uncertain of myself, and considered returning the large sum she offered. Truthfully I managed to survive without a single franc to my name, collecting ink and paper and food when no one was around to deny me. The clothing I wore was from old costumes and items tucked away from people who no longer resided within the theater or who had left their articles unclaimed after performances. The mask I had found and the cloak I wore was a gift from Madeline.

"Rats scurry from shadow to shadow, unwilling to be noticed," Cathedra said. "Are you a rat?"

I knew what she wanted me to say, but I didn't want to answer. I was a rat clinging to the dark places. I had always been rejected and despised, much like vermin.

"The rumors precede you, my dear," she said. "You must merely fill the shoes set out before you."

"Rumors?" I questioned.

"Of a spirit who roams the catwalks and wings, his severed death's head held in his right hand, eyes of flame staring through to the hearts of men and women alike."

Her words made me shiver. I had been called the Devil's Son, yet I had not done anything to warrant such a title. I wasn't certain I wished to be known as a ghost who carried his own detached head around.

"Twenty thousand francs to invoke fear in others," I said.

"I would suggest you think of your salary as reminding others you are due respect. Quite overdue, in fact. Play the part you were meant to play."

She took a step back, kissed the tips of her fingers, and started to reach up toward my cheek when she paused and pressed her fingers to my chest, over my pounding heart.

OoO

We parted ways. Cathedra slipped through the doorway at the end of the hall and I waited a moment for someone to receive her. Once I heard muffled voices, I turned and walked down the hall, through the chapel, and along the servants' hallway where I proceeded to jog down five flights of stairs to my forgotten corner of the Opera House. I was out of breath but elated when I shut and locked the door behind me.

I lit the lamps and surveyed what had become mine: a jumbled pile of discarded crates filled with items I treasured, two chairs and a bed that had been props and were now the center of my home, and a chest of drawers with clothing, most of which had belonged to Madeline's deceased brother.

There was nothing that was truly mine as I had come to the Opera House with barely a scrap of clothing. I'd worn the same pair of trousers for at least six months and my shirt, torn and filthy, had been on my bruised back since my uncle had passed away.

I had what I needed, but I still had nothing that truly belonged to me.

My thumb absently caressed the silk cloth that still contained ten thousand francs. I imagined the silk was Cathedra's corset, the smooth banknotes flesh heated with the warmth of my touch, quivering beneath my fingertips. I swallowed and walked away from the silk, the sensation within me like a compressed spring needing to be released.

The last few moments of our time together left me confused. Cathedra had treated me with kindness, like a friend she had known her entire life, but there was something more. Something I wished to explore further while at the same time terrified of her advances.

I thought of the seaside where I had often escaped to in the summers, bathing in the cold seawater beneath the moonlight. I thought of how I had found unexpected release, pleasure from a body that had only known pain–and then humiliation when my father and several of his friends stumbled upon me, shaming me for something that I had not understood.

Grabbing a clay mug, I dipped it into the lake and drank deeply, then cupped my hand and splashed my face and the back of my neck to clear my thoughts.

Once again I eyed the silk containing more banknotes than I had ever seen in my young life and allowed my mind to wander to more sensible topics than corsets and quivering flesh.

I had no idea what I could purchase, but I was certain I could purchase quite a bit.

A horse, I thought. No, two horses. And a carriage with satin cushions embroidered with red roses.

I tossed the banknotes wrapped in silk onto the table and rummaged around my pantry where I slathered raspberry jam across bread and stuffed the contents greedily into my mouth without bothering with a plate. Perhaps a maid was in order as well, one who would coat warm bread with a generous portion of both butter and jam and present it to me on a platter while I lounged in fine bed clothes and lazed about, reading fanciful stories and writing exquisite music at my leisure.

Again I found myself evaluating the conversation with Cathedra, an exchange that continued to make me ravenous in every way possible. I finished my meal, washed my hands in the lake, and took up my violin, needing to sate my creative hunger and find release with my muse.

As I had done previously, I practiced on the edge of the water, eyes closed as I envisioned Cathedra propped up on a half dozen pillows, her dark eyes heavily-lidded and full lips curled into a seductive smile as she listened to me play the music I had created.

I imagined her reclining in a large four-poster bed with muslin fabric draped around her and beautiful artwork, possibly of herself in various graceful poses. I had no doubt she had been asked to pose for the sake of art and I was certain her home contained many portraits of herself.

I stood straighter as I thought of our exchange in the hall, how she had commanded that I draw my shoulders back and lift my chin. Rats walked with hunched backs, scampering and squealing as they ran into their holes.

"You are due respect. Play the part…"

"Overdue," I whispered, then again, much louder. "I am overdue." My voice echoed over the lake, the power behind my words catching me by surprise.

The voice of the Phantom, I thought with a shiver, a powerful entity none will dare trifle with out of respect. He was a character, one I could bring to life that would allow me a comfortable lifestyle and peace in my home, which I could furnish much more elegantly. The pantry would be fully stocked, my wardrobe packed with fine shirts, trousers, and overcoats. I would have cravates in each color I desired and a dozen silk pillows for my bed. I would have whatever I fancied, the best comforts in all of France…no, in all of Europe.

And of course I would set aside a substantial sum of money in order to gift Madeline her little cottage by the sea. Perhaps I would have one of my own beside hers, a quaint little abode with a dog and a cat to keep me company. Perhaps in time, when I was established and comfortable, I would find other companionship, someone who would be able to see past my scars and focus solely on the beauty I created with my violin.

I smiled to myself. I wasn't the Phantom, but I could be. I could most definitely be. The Phantom would take whatever he wanted, including a wife who would honor and submit to him when he found someone suitable. She would be an obedient woman, one who wished to cater to his every need in exchange for diamonds, chocolates, and his undying affection. The Phantom would provide and she would learn to love him with all of her heart, grateful that he had asked for her hand. They would take walks in the park, her delicate hand gently resting on his forearm, while people stopped and gaped at the newlyweds.

The rest of the world, however, would not receive his affection. The rest of the world would be beneath this mysterious man of wealth, fortune, and ingenuity.

"If the Phantom's demands are not met, you shall…you shall be very sorry."

I cringed at my own words. No one would ever respect a ghost whose threats were vague.

"If the Phantom's demands are not met, a disaster beyond your worldly comprehension shall befall every last one of you," I bellowed over the lake.

I shrugged, bow and violin held at my sides. A bit verbose, but improved. Satisfied, I played a while longer until inspiration churned in my veins and I was forced to sit and jot down the melancholy melody, which slowly unfurled into a three-part composition.

Every note was dedicated to Cathedra, and as I played through the first part several times, making adjustments as needed, I felt a sense of pride in my work.

I wanted her to be the first to hear it, this new composition that I was certain would be a most celebrated accomplishment. Perhaps she would have it delivered to the theater manager for his consideration, at which time he would be overwhelmed with the musical ingenuity placed in his hands and ask for more from the unknown composer. One symphony would become two, then the request for my opera, then a series of arias.

Eventually he would ask to meet face-to-face and then…

I paused in my writing and wiped the nib of my pen clear of ink. Weeks earlier I had gone through the same thought process and determined the theater manager would dismiss me the moment he saw a boy in a mask.

I would not give him the opportunity to deny what was rightfully mine. He would do as I said, as the Phantom commanded, or the monthly salary due would increase.

"A rat no more," I said aloud. "He will grovel at the feet of the mysterious composer and beg for more of my music. I am due."

The door handle jiggled, followed by an urgent knock that nearly made me jump out of my skin.

"Erik?" Madeline frantically called, knocking again. She tried the handle a second time, jostling it harder than she had done previously. "Erik, are you there?"

"A moment," I said, placing a smooth rock on top of the music that was not yet dried to prevent it from blowing away when I opened the door.

I inhaled, drew my shoulders back, and walked the length of the room as though I entered from stage left, my every step calculated and confident as Cathedra had instructed.

The moment I turned the latch, however, I felt my body return to its naturally more passive state. Madeline flew in, dressed in a simple green frock with her coat hanging from her shoulders as if she had just returned from inside. Her hair was damp and her complexion pale, which immediately garnered my attention.

"What is wrong?" I asked. "Are you unwell?"

She clutched a folded paper to her chest and shook her head. "Cathedra," she said, her voice trembling.

"Has she asked for me?"

"Erik, she has passed away."