Chapter 46
Nearly an hour passed before I felt truly at ease in a small crowd of performers, and by that time the population had dwindled from twelve down to six.
For the most part I enjoyed the reception. As expected, every single person in attendance stared at the masked side of my face whether they were across the room or directly in front of me. Human nature cannot be quelled, I suppose, and if the roles had been reversed I undoubtedly would have stolen glances as well out of sheer curiousity.
Given the dimmed lights and intimate setting, I suspected most of them thought I was eccentric and craved a bit of mystery. I doubted anyone realized I had apprehensions of attending, especially when they approached me timidly and profusely excused themselves for interrupting before they continued with their intrusion.
Nicolette Stan especially had the uncanny ability to approach and ask a question about certain parts or lines in the opera when I was about to take a bite of dessert or drink of punch. Once I nearly choked on powdered sugar and had to consume an entire glass of punch to clear my throat. Julia thankfully stepped into action and asked Mademoiselle Stan about her dress, which gave me ample time to recover before first violin, a man named Giuseppe Aurelius Sanfrantello, walked up and briefly took the ballerina's place.
"I look forward to playing for you tonight," Giuseppe said. He shook my hand harder than necessary and shuffled back and forth. With his hawkish features, he looked like a nervous bird. "I do hope you approve of our performance, Monsieur Kire."
"Thank you," I said somewhat awkwardly as he continued to move erratically.
Once the violinist excused himself, I realized I had not been surrounded by so many people in a musical setting since I was thirteen years of age. The one and only such experience took place in a tavern with my uncle where we listened to a local group of musicians play. I had been given the challenge of playing before the quartet, and with a bit of convincing by my uncle, I had left the house musicians speechless.
In all honesty, I would have been much more comfortable playing the violin for the reception as opposed to chat for an hour, especially considering every conversation started with praise for my work and I could think of nothing more interesting to say other than thank you or you are too kind.
"If you would like to take a tour of the theater," Le Blanc said as the performers slowly excused themselves, "I would be more than happy to escort you."
Julia nodded before I could reply. "That would be wonderful."
"We have around a half hour or so before the rest of the cast and staff arrives. Should be plenty of time. Let me make sure we are cleared to walk through as the cleaning staff was busy with last-minute preparations."
Once Le Blanc excused himself, only Julia and I remained. She looked me over and sighed, her shoulders dropping.
"Twelve is a lot for such a small space. I apologize if you felt as though you were trapped, I did not realize how confining this would seem," Julia said. She looked toward the emptied dessert table. "I meant to grab a parfait for you, but then someone else walked up and I did not want to be rude and then it was gone. I didn't think-"
"Julia, there is no need to apologize."
She frowned. "You look upset."
"Perhaps a bit overwhelmed, not upset and certainly not at you."
She still looked worried and I could not help but think her fears were residual from her years married to Louis. "If you wish to leave…"
"There is no need."
"But if you are overwhelmed…"
"Julia, I am fine," I assured her. The look on my wife's face told me she was still apprehensive on my behalf. "When I first started to play the violin, I used to imagine what it would be like to surround myself with other musicians. I had this idea in my head of what it would be like to be part of a quartet or an entire orchestra," I explained. I pushed the crumbs around on my plate as I spoke. "Quite frankly I never thought I would hold a conversation with any number of musicians or performers given my obvious limitations."
"You are not-"
"I am. I appreciate the sentiment, but I am quite aware of how the rest of the world sees me. Every single person in this room has either unabashedly stared at me from a distance or attempted to steal a glance or two when we were in the middle of conversation."
Julia pursed her lips and bowed her head. "You should have said something."
"What is there to say?"
Julia shrugged and shook her head.
"Hiding from the world had been a necessity in my youth, not a choice. For years I had thought that Christine would draw me from the darkness, but instead I became more of a ghost. And then I met the most kind and gentle woman and was too much of a fool to realize it," I said as I lifted Julia's chin with my index fingers and waited until she met my eye.
Her eyes had turned glassy, her lips quivering at my words. She placed her hand over mine and nodded. "The biggest fool in the world," she said under her breath. "And I was in love with him."
"You have given me more than you realize in sharing your life with me," I said quietly. "I mean that very sincerely. You have no idea how often I have thought of this moment and how I never expected it would happen. You do not know how much it means to me to hear my work played by an orchestra and to share it with you."
"Don't you think about making me cry in front of Monsieur Le Blanc," Julia sniffled. She swatted my arm lightly with her fan and dabbed the corners of her eyes.
Taking her hand in mine, I kissed the backs of her fingers. "I am beginning to think you have spent far too much time with Madeline," I said as I dramatically sucked in a breath and rubbed my arm where the fan had barely tapped my bicep. "Which reminds me, I believe nearly every single person at this reception knows Madame."
Julia shrugged. "That would not surprise me."
I grunted. "It certainly surprised me."
Julia furrowed her brow. "Why?"
"Because…" I worked my jaw silently, unable to find the proper words. "She is…" The woman who has my hairpieces cleaned and keeps my pantry stocked, who aggravates me to no end and silences my grumbling merely by shifting her cane from one hand to the other, I wanted to say. Apparently the person doing my most inconsequential bidding was famous throughout the entire city.
Julia straightened her skirt as she cocked a brow. "I forgot you have never been out to the market with her. I suppose you wouldn't understand."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Everyone knows her," Julia answered as though this was common knowledge. "Every shop we visited, couples seated at cafes...everywhere we went, she knew at least one person. We would have returned home at least an hour earlier if we hadn't been stopped so many times. You do know she and Monsieur Le Blanc are acquainted?"
"Acquainted? He is far too young for her."
Julia rolled her eyes. "No, no, not like that. She and Antonio are friends. They have been since he moved to Paris and started as manager here."
"How do you know this?"
Julia made a face. "Because I listen."
I bristled at her words. "Listen indeed," I grumbled.
Before Julia could reply, Le Blanc burst through the doors, seemingly out of breath. "The ballet is in rehearsals, however, if you would like to sit in the theater to see them finishing up, Sergei said he would be honored. He also promises no sheep, whatever that means."
We followed him out into the hall, down the stairs, and through the empty lobby. Le Blanc guided us around the fountain and toward sets of doors with heavy brass bars showing signs of wear from patrons grabbing them to enter the theater.
The moment the double doors closed quietly behind us, I inhaled sharply and stopped in my tracks. Music from the second act, scene four ballet played from a piano in the orchestra pit. It was the very first time I'd heard the music played by someone else. Reality set in from the moment the first notes found my ears.
Despite the subtle differences, stepping foot inside of the Grand Palace reminded me enough of the Paris Opera House that I felt my heart stutter.
I had been smitten with the theater the moment Madeline led me into the enormous, darkened theater. While the gypsies boasted of entertainment the likes of which no one had seen before, the Opera House provided an opulent array of true enjoyment for the upper echelon of Paris.
There had been many pleasant moments when I resided beneath the Opera House. I learned how to make small repairs to furniture, memorized thousands of pieces of music, and I had the pleasure of attending as many performances as I desired. I had been safe there as my adolescence gave way to manhood. The Opera House was not simply a home; it was a spectacle and haven, a playground and work space all wrapped into one.
"Your eyes," Le Blanc said apologetically. "If it is too dark in here…"
"No, no it is suitable," I answered.
Julia took my arm and together we walked to the first row and sat in the center. I had rarely walked on the main floor of the old theater as the openness of the orchestra section felt far too vulnerable.
"What a beautiful theater," Julia said as she leaned into my shoulder.
I nodded, gaze trained on the scenery moved aside and curtain drawn back. Several men milled around as they examined the lighting and various props while Sergei stood stage left, his muscular arms crossed as the half-dozen girls move in unison. Rather than watch their every move, the choreographer seemed to be staring blank-eyed into the orchestra pit, opposite of where the lone pianist played.
For many years I had stayed to the shadows and watched Madeline order her troupe through the same steps dozens of times, cane in hand as she prowled like a panther back and forth across the back of the stage. Often times Madeline seemed to know when a dancer would make a mistake well before it occurred. She would make a sound low in her throat and pound her cane against the stage floor, effectively freezing everyone in place.
"No, no, no! Again!" Those were the only words she uttered during rehearsals. If by some miracle the ballet dancers made it through the entire sequence without a single mistake, Madeline still forced them to run through the number again while she pointed out where they could improve.
"Enough, ladies," Sergei yelled with a flourish of his hand. "Wonderful job, rest and I will see you at curtain."
The ballet dancers cleared the stage at once and Sergei bowed to us before he trailed behind the troupe. Despite his familiarity with Madeline, he most certainly did not act like her.
"You may stay for as long as you'd like," Le Blanc said once the stage was cleared. He pulled off his glasses, fogged the lenses with his breath, and cleaned them with his handkerchief. "I have matters to attend to before tonight's performance, I'm afraid, but your supper should be in your private box in forty-five minutes and not a second later. In the meantime, the theater is yours if you wish to have a look around." He turned, paused, and patted his overcoat. "Ah! The key! I nearly forgot to give you the key to your private box."
Le Blanc turned on his heel and handed me a brass key with a leather tag embossed with the number three.
"Exclusively yours for this and all upcoming productions," he said.
Once the theater manager hurried out the nearest exit, I sat back, tucked the key into my waistcoat pocket, and took a deep breath.
I had always appreciated the dark and quiet of the auditorium hours before and hours after a performance. There was something inexplicably magical about how such a grand space meant for hundreds of people could be so beautifully vacant.
"I used to sit in the very back long after everyone had left and picture myself in the orchestra," I said. "I could hear the applause in my mind, practically see the most prominent people in the first row crane their necks to see me play."
"Is that what you still want?" Julia asked.
"Sometimes," I answered truthfully. "But attending the performance is far less work and I have the pleasure of sitting with you."
We sat for a long moment in silence. A door somewhere off stage closed with a heavy thud, which signaled the stage hands had left the theater.
"I brought something with me tonight," I said under my breath.
Julia turned her attention to me. "Hmmm?"
I removed the letter from my uncle and carefully unfolded the single page he had written to me, then tilted the paper so that we could both see.
Erik,
You must promise me that when you read this letter, you will spend as much time as possible practicing the violin, unless of course your wife disapproves in which case you must do as she says. But do convince her that your music is quite important. In fact, tell her your first teacher requests a bit of sympathy when it comes to your art.
All jests aside, Erik, my son, I have no doubt in my mind that one day the rest of the world will understand and appreciate your genius. Music is not simply something you hear. It is blood, muscles, nerves, and bones. It is what nourishes and keeps you alive. Few will understand what it feels like to need music the way you and I do.
One day, my child, every person in Paris will wonder how they existed, how they loved, how they found the strength to rise each morning before hearing your music. You are sound asleep across from me in a bed far too short for your long legs, but when I look at you, I see more than a boy. I see potential for greatness. You are already grasping the corners of it, my son, I can feel it.
Yours Fondly,
Uncle Alak
"He would be tremendously proud of you," Julia said. "Of his son."
Tears welled in my eyes as I considered my uncle's words written so long ago. I was grateful Joshua had been in possession of the letters over the years and that I had finally succeeded in marrying as my uncle had clearly expected me to do despite my scars. He had faith in me that I could not find in myself, and as I hastily folded the letter and returned it to my pocket, I imagined my uncle sitting opposite Julia, a wide grin on his face as he erupted with applause at curtain call. I had no doubt he would have clapped me hard on the back.
"He would have sat right in the front here," I mused. "In the very center, perched on the edge of his seat with his eyes closed listening to every single note. And he would have understood what I felt when the tempo slowed. He would have felt the melody in his veins."
In the back of my mind I could hear the excitement in his voice, the pure joy exuded from a dying man when it came to our nightly conversations. It did not matter if I had been temperamental or combative during the day; when it came to music, all conflict was set aside.
"Do you want to look around?" Julia asked.
"If you do not mind sitting a while longer, I believe I am content right here."
If only in memory, my uncle was in the seat beside me. When I inhaled, I swore the scent of pipe smoke filled my nostrils, but I reasoned it was merely the scent of cleaning agents used by the staff and my overly active imagination lending itself to my narrative. Still, I swore I could feel him, the first person I had truly loved. I feared if I looked to my left the feeling would pass.
"Your opera," Julia whispered. She twisted in her seat, placed her palm flat against my chest, and kissed me. Eyes closed, I felt her smile against my lips. "On this stage."
"On this stage," I echoed.
"Your wife approves of you playing the violin as often as you desire." Julia's fingers intertwined with mine as she rested her head on my shoulder.
"I have your permission, then?"
"I believe you do. You know, your uncle was clearly a man of above average intelligence to give such remarkable advice for marriage."
"Indeed."
Julia tilted her head up and offered a devilish grin. "I like Alak more and more with each letter."
"I should have read his letter aloud and skipped the first part. You will now be intolerable."
"Intolerable?" Julia giggled, the sound of her voice cutting through the emptiness of the theater. "There is that highly irritated man I adore."
I kissed her forehead and sighed, enjoying the warmth of her body next to mine, the scent of her perfume, and the sound of her gentle breaths.
My wife. My best friend. My Julia. Beside me.
