Author's Note: It is recommended you look up E Lucevan le Stelle(And the Stars Were Shining) when you get to the scene break. I recommend Peter Hofmann(German Phantom) singing it on YouTube, or Jonas Kaufmann on Youtube or Spotify. It is from the Opera "Tosca," and the song is of Grief. I did listen to that song hundreds of times when writing the scene. Translation and other notes about it will be in the End Notes.
The Stars Were Shining
(As a Note, you will likely want to Pull up E Lucevan le Stelle(And the Stars Were Shining) when you get to the scene break. I recommend Peter Hofmann(German Phantom) singing it on YouTube, or Jonas Kaufmann on Youtube or Spotify. It is from the Opera Tosca, and the song is of Grief. I did listen to that song hundreds of times when writing that scene)
Charles landed safely in Erik's arms when he fell backward, unconscious. The way he had swayed on the bench as he played indicated many things. He felt the music through every fiber of his being as he played, and the faint was imminent. Which meant he, perhaps, went too far into the music, inspired by a memory? The thought was little more than a sneaking suspicion spurred by personal experience. Not that it ever went this far.
Deftly shifting his hold, Erik cradled his son close to him, treasuring the moment, although he would be the only one to remember. He brushed his thumb in circular motions on Charles's right arm before he let out a long breath with a weary sigh and rose to his feet. In two steps, he reached the sofa and laid the boy down, though he was reluctant to let him go.
"If you only knew...child..." Erik whispered, brushing sweaty hair away from Charles's clammy forehead. His hand remained there for several moments of indecision before a flash of lightning drew his attention. Hesitation lingered, until a gust of wind brought a wave of cold air through the opened windows.
Erik glanced at the windows and withdrew his hand from the boy, instead pressing it upon the arm of the sofa as an assistance to rise to full height. From there, he stepped over to the windows and proceeded to shut out the elements.
~x ~x ~X~ x~ x~
Crackle, crackle, pop.
He was at peace; he didn't want to leave. Never to leave this place where his troubles and pain were an afterthought, at least for now, in this moment.
Crackle, pop, crackle.
Soft light and warmth touched his face, drawing him to consciousness he did not want. No!
Crackle, pop!
A distant cry, then a scream echoed in his ears from memory.
A few quiet notes of the piano drew him closer to the warm light and general awareness. It was not a complicated tune by any stretch of imagination. It was simple, light, yet repetitive with a unique heaviness, while the melody sounded as if the player's mind was quite a distance away.
Charles opened heavy eyelids at a slow rate to let them adjust to the dim lighting. It took him a long minute to place his environment; on the sofa of the music room with a hot but dying fire in hearth and crocheted blanket drawn over his body from toes to neck. Lamps flickered throughout the room, bringing illumination into otherwise darkened corners. The flash of light from the double windows hinted at the presence of storms still lingering, but the absence of thunder told of its distance.
He looked to the piano where Erik sat in his shirtsleeves with his hands dancing across the keys, back turned.
Charles closed his eyes, willing himself to fall asleep to his guardian's music.
There was an elegant key change into a melody that Charles liked describing as rolling climb, where the notes played fell back into reverse: one two three four five four three two one. The count would begin again a note or two higher than the first sequence; two three two one. The count of the 'rolling' notes was not restricted to five. It went as high as seven or nine and retracted to a minus one or two.
He did not particularly feel like trying to track or pin the pattern played. He doubted he could keep with it, even if he heard it a hundred times. No, he needed to see the pattern and then it would make sense. Maybe, hopefully—his head hurt now from thinking too deeply into it.
Instead, he let himself be lulled into sleepiness as the music rocked a slow steady rhythm about his ears and head.
What came next surprised him, but Charles dared not move.
"E lucevan le stelle..." sang Erik, his voice quiet and heavy with remorse, highlighted by his rich, dark timbre that captivated the boy's auditory senses.
"Ed olezzava la terra..." the R's rolled off Erik's tongue like a dignified purr, though sad all the same."Stridea l'uscio dell'orto..."
Charles felt a chill run through him as the song went on, and it was only in its third line. Although he savored every word and let it consume him, he wanted to know more.
"E un passo sfiorava la rena..."
What was he singing? In what language? While these words were clearly not French, it felt like a type of operatic lullaby.
"Entrava ella fragrante..." The notes climbed again and fell in reverse before he sang,"Mi cadea fra le braccia."
"O, dolci baci, o languide carezza," Erik held the first note quietly, and then he slowly lengthened his pronunciations a fraction. "Mentr'io fremente le belle forme disciogliea dai veli!"
Like the music he played, Erik sang like the rolling melodies; sad, yet enraptured by his song as it progressed. Power grew in the prior line, rising with emotion, but it remained quiet when it felt like it needed to be sung out more than it was. He restrained his projection of 'disciogliea', and Charles wanted to hear him take it, conquer it.
"Svani per sempre il sogno mio d'amore," Erik seemed more immersed, though his voice did not show it here. "L'ora è fuggita, e muoio disperato,"
As the last lines began to spill from his guardian's lips, Charles continued to find himself frustrated by his apparent restraint.
"E muoio disperato," There was power to be taken here, in these final lines; he felt it, though neither voice nor the solid melody remotely hinted it. Nevertheless, through this, he realized the sadness, understanding a few words here and there... Erik was grieving.
"E non ho amato mai tanto la vita," and despite the realization, Charles became resigned now. "Tanto la vita." The song barely faded into silence when Charles gave into the urge to shift his position a little on the sofa.
Such movement caused Erik to snap around in his seat, eyes, head, and then body, until he sat almost full faced to Charles. After a few seconds passed between them, Erik seemed to settle into his seat more, although he hardly moved. "My apologies, I did not intend to wake you."
"Why did you hold back?"
Erik gave pause to the question in his slight wary glance to the piano, before making eye contact with Charles again. "You were sleeping. Had you been awake, or more so, not been present in the room, I would have sung out more," he shook his head to himself with a dismissive wave. "No more of this. I have dinner waiting for you— you had a light lunch and it is precisely two hours past supper, you must be famished."
Charles could only nod, feeling like his head was threatening to spin.
Erik inclined his head before he rose from the bench with strides to leave.
"Erik."
He stopped and turned to regard him like before. "Yes?"
"What happened? How did I end up..." he looked to his position on the sofa, "here?"
"You were unleashing your emotions into the music as you played. It appeared you were lost within your own mind; I assume your memories. As you finished, you promptly fainted, collapsed...what have you. I caught you and placed you there four hours ago. I left you to rest because you were quite a shade of pallor, more than normal."
If anything, Erik was rarely short on details.
"More than normal?"
"In the time I have known you, you have been quite pale. Stress is not very good for your health, you know. Gradually, you have been growing lighter and lighter. Tonight, you skipped a few shades...which, thankfully, have remitted for now in your rest. The same goes for the dark circles around your eyes."
Never short on detail... Charles crinkled his nose, scrunching his face as he tried to translate the point of what Erik was telling him. "You're saying that I'm getting sick because I'm stressed?"
"As well as sleep deprived, but yes."
"Sleep deprived?"
"You have not slept through the night since Paris."
Charles scrunched his face again. "You took the special the tea away."
"In interest of prolonging your good health."
"But you said I'm getting sick."
"Because you have not slept and are very stressed."
"Because you took the tea away!"
"I hardly see your point."
A wall. Talking to Erik was sometimes very much like talking to a wall, in the sheer density that mingled with apparent genius.
An aggravated groan escaped Charles as he buried his hands into his face, while trying to melt into the couch. "You say I'm getting sick because I am not sleeping well, and I'm stressed. Yet, you won't give me the tea, which helps me sleep and relaxes me because it's bad for me?"
"Precisely," Erik chirped, with a small smile.
"Explain how the tea is bad."
"I like your heart beating," Erik turned, with intent to leave it at that.
"What? Wait!" Erik had already left by the time Charles managed to get the words out of his mouth. Forgetting the blanket settled over him, the boy leapt from the couch. However, he promptly he fell forward when the blanket snared his feet as he tried to take a mighty stride to catch up. Charles's hands flailed as he caught himself on the arm of the sofa in his panicked effort. Humiliation averted, Charles drew his feet out from the blanket's entanglement and dashed after Erik. "Wait! Erik!"
He found the older man in the kitchen, ladling a broth-based soup with chunks of vegetables into a bowl.
"What did you mean?"
"Clarify." Erik spoke with evident confusion as to the reference of the inquiry.
"By tea and my heart?"
"Ah! Yes, tea and heart. The tea is a tranquilizer. It relaxes, helps you cope and forget more easily. But too much tea over an extended time calms a weary heart so much that it no longer wishes to function."
Charles felt that if his eyes widened any further, they would pop from their sockets. He sunk into his chair, too stunned to bother searching for words.
The bowl appeared before him with a spoon. "The only other cure for your growing illness is to tell me what happened," Erik said as he walked around the table to his chair. "Which, unless I have misread you, is still some distance off." Erik set his cup of tea down at his place setting before he sat in his chair. "Tell me, young de Chagny... have I misread you?"
Charles ran his finger along the rim of the bowl, eyes and mind glazed and distant. It could not hurt. At least not now, in small...pieces. Or maybe he just wanted to prove Erik wrong. Somehow, that in and of itself felt like a conquering achievement. He remained aware that this could be a well-played game for the tale, since there were no mirrors in this house that he knew of. He was too drained and exhausted to resist this battle.
And so, Charles began the tale that started by a knock and fell into oblivion from there. He only reflected on what came to him as he had played the piano. Erik hung on his every word, those colorless eyes analytic and focused as he watched him. Few questions were asked: How many– eight? Twelve? More? What did they look like– ruffians? Charles felt so very uncertain at his own descriptions of the events that unfolded around him. In all honestly, he was too frightened to care. Erik seemed annoyed by that fact, but he never remarked upon it.
At the mention of his mother using his father's gun to kill a man, Erik nearly choked on his tea.
Charles ignored him, explaining the rest up to where he assumed someone knocked him upside the head with the butt of a gun. The memory still brought on the throb of where they struck him.
"I can't...say anymore...I'm tired..." Charles said, eyes heavy and his mind fogged. Erik managed to pick his brain in his few questions, but it was enough to drain him. They had been at this for nearly three hours it felt like, though the segment of the story had been a short one.
Erik nodded, "Go on to bed."
Author's Note: The song is (Mario, a painter) grieving a lost love(Tosca, who is a singer), and clinging to cherished memory of what they shared before he is set to be executed.
Translation: And the stars were shining,
And the earth was scented.
The gate of the garden creaked
And a footstep grazed the sand…
Fragrant, she entered
And fell into my arms.
.
Oh, sweet kisses and languorous caresses,
While trembling I stripped the beautiful form of its veils!
Forever, my dream of love has vanished.
That moment has fled, and I die in desperation.
.
And I die in desperation!
And I never before loved life so much.
Loved life so much!
