Chapter 23: The Light That Brightens the Darkness
"Well, here we are." The coachman grinned at them as they pulled up before the park's entrance at Rue Manin.
Erik slipped out of the carriage right after Meg, and together they thanked Monsieur Jean (Meg with an affectionate squeeze of hands, and he with a stiff "Merci"), who was supposed to wait for them there. The elderly man sent them another utterly confusing, toothy smile and wished them a nice trip. Then – as if this whole venture was the most normal thing in the world – he simply produced a somewhat crumpled newspaper and busied himself with it.
Erik couldn't help but wonder again if it weren't some absurd dream.
A gentle tug at his sleeve broke him from his stupefaction. The gesture shocked him thoroughly, but Meg just grinned at him and headed towards the gate. Swallowing hard, the Phantom forced his unresponsive body to obey and follow her.
It had been a long time since anyone treated him in such a way, and even then it hadn't been nearly as confusing, but it didn't mean he had to act like an utter idiot! Hell, he had already made enough of a fool of himself in the carriage!
A wave of heat crept up his neck.
The Opera Ghost quickly chased away the memory, gritting his teeth and focusing on their surroundings.
The sky was already brightening over the horizon, but fortunately, it was still too early for any other visitors to be there. From the drawings and the photographs he had occasion to see, he knew how crowded the park could get during the most popular leisure hours. Now, it looked like a completely different place.
Deep, undisturbed layers of fresh snow covered the paths, hills and branches with pure whiteness, which was brightened by the aureate flames of gas lamps and the faint glow of the gradually awakening day. The grey of stones, the brown shades of bark and the green of cedars, pines and spruces peeked here and there from under this veil, adding colours to this picture and completing its final touches. All together, it created a somewhat severe but peaceful landscape.
He wasn't sure what could be so important here that Meg needed to show him, but he couldn't deny this place held a certain beauty.
"So, what do you think?" Meg turned to him, bouncing slightly on her heels, sparks of excitement visible in her eyes.
She looked like a drop of morning sun.
The thought slipped uninvited into his mind, and his good cheek became peculiarly warmer. The Opera Ghost cleared his throat slightly.
"It's… not bad."
Meg smiled in response. "Good to hear it. Now, we need to get to Belvedere Island. And we'd better hurry."
Not explaining anything more, she simply started forwards once again, stopping only to glance back and check if he was coming. He did, and so together they plunged further into that winter landscape, accompanied by the snow crunching beneath their boots and the occasional distant cawing and twitter of birds.
Finally, the trees completely separated them from the street, and Erik managed to breathe more freely. The last part of their carriage ride had been strangely easier, as he had continued his lecture about the Haussmann's renovation (though, as he had belatedly realised with discomfiture, executions and sewers probably hadn't been the most socially approvedtopics to discuss in feminine company). Nevertheless, he felt much more comfortable without any possibility of onlookers.
The empty park looked like a world lost somewhere between the realm of dreams and waking.
Or like the only spot in time and space where the ghosts of night cross paths with the beings of day.
This last thought made him snort inwardly.
The white alleys led them to the masonry bridge thrown over the half-frozen lake. Once they crossed it, they began to climb the path up the hill. After a few minutes, before them appeared a steep end of a cliff, crowned by the Temple de la Sybille; its contours – Roman-style columns on a circular base and a decorative vault – were emphasised by the slowly brightening sky.
Meg animatedly ran up the few steps leading to the inside. Coming up to the edge, she grasped the metal railing between the stone pillars.
"I think we've arrived just in time." Her features lit up with joy as she spun in his direction, then focused again on some point in the distance. "It's an amazing place to watch the sunrise, isn't it?" Her voice was filled with wonder, and that same second, the Phantom felt as if he were hit by a sandbag counterweight.
So this was the extremely important thing she wanted to show him? She had dragged him all that blazingly long way just to see something he could as well see from the Opera Garnier's roof?! What kind of hellish joke was this!?
Wrath ignited inside him with the force of a wildfire. Part of him wanted to shake the ballerina and scathingly point out that it wasn't worth all the effort and risk, but the pure happiness on Meg's face chased away that idea before it could fully form. This was really important to her, wasn't it?
Erik exhaled, then inhaled heavily, trying to stifle his irritation. Sighing silently, he took a place beside the dancer.
Beyond the park's grounds, the plants gave way to streets and buildings, creating a wide panorama of Paris. Above it all, the dawn had already begun its spectacle, painting the dark blue sky with brushes of red, orange, yellow and azure and colouring the undersides of a few stray clouds with a pink blush.
"You know, sometimes I would watch the sunrise from this spot with my parents." Meg's quiet whisper turned his attention back to her, but she didn't raise her gaze. Across her face flickered a shadow of a longing smile.
"We used to come here quite often, and it was an amazing time, but then… Well, then it all simply stopped." Her voice wavered. Though it remained calm, reconciled with fate, his trained ears couldn't miss the hint of pain hidden beneath the surface.
Meg lowered her head. A few golden strands slid from behind her ears, shadowing her profile.
"I returned here with Maman six months after Papa's death," she resumed quietly. "We talked a lot that day after weeks of silence, but there are two things that especially got imprinted on my memory. Though over five years have passed since then, I still think about them sometimes. Recently, even more than before…" Her hazel irises slowly rose to him, and she smiled gently.
"That morning, Maman told me that I should remember that even after the darkest night, there always comes a dawn. And even if sometimes we can't see the sun, it doesn't mean that it isn't there. Just like there is always Someone up there watching us from above, even when we feel that we are living under an impenetrable layer of dark clouds." Meg glanced down. Her fingers brushed her shawl, as if she wanted to feel the edges of her pendant underneath.
"She also said that the world is full of God's wonders, but we simply aren't always able to notice them. And I think that she might be right. I truly believe that even in the harsh times, there are still some wonderful people and things that can be like little lights that brighten our path down here and give us the strength to go on." Her soft gaze moved back up to him, searching his face.
The Opera Ghost looked away. He knew she was waiting for his response, but for a long moment, he couldn't find any words.
If, a few months ago, somebody had told him something like this, he would have let out a humourless bark of laughter and told that gullible person what he believed in. That even if there was a God watching them, then this God must be a cruel and ruthless ruler. The Lord who had given him nothing but suffering and cursed him with an abhorrent appearance. And then only tormented him even more, taking everything from him again and again.
The Phantom gritted his teeth, and his hands curled into fists.
But now… Well, somehow he was no longer so sure.
Part of him was always aware that his lot was not the worst. He had lived close to poverty for long enough to be able to see those less fortunate: malnourished, often disabled people begging for food; scrawny children going to work in factories and workshops; or those who, mutilated in accidents, ended up thrown on the streets at the capricious mercy of others.
His jaw clenched tighter.
He had seen it all, and it had only strengthened his conviction about how condemned this whole world was. And the sight of people who had what he had been deprived of only inflamed his fury and hatred.
For a long time, he had been convinced that there was almost solely darkness in his life. But was it completely true?
For the past years, the conversations and lessons with Christine had been something that had made his days less gloomy. Something that had given him purpose. Only later had he ruined everything, becoming too consumed by the illusion he had wanted to create.
Most of his adult life, he had been focused on his pain and anger. On things he could not have. Perhaps it had been clouding his vision a little.
His mind wandered back, bringing back the dusty and scattered but still bright memories of those scarce better moments.
His mother's velvet voice singing lullabies. Her always tired but warm smile. The way she used to ruffle his hair before she kissed the top of his head.
The old priest's wrinkled hands on the decrepit clavichord's keys showing him his very first scale, despite rheumatism. And then, the same fingers introducing him to the beauty of piano and organ concertos.
The Girys, taking care of him after his escape from the circus.
The operas and operettas with their breath-taking music, thrilling stories, magnificent costumes and scenography.
Christine's angelic voice, speaking to him for the first time when he had probably needed it the most.
Meg's eyes and smile…
The last thought startled him from his musing, filling him with a strange feeling he couldn't quite name.
There was no denying that if there were some sources of earthly light in his life now, the brightest of them were the two Giry ladies. Even if the younger of them could sometimes be like an irritating, prying sunbeam and the older had a profoundly irksome tendency to illuminate him with the unyielding force of stage limelight…
A tiny but strangely heart-warming smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Erik turned back to the ballerina.
"I think that, despite all their differences in character, your mother is as much an extraordinary person as your father was."
His words filled the empty space between them, and Meg chuckled lightly at his evasive phrasing. When her eyes met his, though, he could see in them that she knew that her confession meant much more to him.
The girl smiled at him again. With a silent understanding, they both returned to watching the performance taking place before them.
The shades of orange and red gradually started to take up more and more space in the sky, chasing away the gloom. A few minutes later, the first glowing scrap of sun began to peek from behind the distant rooftops.
"I know that it's probably a bit silly, but I really can't stop admiring sunrises." Meg's gentle voice made him glance down at her once more, but she remained focused on the horizon.
"I mean" – she hesitated for a moment – "they are just something you can see every day, a view so ordinary that many people don't pay them even any attention. But, despite that… well, there is something truly beautiful in them, isn't it?" The lines around her eyes softened even more as a gentle smile brushed her lips. The first shy sunbeams had begun to bring out golden reflections in her hair, adding extra warmth to her delicate features, but there was something more there. Something that radiated from inside her, seeping to her expression and flooding his chest with a strange force.
A peculiar lump formed in his throat.
"Perhaps the things that happen to go unnoticed are also often the most extraordinary ones…" An unusually soft note slipped into his tone, mixing with a slight hoarseness he didn't manage to hide.
Surprised, Meg raised her head, but fortunately he had turned before she could look at him, his hood separating him from her.
At the edge of his peripheral vision, he could see that the ballerina's gaze rested on him for a while, then lowered again.
"The sun is already getting higher, so I think it's the end of dawn-watching for today." Meg released the railing.
Together, they descended the short stairs back to the ground before the temple; the snow crunched under their feet in the silence that hung between them. After a short pause, Meg approached one of the trees, trailing her fingers down one of the lower branches.
"I really spent a lot of amazing moments here," she said. "But, from our winter visits, I most vividly remember one thing." She gathered some of the cold, white fluff, squeezing it. "The snowball fights." Her lips twitched as she glanced back at him. Her gaze was questioning, but there was no pressure in it, as if she was leaving the decision to speak about his own childhood to him.
Tightness returned to his larynx.
Most of his memories weren't good, but it definitely wasn't something he wanted to discuss right now. To his surprise, though, he realised that a part of him wished to tell Meg more about his past.
Erik swallowed hard, coming closer. "I played a few times with my mother…" he whispered, hoarsely.
Meg smiled warmly. "I'm happy." She tilted her head to the side, and a corner of her mouth curled even more up. "Would you like to refresh your skills, then?"
The absurdity of this question rendered him speechless for a longer moment.
"Neither of us is a child anymore," he pointed out finally, frowning.
Meg sent him an amused look. "I don't think that's an insurmountable obstacle. But I'm not going to force you." For a while, she scrutinised him, then let go of the lump of snow and started to dust off her palms. But when her gloves were almost clean, a small grin appeared on her lips. Before he could react, her bent fingers straightened, sprinkling him with the remains of the snow.
In response, Erik tugged down the branch above her head, releasing it along with a cascade of white fluff.
"Oh! OH!" With a loud yet strangely charming squeal, Meg leaped out of the unexpected shower. Her arms flapped in the air in an attempt to shake off the snow clinging to her clothes and hair.
Her moves brought him a mental image of a tiny bird fluttering its wings.
"That– that was cheating!" Meg's voice rose in protest, but her attempt at reprimand was undermined by her own melodic laugh.
Erik felt his own mouth curving up too. The right corner quickly got stuck in an odd position half-way, stopped by the deformed skin above, but somehow it no longer mattered to him.
"That's what happens to the ones who try to mess with the fearsome Phantom of the Opera," he declared dramatically, voice low and throaty for the right effect.
Not showing proper fearful respect, Meg took off her shawl and, with one deft move, thrust it forwards so that all of the snow gathered in it shot towards him.
Erik jumped away to escape, but was only half successful. Seeing his retreat, the ballerina let out a triumphant cry and charged towards him.
His legs moved with a peculiar lightness as they both engaged in the game. Meg attacked him with a quick series of launched snowballs, and he responded with one accurate throw at her skirt, earning himself a merry giggle. The ballerina dived behind the tree for cover only to emerge from the other side, armed again, and he barely managed to avoid another hit. A deep, rumbling sound ripped out of his chest, astounding him even more than it did Meg. It took him almost a second to realise it was laughter.
Blazes, when was the last time he had really laughed?
Frozen in place, they looked at each other. In Meg's hazel eyes, he saw the same weird mixture of emotions he felt. Part of him also couldn't fail to notice how endearing she looked with her cheeks reddened by the chill.
"A cease-fire?" One of the girl's fair eyebrows rose in a questioning arch.
"A truce and a peace treaty," he specified. With such agreement, both of them silently focused on getting their garments back into order.
He was done a moment later, but as he glanced back at Meg, who had been hit with heavier calibre, she was much less ready.
"You still have quite a lot of snow on your back and head, Meg." The remark sounded silly in his ears, but the ballerina just smiled again at him.
"You still have quite a big spot on your back too."
Erik instinctively tried to look over his shoulder. His pulled-over hood effectively prevented it.
Meg chuckled.
"Wait, I'll help you."
Before he could form any response, the ballerina was already at his side, reaching to his back. Something in his chest stuttered in a strange way as her fingers gently patted his shoulder blades.
"There. Now you look like a proper black rook again." Meg's smile curled to the left, revealing a dimple in her cheek, as she stepped back aside.
Erik could only smirk at the teasing bird reference, doing his best to ignore the pounding of his heart.
He once again thought about the masquerade ball and how much everything had changed since then. Had it really been just about a month and three weeks ago?
Satisfied by her work, Meg removed her shawl and, with a few graceful moves, got rid of the remaining white stains on her own clothes.
"Do I look good now?" Her gaze rose to him.
Erik could only nod. "As always. But you still have some snow and pine needles in your hair." He pointed to the mentioned place.
Misinterpreting his gesture, Meg stepped closer, lowering her head and closing her eyes.
Against his will, his pulse sped up, almost reaching a frenetic allegretto.
Swallowing hard, Erik tried to summon some calming melody or at least play a few scales in his mind. It was just a simple courtesy people did for each other, so why, in blazes, was he so nervous?!
Bending, he picked up the first lump, tangled in Meg's blonde strands. Her eyes remained closed during the process, and he was grateful. The whole situation was already awkward enough without her looking at him. Fortunately, the task didn't take long. However, when he was about to state it aloud, for some reason, a part of him couldn't resist stealing one more glimpse at the ballerina.
Meg had been a constant part of the opera for many years, but somehow today he felt as if he was seeing her for the first time. He had always considered Little Giry pretty, but her modest charm could easily pass unnoticed in a crowd. And yet, there was something more in her. Something in the way she moved, glanced or smiled, that in these short moments made her much more beautiful than even the most admired beauties in the world. Almost as if some of her inner beauty sometimes seeped to the surface.
A true beauty hidden underneath.
His eyes slowly wandered down the delicate contours of her face, drinking in all the details: her fair hair that seemed to gleam with a golden shine in the light of the morning; the gentle arches of eyebrows that could frown both with concern and a strong will; the thick eyelashes hiding eyes full of empathy and warmth; the shadows of playful freckles that would probably become more visible in summer…
His gaze lowered even more to the soft curve of her lips, which was the source of so many smiles. If he just bent a little more, he…
Meg's eyelids fluttered. The same moment, with an unpleasant pang, Erik realised that he had been staring at her far longer and more intently than could ever be considered appropriate.
His cheeks – both the good and the deformed one – started to burn. The Phantom straightened and abruptly strode away, thankful for the convenient cover of his hood. Inhaling deeply and scolding himself inwardly, he tried to slow down the blood pulsing in his veins.
Blazes, just what was wrong with him today? First, the incident in the carriage, and now this?! Hell, he had almost started to wonder how it would feel to kiss Meg!
Another hot wave crept up his neck.
Meg was his friend. Friend. He just couldn't start to–
He didn't let himself finish that thought.
To be honest, even if he wanted to, he had no idea exactly how he was supposed to do it. He couldn't hide the fact that recently he had started to feel a strangely growing need to protect Meg and do all in his power to make sure she was happy. The rest was just a bunch of incoherent nonsense.
But maybe this was all he needed to know for now? The conclusion brought him a semblance of peace.
He owed quite a lot to that petite blonde ballerina, didn't he? Even today, he had received much more from her than he had expected. She hadn't just given him an occasion to see the dawn. She had shared with him a part of her own story, showing willingness to hear out his. She had offered him a glimpse of the happy moments he had been mostly deprived of in his life. And at the same time, somehow she had helped him to see some things anew in the light of this peculiar morning…
A lump formed in his throat again.
"Thank you, Meg…" he whispered, voice hoarse.
Getting his emotions back under control, he turned towards the dancer. A small, concerned crease disappeared from Meg's forehead, a smile returning to her face.
"You're welcome. I'm just happy that I could share this place with you." She hesitated for a moment and then looked down. "I know it's more complicated for you, but… well, we can always come here again if you want," she said more quietly.
For some reason, the offer did something strange to the rhythm of his heart again. Erik swallowed hard.
"I might consider that if it ever was possible."
The lines around Meg's eyes softened even more as their gazes met.
"It's all settled then," she stated warmly. "And now, let's go before Maman starts to worry."
He scowled at the reminder.
Meg grinned, then turned and headed to the path; the loose golden strands that had escaped her chignon bounced up and down. A second later, she looked over her shoulder, and he joined her hastily.
Meg smiled at him as he approached her, and together they started down the hill. On the snow, patches of shadow mixed with the faint, early sunlight that started to seep through the trees.
As they walked like this, next to each other, with a pang of astonishment, Erik realised that today he felt truly happy for the first time in a very long time.
Author's notes:
1) Here's the link to an old photo/postcard of Temple de la Sybille:
parisianfieldsDOTfilesDOTwordpressDOTcom/2013/05/paris-buttes-chaumont001DOTjpg (just replace the word "DOT" with real dots)
2) allegretto – moderately fast tempo in music (around 100–120 beats per minute) (according to the Internet),
3) In both musicals about the Phantom, there is some furtive reference to God (for example, Christine's words "God gave me courage to show you, you are not alone" in A.L. Webber's and the fragments of the song "My mother bore me" in Kopit and Yeston's), and in France, many people were Catholics, so I found similar musings fitting to my concept and the character's development. I hope that I haven't bored or offended anyone with them, though. :)
As a Christian, faith is important to me, but apart from that, just like Meg, I think that there are always some people and things around us that can brighten up our lives, even when not everything is as we want it to be. I also believe that, as Dr. Viktor Frankl once said, even though it's hard, we always have one freedom – the freedom to choose our own attitude, our own way in a given set of circumstances.
Anyway, no matter what your beliefs are or are not, I wish you all many happy, sunny moments and a lot of beautiful sunrises and sunsets to watch! Thank you for reading both my story and my ramblings! ‹3
I hope that the fluff at the end of the chapter balanced some of the heavier themes of the fic. :) We are about two thirds through the plot now.