Reality Issues
Seven: The Real Story, Part One
The
wardrobe door belched a low creak as it swung open. Erik reached inside and
shuffled through the tight row of clothes. He pulled out a white nightgown and
placed it on the bed. Then he walked over to Christine, who was sitting with
her head lowered in the chair next to the vanity table. He tucked his hand
under her hair and brushed his lips gently across the top of her head.
"I
never should have told you everything," he sighed, slowly falling to his
knees in front of her. She kept her head down. "I should have waited until
you were better. I hope you can forgive me." He paused, waiting for her to
respond, which she didn’t. She couldn’t! The story continued to plague her mind
like the disease in her mind—for that’s all it is: a disease of the mind!
Nothing wrong—but everything wrong! For the first time since the dream began,
Christine had to get out—she couldn’t be here. She needed to wake up. Although
her mind was empty of the memories that he described, the pain was there, and
it was very real, not imagined at all. It seared across her brain and viciously
attacked the back of her eyes, this pain of knowledge, if that is what one
calls it. It was all too much, too soon; she needed her escape, which stood
only inches away. He needed to leave so that she could leave this crazy
existence. He blamed himself; she knew this. Even if he hadn’t said to Nadir,
she would have known through his eyes or the urgency behind his touch. Even
without saying anything, his hand on her neck pleased her to look at him and
let him know what she was feeling. His lips begged forgiveness when he kissed
her hair and the angle at which he kneeled prayed for her recovery. But she
refused him everything; she could not look up, nor speak, nor even think but to
remember his words, the future unimaginable.
His
breath staggered as he rose, and she closed her eyes as his shadow enfolded
her. "Sleep now," he whispered. He quickly strode to the door and
shut it without making a sound. Or if it did, Christine didn’t hear it; the
echo of his last words still rung in her ears: "I love you."
Christine
slowly got up and walked towards the nightgown lying on the bed. To bed now.
Stop thinking, stop thinking! But she couldn’t; the story she had just
heard played once again in her mind.
His
tale began on the night of the Masquerade Ball, after Christine had been with
Erik for those first two weeks. As Raoul was long since dead, she obviously did
not meet him there. Erik said that he did not know what she was doing while he
roamed as Red Death, but when he went to collect her later in her dressing
room, she was already there, sitting at her small desk, fervently writing. He
was about to call out to her when there was a sudden rapping on the door.
Christine looked up, obviously surprised, and opened the door.
"Oh,
Christine, it is you!" Meg wrapped her little arms around her friend as
Christine hushed her and let her in. "Where have you been for so long?
I’ve been worried!"
"Hush,
Meg! You must tell no one you’ve seen me," she replied, motioning for her
friend to sit next to her on the couch.
"I
won’t tell a soul! But you must tell me where you’ve been this past
fortnight."
Christine
looked down at her hands. "I’ve been with Him," she said softly.
"Who?
Your Angel of Music?" Christine nodded. "Thank God! The rumor was
that you were kidnapped by the Phantom." Christine looked her friend in
the eyes and nodded once again, this time very slowly. "What? Well, which?
The Angel or the Ghost? Both?"
"Yes,
well no—they are one and the same! The Phantom is the Angel, and they are also
a man!"
"Christine,
you are making no sense at all. Which is he: a spirit or a man?"
"He’s
a man! But he is also the Ghost and my Angel."
"Which
is what doesn’t make sense. How can he haunt the Opera as a ghost, give you
voice lessons from Heaven as an angel, and live on Earth as a man?"
"Meg!"
Christine sighed, obviously frustrated. The little dancer also seemed annoyed,
but Erik found their conversation quite amusing. True, he was hurt by this form
of betrayal, but he reasoned that Meg was a harmless outlet for Christine’s
feelings, of which he was also quite curious to discover. So he had never told
Christine that he had witnessed this conversation (until now that is).
"Listen," Christine continued. "The Phantom and the Angel are
not spirits. Indeed, they are both the same man. A genius, very smart and
talented in many different ways, but a man nonetheless. He is as much flesh and
blood as you or I. Do you understand yet?"
"Yes,"
the girl replied, a smile spreading across her face. "So what do you call
him: Angel or Phantom?"
"Neither.
I call him by his name."
"Which
is…"
"Never
mind!" Erik said that this was the moment when he knew Christine would
never betray him. "You will never know his name, Meg, unless he tells you
it himself. That is his secret, not mine."
"Fine,
fine. Where did he take you?"
"To
his home, but—"
"Scandalous!"
the girl whispered with glee, her teeth emerging as the corners of her mouth
slid upwards.
"Meg!
It’s nothing like—"
"Is
he in love with you?" she interrupted once again.
"Yes,"
Christine replied, looking intensely into the mirror. Erik said he felt as
though she was looking directly at him, although he knew that was ridiculous.
She didn’t know he was there and furthermore could not possibly see through the
glass as he could. "He loves me more than you could imagine."
"My
God, Christine, are you having an affair?"
"No!
Nothing of the sort! I admit, it might be an odd form of courtship, but it is
not an affair, and, really, there is nothing scandalous about it. I doubt he
does much in the conventional manner."
"Do
you love him?"
"Well,
I don’t know—I don’t know! My insides are all mixed up. I don’t deserve his
love, I know that! He needs someone greater than myself to love. The king
should not worship his servant! …He is so tormented inside and he says that I
will bring him solace, but… I don’t think I can!"
In
the last few minutes, Meg’s face had changed dramatically from a playful,
teasing child to that of a respectful and comforting friend. "How do you
feel when you’re with him?" (Christine could just imagine how Erik
responded to that question!)
"How
do I feel? Well, it can be like…Heaven or Hell, a nightmare or a dream. I guess
that’s really what he is: one big contradiction," Christine said, smiling
slightly as her words as she placed her head in Meg’s lap. "I guess, more
than anything, I’m afraid to love him. I used to be terrified of him, but that
passed. I mean, I am still afraid of his temper, but I’ll just have to make
sure not to make him angry… But to love him…it would make everything a thousand
times more simple and difficult at the same time. See—another contradiction!
Can one man fill someone with so much rapture and terror at the same time? He
loves me; again, I don’t know why, but nevertheless he does. And he is in as
much pain as I am—no probably more so—all because he loves me." She paused
before continuing. "When we sing together, I know the word ‘eternity’. The
world stops, time stops, and then we stop and I find myself thrown into a world
full of questions and a time without answers. Does that make any sense? Am I
going crazy?"
"No,"
Meg spoke finally, "you’re not crazy. Confused, yes, but certainly not
crazy." She paused. "When are you to return to him?"
"Soon.
He will come for me here."
"Should
I go?"
"Perhaps
that is best," Christine replied, sitting back up. The two walked to the
door and hugged. "Thank you for listening, Meg. I know it doesn’t make
much sense now but hopefully someday I can tell you everything."
"I
understand. Goodbye, Christine. Come and see me when you return again."
Erik
waited for a half an hour after Meg’s departure to call her through the mirror.
They did not speak much that evening; it was very late by the time they
returned to the house on the lake and both of their minds were filled with
thoughts of the conversation in the dressing room.
The
next morning, however, they did talk. In fact, they argued. At the end of
breakfast, Erik announced that Christine would go back into the world that
evening. Christine’s brow suddenly wrinkled in anger.
"How
is it that you can say when I come and go, monsieur? Have I no say in my life?
What if I don’t wish to go?"
Erik
laughed. "Do you wish to go?"
"No,
I wish to stay. And I do not appreciate your laughter."
"By
all means, mademoiselle, you are welcome to stay. My home is your home."
Christine
threw up her hands in mock wonder. "Oh, the lord is letting me stay! Thank
you, lord, thank you!"
"Christine,
I’m amazed! Sarcasm! I didn’t think you knew what that was! Which vile
conservatory teacher taught you that?"
"You."
They stared at each other fiercely for a few moments until Erik burst into
laughter. Christine lost her mask of shock and began to laugh as well. Their
laughter rang out loudly; it was the kind that takes over the mind and clouds
the vision and it was because of this that Erik failed to notice Christine
place her hand on top of his until after it had already happened. His laughter
halted and he pulled his hand pack quickly. Christine quieted as her cheeks
turned a lovely shade of pink.
"Do
you really want to stay?" he asked.
"Yes,"
Christine replied without hesitation.
"Until
when?"
"Oh,
is it my turn to play God now?" she smiled. "Tomorrow. Rehearsals
start and they’ll be needing me."
"Yes,
of course they will."
"I
will come back through."
"Thank
you," he said softly. His eyes found hers. "Shall we sing?"
"I’d
like that very much," she replied.
Erik
said that nothing drastic happened in the next few months, except that he and
Christine grew closer to each other. He said that he could spend hours
detailing even the most insignificant event but he wanted to get to their
present situation as soon as possible. Anyway, a few months after the
Masquerade Ball, Erik was reading aloud to Christine, which had become their
custom. As always, he was in the parlor chair and Christine sat at his feet
like a small child. He finished the story and closed the book and, as usual,
the two remained in fixed silence for a few minutes. After these minutes had
passed, Christine, as was the ritual, stood up and turned toward him to say
goodnight. Except, on this night, she didn’t speak. Erik looked up at her in
question and met her eyes, which had a strange glow radiating from them.
"Christi—"
he began.
"Erik,
take off your mask," she said calmly.
"What?
No!"
"Please,"
she said softly. "Please take off your mask. If you don’t I will. I am not
afraid." He did so slowly and looked up at her; she had not flinched.
"Alright. Well then," she said and quickly leaned down to him and pressed
her lips against his. He stood up in surprise, the book falling to the floor
between them, but her lips stayed where they were. Eventually he relaxed and
even began to kiss her back. Her arms climbed his chest and encircled his neck.
When he hesitatingly put his hands on her waist, she pulled him closer with
encouragement. She was the one to break the kiss and when she did they both
burst into tears. She pressed her face into his neck and he felt her tears fall
onto his skin and run under his shirt. "I love you, Erik," she said.
"I’m sorry it took me so long and I’m sorry that I was so afraid. But I’m
not afraid any more. I love you, so much." Somehow, although not until
hours later, they each went to bed, and Erik slept soundly for the first night
in a long time.
The
next morning, Erik knocked on Christine’s bedroom door. When he entered, she
put down the brush she had been using and smiled at him. He walked briskly over
to her and kissed her gently. "Christine," he asked, "will you
marry me?"
She
smiled. "Yes."
He
laughed. "Right then. Well. Oh," he stammered, and then bent down to
kiss her again. She broke the kiss with her laughter. Erik smiled down at her
and opened his palm. A gold ring lay inside it. He took Christine’s hand in his
own and slid it on her finger. She giggled again and pulled him down into her
embrace.
Christine
sat straight up in bed. This is useless, she thought, falling hard back
into the middle of the mattress. She tossed violently, her feet kicking the
covers in every direction. She pressed the pillow over her head, in a meager
attempt to smother her thoughts out of her head. The first part of his story,
their strange courtship and engagement, was not what had upset her so. Well, it
had made her upset when she thought of how these events had actually happened,
and the fact that, without Raoul, it seemed like Erik and she would have been
very happy together. They did not get married for another ten months after
their engagement began. Christine wanted a traditional honeymoon, but she was
in the middle of a long string of rehearsals, which proceeded the run of the
new opera, after which they immediately launched a new run of Faust. So
ten months later was the soonest time that Christine could take three weeks
off. The management, it must be said, knew of her betrothal; she of course had
to inform them of her leave months in advance. They would constantly ask her
whom she was marrying. It became a sort of joke between the four of them (the
two managers, Christine and the always unseen Erik), for whenever they would
ask, she would always simply reply, "My fiancée," and presently leave
their company.
The
rest of the Opera workers were also very interested in Christine Daae’s
engagement. She had told no one who her fiancée was; only Meg and the good
Madame Giry, who were of course invited to the wedding, knew the truth. The
others could do nothing else but speculate. The chorus girls, who were
obviously jealous of her and who still resented her for making such a swift
leap from one of their ranks to that of the leading soprano of the Opera,
started the rumor that her husband-to-be was of very low class and poor
standing, which was why she kept his identity a secret. The crew believed the
exact opposite; she was engaged to a wealthy and powerful man and had to keep
their impending marriage a secret so that the press did not hear of the
scandal. The ballet rats, however, who still remembered the rumors of
Christine’s relations with the Opera Ghost (For they remembered anything that
had to do with the Ghost!), whispered that she was actually to marry the
Phantom himself. She couldn’t speak of it, though, because no one could know
who the Ghost really was. Even so, each of them worked to become friends with
Christine, in hope that she would confide in them her secrets.
Chapter Eight, The Real
Story, Part Two
Chapter Six, Raoul and
What Followed
C