“It appears my leg got in the way of someone’s bullet. But it’s been taken care of, so it’s fine now.”
He gave me that sideways look as he had on many occasions, grabbed my upper arm, pulled me to my feet, led me into the next room, and pushed me down on a cot.
“Lie down, Erik. I’ll judge if it’s fine or not.”
He shoved my shoulder and I easily went down, which caused my head to start spinning.
When he removed the sheet bandages from my leg, his face contorted and he demanded, “What butcher did this to you?” Weakly, I pointed at myself, causing him to shake his head. “Why did you do this? Why didn’t you come to me, Erik?”
“I didn’t have the time,” was my pathetic excuse.
He began reprimanding me the way any respectable doctor would. Then he gave me something to drink, called in his nurse, and started doing something to the wound that I didn’t understand or care about at the time.
I closed my eyes and mumbled, “Be quick about what you’re doing. I don’t have much time to spare.”
I heard him chuckle, and then the next thing I knew I opened my eyes to a nearly dark room, with only one small lamp lit low on a table. I gazed around the room, trying to gain my bearings and clear the haze from my mind. When I saw his nurse reading in a chair, I remembered just where I was and why I was there. With anxiety filling my gut, I tried sitting up and then getting to my feet, but my dizzy head and pain forced me to sit back down.
While the nurse told me to stay put and then left the room, I reached for my watch in my vest pocket. I was trying to focus on its small hands when the doctor came in.
“Where do you think you’re going, Erik?”
Thinking about Christine alone in her room and panicking when I wasn’t there to answer her, I responded curtly, “I told you I didn’t have time to spare. Why did you let me sleep that long?” Without giving him time to answer, I took my box from the side table and tried to push past him. “I must leave now. I’ll be back soon and pay you what I owe you.”
He grabbed my upper arm and easily prevented me from leaving. “You’re very ill, Erik. You need rest, good nutrition, and proper care before you can go anywhere.”
“Let go of my arm. I promise I’ll be back tomorrow if you like.”
About that time, his nurse came in the door with a tray of food, I presumed, for me.
He got my attention with his next words. “There might not be a tomorrow for you if you don’t stay and let me help you.”
I looked at the sincerity in his eyes, shook my head slowly, and said softly, “If I can’t keep this one very important appointment, then my tomorrows no longer matter.”
Eight
“Then, will you promise me you’ll eat and get some rest? And you must keep that wound dry and you must come back here tomorrow so I can redress it,” Doctor Leglise demanded.
It was the path of least resistance to comply with his demands, and, when I did, he released my arm.
On the ride back to the opera house, I had to concentrate on Christine to keep my thoughts off my pain and fatigue. I put the box on my lap, with absolutely no feelings about it whatsoever. I thought about the prior weeks when I was filled with excitement about finally having a nose, but, right then, it was the last item of importance to me. Christine and her victorious performance were all I cared about.
I felt overwhelmed by the situation Buquet had left me in. I should have been in the house all day to ensure everything went the way I’d planned it, but, instead, I’d spent the most important hours unconscious in a doctor’s office. I had no idea if Carlotta got my note or drank my concoction or where she was, and that thought made me apprehensive to a heightened degree.
My actions upon returning to the opera house were sloppy at best. I knew I couldn’t maneuver my secret entrance and long passages, so I opted to enter through the Cour de l’Administration yard’s entrance. I was so intent on staying hidden from the doorkeeper that I failed to see tiny Sorelli, and I bumped right into her, frightening her half to death and sending her off screaming.
It didn’t do my heart much good either, and I had to slip into a storage room after that just to catch my breath. I actually felt bad for Sorelli, the poor child. She was so young, only 15, and extremely superstitious. She’d just put a horseshoe on the table in front of the stage-doorkeepers’ box for all to touch before going inside. I presume she thought it would protect those who touched it from me. It didn’t seem to help her any, since she immediately touched me after touching it. Perhaps she might rethink that particular fallacy, I pondered, as her scream faded and mixed with others.
Once I recovered my breath, I left the room. But I was unable to move with my usual silent swiftness or think clearly enough to take the right passageways the first time or use the proper trap doors. That was especially true once I got closer to the dressing rooms where there were more people bustling around.
It was easier to understand Sorelli’s extreme behavior when I heard that Buquet’s body had just been found, and that I was blamed for his death. Everyone, especially the chorus girls, were running around and screeching. Then each and every one of them claimed to have seen me floating around in the corridors. Perhaps they did and perhaps they didn’t. I really couldn’t say at that point.
I hadn’t gone very far when I realized I needed to take a moment to reorganize my thinking before I joined them in their insane behavior. So I slipped into a vacant dressing room and leaned against the wall with my eyes closed. Within a few moments, a clatter of excited voices came in my direction. With haste, I put my weight against the door, fearing someone might enter where I was. But no one did. Instead, the group of overwrought chorus girls entered the dressing room across the hall, which was Sorelli’s. The door slammed hard, but I could still hear their voices clearly.
“No! I’m telling you the truth,” Sorelli insisted.
“But that’s not the way Joseph described his head,” another girl questioned.
Then Meg joined in with her flare for exaggerated storytelling. “That can only mean one thing—he can change his heads the way we change our costumes.”
Oh, Meg, I thought, as my head wagged back and forth. Please don’t make it any worse than it already is.
I was trying to think my way out of that room, since it didn’t have a trapdoor in it, when I heard a strong and demanding voice along with hard knocks on Sorelli’s door.
“Girls! Stop this ridiculous behavior and mind your own business.” The door opened slowly. “You know he doesn’t like to be talked about, so stop this childish lunacy.”
That voice belonged to Madame Giry, and, as she began walking away, Jammes asked, “Madame Giry, how do you know he doesn’t like to be talked about?”
There was silence for a few moments before Madame Giry answered. “It doesn’t matter how I know, but if you keep up your insane chatter it will matter to him—and you.”
I heard her steps leaving and then the door across the hall shut quietly. I cracked open my door in time to see Madame Giry at the end of the empty hall, so I sent my words of appreciation to her.
“Merci, Madame Giry. I can always count on you to look after my interest. Merci.”
She stopped immediately, partially turned, looked in my direction, lowered her head and raised it again, as if to say, you’re welcome, and then continued on her way. I took a breath and closed my eyes, enjoying the momentary and relative quiet. Then I left my hiding place and started for Christine’s room. When I reached the end of the hall, I heard men’s voices coming in my direction, so I moved into the shadows, waiting until they passed.
As they got closer, I heard one of them say, “They’ve called in the police, so someone should wait for them at the side entrance.”
That’s all I needed to hear to get my heart pumping faster. That one word, police, made me think of Oded, and the thought of him made me think of my lasso. I covered my open mouth with my one hand and then looked down at my other
hand, concentrating deeply. Had I removed my lasso from Buquet’s neck before I hung him? I couldn’t remember. I shook my head, as if that would help shake my memory loose. Think!—Think!
If I hadn’t removed it and it was found around that fool’s neck, Oded was sure to see it or hear about it. If that happened, then he would know I was involved, and he wouldn’t leave one brick untouched until he found my lair. What was I to do? I looked toward the passage leading to Christine and then the passage leading to where Joseph was, and I growled low.
I knew Christine needed me, but there was a lot at stake if my lasso was found. But there was also a lot at stake on Christine’s performance. Ultimately, I headed for that dim-witted and troublesome fool. When I was close enough, I could hear men speaking.
“. . . no, don’t touch him. Leave that for the police.”
“It’s not as if he’d be more comfortable if we took him down.”
“You two, stop gawking at him.”
“Come on. Let’s go wait for the police.”
“Ya. He’s not going anywhere.”
I listened to their steps move away, and then I moved closer until I could see Buquet’s body, alone and still hanging where I’d left him. So I moved as quickly as I could, untied the rope, lowered him down, and had to remove the noose from his neck so I could check for my lasso. Then, there it was, and I was so thankful that my mind was working enough to think of it before it was found by someone else.
With my hands shaking, I was still trying to release my lasso when I heard steps approaching. I believe I was holding my breath until my lasso released and I rushed behind a scenery piece. Again there were men’s voices, first gasps and then words.
“I thought you said he was hanging.”
“He was, honestly. When we left him, he was hanging right there from that beam.”
“The rope must have given way.”
“What rope?”
There was silence, and I heard them moving around, so I stepped back farther into a corner. It was then that I realized I still had the rope in my hand, the rope they were looking for. You idiot, I chastised myself.
“Well, I don’t see any rope now.”
“I bet those chorus girls took it. They were unusually interested in this whole affair.”
“Was there any reason why this man would want to take his own life?”
“I don’t know. He hadn’t been here that long.”
“I didn’t know him that well.”
“Neither did I.”
“Do you know if he was hated by anyone?”
About that time, there were many more people appearing and many more questions without answers. I could answer all their questions, but, on that particular day, I was a very quiet ghost. I took all the noise and commotion as my cue to slip away and into one of my passages, where I left the sought-after rope.
Then I faced another decision. I was being pulled toward Christine’s room, but I needed to know what Carlotta was doing. After another agonizing debate with myself, I headed for Carlotta’s room, hoping I wouldn’t find her there. If I did, I honestly didn’t know what I’d do. My mind appeared to be in a scrambled state at that time.
Fortunately, she wasn’t there, and her pitcher of water was partially gone. If she was the one who drank from it, then she was now very ill. That thought alone gave me enough strength to continue.
Without further ado, I started for Christine’s mirror, hoping she wasn’t inside her room and frozen in fear because I wasn’t there. By the time I reached her mirror, she was almost hysterical, and I instantly tried to calm her.
“Christine, I’m here for you.”
“Oh, my angel!” she exclaimed. Quickly, she rose from her dressing chair. “I thought you’d left me to sing on my own.”
Her fearful face made me feel extremely bad, but her words about singing alone answered the one question I hadn’t been able to answer for myself. Gabriel must have taken my suggestion and put her in Carlotta’s place. That was a relief to know.
While trying to breathe normally, I responded, “I would never do that, Christine, and I apologize for my delay.”
Then she turned and looked at the mirror, as she had on several occasions when I hadn’t projected my voice properly. “What’s wrong? You don’t sound right. You don’t sound like my angel.”
How was I going to explain being late or the pain in my voice? It appeared I was caught in my own deception with no way out. While she questioned me, I waited, trying to relax my jaw and throat. As I did, I heard her voice retreating into its former uncertain and frightened condition. Then I swallowed slowly and started my unrehearsed performance to ensure her debut.
“Christine, you need only one thought right now—your performance. I was merely testing you to see if you could do this on your own, but now I see you still need me by your side and that’s where I’ll be for as long as you need me.”
“Do you promise me that?” she came back quickly.
“Yes, that’s a promise, my dear.”
She sighed and faintly smiled while looking down at her fingers twisting the green ribbons of her dressing gown.
But then her head sprung up, her eyes flashed, and she rebuked me harshly. “How dare you! How could you do this to me now? Why would you do this now, when you have to know how important you are to me? How cruel of you to choose this time to test me. Why now? Why today when everything is going wrong? Poor Joseph. Oh, the horror of Joseph. And the ghost—he’s everywhere. How cruel of you. How could you leave me alone—this day of all days?”
She was no longer twisting the ribbons on her gown; she was pulling them so hard that her fingers were turning white. After I recovered from my shock, I had to smile at her. I’d never seen her so angry. If I thought she was beautiful and inviting while enclosed in her soft demeanor, well, what can I say. With her spirited display, my heart began to race, and I wanted nothing more than to grab her in my arms and kiss her passionately. Even to this day, I believe if there hadn’t been that mirror separating us, I would have done just that, without thinking about the pain in my leg or my need for the mask.
Before I could respond to her, I had a battle to fight and win, not to remove the shock from my voice but to remove the lust from my heart. During all the time I’d been with her, I hadn’t once felt that way toward her. I’d felt love, a deep abiding love, but never lust, and I wasn’t certain how to process my feelings or if I wanted to process them. I wanted her in my arms as never before and for an entirely different reason. What was I to do?
That question was answered when I heard her scream at me. “Now you’re not going to answer me! What are you trying to do to me?”
When I registered her pain and tears, I became the angel she needed.
“I realize you think what I did was cruel, but, believe me, Christine, I had no choice in the matter. Someday you’ll understand and appreciate what I’m doing for you this day and why, even though you can’t grasp everything right now.
“I need you to forget what has happened and concentrate on the night ahead of us. I’d like you to step outside your room and count to twenty. Then you need to come back in as if it was for the first time this evening. When you do, we can go through your warm-ups and have a short rehearsal before you get dressed and into makeup.”
She was still quite angry with me, and the tightness in her jaw was telling me just how angry she was, so my words had to be convincing and calming.
“Christine, this is your night to shine. You’ve prepared well, and I know you’ll be perfect in every regard. The stage will be yours to command with no interference from anyone.”
At those words, she once again turned quickly toward the mirror, which was making me uncomfortable. I suppose it was a normal enough reaction on her part, considering I was always telling her to face the mirror. But there was a look in her eyes that still made me feel anxious.
“How did you know Carlotta was going to take sick today? How could you know that?”
“Don’t forget who I am, Christine. I’m your Angel of Music, and it’s your voice alone that has been entrusted to me to guide and to protect. So stop questioning how and why, but simply trust me, and I won’t let you down. Now stop talking and concentrate. We don’t have much time left. Go outside and count to twenty.”
She turned slowly and headed for the door and my hand readied on the latch. Just as soon as the door closed, I released the latch and limped inside her room. I placed the blue box on her table right in front of the vase holding the two red roses, and then, as quickly as my leg would allow, I was back behind the mirror and it was closing. Her door opened, and when she walked in, she leaned back against the door and asked if I was there. I actually chuckled, not expecting her to take my words so literally. She looked quickly at the mirror, and, after calling myself stupid, I threw my voice to the opposite end of the room.
“Now, start your warm-up, and let this night of all nights begin.”
After only a moment’s hesitation, she did as I asked and began her vocal exercises. I only momentarily took her to the beach in Perros, just enough to calm her and help her concentrate. While she was there, I used all the encouraging words I’d been using for weeks with her. I told her I would be right there beside her even though she couldn’t see me or hear me. Then I closed my eyes and slumped back against the wall, allowing myself to feel my weakness and my pain, while not giving into it completely.
Once she was warmed up sufficiently, I had her practice only small parts of her pieces, since I wanted her to save her voice for the actual performance. I talked to her for a few minutes about how to take herself into the different characters, and then I released her.
“Call in your wardrobe mistress, and I’ll be waiting for you once you’re on stage.”
As she sat down at her dressing table, she took a nervous and deep breath, and then asked one more time, “Are you sure I’m ready for this?”
I smiled. “You’re a star, Christine. You know it, I know it, and in a few hours all of Paris will also know it.”
Through Phantom Eyes: Volume Five - Christine Page 11