Chapter 23: The Paradigm

We here and that man, this man,
and that other in-between,
and that woman, this woman,
and that other, whoever,

those people, and these,
and these others in-between,
this thing, that thing,
and this other in-between, whichever,

all things dying, these things,
those things, those others in-between,
good things, bad things,
things that were, that will be,

being all of them,
he stands there.

"The Paradigm" by Nammalwar (880—930 A.D.)

"We need to talk, somewhere private." She paused, thinking. "I know just the place. Come with me."

She held out her hand to the man as if to lead him, but instead, he returned the stone to her. Christine considered the stone in her hand for a moment and then raised her eyes to Erik. The man took a step back in surprise. The woman gazing at him suddenly seemed taller and older, more aloof and withdrawn. Erik caught just the briefest glimpse of sadness in her eyes before coldness veiled her gaze.

"Would you like to see one of the reasons the ballet rats believed me a ghost?"

The slight, devilish sneer with which she spoke caused Erik to feel apprehensive about his fiancée's seemingly innocent inquiry. Attempting to keep the tone of their conversation light, he teased.

"You do not plan on making yourself disappear, do you, my dear?"

She allowed herself to give her head just the slightest of shakes while she looked up at him through her thick, dark eyelashes. She threw her cloak back off her shoulders and rolled up the sleeve of her shirt as she spoke.

"No, I do not plan on disappearing. Although, I should warn you, I am quite capable of accomplishing such a feat, but I would only do so if you wished for me to do it. However, I thought I might begin with something just a wee bit smaller. Oh, say, perhaps, this?"

She hefted the stone in the palm of her hand into the air and carefully caught it. Without waiting for his reply, she held the stone before her in her right hand. She waved her left hand over it, fluttering her fingers in an elegant pantomime of sprinkling something upon the stone. She arched a playful eyebrow at him.

"It needed just a wee pinch of faerie magic, but I think that should do it. Now, watch carefully and be sure not to blink or you may miss it."

Erik concentrated on keeping his eyes on the stone, as he was familiar with the concepts of misdirection and sleight of hand. Slowly, Christine began to rock her hand back and forth, causing the stone to begin an awkward roll across the palm of her hand. The woman, deciding the stone had sufficient momentum, allowed it to roll over the heel of her palm, along the inside of her wrist and down the inside of her forearm. As soon as the stone met the bent, inside crook of her elbow, she quickly straightened her arm, which seemed to catapult the stone into the air. Erik looked up and then back at Christine, but the stone was nowhere in sight.

"How..." The man stammered in his astonishment.

The woman before him flashed him a look of smug satisfaction.

"A true magician never tells their secrets. It ruins the magic. Now, let me see if I can find where that troublesome piece of obsidian went." She patted her pockets and muttered, "No, not there."

She looked about on the floor. "No, not there either."

She rolled her head in a comical gesture and stared expectantly up at the ceiling. After a moment of silence, she lifted her shoulders in a shrug and grinned.

"Guess not. Not even I can defy the law of gravity for this length of time."

Finally, she brought her eyes to Erik. Her appraising eyes raked over him from head to toe. She smirked naughtily.

"Monsieur Destler, I do believe your trousers appear over-burdened. I am not causing you any undue distress, am I?"

Her voice turned low and velvety smooth, almost a purr that caused the hairs to stand up on the back of Erik's neck. Running her tongue along her bottom lip, Christine's hand darted out. Before Erik could give voice to his protest, her deft fingers dipped to the waistband of his trousers and she pulled the stone from the front of them. A shudder passed through the man's body. His voice trembled.

"Oh, Christine! You should not entice me so! You play at being the tantalizing temptress, but I do not believe you truly realize what you do. Please! Woman, do you truly understand the fire with which you so casually play?"

She did not answer him. Christine simply continued to smirk at the man for a moment then held out her hand to him. He stared at her hand and wondered when she had replaced the black gloves that once again encased her dexterous digits. The man placed his large hand in the woman's small one and she led him from the chapel.

She led him swiftly through the halls and corridors of the dimly lit opera house. Their path seemed to lead them higher and higher. As they passed a rack of costumes, Christine paused and released Erik's hand. She selected two heavy, fur-lined, winter cloaks and indicated that Erik should do the same. When he made no move towards the rack, she groaned.

"Come, Erik. We are only borrowing them! It is very cold on the roof. Believe me; you will thank me for it later."

Hastily pulling two larger cloaks from the rack, he hurried after the shadowy form moving soundlessly ahead of him.

"Why are we going to the roof? Surely, there must be someplace warmer we could go?"

Erik peered into the shadows, as he strained to catch a glimpse of Christine who had disappeared from view. And then, her disembodied voice surrounded him.

"Surely warmer, well, yes, of a certainty there are other places, but none of them is for me, Erik. The roof is my only refuge. The place I go to seek peace and solitude. It is the only place of light where I feel welcome. And, the only place no one will interrupt us at this time of night. Please? Come with me, Erik."

Finally, her icy demeanor thawed and the man caught a glimpse of the warm, passionate woman he had held in his arms at the park that afternoon.

"Of course I will come with you, Christine. I can deny you nothing."

And the two continued their journey in silence.

Once the pair had comfortably ensconced themselves in the nook beneath Apollo's lyre, Erik fought down his rising desire to take Christine in his arms and make her completely his.

"I feel so strange, so alive and so wild. She instills in me such passion, as I never thought to experience. She is such a confusing mix of vixen and virgin. I cannot fathom where the truth lies, although I am certain that it most likely lies more towards virgin. She tears off my mask of civility without any effort, leaving me trembling in frustration. I know that she does not purposefully do this to me for I feel that I have the same effect upon her."

The man's thoughts ground quickly to a halt by the woman's quiet words.

"Erik, something happened to me this evening. Something that I would not believe if I were to hear someone else tell of this. Something, that should I hear the words fall from another's lips, I would believe them mad."

She lifted her hand and seemingly plucked the piece of obsidian from the thin air.