Chapter 16: Never to Part Again

Good-By in fear, good-by in sorrow,
good-by, and all in vain,
never to meet again, my dear —
never to part again.
Good-by to-day, good-by to-morrow,
good-by till earth shall wane,
never to meet again, my dear —
never to part again.
{ci}"Good-By" by Christina Georgina Rossetti (1837-1895) from "A Victorian Anthology," Edmund Clarence Stedman, Editor 1895

Christine acted almost as if she were in a trance. Upon completing her lament for her father, she quietly returned to the circle of Erik's embrace. He trembled slightly as she pushed her body tightly against his and Erik had to lean forward a bit so she would not press into the part of him that would show her just how much he desired her. He longed to take her, there and then. His body, while virginal, knew something and as the heart wants what the heart wants¹ so too, did his body it seemed. He sighed and felt both their bodies tremble at the same time.

"Are we that much in tune to one another? I never thought to find someone that could bear to keep company with me. And now, I find someone whose heart seems to follow the beat of the same drummer as mine. This is quite astonishing!" He mused.

He waited silently not wishing to push her into speaking before she was ready. The silence was deep, but not awkward and he relished how comfortable they were with one another. He especially appreciated the feeling of her in his arms. He would thank God every day for the remainder of his life for allowing him these moments. He leaned forward enough to rest his right cheek onto her shoulder and placed a light kiss on the side of her throat.

"Raoul said you used to sing when he knew you as a child. He brags how your voice competes with those of the angels and I would roll my eyes, thinking how he must exaggerate your talent. I am humbled, my love, truly humbled. My only wish is that I may someday hear you raise your voice in joy, not sorrow."

She tilted her face towards his and stared at him with confused eyes.

"Sing? Oh, I could not possibly sing, Erik. I have not sung a single note since my Papa died. Just the thought of singing fills me with pain."

"She has no idea that she just sang. I will not force the truth upon her. Her psyche is more fragile than I ever would have guessed. She seems so resilient, so strong."

"Christine, was there no one else living in the house with you and your father?"

"No, it was just the two of us. We could not afford servants. Those last months, we could barely afford the rent, food or medicine, much less the expense of servants. We needed very little and taking care of Papa helped me forget just how dire our situation truly was. Once Papa realized he was dying, he sent a letter to Madame Giry asking her to come as quickly as possible. She arrived two days later..."

"Wait! Are you saying that you were alone with your father for two days before someone found the two of you?"

She gave a silent nod, not able to meet his eyes.

"Oh my God! How old were you?" His voice choked with emotion, a harsh murmur.

"I was eight years old." She replied, her voice a ghostly whisper.

She cleared her throat.

"I do not really remember anything after lying down next to my Papa on the bed and singing to him, except for wishing that I could die. I wanted so to be with him. I felt so lost, so alone and so very cold. When next my mind became clear, I was standing at Madame's side holding her hand. She nodded her head to me and I remember throwing the crocus I picked for him into the darkness. The bruised and withered flower became my final offering to my father's grave.

"My next memory is of someone jostling me and bowling me over flat at a train station. He was very large and most likely never saw me. I could barely see his face; his belly blocked his features from my view as I sat on the train platform looking up at him. And then, I remember Madame showing me my room for the first time. I may have been ill when I first arrived at the opera house, as Madame made me stay in bed for a long time. When she finally allowed me to leave my bed, she tried to coax me into trying out for the chorus or the ballet. I steadfastly refused. I sang only for my Papa and with him gone, I had no reason to sing again. Since I did not belong to either the chorus or the ballet corps, I did not fit in or receive the protection of either group of girls. Only Meg and Madame provided me with their somewhat limited protection.

"There is only one other person in the entire opera house that has been kind to me. He is the Master of the Flies, Joseph Buquet. He taught me how to navigate the catwalks and how to find my way through the maze of passageways backstage. Joseph often invites me to his home to share supper with his wife and him. His wife gives me her hand-me-down clothes, although they are too large for me. I am a passable seamstress and alter the clothes to fit me. In a way, it is due to the things Joseph taught me that I earned my reputation as the opera ghost. I am quite adept at moving through the opera house.

"Oh! Do not look at me so. I do not wear clothing such as this. I wear breeches. Yes, now you may look shocked. I wear breeches. You can hardly expect me to wear a corset and petticoats up in the flies. That would be indecent, not to mention impractical and dangerous!

"Anyway, I truly enjoyed sitting up in the rafters and watching the ballet rats practice. Sometimes, when I wanted to play practical jokes on them, I wrote notes in blood red ink, which criticized their performances and dropped them from the flies to the stage. At first, Madame became quite cross with me. However, as time went on she realized that my appraisals of the girls' dancing and singing were accurate. Sometimes she would ask me to include her criticisms in my notes. But, that was before they discovered my secret. The ballet rats were terrified when they truly believed in a spectral phantom or opera ghost. Of course, nothing lasts forever and Meg gave me away. She did not mean to do it. Meg simply cannot keep a secret.