Chapter 25: The Golden Road to Samarkand

HASSAN:
Sweet to ride forth at evening from the wells,
When shadows pass gigantic on the sand,
And softly through the silence beat the bells
Along the Golden Road to Samarkand.

ISHAK:
We travel not for trafficking alone;
By hotter winds, our fiery hearts are fanned:
For lust of knowing what should not be known
We take the Golden Road to Samarkand.

MASTER OF THE CARAVAN:
Open the gate, O watchman of the night!

THE WATCHMAN:
Ho, travelers, I open. For what land
Leave you the dim-moon city of delight?

MERCHANTS:
(with a shout)
We take the Golden Road to Samarkand!

(The Caravan passes through the gate.)

THE WATCHMAN:
(consoling the women)
What would ye, ladies? It was ever thus.
Men are unwise and curiously planned.

A WOMAN:
They have their dreams, and do not think of us.

VOICES OF THE CARAVAN:
(in the distance singing)
We take the Golden Road to Samarkand.

"The Golden Road to Samarkand" by James Elroy Flecker (1884-1915)

His mind raced in turmoil as he attempted to sort through the events of the last 30 hours. He could scarcely believe that in that short amount of time, he literally, met the woman of his dreams and asked her to be his wife. His thoughts even more confounded by the fact she accepted his proposal.

"Nay, she did not simply accept my proposal, she happily accepted my proposal. And, the most incredible thing, she accepted my face. She did not stare, flinch or turn away in disgust from me. She allowed me to kiss her and she returned my kisses with glad enthusiasm. Do I dare think it? Yes! She kissed and caressed me with real passion. She wants me, just as I want her. It is amazing!"

Slowly, a plan began to take shape and he smiled.

"This will take a bit of doing, but I do believe it will work. In the morning, I shall need to call in some favors. Very well, now, what do I need? A carriage, flowers, music..."

At length, he relaxed, closed his eyes and fell asleep with a satisfied smile curling his lips.

Christine awoke. She smiled and stretched, then suddenly frowned and gasped. She felt a body next to her in her bed. Her eyes flew open, only to find Meg sleeping peacefully beside her.

"Thank God! For a moment, I thought it was..."

Her thought cut short as Meg's eyes fluttered open and the girl squealed with excitement.

"Oh, Christine, I did not dream it! You really did come in last night and tell me of Monsieur Destler's declaration of love. You truly did! Oh, everything is so perfect for you. I only wish such a perfect solution would present itself for Raoul and me..."

Her eyes became sad and distant as her words trailed away into silence.

"I wish..."

Christine interrupted her friend.

"Meg, you must have faith. All will be well between you and Raoul. I just know it. You must believe in love and it will not forsake you. If it were not for my Papa's promise to me, well, who knows? I most likely would not be in the happy situation I now find myself. I would be alone and lonely, so have faith, where there is life, there is hope."

"I hope you are right. Maman spoke with me last night. She told me that she trusts me, but she also knows that sometimes passion carries even the most serious minded persons into forgetfulness. She knows that Raoul and I have not crossed over the boundaries of propriety. Her words were soft and quiet. I can almost believe that she knows how Raoul and I feel for one another as she told me that she would not forbid me from seeing him. Is that not wonderful?"

The petite ballerina smiled at her friend.

"That is indeed wonderful, Meg. At least, now if Raoul pays you a visit this morning you shall not need to worry about your mother chasing him from the opera house while threatening him with her cane."

The two girls hugged one another tightly and erupted into fits of uncontrolled giggles at the thought of Meg's dignified mother running after Raoul while brandishing her cane at him.

"I simply cannot picture a more frighteningly funny sight." Meg moaned at last.

"No. I cannot either." Christine gasped in between bouts of laughter. "Poor Raoul, the dignified young Vicomte finds himself undone by a ballet mistress wielding a cane."

"Well, I would like to believe that if he is undone by anyone, it would be me that caused his undoing." Meg smirked.

"Oh, Meg, you are so wicked!" Christine huffed. "But, enough of this foolishness! We must hurry and dress or you shall be late for practice and I shall be late in reporting to your Maman and Monsieur Reyer. I do believe today is bound to be a long one as I am most impatient for the evening to arrive, so I may once again enjoy Erik's company."

Christine sighed wistfully and Meg rolled her eyes at her friend's dreamy expression.

"Oh, Christine, you have fallen hard for Monsieur Destler. I never thought to see the day, but you are smitten and it is wondrous to behold."

The dark haired beauty made no reply, but jumped from Meg's bed. Without a backward glance, she dashed out the door and ran to her bedroom to prepare for the day.

As she had feared, the day dragged by at a painfully slow pace for the young woman. As a new opera was in the production stage, Madame Giry and Monsieur Reyer both needed her to run errands and arrange paperwork for them.

"At least I am being kept busy. I would have found my nerves completely unraveled by the time Erik arrived this evening if I had nothing to keep me occupied today."

The one highlight of her day was watching Meg and Raoul reunite. Christine struggled not to laugh hysterically at the normally dapper Raoul as he awkwardly attempted to regain Madame's favor. Christine secretly believed that Madame had already decided that Raoul's intentions towards Meg were honorable, but Madame simply wished to make the young Vicomte squirm. In Christine's opinion, Madame succeeded admirably as she watched the nervous pair stammer and stutter for a quarter of an hour before Madame finally relented and allowed Meg and Raoul to depart the opera house for luncheon. Christine was almost certain she had seen a wry smile on Madame's face as the pair rushed from Madame's presence.

Christine, as was her usual habit, had spent her mealtime alone in the second cellar. When she finished her meager meal, she worked at crafting the piece of obsidian into a usable blade. She had found a large, thick piece of leather dyed an unusual shade of turquoise. After removing a few misshapen nodules from the hilt, she thoroughly soaked the leather in water then began cutting the material into long, quarter inch strips, which she then returned to the water. Once she decided she had enough strips to create the hilt, she began to wind the leather tightly about the stone. She occasionally stopped and hefted the homemade knife in her hand and gripped the newly formed hilt in her hand. Once she arrived at a comfortable thickness for her hand's grip, she bound the final strip of leather and tucked the knot beneath the neighboring strips of material.

"Well, that's enough for today. Feels fairly good in the palm of my hand and looks fairly nice. Better get back to work!"

She sighed, returned the stone to the top drawer of her dresser in her bedroom and returned to help Monsieur Reyer sort through copies of the latest opera's libretto.