Chapter 29: Where Everything Is Music

Don't worry about saving these songs!
And if one of our instruments breaks,
it doesn't matter.

We have fallen into the place
where everything is music.

The strumming and the flute notes
rise into the atmosphere,
and even if the whole world's harp
should burn up, there will still be
hidden instruments playing.

So the candle flickers and goes out.
We have a piece of flint, and a spark.

This singing art is sea foam.
The graceful movements come from a pearl
somewhere on the ocean floor.

Poems reach up like spindrift and the edge
of driftwood along the beach, wanting!

They derive
from a slow and powerful root
that we can't see.

Stop the words now.
Open the window in the center of your chest,
and let the spirits fly in and out.

"Where Everything Is Music" by Jalaluddin Rumi (1207-1273)

"Wait! What do you mean that you will return to the stage again?"

Her eyes met his with a look of honest confusion. Her look caused the sudden and unreasonable anger that swelled in his chest and threatened to take over his mind to subside. Her innocence acted as a soothing balm on his soul and healed the hurt that caused his anger in the first place.

"Erik? What is wrong?"

Her voice wavered as she hesitantly met his burning eyes. He frowned as he noticed that her lower lip trembled slightly. He closed his eyes, embarrassed by his irrational reaction and lowered his head. He shook his head and decided to try again. This time he would control his foolish temper.

"Ma chère, I did not realize you had performed on the stage. It must have been long ago for Mademoiselle Giry and Monsieur de Chagney informed me that you have never performed at the Opera Populaire. I take it you performed when you, well, with you ... I take it you performed before you came to live at the opera house."

He finished weakly as he opened his eyes and raised his face to hers. Unshed tears made her eyes glisten and sparkle in the flickering candlelight.

"Yes, I was very young when I first sang on the stage. I believe I was but four years of age. I seem to remember singing, "Ave Maria" by Shubert. My Papa played his violin and I stood next to him. The one thing I remember about that performance was how surprised I was at the end of the song. The limelights blinded me during the performance and prevented me from seeing the audience. When the song ended and the auditorium erupted with applause, it stunned me to see all of those people. At first, I was frightened, but then I felt intrigued by their reaction. Papa said that a person playing an instrument or singing a song holds complete power over their audience. The power to make them feel the way we want them to feel. Happiness ... sadness ... regret ... love ... hate ... fear, Papa said that a truly talented vocalist could cause their audience to experience any emotion they wished. My Papa taught me to sing, but it has been many years since I trained with him. It has been many years since I could hear the music. When Papa died, I could no longer hear the music and I could no longer sing.

He took her hand in his and kissed it gently.

"You need not speak of it if it is too painful..."

She quietly silenced his words with a determined shake of her head.

"No, I am the opera ghost no longer. I am through with mourning my father's death and I have promises to keep. While I have not thought this through, I believe I have honored at least one of my oaths to my Angel of Music by marrying you, Erik."

Her face flushed and she stumbled over her words as she rushed to speak them.

"However, my promise is not the reason I married you, Erik. You do know that, do you not? I married you because I love you!"

Their eyes met and she sighed as she realized he had no doubts as to her feelings for him, so she continued.

"Words are a feeble tool and will never be able to truly express how happy I am that we are married. I do not think a day shall pass that I will not say a prayer of thanks."

She tilted her head until she caught both his eyes and was certain she had his full attention. She lifted her free hand to his face where it freely roamed in a loving caress. Both of their eyes drifted closed as they savored the swell of passion the gesture evoked. He dipped his lips to hers and they enjoyed the simple pleasure for a time before she drew back with a sad smile.

"Now, all that remains of my duty to my Angel is the fulfillment of my pledge to perform. I wish to celebrate my Papa's life. Music was his life, our life. Returning to the stage is the best way to share my Papa's legacy. Yet, I have not used my instrument in many years and I need to begin training my voice before I can think about auditioning. I will speak with Madame Giry on the morrow when we return to the opera house to collect my things. She may know of a vocal tutor in need of a student."

She paused and her eyes searched her husband's face. His continued silence caused her brows to furrow in consternation.

"Erik? What is it?"

He shook his head as he made to voice his denial of anything being wrong, but she silenced him with a loving finger pressed to his lips.

"No. Do not deny that something troubles you. I can see it in your eyes. Feel it in the tenseness of your body. Please? Mon amour, do not keep secrets from me. I keep nothing from you. Please honor me with the same forthrightness."

He gently pressed a kiss to her finger before removing it from his lips.

"Oh, Christine! My own insecurities continue to haunt me. And, I must admit that the thought of you spending time with a vocal tutor caused me to feel jealous. I do understand the need, but my heart rails against the thought. You must simply allow me a little time to become accustomed to the idea. I do trust you, Christine. Never doubt that. I simply know that were I in the position of being your tutor, I would not be able to resist you."