Chapter 30: The Sounds of Silence

Hello darkness my old friend,
I've come to talk with you again,
Because a vision softly in creeping,
Left its seeds while I was sleeping,
And the vision
That was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence.

"The Sounds of Silence" from "Wednesday Morning, 3AM" by Simon and Garfunkel © 1964, Columbia Records¹

Erik numbly allowed Christine to pull him to the front door of the small house. The pain quickly grew to an unbearable crescendo within his head. He stumbled and placed his free hand to his forehead. His near fall broke the spell that held Christine in its thrall. She turned to him and as she noticed his pallor, she cried out.

"Oh! Erik! Are you unwell? Here stop, please, sit."

She led him to a bench next to the front door of the house and helped him to sit there.

"What is wrong with you? Is there anything I can do to help you?"

The man moaned, lowered his head and rubbed his forehead even more vigorously than before.

"The music," he gasped. "Please! Make it stop! It is killing me!"

Confusion swept across her features.

"How could the music of my angel hurt him?" She thought for a moment, her eyes searching her husband's taut features. "He is resisting the music. Something about it angers him, but what?"

Erik groaned and Christine's silent contemplation abruptly ended, rapidly replaced with a fierce determination.

"It does not matter why, he needs it to stop. So, I must cease my silly ruminations and do something to help him!"

She nodded her understanding, although she knew her husband could not see it. She released his hand and strode determinedly to the front door of the house. She stood before the door with her jaw clenched, shoulders squared and her hands on her hips as she loudly called out to her Angel.

"Angel? Please stop! Come out! Please? You are hurting him. Please stop hurting him! Stop it now! Angel, he is my husband and I love him. Without him, I will not be able to hear the music. Can you hear me? Papa? Angel?"

Her words trailed away into a frightened whimper as she glanced towards Erik who sat slumped against the wall of the house. He held his head in both hands now. Suddenly, the man lurched forward and collapsed on the ground where he writhed for a moment before unconsciousness claimed him. The young woman's reaction was immediate and swift. She ran to her husband's side and lifted him into her careful embrace. She gently stroked his face as tears streamed down her cheeks.

"ANGEL!" She screamed.

And, then she found only the sound of silence, blessed silence.

"So, today is the day we shall see whether the young man is his own man or not. For my Meg's sake, he had best be true. I know not what I shall do if he breaks her heart."

The ballet mistress pounded out the rhythm of the dance as she oversaw the rehearsal for the latest production. Her thoughts sounded louder in her head than the orchestra below her in the pit. Her brows deeply furrowed with worry.

"I must remember to thank Monsieur Destler. His impetuous marriage to Christine provided the young Vicomte with the necessary courage to confront his parents over his intentions to ask for Meg's hand. Those two are such a strange pair. The boy is all fire and emotion and Erik is still, deep water and intellect. They are opposite sides of the coin, but still they are the same coin. They provide one another with the facets the other lacks, a perfect complement of personalities."

She paused to consult the timepiece she had pinned to her bodice.

"Four o'clock. The boy will arrive in an hour or so, but I thought Erik and Christine planned to come here about Noon today. Hmmm ... Newlyweds!" She smirked. "Well, it seems that Meg shall have to wait another day before she can gossip with Christine about her wedding night. Lord! That girl and her curiosity, it shall be the death of me yet! Monsieur le Vicomte best arrive with a proposal of marriage or my girl's heart will burst. I can only hope that he fears my cane more than he fears his parents."

Her thoughts suddenly interrupted as a misstep caught her attention.

"Jammes, a ballerina pirouettes with her leg in passé. In other forms of dance, it may be acceptable to pirouette with your bent leg facing front, in ballet the execution of a proper pirouette requires your bent leg's position be off to the side. The position one takes in a correct passé. Would you like to spend an extra hour after rehearsal practicing this move? Or, if you prefer, you may demonstrate before the company your ability to perform this move now. However, if I judge your execution as lacking in any way, you shall have two extra hours of practice. Which option do you prefer, Mademoiselle?"

The gangly, freckle-faced girl's complexion paled and she stammered with obvious embarrassment.

"My apologies, Madame Giry, I prefer to practice an extra hour and I shall do my best not to make the same mistake again."

The stern woman nodded her head and then whipped around to face the company's prima ballerina.

"Sorelli! Do you find Jammes' predicament amusing? Perhaps, a lesson in humility is in order. Please, step center stage. I believe a demonstration of your strength, stamina and technique is in order. Can you perform a fouetté en tournant?"

The young woman's eyes flashed and she cast a disdainful glance at the ballet mistress.

"Of course, how could I hold the position of prima ballerina if I could not?"

Madame Giry nodded her head, agreeing with the dancer's statement and smirked.

"Well, perhaps, Mademoiselle has heard of the ballet, "Cinderella," being performed by the Imperial Ballet of Saint Petersburg?"

The smile on her face faltered as Sorelli realized her ego just earned her a dressing down in front of the entire ballet corps and she made her almost inaudible reply.