The Secret Diary - Part V
The years passed by. One day - when I usually went to box no. 5 to put the new programme in there - I was very surprised to hear his voice all of a sudden. He used to stay in the dark somewhere around without saying a word unless I started a conversation of my own. And actually, I seldom did.
"Madame?" His voice sounded thoughtful.
"Monsieur?" I stopped moving and turned to the dark nothing which I thought his voice came from.
"Have I ever thanked you for all your help during the past years?" Sometimes I was astonished how friendly and well-disposed he could behaviour.
"No need for it, Monsieur. As you said: You'll always return your favours - and you always did", I answered with an unintended smile.
"A productive co-operation, n'est-ce pas?" In his voice I could hear a soft smile too. "By the way, Madame: I watched your daughter at the rehearse today. She's getting better and better each day. I think she's got a very good teacher."
It was the very first time I received a compliment coming from him. "Thank you very much, Monsieur, but I'm nothing more than the average."
"Do not be modest, chère Madame!" He laughed, and this was probably the first moment where I suddenly understood that a voice could be a powerful weapon.
I have always admired his voice - it was more than admiration, a feeling beyond any description - but as he did not talked very much to me I never could get used to it. But to be honest, my cherished daughter, I knew with an uncertain impression inside of me that his heavenly voice could make someone addicted if he would have let it happen. In my whole lifetime I have never again heard such an instrument of both heaven and hell, and since I have heard it the last time up to this moment now I missed its unbelievable amazing sound. I never wanted to admit it, but it is the truth...
"But Madame, just one thing: She could be better if you'd let her to."
"Pardon, Monsieur?" I was too surprised to say anything else.
"I don't like to talk round the subject, we both know why your daughter was promoted to a solo-dancer. She is indeed a good ballerina, but not really much better than all the other little girls from the corps de ballet", he answered businesslike. "Madame, listen: I know of your late husband, but don't let your daughter be affected by your mourn. She could be a very charming dancer unless you'd drag her into your grief."
Deep inside myself I have often had the feeling to force you, my daughter, to a sorrow that you could not have felt, just because you have never known your father as good as I did. I have loved him with every beat of my heart, and I will love him until the hour of my death, but not so you. A young, cute girl at the perfect age should not see the life as a long way covered with harm and grief, but as a bright journey full of love and happiness.
I knew very well that Erik was right. He - experienced in pain that was caused him already at a very early age - felt that I made a big mistake when I tried to remind you continuously of your late father. Although he perpetrated unforgivable crimes, he still had a well-developed sense of justice - and he recognised that I was about to commit a crime - a crime against your youth and your faith in this world.
"Monsieur, you must know, I still love him", I answered helplessly wondering why I told him all this.
"Yes, I know, I know..." His voice was really pitying - such incredibly full of understanding and sorrow that I was next to be startled. "It is inhumanly hard to lose a beloved one, but at least you could experience such a wonderful love, Madame."
"But it was too short, so short. I started loving him even more with each day we were together - and suddenly... It wasn't fair, oh Lord, it wasn't fair!" Tears ran down my cheeks and dropped on the earth.
"I would give my life for a single moment experiencing this kind of love", he suddenly said. I was surprised about this confession that turned a dangerous phantom into a human being.
"I'm very sorry for you", I said not knowing what do answer else. It was just the truth - a truth impossible to find words for.
For a few minutes melancholy silence reigned. Then he said: "I must go again, Madame. And don't forget what I said before: Let your daughter be happy."
"I will, Monsieur - thank you." I did not want him to go, but I did not dare neither to ask him to stay and help me with my grief.
"No need to thank", he answered. And as soon as I did not hear anything again I knew he was gone. I sighed and then I left the box too - Erik in my mind and Jules in my heart.
Part IV - 1881
I can remember that at least six years must have passed by up to this one day when a policeman suddenly arrived at our opera-house after a performance. Then I got to know that one of the cleaning women found Joseph Bouquet, one of our stagehands, in the third cellar - hung. The agent de police asked a few questions until he decided that poor Bouquet has committed suicide.
I was really thunderstruck when hearing this terrifying news. I did not know him very well, but at least well enough to understand that a man like Joseph Bouquet would never have committed suicide. Not in a normal situation...
When the police disappeared again I looked for a quiet place to be able to consider this unfortunate - and strange - "coincidence" as one of our directors called this. If his death was not caused by himself (as I thought), by whom else? Did he have any enemies? And what reason could someone had to kill a man like Bouquet? He had never been unfriendly, always working hard, doing a good job - the only vice was his curiosity. And he was always talking too much about things beyond his concern...
All at once I realised what the situation was! Oh dear, his curiosity! Oh sweet Meg, you know, I have always told him not to talk that thoughtlessly about everything to everybody. Sometimes it is just better to be quiet - better and safer. I have wondered why he has known that much about the way how Erik was looking like. (I remember his detailed description he gave you little ballerinas some time ago...)
Oh Lord, he must have seen him with his own eyes. And perhaps he has wanted to find Erik's secret hiding-place in those mysterious subterranean... Suddenly I began to tremble. He has known about Erik's existence - and he have had to die. Oh, I remember very well this look I recognised in his eyes that many years ago. This terrifying look craving for murder, full of hate and wrath. A look gloomier than the darkest night and more dreadfully than the devil's one.
Oh my darling Meg, never in my whole lifetime I have sensed such an endless fear. I was trembling all over, felt cold sweat on my forehead and could not think clearly anymore. He has killed Bouquet - who would now be the next one?
I did not fear my death, I feared for your life, dearest daughter. He knew you were - and are - the most precious treasure in my life - you are my life! And if he would ever harm you...
All at once I jumped up. I had to flee with you far, far away from this sinister man with his hateful eyes and all his danger.
Suddenly I heard a voice behind asking: "Madame?"
Still frightened I turned around and looked straight in the face of a stranger. I have never seen him before and I thought he had to come from somewhere abroad. He looked like a Persian and must have been quite old or at least he looked like it - although his voice was not the voice of an old man, there was not any youth in his eyes anymore. As if someone has smothered his flame of light.
He looked somehow sad and very, very tired. And I felt a great pity for him even without knowing why.
"Oui, Monsieur?" I asked and tried to suppress the fear that has overcome me before.
"Madame Giry, if I'm not mistaken?" He bowed slightly.
"Yes, that's me. How do you know?"
"Someone from the corps de ballet told me I can find you somewhere around here", he answered, and I guess this someone must have been you, sweet Meg, am I right? "Just call me Nadir, chère Madame."
I was surprised. Who was this, and what did he want from me? "Monsieur, how can I help you?" I asked reserved.
"You are the ballet-mistress here, aren't you?"
I nodded without saying a word. I did not understand why he was here - and moreover why he asked me those questions.
"And responsible for the boxes?"
Again I nodded. "Are you from the police?" I asked finally.
He laughed, but it was not a happy laughter at all. It was full of sadness and bitterness. "Oh, no, Madame, not anymore. I've been once, but not in this country", he answered, but I could not understand the meaning of these miraculous words.
"Listen, I know I'm annoying you and I know you've better things to do than to answer such stupid questions, but I only need to get a few more answers. Will you help me?"
"How can I help you?" I knew that my voice was full of scepticism and rejection, but I was unable to avoid these feelings.
"How much do you know about the... ghost in this opera-house here?"
"Ghost?" I replied and felt a strange taste in my mouth. My voice sounded husky.
"Yes... call it the Opera Ghost, the Phantom of the Opera or just..." He paused for a second and a penetrating look from his dark, black eyes met mine. "... Erik!"
When I head this name I opened my mouth but no sound crossed my lips, the words froze on my lips and I solely stared at him with immense surprise - and great dismay.
"Erik?" This was the only word that finally passed by lips. I was not able to think clearly, I could not move. I wonder how I could manage breathing. How did he know - and... "Who the hell are you?!" I screamed and was shocked by my own trembling voice.
He nodded slowly and a strange smile - a sad smile - appeared in his face. "I was quite sure that you know him", he said. "Please, Madame, let's go outside. I think these walls have to many eyes - and ears."
I followed him like a puppet on a string its master, not because I wanted to follow, just because I was unable to react in another way.
When we both were standing there in the black night in front of the main-entrance of the opera-house I felt a cold wind breezing over Paris, although not even a leaf was moving. It seemed to me as if whole Paris held its breath waiting for the great bang. No stars shone up in the sky, not even the moon showed itself. The silence that reigned was oppressive and the fear whispered faint words into my ears. I felt lonely, scared and suddenly I wanted nothing more than to feel Jules' arms around me holding me tight and protecting me from the world outside.
But there was not my love, just a strange man next to me and a murderer around.
"I suppose I owe you some answers", the stranger said in this moment. I just nodded.
"Well, it all began many years ago..." And then he told me about his first meeting with Erik in Nischni Nowgorod in the year 1850, about the part he himself played in this unbelievable story, about the Khanum of Ashraf and her selfish wish that made him - Nadir - involved in this tragedy, and about Erik's appearance and influence in his home-country. (I could tell you the whole, sad story, darling Meg, but as I feel my end crawling nearer I have to go on... no time to lose...)
When he finished I looked at him and felt a strange kind of closeness running through my mind. Both we were involved without a guilt - it was just like being at the wrong time on the wrong place. And the more we wanted to get out of the mud of misery the more we got captured in it. It was a vicious circle without an end. And in-between there was always - Erik.
"Why did you risk your life to save him then?" I asked with a low voice - I feared that someone could hear our conversation.
He looked at me with a helpless expression in his eyes. "Oh, Madame, I don't know - I really don't know!"
I smiled sadly. "It was because of your son Reza, wasn't it? And the way Erik behaved in his presence."
"Yes... I loved Reza with every fibre of my mind and my heart - and I still do. And when he - Erik - talked to my son there was such an incredible innocence and kindness in his voice and in his eyes. As if all his bad experiences were washed away when Reza was next to him. Erik gave him the greatest joys in the last months of his life, he helped him - and me - to forget about Reza's approaching death. I owe him too much - much too much to pay it back in only one life.
You know, Madame, it's such a great wastefulness! He could have been a wonderful human being, full of love and beauty. But as soon as his external ugliness overcame his inner beauty, all this love faded... Allah! Tell me, why are people that superficial? He has only needed a bit of love... We all give away our love that foolish sometimes, but we can't give someone a small piece of this love who doesn't meet our expectations of beauty. A beauty which even fades away! Tell me: How foolish are we all?!"
His voice was full of compassion and tears - and when I touched my cheeks I suddenly recognised that I was crying too. This stranger just told the truth, a truth that made me cry like a little girl.
"Did we fail?" I asked huskily and could not hold back further tears.
"Yes, Madame", he answered honestly.
I nodded and stared into the night. He has asked for love and we rejected it, he searched for someone to protect him from himself, and all we did was to show him a mirror. Tell me, Meg, why are we human beings that cruel?
"He was a wonderful human being, but society turned him into a man full of hate rebuffing people", I finally said.
"Do you think he is responsible for this death of one of the stagehands?" he asked all at once.
I looked at him not knowing what to answer. "Yes, perhaps... Bouquet was well informed about his... his disfigurement. Too well, you understand, Monsieur?"
He sighed from the bottom of his heart. "I wished it wouldn't be him, oh, I dearly wished it was really a suicide! But it was his hand-writing, no doubt. I know him too well to close my eyes from his violent and anger." Again he sighed with an incredible mourn in his voice. "He has promised me not to kill again! He has promised it! And I truly believed him then - oh, I must have been foolish!"
"Perhaps it was an accident", I suggested because I was not able to stand his grief any longer. And I for myself did not want to believe that a man with such immense beauty inside could be that cruel.
"There are no accidents in Erik's presence", he replied, and I recognised his deep hurt. "There're only murders! ... I hoped he would find understanding here - and love, but I was blind then. Blind!!!"
"No, you weren't blind at all! You saw his inner kindness", I contradicted softly.
"I thought he would be strong enough to overcome it all, but those are wounds not to be able to forget for the whole lifetime."
"You know, Monsieur, time heals wounds, but the scars rest forever - reminding us whenever we regard them... It's cruel, it's not fair - but it's the harsh reality!" Suddenly I felt a great pain. Saying these words I have thought of my beloved husband and about the emptiness his death caused (and still is causing) my life - and my heart.
He did not answer, just was standing there staring into night's black shadows. Finally he replied. "Chère Madame, with my son's death the last person I've loved with every single heart-beat has left me for good. I'm alone here at Paris, I haven't got friends anymore - and the only person that means a lot to me is ... him! I've never thought of Erik as a friend, but the fact is: He's my only friend then and now... And I don't want him to lose himself in self-pity, hate and murders. Would you do me a favour?"
I smiled weakly. Could I resist someone with that much pain and hurt in his eyes? "Of course I would, Monsieur."
"Please leave this letter for Erik", he said and handed me over an envelope. "I just need to be sure."
I nodded and looked at it. There only stood two words on it: "For PTO"... "He'll receive it, trust me."
"I do, no doubt. Thank you for your honesty and for your help!" He bowed. "Perhaps we'll meet again one day, Madame Giry. Au revoir!"
"Perhaps, Monsieur. À bientôt." I watched him getting on a coach, and when it finally disappeared in the darkness I went back into the opera-house.
I do not know why I returned. There was nothing left to do for me on this day, there was not even a person in here - except me. Me - and him.
Without any hesitation I went upstairs to box 5, and now I suppose I had to give way to this strange feeling that drew me up to it. A feeling even stronger than my fear.
When I opened the door I froze immediately. There was somebody in there! I opened my eyes widely and stared at the dark figure that was standing next to the balustrade and watching the empty stage. I wanted to say anything - now I have really no idea what I could have wanted to say in a situation like this - but not even a single word crossed my lips.
It was not the fear that sealed these lips, it just was endless deep respect for this incredibly sublime vision.
I must have stared at this appearance with great reverence, and when it turned around I heard an amused laughter. "I haven't expected someone now and here, but nonetheless you've been the one I've expected most likely."
"It's you, Monsieur?!" I whispered, and very quickly my reverence turned into fear. "I... I'm so sorry... I didn't want to disturb you... please forgive me!" I stepped back.
"You shouldn't fear me, chère Madame. You didn't before, so why now?" Although we stood there facing each other I could not really see him. All I saw was a powerful man covered with the darkness around - and with a voice that I dearly wanted to trust. But inside my mind I was unable to stop thinking about this strange suicide of Bouquet.
"Oh, of course! Now I know..." he suddenly shouted. "You think I've killed this stage-hand, don't you?"
"Monsieur..." I stumbled. What if I would say the truth? But what if I would lie? But then I made up my mind. "Yes, you're right... please forgive my weird thoughts."
He sighed and turned away. After endless minutes of this sinister silence he replied: "No need to forgive, Madame... It's true, I'm responsible for his death."
Perhaps I should have been shocked by hearing this truth, perhaps filled with fear, and perhaps I should have fled without looking back. But this voice made me stay - stay and thinking why a murderer could have that incredible agony in his voice. So full of pain and grief that my fear changed into immeasurable compassion.
There was so much to ask but I only said: "Why?"
Again he sighed. "It was all my fault, no doubt, but he was too curious. He shouldn't have followed me. He wanted to enter my world - my own private place in here - and this was a mistake..."
"So you killed him?" I asked doubtfully. After all those years I did not even know what he meant with 'his world', did not know where he was living - he has only been here all the time, like a phantom. Not here, not there, but always around. I could not believe that he truly was living in the opera. And I could not imagine where!
"He killed himself, but it was my fault", he answered. "Don't ask any further questions. I don't want you to experience the same tortures like Bouquet."
"It's in your hand to change this", I replied softly.
"Oh no, you're mistaken! It isn't - it never was. And you know too well why." He made a gesture which I could not understand then. But now I know it was just a gesture full of helplessness.
I did not say a word. Remembering everything Garnier and Nadir had told me I knew of all the pain that had been caused him earlier. I neither could excuse any of the murders he committed nor I could justify them but perhaps I could - and can - understand him and his motives. And therefore I was not allowed to judge.
"Did I scare you, Madame?" he asked after some time finally and turned back to me. I shook my head. "Perhaps I should be scared, but in fact I'm not. But there's only one thing I can't understand, Monsieur: He, Bouquet, was innocent. Probably he was too curious, but he certainly didn't deserve the death."
"I'm a monster! Is that what you want to hear?!" he suddenly screamed. "It's too late, you can't convert a fiend from hell!"
I was shocked by his words. In a cruel way they really sounded honest, and this made me feel very sorrowful. As if he really believed in what he was saying! "Oh no, nobody's a monster in God's eyes", I replied kindly.
"God doesn't exist. If he would then tell me why he allows all the pain in the world. And why he allows a monster to live and denies great humans this same simple wish."
"I... I don't know", I stuttered thinking of Jules again. He was indeed a wonderful man, and why was he not allow to live? Why did God take his life? Take him away from this world, from me...
"Oh, I'm sorry", he suddenly said in a low voice. "I didn't want to remind you of your late husband. Please forgive my indisposition today!" All at once his voice sounded compassionate.
I was surprised how well he knew my thoughts. "You know, you were - and are - always very friendly to me and to my daughter and I can't understand why you could commit such a crime. Please tell me: Why do you think you have to be evil?"
When he kept quiet I knew that he did not know an answer himself. But after some minutes he suddenly replied: "The world has conjured up a ghost which it can't handle anymore."
"You think the world has turned you into a murderer? But you know, we all are responsible for our own life. God has given us the life, but we ourselves must live it! And we ourselves must decide whether we can approve of our actions." I looked at him, and I suppose I must have been full of naive innocence. Otherwise he could have killed me all at once because of these words.
"Why can you still believe in something like God?" he asked with a desperate voice. "He has taken your love away from you. Why do you still think he is the only pure virtuous?"
"It's everything I've got now. My belief... it's all that is left..." I felt tears in my eyes.
"Oh no, that's certainly not all! There's still your daughter, Madame", he replied softly. "Your both daughter."
Then tears ran down my cheeks. Everything he said was such incredibly full of grief and pain and of a love he would never get to know that I could not stop crying. And this time I did not cry for Jules, oh no - I cried for Erik, truly and only for him.
"I'm so sorry for making you crying again. You should now better leave... your daughter's waiting", he finally said with a low melancholy voice. "And do remember: As long as there exists a love the death will never win. Love lasts beyond the life, it's eternal. Death may take our lives, but the love rests longer, it rests for eternity."
And I knew he was right. Not only with the words he had said, but with all those unsaid words in-between. Without expressing it I knew he thought I should finally get over Jules's death to create a life worth living for you, my beloved Meg. And to stop mourning for past times...
I wanted to leave the box, but suddenly I turned around. "Erik?" I felt his surprise that I had called him by his first name which I never had done before. "Please do no forget: There's always someone around that cares. Always and forever!"
Then I left the box and I thought to hear him crying. But perhaps these tears were only mine...
On to Part VI
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