I stumbled an endless number of times, bumped into columns that I didn't remember seeing before, and above all, took advantage of the only privilege the cellars gave me: to cry and cry my despair away, intensely, without the least chance of being overheard.
It was a lot harder to find my way back to the surface than it had been to find the lake. But it is well known that it is far easier to go down and fast, in a one-way plunge, than to return to the heights... And that was exactly how I felt in that moment...that I would never be able to return again...that I had gone as far down as one could. I had experienced untold shame, delusion, fear, despair...feelings I would never find words to describe, that would never be completely healed by anything. The tears, the normal hysteria, not even those brought out, freed me of the greedy demon that had been raised inside of me, hunting for my sanity.
Tears, just as my torn outfit and my scratched bare arms and face were only a dim suggestion of what consumed me.
"What has he done to me?" I asked myself in desperation, "Why couldn't it be only a nightmare, from which I would wake up with the sun shining upon my face, proving to me it was over?"
But I knew the sun would never shine for me again.
My vision was blurred, dizziness took over me, and I didn't know if it was due to the horrendous emotions consuming me, or if it was a consequence of the number of times my head bounced on the floor. Oh, it couldn't be true! It couldn't be true that I had gone as low as this!
I entered odd corridors, dead silent except for the dripping of some water in the distance, or the wind blowing through some secret orifices. I climbed up and down wrong and tortuous stairs, always looking for the back paths, avoiding meeting anyone who could possibly be strolling around there, until I found myself in an empty lounge in the second cellar.
The desolation was complete, and I couldn't tell whether it was daytime or far into the night by the few lamps placed irregularly on the walls. I paced, without aim, for a long time, until I passed by a mirror, a simple mirror, which at first seemed to not even have noticed my presence, as if I no longer existed, as if I was not in the least worth having my image duplicated. Its own presence called me and unsettled me, making me stop immediately, a couple of steps after it, and I knew the shining material was beckoning me mercilessly.
Terror filled my whole self, as I stared at it in woe, from an angle which didn't allow me to see myself in it. How afraid I was of seeing what I had become! It felt like the darkest spell had been thrown on me, causing a total transformation, and I was trapped in a form I didn't recognize. But I had to face it...
Funny, in't it? A little piece of glass, and yet it was responsible for such an irrational fear! Fear of myself! What had that monster done to me?!
Monster. The very sound of the word in my mind made me weep again, harder, and I couldn't bear to picture him, having the same reaction I was having right now, in front of mirrors.
Fearing his true self. How many people in the world fear their true self? "Oh, I hate him!!" I thought, as I hit my fists on the wall, already bleeding from scratching on the rough floor as they did, obeying his sparms and grasps. But pain was not an issue now. Not physical pain. I was so destroyed inside my mind that this pain meant nothing to me anymore, except perhaps proving I was alive.
What pierced most was the word "end". Oh, how this word can hurt, stab you as a sharp blade. I had this word stabbing and beating like discordant drums in my mind, shadowing now the other thoughts that attempted to run through my head.
I approached the glass dauntedly, until I finally placed myself in front of that old oxidized mirror.
The image didn't startle me at all. I had never seen an object reflect so loyally the profile of someone's soul. My eyes were glassy and lifeless, distant, empty. My face, dirty and damp from crying and struggling. My hair, oh, I had so nicely bound it before going seek him. I had even secretly hoped, in my lost childlike way, that he would like it better that way! It was loose and entangled and disorderly... just like this innocence I had once held to.
And the dress...thinking of my petticoat laying down on a cellar made me embrace myself in utter shame, and suddenly avoid my own eyes in the mirror. I don't recall ever avoiding my eyes before. It was so hard to see, to visualize, what had happened to me...and accept it...
Why keep examining myself, why memorize and confirm every part of an outfit that showed the marks of his nails and eager fingers tearing off pieces? It was already documented inside of me! Why torture myself any longer? I ran away from the mirror, took the stairs to the first cellar, and finally reached the ground level.
I first wandered around, like someone who doesn't know the paths of the building, the same one that had sheltered half of my life, and it took me a long time to perceive people, staring at me in shock or sinister curiosity, to force me to run, to uncover strength I didn't have, to use the instinct of protection and survival to dart home, perhaps bouncing off some of the people that stride through the corridors, I didn't know.
And one of the stares, one to which I should have paid attention, passed unnoticed, until a couple of days later. The black eyes that followed me, inspecting me.
Yet one of the stares made itself very noticeable through a hand that, though frail and soft, took hold of my arm with enough energy to make me not only stop but turn around, forcing me to face its owner: and out of everybody in the world, it had to be La Sorelli, whom I addressed with nothing more than madness shining through a stray look.
I saw her frowning at me, squinting her so famous exquisite eyes to catch a better sight, while her mouth, first stretched in a sardonic smile, relaxed until it expressed a clear sign of repulsion instead.
"You look god damn underdressed for somebody who just took the position of the first ballerina in the company." She smiled sadistically.
I closed my eyes, as if by doing so I could restrain my fury, cursing her timing, cursing everything. I still wanted to keep running, running away from her, from everybody! And I never had a problem in defying La Sorelli or returning her insults! But now I just felt like the ballet rat I was, so small and impotent before that beautiful and so desired ballerina, who had made the critics go mad quite often, who had conquered the stage so many times, who had marriage proposals coming from both the first dancer, mentioned as the best of all time, and the Count de Chagny, considered the richest in Paris. Oh, I felt so insignificant!
"Now you make me wonder more than ever..." She bent her figure a little, so her eyes would be at the same level as mine, and completed, obvious frustration and indignance in them,"Do you really think that a thing like you will succeed in this foolish attempt, or rather, boycott, of taking my place in the company? Do you think I will put up with dancing behind you, having your little skinny body blocking the sight of my dancing from the spectators? I don't think so."
I looked deeply in her eyes and just answered, exhausted, "You know, Sorelli? I couldn't possibly care less about what you think," and I freed myself from her grip, returning my walk to the room.
But she quickly started to follow me, with large steps, tossing hints at me, "I have to wonder, forgive my instrusion, of course, what is the cause for all this agitation, Little Meg Giry..."
I sped up my steps and so did she.
"God, what happened to your clothes?" She allowed an interjection of disgust to show, and added, "You look really great for the lead dancer.. Tell me, do you always display this...er...style, or have you been seeing your vagrant men more often lately?"
Losing any sense of reason, which I actually believe there was not much left anyway, I spun on my heels so quickly that the next thing she knew, she found her whole body thrown against the wall of the corridor, and my hand holding her in place, while the other flew into a spectacular slapping on her darling face. Usually I wouldn't imagine myself capable of the strength to do that to a woman that was a lot stronger and taller than me, or even capable of this kind of violence. But I was a fast learner...
With gritted teeth, I whispered to her awe-stricken face, where her cheeks showed themselves red already, "Leave me alone..."
And I restarted my slow cruising towards my room, this time without anybody following or talking to me.
The unspeakable fear of meeting my mother and owing her explanations about the destroyed image of her daugther faded away as I entered the dark and empty room, rushing to turn the lights on, each one of them, with trembling hands that could barely manage the gas button on the lamp. I've never been so afraid of darkness as I was now...
I fled into the washing room, savouring the light and the security it gave me, just like the key turned in the lock of the room assured me at last it was over. But could it ever be over? Could I ever forget the shame, the pain that still lingered, that tore my heart, that throbbed in my temples? It was Erik who did that! And it was me who allowed!
Cleaning myself the best I could, over and over, to the point that the sponge scratched my skin so fiercefully that it threatened to bleed, my hair was finally resting again on my back; the dirt had gone away, and the sharp stinging of the cuts and bruises in contact with the soap gave me an intense relief, stopping my thoughts for some time, making them all blend together, sparing me from their constant attack. But in the end it did no good, as I had expected it would. It didn't calm me down, it didn't make me feel less filthy for putting myself in that situation.
Resigned, I covered myself with thick sleeping clothes, in spite of the warmth of the season, and climbed on my bed, curling in a corner, embracing myself, like a wounded animal. But peace had left me for good. Immediately, that position no longer comforted me, and my head, burning, urged me to run back to the washing room, remembering I had left the dirty and spoiled dress there. I confess I simply couldn't bring myself to touch it after my bath, and if it was possible, I wished I didnīt have to look at it, or touch it, ever again in my life.
The shapeless, lifeless pile of skirts laid on the floor, threatening me, mocking me, jesting at their owner. Without giving another thought, I dragged it by the laces to my bedroom, where I wrapped it in old papers and stuffed it under the bed, avoiding the contact of my fingers with the outfit as much as I could. The disgusting secret was safe now. No one would know about it, I promised myself. Not a single person. And I wished more than everything there was a way of hiding it from myself as well...
I paced around, shunning the unavoidable thinking, until I couldnīt take another step. Then I allowed my body to fall on my bed.
Hours seemed to not pass as the same walls in the bedroom, forever still, but omniscient, watched the pathetic figure I was.
A noise at the entrance door startled me, opening and closing after somebody. Uneasy, I decided to stand up and go to the other room, making sure it was my mother. Of course it was. Who else could it be?
"Meg? What are you doing awake at these hours?" she asked me from behind a very tired face.
Reaching for the lamp, I reluctantly turned it off, so she wouldn't be able to see the marks he had left on my face.
"I...I just can't sleep, I guess..." I answered faintly.
She sat on the couch, her movement showing her exhaustion, and only at that moment I noticed how she had grown thinner. "God don't allow you to taste the same thing I've been going through, Meg..." she mumbled with bitterness.
I looked at her with a puzzled expression, for I had no idea what she was talking about.
"I know I should have told you before, dear, but I didn't want to worry you for no important reason. I want you to now, dear, concentrate all your efforts and strength in putting those dance shoes back on your little feet and make your mommy smile at the sight of you dancing up there on the stage, alright?"
I would have granted her a smile, for I knew she was just speaking her best intentions, and that she couldn't know better about what was actually going on with me, but my lips refused to take that form.
"What is it that you say you are going through?" I inquired.
She moved her whole body on the couch, expressing her anguish, and moaned, "I don't know, darling. It seems like I can't get to sleep anymore!" She moaned again. "It's been going like this for months. I come to bed, tired and sleepy, late after the performances, and yet I can't get to sleep," she sighed, "and my whole body seems to ache."
"I'm sorry, Mama." Knowing I should try to be more sympathetic than that, I offered, "Perhaps you could take my bed, and I sleep on the entrance couch for a some time, until you feel better?"
She smiled again, kindly, and shook her head, "No, sweetie, it is fine...I don't think it is a matter of where I sleep...but there is something that you can do for me."
"And what is it?"
"Actually, there are two things you can do for me, to help me feel better, I mean, if you can." She sighed again, "This season has been extremely strenuous for me..."
"For everybody it seems to have been..." I thought with myself...
"So the first thing is, next time you go to your doctor, would you, Meg, ask that gentle young man if he knows of any medication that would help me to get some sleep? I know Madame Benoche's physician gave her something a while ago, that healed all the sleeping problems she was having. While this foolish old man, which I still don't understand why the Opera contracted as a doctor, doesn't know a thing, and never knows how to medicate anybody. I trust a lot more in M. Ferrat."
The doctor. True. I had forgotten that I needed to set up another appointment with him. The exercises he had prescribed for my ankle, which I had been practicing everyday, had indeed helped immensely with the occasional pain and with toughening the muscles....
"The second thing I'll ask you for, since we are already talking... Well, I've been wanting to discuss it with you for a long time, but it seemed like it was never the right moment, I don't know..."
"What is it?" I glanced suspiciously, half expecting, and not willing to hear it.
"I'll ask for your comprehension."
"Why is that?"
"Because your sister won't be coming anymore to visit us."
"What?" I mumbled without emitting a sound. Not that it would erase what I was going through, but having her by my side again, now more than ever, was the most comforting thought I could have! And she had motivated me so much!
"Meg, dear, I know it is hard for you, but I had to do it. I'm already overwhelmed with work and health problems to take care of you, I couldn't possibly have your sister coming here now. What would I feed her with? Who would take care of her when we are both away?" And she went on, with her shallow explaining, that didn't make sense for me anymore, how reasanable they might have been. I just nodded and aknowledged.
"It is fine. Good night."
I walked back to my room, and this time sleep came, heavy and demanding. Either sleep or madness would claim me soon, I knew.
Get your own Free Homepage