“Meg Giry, I must talk with you.”
My mom sat on the couch of our entrance room, the same that served as a bed for her at night. Her voice and face were sinister. I could tell despair had been there, and had shaped her face before giving way to the blankness she exposed now.
“Meg Giry, I lost my job.”
I was struck, my head felt unbearably heavy all the sudden. My stare was paralyzed at her. In an incoherent way, I began to concentrate on her features, not thinking at all. The bottom of her eyes were swollen and dark, showing she knew her sentence for a while.
I couldn’t remember my mother being so old. It was as if she had never changed at all, and at that moment, she aged two decades in front of my eyes.
Her skin was loose, her cheeks pulling the corners of her mouth slightly down in a severe expression. Her thin lips were dry and tense, with a little trace of fading lipstick. I could see horror in every corner of her expression.
If, for me, that meant I would end up working in a Paris tavern, for my mother it meant her whole life was lived for nothing, for she became Madame Giry, the usher, the maid, the mother, the loyal old lady, rejected and sent away at the end of her days.
I uttered the word “mother” and embraced her, fear overwhelming me.
She didn’t break out, as I expected.
She looked very gravely at me and said, “I was told no reason for this, and we are to leave by the end of next week.“
I felt tears coming to my eyes, but she signalled a no with her index finger.
“Dear, there is a gentleman outside that claims to be able to help us. He says he knows why it happened, as well as how to solve this problem. But for that, he needs to ask you a few questions.”
I noticed a trace of condescendence in her voice. I nodded, wiping my tears away on the sleeve of my dress.
She stood up and went to the door.
“You may come in, Monsieur.”
“Thank you,” he said with a heavy accent.
When he entered the room, I recognized him. I had seen him around the Opera frequently, but I knew nothing about him. No one really knew anything about him. He was known simply as “the Persian.”
“Good afternoon, Mademoiselle.” He took off his exotic cap, bending toward me. He told me his strange name, which I didn’t understand well and didn’t bother to, and explained that he was on a terribly important mission. Therefore, he had to interrogate me, he said.
I frowned, disturbed by his presence and impertinence in a moment I wished to be alone with my mother.
“Interrogate me about what?”
He looked at me sharply, and asked bluntly, “What are your interests in protecting and dealing with Erik?”
The dirty appearance of his clothes disturbed me. I didn’t like the man. He could only be testing my patience, I thought, with this police talking. I asked rudely, “What? I haven’t the least idea of what you are talking about, Monsieur!”
He smiled cynically and said, “Oh, I believe you do.”
His dark eyes, accentuated by his dark complexion and thick eyebrows, made me think of a serpent aiming at its prey. I felt nervous.
“Alright, young lady,” he sighed. “Let me first tell you what this mission of mine is about. I’m searching for a dangerous man, mentally disturbed, badly misshapen, and capable of great violence.”
I got the picture of a monster in my mind and looked at him in dismay, failing to see how I could help.
“This man is the cause for your mother having been considered mad, and dismissed in humiliation. Because of his maniacal actions, the two of you will be in lack of a place to live, for what I know. And that is only the beginning. Worse than all that, you have been in immeasurable danger.”
I looked at my mother, trying to tell if it was only me who thought the man before me was definitively insane. Her expression was untranslatable.
In a more firm voice, he said, “I know you know him. I’ve seen you around the cellars, and I know that is where his hideaway is locate, down in that maze. I ask for your help, so we can solve this problem as quickly as possible, and lead the police exactly to this place, and to him...hopefully in time of sparing many lives. Moreover, only then will we’ll be able to demand the readmission of your mother’s service at the Theater.”
He added severely, “ His first strike was against Joseph Bouquet, not too long ago.”
His eyes now had a more trusting expression, and you could almost tell he was a good man by the way he looked deeply at you. However, when he mentioned all that, I hated him immediately. For now I knew who he was after, and I despised the filthy way he was trying to convince me to denounce the Phantom.
“I thought Joseph Bouquet had killed himself,” I said in a hiss.
“No, Mademoiselle Giry, I believe he didn’t. Erik had good reason to get rid of him.”
“Then perhaps the stage man was the villian here. Maybe this Erik of yours was just making sure he would solve his own problems properly, not waiting for Monsieur Bouquet to give him further reasons to get rid of him. The way I see it, his only fault was being a little too...impatient...with the stageshifter.”
He didn’t seem pleased by my insolent joke.
“Mademoiselle, I beg for your common sense. I know you know him, and I believe you can tell me a lot more about this subject.
He is a great threat to this place, and to the lives around here. If not for yourself and your mother, do it for your friend Mademoiselle Daae. Tell me what you know about him!“
Mademoiselle Daae? What did Christine have to do with all this? What did Christine have to do with him?! I didn’t want to know the answers. At that moment, I didn’t care for anyone around there! There was not much left that he could do against me and my mother, and for the others: he could go ahead and kill whoever he wanted to, the whole Opera if that would make him happier! But he would listen to me!
He couldn’t invade my life, just when I thought I had everything under control, throw his spell over me and just walk away! He was responsible for making me care so much about him, he was responsible for binding me to him! And I had to make him aware of that, even if he would curse me or hurt me, finding me in his house again.
The idea of telling the Persian anything about my Phantom, or Erik, as he called him, never crossed my mind.
“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t know what you are talking about, and I don’t see how I can help you,” I said in a final tone, leaving it clear he wouldn’t get anything from me.
He placed his cap on his head in resoluted displeasement, leaving the room. I couldn’t tell if my mother believed me or not, for she buried her head in her hands and wept for hours.
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