“Christine!”
No answer.
“Christine!” I knocked again on the door.
She opened it suddenly, receiving me with a broad smile.
“Congratulations!!” I embraced her.
She kept smiling, and asked me to take a seat.
Her dressing room was well illuminated, the light-green paited walls giving it a cozy atmosphere. A full-length mirror in a wood frame showed my image as I stepped toward an armchair. Christine had still another mirror, in the top of her dressing table, where she displayed all her make up.
“The whole Opera speaks of nothing but you!”
I was proud of being her close friend, having my compliments taken as friendly words instead of flattery.
Her smile changed to a more humble and serious expression, ”My dear friend, I don’t deserve your compliments.”
I didn’t understand that fit of modesty.
She pulled a stuffed chair and sitted by my side, her long locks falling over her shoulders as she leaned in my direction.
“Meg, I can’t even tell you how I feel! I’m so content! He promised me I could do it and I did!”
“Of course you could do it! People said you sang like an angel!”
She looked deeply into my eyes, and stayed silent for a minute, as if analyzing the veracity of what she was going to say.
“It was not me they heard! I was there...standing in front of those thousands of people....and I was unaware of it!”
She again gave me a wide grin, “This voice was singing in my head, I knew he was there with me. For you know, Meg, whenever I hear his voice I can’t let go: I feel myself floating!” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, as if she could really hear something I couldn’t. “Then, I barely opened my mouth, and another voice started to flow! It couldn’t be mine! It was pure and angelical, almost like his!”
I had always admired the way some people relate to music, talking about it and dealing with as if it was some kind of abstract magic, but this last observation made me think there was something more than poetry in her words.
“His?”
She suddenly became hesitant.
“Who is ‘him’?”
“The Angel!”
She was terribly serious when she said that. I wouldn’t dare make fun of her, but it was impossible to restrain an incredulous look. She went on:
“Although I’ve never seen him, his voice is always with me, talking and singing.”
Absolutelely confused, I decided to play along. “And what does the voice say?”
“He tells me he will teach me to sing like the Angel he is. He talks of infinite beauties, of stories, and of songs and places I’ve never known. And he sings...Oh, Meg! If you could hear him singing! That’s how I knew he was an angel the first moment he sang to me. How smooth and gentle and harmonious his voice can be! No mortal could be the same after listening to him.”
I didn’t know what to say. Christine was certainly under some spell. Her soul was soaring and it could all be seen in her face; her naive smile and blue eyes, with a faraway gaze from under her eyelashes.
I stood silent for a moment, figuring out what was going on with my friend.
“Christine, it is rather uncanny. I know you’ve been waiting for this Angel, for your Angel of Music, for a long time. I know you acheived something great and that your voice changed a lot in the last months. But...can you tell for sure where this dream of yours ends and where reality begins?”
Hitting the edge of her couch with her fists, she said, “I can’t!! Or at least...I couldn’t. You can guess the amazement I was in when this voice, coming from nowhere, started to sing and give me lessons! At first, I thought I was going mad! Little by little I’ve decided that if I’m crazy, I don’t ever want to leave this madness, for I’ve never been as happy as I am now!”
I pondered that.
“You truly look much happier now, Christine.” I was so apprehensive that it sounded almost sarcastic.
“I am happier! I love my Angel, who shows me patiently that I am a good person and a talented singer. I knew I shouldn’t have told you more about it! I knew you wouldn’t believe it!”
Feeling uncomfortable for not being worthy of her trust, I apologized. Christine calmed down, and said, “There’s one more thing I want to tell you, Meg! You know the Viscount?
“Yes.”
She laughed nervously and said, “Meg, after the performance, he came to my dressing room. I had fainted and was being examined by the doctor. When I opened my eyes, he was kneeling beside my bed!
“And what did he say?”
“He told me who he was,” she looked down, somewhat sad, “but I had to pretend I didn’t recognize him...”
“You did what?”
She looked at me again and explained, “My Angel was with me at the time.”
I felt my patience growing short. I knew how Christine had been wanting to talk with the Viscount.
“So what?!”
She walked to the mirror, her back toward me. The curls of her dark hair fell graciously at her back as she grabbed a black cloak that was lying on the floor. She looked deeply at me.
“My Angel, Meg... My angel is terribly jealous of me... He says I should love him, and only him, and forbids me to have suitors. “
She sat by my side, caressing the cloak with her fingers. I followed her hands with my eyes and startled: it was identical to the one my mysterious saviour wore. I touched it apprehensively and looked questioningly at Christine, feeling frozen inside.
“What is wrong, Meg?”
I glanced down again, trying to convince myself there were many capes in the whole of Paris which would look just like his. Someone knocked on the door. It was my mom, with her perfect timing!
She greeted Christine and kissed me on the forehead.
“So, sweetie, how are you feeling now? Any better?”
I said with vehemence, “Oh yes, Mom, I’m quite fine! I feel as if I could dance a whole ballet scene!”
They laughed at my remark. My mother looked at my leg carefully and declared, “Here, let me see... Yes, it won’t be more than two days before you can take these bandages off, and you’ll be good as new.”
“No way! I’ll be rehearsing on the tip of my toes, before noon tomorrow! And besides, I promised Bouquet’s men I would give them a hand with the new scenarium.”
At the mention of the worker’s name, Christine and my mother exchanged a look. As I came to know later, they were wondering if that moment would be appropriate to tell me Bouquet was found dead, hanging in the cellars.
My mother said she had some soup waiting for me at home. I licked my lips playfully and opened the dressing room’s door, when a crowd of girls from the ballet corps ran past us, screaming madly. I felt Christine shivering, and I laughed aloud, teasing her. It was another trick of the Phantom of the Opera. Christine gave me a reproving look, and closed the door as fast as she could.
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