Not Dark Yet, But it's Getting There

Halloween was the biggest and most popular theme of the year, and had long outgrown Christine’s ability to put all of it up herself. Everyone that worked at Gustave’s had pitched in, getting the many skeletons hoisted up into this year’s planned scenarios. But the whole staff also knew she liked to do all the finishing touches herself. The bar closed for a couple of days before every theme change, one day with all hands on deck to take down the old theme and put up the basics of the new. But that night and the next day were time off for everyone, giving Christine and her imagination the run of the place, and she worked alone to her heart’s content.

She’d waited long enough. The lights had not magically returned, the sound system was still silent. Christine shifted, found her balance and made her way carefully down the ladder. Of course, she usually wasn’t completely alone during a theme change. Gustave was always there, in the tiny office, catching up on paperwork, calling for her to sing more loudly as she worked so he could hear her – she had banned him from the ladders some time ago. 

But not this year. This year, he was not here.

Christine found the closest table, where she’d left her bag, her cellphone and a bottle of water. She had been at it for hours already and it felt good to sit, for just a bit, even in the discouraging darkness. A quick text to Meg, who lived not too far away, confirmed there was no general power outage that she knew of. When Christine went upstairs, she would see if it affected the whole several story apartment building or just the bar, tucked two levels below the street. If it was the building, she’d contact the super, Gustave had left her that emergency number.

If it was just the bar, she would need a plan. That was one thing her father had not prepared her for. But to be fair, she could not remember a time when the bar had been the source of an outage. Her dad had often raved about the genius of the guy who wired the place – he’d done the whole sound system too. Gustave had also stressed to everyone that one of the conditions of the installation had been that no one else but that guy should ever touch it. Christine did not have that number – only Gustave knew how to contact him. And the bar absolutely had to be ready and open for Friday evening, the beginning of Halloween weekend, less than 24 hours from now. 

Either way, even if the power snapped on right this instant, she needed to go see her father; it was now or never – the weekend was going to be so busy there would be no chance to get away, and Gustave would not want it any other way.

Christine sighed in the rosy dark. It had all been planned, like clockwork. Gustave’s surgery earlier this summer, a few weeks of recovery. She could take that short time away from her singing lessons, there should be time to catch up and be ready for her conservatory classes in the fall, even though she was already much older than her classmates would be. Her father had instructed her in the ins and outs of running the bar for those few weeks and they’d both felt confident all would be well.

No one had expected complications, infection, sepsis that kept him hovering near death for days. And then a long long recovery. Tears pricked her eyes and she rested her head on her hands on the table top. Everyone here, all of Gustave’s employees, everyone of them a friend, someone he had helped in some way or the other, had pulled together in those terrible weeks, freeing her as much as possible to be by his side. She remembered how different he had looked, his boundless energy drained away, so still in his bed, his body and spirit fighting to stay.

She drew shaky breaths reminding herself the worst was past. He was recovering, would recover. The conservatory…would still be there and she felt horrible even being concerned about that, another delay, whether she would even be taken back after missing so much time. She should just be grateful that her father would be okay, grateful that she could keep the bar running for him and for everyone who depended on it, who had found a home here, until Gustave was well enough to come back. 

Christine understood, keenly now that she had almost lost her father, why the death of her mom had thrown his life into such disarray, and hers with it. He could not bear to stay in this city where they had met, where they had lived, the memories were overwhelming, and he had wandered for long years, Christine at his side. It had put Christine behind in everything…yet she could not blame him, nor be bitter. The two of them had had to find their way through together. 

She saw Gustave come alive again, in bits and pieces, on the road, wherever he stopped to play music. Making friends again, helping people, as he did everywhere he went.

He used to tell her that her mother was the most compassionate person he had ever known. More and more, Christine realized, like had called to like in her parents. They were kind, both of them, in a world that often had so little kindness in it. Anyone they encountered they left better off than when they first met. That was just how they were. When Gustave had finally realized they should return to New York City, that Christine should settle in at school and catch up as they knew she could, he had decided to create a welcoming place, extending kindness and hospitality, to honor his late wife. He had almost named it after her, but the thought of having to explain the origin of the name again and again brought him to tears and together they had decided to call it “Gustave’s”. 

In an underground space that no one else thought would work, they’d built the home they’d longed for and opened it to strangers. The little stage they’d crafted saw everything from poetry readings and comedians, to monologues and scenes from the many actors that frequented the place, and of course music, always music. The nights that Gustave played his violin were always a highlight. In recent years, as her voice blossomed and time permitted, she joined him on stage every so often, the oddly fine acoustics carrying their music to all corners of the space.

She blinked away the tears, took a sip of water, remembered the good times that would come again, and with a scowl shut down the little voice that worried about her needs, her plans, her schooling. She couldn’t even think about the medical bills, although Meg had cajoled them both into letting her start a Go Fund Me for Gustave. All that needed to wait. 

She needed a plan now. The bar was still dark, the air unmoving. First, a quick visit to her father in the hospital, to see him and to learn what she should do, who she should call. And then she’d find a way to work on the theme change until the electric was fixed.

The building was awash in lights when she went up. So it was just the bar. She grabbed a bite from a shop and ate as she walked in the early twilight, not yet 6 o’clock. A short bus ride later, she was at the hospital, with a clearer head for the fresh air and food, and having narrowed the problem down to the bar, it remained to be seen if her father had a quick fix or would need to contact the only man allowed to touch the electric at Gustave’s.

As she walked down the familiar hall towards her father’s room, she saw a figure slip out of the door and head rapidly in the other direction. A man, from the height, and the breadth of shoulders, and she thought appraisingly, the slim hips and long stride. He wasn’t rushing, he was simply so tall that every step covered a lot of ground. All in black, black boots, black jeans…snug black jeans…short black jacket, and a wide brimmed black hat. She realized she was staring, lost in the rhythm of his walk, his long hands swinging at his sides, ivory against all that black and when he turned a corner heading to a stairwell, she was surprised not to catch a glimpse of a pale face to match the hands, but rather… 

She wasn’t sure. Maybe just a shadow cast by that hat. 

She shook herself from her rather shameless reverie. There was no time for thoughts of that nature or any nature really. Her life for now, until Gustave was well, was the bar. Only the bar. Not her music, not the conservatory, not idle thoughts about idle hours with anyone.

Christine had seen so many people coming and going from Gustave’s room over the past weeks, when he had finally turned a corner and was allowed more visitors. So many people she knew; an amazing number she did not know. She knew she’d never seen this man before–she would have remembered him. She’d have to ask her father who he was…just then, her thoughts were interrupted as Kenyatta, the mid shift nurse, welcomed her with an effusive hug, telling her her father had had an amazing day, had even played his violin. And the singing! What an amazing voice he had! Like an angel!

Christine bit back a laugh. Her father was an angel, but his singing voice was decidedly more earthbound, boisterous and gravelly. He often joked that he let his violin sing for him.

Her father had been looking better each and every day she had visited him and she was so pleased to see how well he looked tonight, color in his cheeks, some weight beginning to fill out his face which had grown so gaunt. They chatted for a bit, Christine reluctant to worry him with talk of the electric problem, but they’d always been honest with each other, and she also knew how important this weekend was to the bar and to him. Gustave was the only source for a quick repair.

“Oh, mitt hjärta, I am so sorry, but not to worry! The electric will be up and running in no time. I have only to call for E and he will fix everything!” Gustave had her hands in his and as usual made her world right.

“You’ve spoken of him before, pappa, but I really know nothing about him. Do you think he will be able to come soon? Tomorrow?” 

“Well, you know Christine, how I am about stories that are not mine to tell. It is enough that he is a friend, has been a friend for many years, and we have helped each other during very rough times. I can tell you he is a night owl, as are you and I! I am sure he will be there this very night. But…” her father settled back into the pillows. “But he always works alone, or at the most just with me there. He is… very… reluctant to be around people. If he should come while you are there, Christine… I know you are kind, like your mother you are kind, but this man needs a special kindness. He has his reasons for being reclusive, which if you see him, you will know.”

Christine squeezed her father’s hands, feeling their warmth, their returning strength. “I don’t want to disturb him, but I really can’t leave the bar tonight, pappa. I have so much to do yet.”

“I will make him understand that. There really is no reason for you to meet at all, he has a key, he will be working at the electrical panel if the fix is simple. Go now, I will contact him and text you before you even make it back. And you must call me, I will nap for a bit, but call me all the same, before ten and let me know how it is going.”

As Christine headed back into the darkened bar, her father’s parting words calmed her. What gets done, gets done. E can fix anything. And everything will be alright. 

Part one of the plan was in motion, the call had gone out to the mysterious E. Her father’s text to her said E couldn’t be sure when he would be there, but certainly before midnight.

The second part of the plan was to get as much work done as she could even with no electric. She dug out her headlamp from beneath the bar, tucked away behind stacks of metal cocktail shakers, so useful when stringing the fish line that held most of the pieces that appeared to float against the walls or fly high above the tables – bats, ghosts, wispy swaths of tattered silk layered over backlit stained glass.

She searched a bit more and turned up some boxes of kitchen matches, thinking of the many times her parents had told her – why not take an extra moment to make something beautiful. So box of matches in hand, she went table to table and lit the candles in their turquoise and purple and green patterned jars, until the whole bar glowed with soft light, reflecting from mirrors and the glass of the framed pictures on the walls, casting a patina of color on the tin ceilings.

Christine returned to her waiting ladder and by the light of her headlamp wreathed several more of the skeletons in silk flowers, carefully giving each one a heart in the form of a rose in full bloom tucked inside their ribs. The candlelight from the tables below danced, the flames stirred by some small unfelt draft…due to the outage, the ventilation system was not working and she had never realized how even when the bar was empty there had always been a thousand little sounds until now, when they were absent. 

She filled the silence with her voice then – nothing operatic, she had not warmed up – but began the song she had been singing along with when the power went out, something new and lovely she had only heard a few times, suggested by Spotify, a duet, and found the acoustics of the bar were even better with every other background sound stilled. 

She paused where the second voice would have come in, looking about at what was left to do, pondering what she could safely reach without having to climb down and move the ladder when she noticed the flicker of the candles suddenly shift, like wheat in the wind, the flames all swaying in one direction as an unseen current of air swirled throughout the room. She looked down from her perch on the ladder, and there, across the long length of the candlelit space, at the end of the long bar nearest to the hall that led to the back entrance, stood a man.

Not just any man, she realized, as her headlamp weakly illuminated him where he stood – the same man she had briefly seen when he left her father’s hospital room earlier in the evening.

Only this time, there was no hat to shield his face. Even in the dim, she could see that what had passed before as a shadow from his hat was in fact a black mask covering half his face, running diagonally from forehead to chin.

She realized her face must be invisible to him, hidden by the glare from the headlamp, even as he quickly turned his head, throwing the mask into shadow. She swiftly tilted the light on its swivel up toward the ceiling and caught her breath. 

E had a key, her father had said. She had seen him coming out of her father’s room this very day. This had to be E. Not a threat, not a danger, but a longstanding friend of her father’s. The pale side of his face that he had turned into the light revealed a slanting jaw, a cheekbone as sharp as those of the skeletal friends that surrounded her. A straight nose, although the entire nose itself was covered by the mask. An arched black brow, a shock of longish black hair that hid however the mask was affixed to his face. Nothing at all odd on the uncovered side of his face. Which had to mean that the mask hid…something very odd indeed.

He’d had to have known that she was there. She had been singing, loudly. And the hall that he came down branched into the back area that held the electrical panels. There was no need for him to have come into this room at all.

Reclusive, her father had said. Not at ease with people. 

And… even more deserving of a special kindness, since he had knowingly stepped into the light. 

She smiled in the dimness, filling her voice with warmth and welcome. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to deer shine you!” She waited, on her ladder, to see what he would do.

His head turned slowly. He had to know she could still see him, in the candlelight. She wondered if he knew she could see his long fingers shaking from here.

He swallowed, and spoke, in a voice so low and beautiful it sent a tingling frisson through her body, like that invisible current which had caused the candle flames to curl in ecstasy. “I am your father’s… your father and I are… we are…”

“Friends,” she finished for him, somehow finding her own voice. She smiled at him again, needed to smile at him. “He told me you were coming, to fix the electric. You must be…”

“E,” he said. “Yes, I am…E. But… I would be pleased if…please, call me Erik.”

There was somehow an actual plea in that word please, an earnestness that she held for a moment, considering and then opened to it.

She started down the ladder. “Erik, I am so glad you are here. I am Christine, Christine Daaé.”

She removed her headlamp which snarled in her hair as she did, shutting it off and becoming briefly aware of how ridiculous she must have looked on her ladder amongst the skeletons and somehow not caring at all. All she wanted was to hear more of that voice. He had to be a singer, had to be. This must be the voice her father’s nurse had described as angelic. 

“It was so good of you to come on such short notice,” she said, as she sat at her table, taking a sip from her water bottle. She would not close the distance, he would do that himself, if he wanted. And he wanted. Somehow she knew that he wanted.

The light from the exit signs washed red highlights into his black hair as he stood, considering, fingers still shaking. It was difficult to estimate his age, his face half covered as it was, but she felt he was a bit older than her, maybe in his early thirties to her twenty four. The mask itself was somehow inhumanly smooth – though it looked as if it clung like a second skin, she could tell that it was reinforced somehow, not following whatever contours his features on that side took. She was happy for him when she saw the gleam of a bright gold eye through an eyehole on that side, an eye that in every way matched its twin on the uncovered side of his face. Whatever calamity had befallen him, at least it had spared his eye. And that was it. That was the last thought she gave to the mask. It was part of him, part of who he was. If she was very fortunate indeed maybe she would come to know him well enough that someday he would tell her his story. 

He came slowly forward, pulled out a chair and sat at the table. True, on the edge of his seat as though he would bolt at any moment, but something about the way he was studying her face, really looking at her eye to eye made her feel as though he would stay.

“I…I’m sorry if…I didn’t mean to startle you. It’s just that…I… I didn’t want to interrupt your singing. Or…or somehow make you fall.”

She laughed at that. “On top of the power being out and my dad in the hospital, wouldn’t that put quite the damper on Halloween! It’s okay, I knew you were coming, I just was surprised to see you out here. It’s fine!” she said hastily, as she sensed his discomfort. “It’s only that…well, let me tell you what I have heard from my father. I think that’s the best way to go about this. He has told me before that you did all the electrical work in the place, and the sound system too. He says you and he have been friends for a long time, that you have a key, oh, and that none of us are supposed to touch any part of the electric on pain of death.” This earned her a quirk of his lips in a sudden smile of his own. “And today he told me that you are not super comfortable around people, and that I would likely not even see you. And he told me your name was E. He never mentioned it was short for Erik.”

“That’s because…because I…don’t think I ever told him.” He quirked his lips again in a way she had come to like very much already. “And…because he is your father…you know…you know that he never asked.”

He sat back in the chair, more comfortable, growing a little bolder. “It…it seems fair that I…should tell you what he told me about you.”

Christine nodded, smiling, not secret at all about her delight in hearing what her father had to say. “Oh, this oughta be good!” “He said that…you helped him so much with the bar. Made it what it is, with how you decorate it.” Erik cast a glance about the room. Christine watched the tendons in his long neck with something very like fascination. “What you do is amazing, every time.” At her startled glance, he offered, “I come to visit Gustave, after…after there is no one here. I…I have seen so many of your designs. They are always…what you do is…I really loved the chrysanthemums, when you had the walls just covered in them, and the huge ones hanging from the ceiling, like clouds. It was…so beautiful.”

Christine had a moment to wonder if Erik had ever said so many sentences in one go in his life, when he surprised her again by continuing. “He said that despite your talent for design, and how much native business sense you have – that’s what he said,” Erik interjected at her surprised expression. “That what you want most of all is to sing, and that you have the talent to make your dreams come true.”

Christine blinked away sudden tears, and took a sip of water, which trickled down a throat which threatened to close with emotion. “My dad…he’s the one who made this place what it is. If I stripped everything off the walls, the people would still come, because of him.” This was a test, although she didn’t realize it at that moment, and Erik passed with flying colors when he nodded. “Gustave…he…well, he has done so much for so many people. He just…” Erik trailed off, at a loss. He met her eyes again. “He said you are the light of his life, and that he feels so badly that you had to miss the start of your conservatory training due to his illness.. He said he knows you worry that it will put you far behind.”

Christine was the one who turned away then, just briefly, to hide the flare of shame she felt. “Well, I shouldn’t be surprised that he knows that, he doesn’t miss anything about anyone ever.” Again she saw Erik nodding in agreement. “But…I wouldn’t trade anything for helping him through this. I only wish I could hold that attitude all the time, that it is a privilege to be able to help him, to give back to someone who has given me so much. Nothing is more important than being there for him. Nothing. And I am just…so relieved that he is getting better.”

“So that is what your father told me,” Erik said, after a brief pause. 

Christine waited expectantly. For what, she wasn’t certain, but she was certain there was more. “And I…I might be…I might have a way I can help you.” Erik squared himself in his chair, his hands gripping the edge of the table. “I…Gustave tells me when he is going to be playing. Here. At the bar. And…sometimes…I…I come early, and come through the back, like I did tonight, and I stand back by the electrical alcove…no one goes there on…you know…on pain of death.” He looked up from the table he had been boring holes through to meet her eyes, that smile again pulling at his mouth. “And I…that’s when…well…I have heard you sing, lots of times…and your… Gustave. Gustave was right.” Suddenly a transformation came over him. He leaned forward, his speech clear, and certain, unfaltering. “In my opinion, you have one of the finest voices I have ever heard. In a very short time, with training, you will be able to command any role which you wish to undertake. The conservatory is your springboard. You will get there, and I can help you.”

Christine, to her own astonishment, believed him. One hundred percent. “What…how?” she asked. She wasn’t sure what he was going to say, but she was sure she was in, no matter what it was.

In reply, he got up from his chair and moved toward the little stage past the far end of the bar.

There was that walk again. Him moving away from her through the candlelit bar in those…very snug…black jeans was one of the finest things she had seen in a long, long time. Doubly so because she was positive he had no idea of the effect he was having on her.

He seated himself at the upright piano, humming as he did, his fingers finding the keys he wanted without looking down. The hum she realized, when she shook herself free from the beauty of it, was a brief vocal warm up.

And then he…sang. The tingle she felt when he spoke was nothing compared to the absolute conflagration of sensation she felt at the sound of his resonant baritone voice curling round her in the darkness. 

She had no idea how long he sang or even what he sang. When he finished, and came at last to seat himself at the table he said “One of the…things…I do is vocal lessons. And I would like, very much, to teach you, if you will let me. No charge,” he said, again at the look on her face. 

There was no money, no money at all to pay for lessons from a singer of his caliber. Why he wasn’t performing on the finest stages in the world…oh. Here was where the mask supplied an answer. Or a partial answer, possibly.  Again, maybe someday she would learn the story, if he ever chose to share it with her. He opened his mouth as though to offer more arguments to sway her, which she forestalled with a simple “Yes!” He blinked at her in such astonishment that she had to laugh. “You were very convincing and I can’t wait to start! I need to get through this weekend first though. Which reminds me, did you have a chance to look at the electric before you responded to my siren call?”

He waved a hand. “Oh, that, it’s nothing, a simple fix. There must have been a surge, there are a few different fuses blown. I would have it done already, but for some reason, I can’t find the box of spares I was sure I left here. It’s okay though, there’s a place that’s open late that stocks them, I can get there and back tonight no problem.”

Christine watched in fascination. When he was on a topic he felt confident about, like electricity and decidedly music, he became almost a different person. Suddenly like a cloak settling over his shoulders, his hesitant demeanor returned. 

“I…Chris…can I call you Christine? Christine, I…know you are an adult…and that you make your own decisions, but I...would you mind…I would like to ask Gustave’s permission. To be sure he…is okay with it. The lessons, I mean, not the fuses. That he’s okay with me…spending time with you. I just…need to know that.”

Christine looked at him steadily for a long moment. Soon the fuses would be installed. She might not get to see him by candlelight again for some time. She got up and moved about the bar, punctuating her words by blowing out the candles that had created such a lovely fantasy world. “I think that’s a tremendous idea. I want to let him know that he can take all the time in the world to get in tip top shape, and that he doesn’t need to worry anymore that I am losing any time at all.”

All the candles save the one at their table were now out. Erik’s face, his gold eyes, his pale hands shone against the dark background of the bar, the rose-strewn skeletons above an attentive audience to the unfolding story below.  “In fact,” she said, tucking her water bottle and headlamp into her bag, then slinging it over her shoulder, “I want to tell him right away. Tonight. If we leave now, we can get there before visiting hours end.”

Impulsively, as though she hadn’t wanted to do it all evening, she put her hand on his arm. She had not intended though to have her fingers brush against his bare wrist. Everything seemed to stop, as his eyes met hers.