Thursday was one of those days that we managed to get all of the costumes mended, laundered, and put back on the racks all before noon. "Well, it looks like we'll get to go home early tonight, eh, Roberta?"Michel said as we put a load of costumes back into the costume room next to the workroom.
Just as I was nodding my head in agreement, the telephone rang. Jacqueline answered it and called out, "Roberta! Telephone!"
I said softly, "Excuse me," and went into the workroom, took the receiver from Jacqueline, and said, "Allo?" After a few seconds, I added, "Oui...oui...je comprends...oui...eh, bien, merci quand meme, Mme. Bernard. Au'revoir."
As I hung up the receiver, Jacqueline, who had been standing in the doorway, asked, "Well?"
Before I could answer her, Michel came up behind her and asked, "Well, what? Please move, cherie--I need to get in there to get the rest of the costumes. What's going on between you two, anyway?"
Again, before I could answer, I was cut off, but this time it was Jacqueline, who said, "Roberta's leaving us?"
Michel turned to me and asked in a demanding tone of voice, "Why?", and then added in a more conciliatory tone, "Well, I suppose it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out why, but I wish you wouldn't go!"
"It looks like you'll get your wish. That was Mme. Bernard, the personnel manager at the company I applied to, and she said the company decided to hire someone else. It seems I'm too old and overqualified!" I replied, trying not to sound disgusted with the company's decision.
"Well, good! I'm glad!" Michel exclaimed.
"Papa!" Jacqueline exclaimed.
"Well, it's true! It's hard to find good workers, overqualified or not!" Michel retorted, and then added, "We got everything done that we needed to for today, so you can go home early. We'll see you tomorrow--and no more talk of quitting, either! I don't want to have the unpleasant job of breaking in yet another new girl! Buquet may have like doing that, but I sure don't!"
I took the metro home that night, secure in the knowledge that, while unable, for the moment, to find a safer job with better hours, I was, at the very least liked by my co-workers at the opera house. I was thinking about this when, just before my stop, I noticed a man seated on one of the side benches in front of my seat. Erik? I thought as I looked at the man. While the man appeared to be similar to Erik in both height and build, he had a beard and a thinning head of hair, and the color of both was several shades lighter than the wig Erik wore. I also noticed that his hands, while callused like Erik's, were not nearly as large as his nor were they as clean as his. Stop it, Roberta! That can't be Erik! He takes better care of himself than that guy! Besides, why are you worried about that bastard? You told him once already that if he ever lost his temper with you again, that you'd end the English lessons and never speak with him again--not that he needs English lessons anymore anyway! As for your lessons--and your dreams--oh, well! Those were nice dreams you had, but they were only that--dreams! They're finished now, and it's time to move on! Speaking of which, there's your stop!
As I rose to leave the car, I decided to walk by the man that resembled Erik. As I walked by him, I could see that I had been mistaken, for the face above the heavy beard and mustache was with normal and ordinary looking--no markings or scars of any kind to set it apart. The man looked like every other young working man in Paris--plain, tired, and probably ready to go home to dinner and spend the rest of the evening watching television.
I came in at nine Friday morning instead of my usual time because Michel had given me orders to do so. He felt that, since all of the costumes were ready for the evening's performance, I would just be sitting around doing nothing for three hours until he and Jacqueline came in to work. As for myself, I had to agree with him. Before Erik had kicked me out of the make-shift practice room, I had had music lessons to occupy my time, but now, there really was no reason to come in early. Should I go to Mme. Giry to get permission to change my schedule yet once again, or should I keep the one I have now to avoid Carlotta? I thought as I entered the opera house. "Bonjour, Roberta--coming in rather late today, aren't you?" Andre asked as I walked in.
"Bonjour, Andre. Michel insisted that I come in at nine today," I replied.
Andre shrugged his shoulders and said, "Well, he's the boss, I guess."
"Why? Is there anything wrong? Did Carlotta come in early today?" I asked.
Andre shook his head and said, "Non, I don't think she'll be in until ten at the earliest. It's just unusual for you not to be in early this morning."
"I thought you'd like to have some time to yourself for a change," I replied mischieviously. Andre said nothing more, but he did smile and wave at me as I walked downstairs to the workroom.
As I put the key into the lock on the door to the workroom, I noticed that the door was already unlocked. That's funny! I thought Michel locked it behind him last night as we all left together. With me being assaulted twice, Michel had insisted that we all leave the opera house together and he always locked up behind us as we did so. I agreed to leave with the father and daughter team because, since Erik's outburst, there was no longer any reason to stay late. I cautiously opened the door and turned on the light to the room, half-expecting to see the workroom in shambles. Instead, all I saw was a beautiful bouquet of miniature yellow roses in a small, round bowl-shaped vase sitting on my worktable. How lovely! Did Michel and Jacqueline send those? I wondered as I walked over to my table to get a closer look at them. I noticed that there was no card with the flowers, nor was there anything else on my table to indicate who the sender might be. Just then, Jacqueline entered the room and I said, "Thank you for the roses."
"What roses?" she asked as she put her things on her table.
Just then her father walked in and said, "What beautiful roses! Who sent them?"
"I thought it was you two," I replied.
"I didn't send those, did you, cherie?" Michel said as he turned to his daughter.
She shook her head, and then said mischieviously, "Roberta's got a beau, I'll bet! Who is the lucky man?"
I smiled and then said, "Not hardly. If I did have a special guy, he'd send long-stemmed red roses, not miniatures. Besides, they're yellow--that's the color of friendship, not love."
"Whether or not Roberta's got a beau, we've got to get things ready for tonight's performance. I want to get the costumes out that we'll need along with everything else. Also, Roberta, I'd like you to help me get the small props out and the jewelry we'll need," Michel said in the most business-like tone he could muster, which seemed so unlike him, but I guess I wanted to show that he could be just as serious as Jean-Baptiste ever was.
We managed to get everything done that Michel wanted, including making a last minute check on all of the costumes. After Carlotta had shredded the men's breeches a few months earlier, Michel had almost become compulsive in his desire to make sure the costumes were unharmed--not that I could blame him, for I had lost my job because of Carlotta and if it had not been for Erik's video, I would have still been unemployed. As we finished inspecting the costumes, Michel said with satisfaction, "I'm glad that's done! It looks like everything's ready for tonight. I'll get Jacqueline and lock up for the afternoon, and I guess I'll see you tonight at five-thirty. I'll bet your family will be glad to see you home early for lunch!"
"What time is it anyway?" I asked, as I made one last check on them as well. After what Jean-Baptiste told me about the near-fatal mix-up several years ago, I was afraid history would repeat itself, especially after what Carlotta had done.
"It's a little after eleven, why?" Michel replied.
"Hmmm. Mme. Fontaine usually doesn't have lunch ready until twelve-thirty at the eaarliest, and I don't like to rush her. I know what I'll do. You know those flowers I got this morning put me in the mood to take a walk. The jardin de Tuileries is supposed to have the first crocuses and jonquils out for Spring. I think I'll go there for a little while before I go home to lunch. The Louvre isn't that much out of my way," I said as I gathered my things.
"OK,then. See you at five-thirty," Michel said as he closed and locked the door behind us and then headed for the workroom.
I left the opera house, and by taking the Metro, I got to the Louvre in less than five minutes. The crowds there were a little heavier than normal but I attributed that to the fact that the Spring garden show had been heavily advertised as well as the fact that they were open to the public, and besides, it was a beautiful day in early spring. Paris had had such wet weather that entire winter, that even a partly sunny day that spring did not go unnoticed or unappreciated, and it did not matter that the temperature was on the cool side.
As I walked along the path, admiring the first spring flowers, I thought I saw a shadow out the corner of my eye. Stop it, Roberta! It was only someone passing by you--nothing to worry about! I resumed my walk, and then I thought I noticed something shiny on the concrete walkway, so I stopped to pick it up. It was only a five-centime piece. Not exactly a lucky penny, but it'll do! I thought as I straightened up after I put it in the pocket of my jacket. "Did you like the flowers I put on your table?" a familiar voice asked. I turned and saw Erik standing next to me, wearing his burn mask and holding a long-stemmed white rose. I did not know how to answer him, for I was still quite angry and hurt at his behavior. As if reading my thoughts and feelings, he then added, "Roberta, I know I have a lot of explaining to do. Would you mind terribly if you spent your lunch hour with me instead of the Fontaines? Please allow me to start making amends." I said nothing, for I was shocked. How dare he ask me to spend lunch with him! After what he did? I was ready to turn him down flat, when he then said, with a note of desperation in his voice, "I overheard your conversation with Jacqueline the other day. Please don't go! Let me make it up to you!"
I had forgotten that the walls at the opera house seemed to have ears, and that Erik always was on top of things concerning the people that worked there. I was still angry, but I could see by the look in his eyes that he was genuinely contrite and seemed to be afraid that I would really quit working at the opera house, so after several minutes of silence, I relented by saying in a resigned tone of voice, "All right, but let me find a phone first. I'll need to call Mme. Fontaine to tell her I have a change in plans."
"I think there's one in the Louvre. If you tell them you just want to use the phone, they won't charge you admission," Erik replied, unable to hide the delight in his voice, no doubt overjoyed that I would even talk to him after what he had done. He'd better be happy, the little snot! I thought as we both made our way to the front entrance of the most beautiful museum on earth.
Erik was right, for when I entered the building and told the guard on duty that I needed to use the pay phone, he directed me to the one on the wall near the entrance to the corridor that led to the lower level and natural history exhibits. I then called Mme. Fontaine and told her I would be having lunch with a friend but that I would be back at their apartment no later than four o'clock in order to make a light supper for myself before I went back to work at five. After I hung up the phone, I turned to Erik and said, "Well, that's done. Now where are we going to eat?" I was still a little put out at this last minute change in my plans and was skeptical of Erik's motives.
"We'll have to get on the Metro. I'm taking you to my favorite restaurant. It's one I go to quite frequently, but it's in Montmartre, not too far from the Left Bank," he replied.
It depends on how one defines the word "far", for Montmartre is several kilometers from the opera house, and the restaurant Erik took me to had to have been at least ten kilometers from the Latin Quarter. Altogether, between the ride on the Metro and the long walk to the restaurant, it was after one o'clock by the time we actually sat down for lunch. "I had forgotten just how much you like to walk," I said, trying to catch my breath as we reached the restaurant, which was in an older building in one of the older sections of Paris, just south of the Latin Quarter.
"I thought you were in better shape. Well, that will soon be fixed," Erik said cryptically, as he opened the door to the restaurant and let me enter the establishment.
"How so?" I asked, as he led me to one of the long tables that were arranged in long rows parallel to the bar.
Erik helped me take my jacket off and I hung it on the back of my chair. After we sat down facing each other, he placed the white rose on the table between us, and asked, "What would you like to eat?"
"Where are the menus? I didn't see anything posted on the front window," I replied.
Erik pointed to the bar and said, "The menu's posted on the board. This particular restaurant doesn't serve a large variety of dishes, but what it does serve, is absolutely delicious--filling, too, I might add."
Erik was right about the lack of variety in the menu, for there were only two entrees listed on the large white board displayed on the bar--steak and potatoes, and pan bagnet, along with soup, vegetables, salad, bread and butter, brie and apples, and ordinary table wine and mineral water for the beverages. "What's pan bagnet?" I asked, as I silently read the menu.
"It's a sandwich. I think of it as a Frenchman's vegetarian Ploughman's Lunch," Erik replied.
"Oh," I said, inwardly groaning at the thought of eating vegetables in a sandwich. It could be worse--Erik could be a vegan vegetarian! I thought, and then added, "I guess I'll have the steak, then. I'm not really crazy about French beef, but I can make an exception this time."
"Still eating meat? You Americans eat too much of that stuff, you know," Erik said, smiling at his small joke.
I smiled at his attempt at humor, and then said, "You know, I didn't see any prices listed. How much is lunch anyway, fifty francs, sixty?"
Erik shook his head and said, Whatever you can afford to pay. This is a workingman's restaurant, and the owners well know that many of their patrons can only pay what they can."
"I've never heard of such a thing! Aren't they afraid of going bankrupt? I don't know how much it costs to run a restaurant, but I know it isn't cheap!"
Erik shrugged and said, "They do what they can as well as they can. The Charpentiers are truly a couple of faith."
Just then, a very tall and slim young man, evidently the waiter, came up to Erik and said in a soft monotone voice, "Bonjour, Erik. Qu'est-ce que tu veux?"
"Bonjour, Thierry. Le chose usuel," Erik replied
Then, turning to me, the young man asked in the same tone of voice, "Et toi, madame?"
I noticed that the young man hung his head and had made no eye contact with either Erik or me. I looked at Erik, who only shrugged, and then answered, "Le bifteck, s'il vous plait."
"Bon," the young man said, in the same low, monotone voice, and then walked back to the kitchen, still hanging his head.
"Thierry has really improved since I first met him," Erik observed softly as he watched the waiter go back to the kitchen to wait for our order to come up.
"What's wrong with him?" I asked, trying to speak softly, as there were still a few patrons left in the now largely deserted restaurant, finishing their meals.
"His parents own this place. I'm glad to see they took my advice and put him to work waiting on tables. It'll be good for him," Erik mused.
"But, what..." I asked again.
Gently interrupting me, Erik said softly, "Thierry is autistic."
"Oh, you mean he's retarded," I replied, thinking that was what the poor young man was.
Erik shook his head, and repeated softly, "No, he's autistic. That's different than retardation. At one time, he was much worse than this. He wouldn't talk or interact with anyone. When I first met the Charpentiers, poor M. Charpentier had to manage this place largely by himself because his wife was busy with their son, trying to get him the help that the poor child needed--and believe me, that wasn't easy! They had to pay for art therapy, horseback-riding therapy, and special education out of their own pocket because there was no way the French government was going to pay for his education. It felt, and still feels, that special students like Thierry can't be taught anything! How wrong they are! Thierry is just as bright as any student I've seen, it's just that he isn't able to verbalize as well as the next person! Well, to summarize and then I'll get off my soapbox, Mme. Charpentier did everything she had to to get Thierry what he needed, and now it's paying off. He goes to school only half-days now, and the rest of the time he spends here at the restaurant helping out, as you can see."
About that time, Thierry returned with two large bowls of cream soup and carefully placed each one in front of us, and then left without saying a word. "Not one for conversation, is he?" I asked as I began to eat my soup. After my eyes had adjusted to the dim light in the restaurant, I noticed that both bowls of soup seemed a little darker than I thought cream soup should be and with good reason, for when I tasted my soup, I found that it was the most delicious tasting cream of carrot soup I had ever had. "Oh, this is good!" I exclaimed softly.
"What did I tell you!" Erik replied and then added, "Now you know one reason why I like coming here to eat."
"Any other reasons you like coming here?" I asked, only half-expecting an answer for the food alone was reason enough to frequent this place.
"Yes, as a matter of fact I do have other reasons for coming here. I feel more accepted here than anywhere else in Paris. Here, no one stares at my mask, or asks embarassing questions, or makes any remarks--rude or otherwise," Erik replied as he ate his soup.
"Erik, you've never talked about why you wear a mask," I said after a brief moment. I was hesitant to bring up the subject because he had always refused to tell me his reasons for wearing a mask, and I was afraid that he would get angry.
I watched his eyes for any hint of losing his temper, but there was none. Finally, after a small sigh, he asked, "Why do you think I wear a mask?"
I shook my head and said, "I don't know. I always thought that you had been burned in a fire or perhaps you had lost part of your face to cancer because I notice that you wear a wig in addition to the mask."
Erik nodded his head and said, "Most people are observant like you and most of the patrons here think the same thing but they are nice enough not to say anything."
I lowered my head a little ashamed at my thoughts, even though I do not think Erik meant to criticize me by his statement. "So what is it?" I asked as I finished my soup.
"What is what?" he asked as he continued to eat his soup.
"Is it burns or scars from surgery?" I asked, as I pushed my empty bowl of soup toward the middle of the table.
Erik smiled somewhat wryly, and then said, "I won't tell you but I will tell you the same thing I told Mme. Charpentier--that you will never see me without my mask."
"Erik!" I exclaimed softly.
"The subject is closed," Erik said firmly, and then added, "Changing the subject, I noticed that you were a little winded when we got here--that's going to change! How have you been getting home from the opera house for the last...oh, three weeks or so?"
"I've been taking the Metro," I replied, somewhat puzzled as to why he would ask such a question. How else would I get home? What am I supposed to do, wait for him to escort me home after the way he acted? Who does he think he is, anyway? I thought.
"Starting tonight after this evening's performance, I'll be walking you home after work, just as before," Erik said firmly.
I nearly fell out of my chair! Now? Tonight? I thought. Speaking, almost without thinking, I said, "But I've been leaving with Michel and Jacqueline for so long that they'll think something's up if I start leaving without them! Besides, what about next week? They'll surely know something's not right if I start making excuses to stay late!"
"That's all right! As you know Carlotta's back and I'm sure she'll prove to be a distraction for tonight, and as for next week, you will probably need to stay late every night anyway so that you can mend the costumes she always manages to put tears and rips into. I don't think Michel will mind terribly much if your staying late to mend costumes makes him look good in the long run," Erik said gently, and then added in a more firm tone of voice, "You need exercise to get rid of that girth, not only for your appearance but to increase your stamina as well--and you'll need more stamina because you'll be auditioning soon."
I shook my head and replied, "Auditions were held in August, just before I started working at the opera house."
"Auditions for the regular opera season, yes, but not for the Summer Gala," Erik corrected me, his voice even firmer than before.
"What gala?" I asked, for I had not heard of any special concert or anything else except for the Summer Season, of which there had not been any productions being decided upon as yet.
"Every year, the opera house puts on a gala event for Quatorze Juillet, the French equivalent of your Fourth of July, and they always do Hector Berlioz' La Marseillaise--you are familiar with that piece, I presume," Erik asked, more as a statement than a question.
I nodded and said, "How could I not be? That's the only arrangement of the French national anthem that rivals John Phillip Sousa's Stars and Stripes Forever!"
Erik smiled at my remark and then continued by saying, "Good! Now you know why I want you to build your stamina, and to lose some more centimeters. You've lost a few around your hips already since I started walking you home in January, and it won't hurt to lose a few more."
"But why are there auditions for the gala? Doesn't the opera chorus have enough voices to do Berlioz?"
Erik shook his head and said, "In order to get the full sound the chorus is capable of, there needs to be as many voices as possible. Besides, there's always somebody that wants to go on vacation about the same time as the gala, and that can affect the quality of the performance, as I'm sure you know."
"But what will I sing? I don't have very much in the way of a repertoire," I replied, somewhat dubious that Erik could carry out this plan.
"Well, since you're American, I would imagine that the audition committee would have to be shown that you can indeed sing the French national anthem. I don't see why we can't add an arrangement of that to your repertoire, do you?"Erik replied.
Just then Thierry returned with our entrees as well as a large bottle of Evian mineral water and two glasses. "Voila. De plus (here you are, anything else?)" he said in a soft monotone voice, as he placed our entrees before each of us. I was amazed that, in spite of his handicap, he could remember what each of us had ordered.
"Non, Thierry, pas pour maintenant, mais merci quand meme (not right now but thank you anyway)," Erik replied. Thierry only nodded his head and then walked back to the kitchen, still hanging his head.
"I don't know if I can eat all of this!" I exclaimed softly. Even though the steak was small and thin--no more than four ounces, the portions of home-fried potatoes and cooked vegetables, which was a mixture of cauliflower, broccoli, and zucchini, were huge.
"I told you the food was filling. If you leave this place hungry, it's because you didn't eat!" Erik said as he started to eat his sandwich. It was made up of a split loaf of crusty French bread, filled with a mixture of lettuce, tomatoes, peppers,cucumber, hard-cooked eggs, anchovies and herbs, and even though it was cut into halves, it was nearly as large as my servings of potatoes and vegetables put together.
"I thought diabetics were supposed to watch their caloric intake," I said as I began to cut my steak into bite-sized pieces. It was a habit I had which I think all mothers have and never really overcome.
Erik smiled, whether it was from my remark or my habit of cutting up my meat, I am not sure. Then he said, "I only eat half of my sandwich for lunch. When Thierry returns, I'll have him wrap up the remaining half and then I'll take it home with me and eat it for supper. I'll probably have him do the same with the cheese and apple. Did I tell you that this is one of the places I have a contract with?"
"No, you didn't. Do you mind eating at a place that you...work at?" I asked.
"Not at all. In fact, the Charpentiers are more than glad to see me on this side of the bar, if you get my meaning." Erik replied, and then added, "And I am more than glad to be enjoying Mme. Charpentier's cooking. Hers is much better than the other restaurant's cooking--the one I also have a contract with. I also like eating here better because, even though I get my meals for free at the other restaurant, I have to eat in the kitchen along with the rest of the help. Here, I can mingle with the other patrons. I guess the Charpentiers aren't afraid that I'll frighten off their guests. Oh, where are my manners? Let me pour you some water to wash down that steak." He stopped talking long enough to fill, first my glass, and then his own. After he finished pouring, he picked up where he had left off. "I'd like to get back to the subject we were on before Thierry came with our orders. It won't take that much work to get your voice back to where it was before our little...hiatis, but we will have to work on it to make it ready for June's audition. Right now, you can carry a tune pretty well without getting on my nerves but you'll have to do better than that if you want to sing with the chorus for the gala, so I want to work with you both in the morning like we've been doing but also in the evening after work as well. Since everybody is usually gone by eight, I don't think anybody will overhear our lessons. Auditions are the first week of June so we have only just a few weeks to get your voice in shape but I think we can do it. Speaking of getting in shape, you need to lose a few more centimeters. Before my little...temper tantrum, we were walking about ten kilometers every evening when I walked you home. We will resume doing that, and in addition, I will be giving you some exercises to lose that paunch of yours. Now I know that pregnancy is hard on women's figures but you've probably been carrying around that extra weight for far too long and it's about time you got rid of it. Please don't be angry with me for mentioning this but you know I'm right," he said firmly.
I put my fork down and sat silently for a moment. While I realised that he was probably right concerning my weight problem, I did not appreciate being reminded of it for most large women feel the same way. I also wondered how he was going to get my voice to sound better in a little more than eight weeks time. Finally I had the nerve to ask, "Erik, you once said that my voice reminded you of nails grating on a chalkboard. What makes you think I can sing for the upcoming gala?"
After a pause, he smiled and replied, "My dear, I may be a rat-catcher by trade but I'm an artist at heart, and all artists need beauty in order to survive. In addition, I need a purpose in life in order to survive--you've given me that purpose. Like any true artist, I have taken up the challenge of taking a large, blank monolith and have been carving and chiselling away at the rough spots in order to reveal the beauty that is just beginning to emerge. Your voice has potential, Roberta, and I think that it's time to show the world that you can sing. Now, we start Monday morning with the lessons twice a day, so get to the opera house as soon as you can, and we start tonight with walking you home. But as for right now, it's after two and I need to get you back to the Fontaine's."
Erik turned and motioned to Thierry, who had been standing near the bar. Thierry went to the kitchen and returned a few minutes later with two small paper bags which he handed to Erik. As he did so, I asked, "But what about the bill? Isn't Thierry going to give us one?"
"I've already taken care of that. I paid the Charpentiers this morning when I did my rounds. Lunch is on me, as you Americans say," Erik replied, and then turning to Thierry, he said, "Merci, Thierry," while he put the other half of his sandwich and his dessert into one bag and handing me the other so I could put my cheese and apple into it.
"De rien," the young waiter replied in his low monotone voice and then added, "A bien tot."
Erik smiled at that and then said, "A bien tot, aussi, Thierry." Erik then turned to me and said, "We really should be going." He then rose from his seat, helped me up from mine and helped me put my jacket on. grabbed his bag and the white rose in one swift movement, waved at Thierry and his mother who had come out from the kitchen with a large tray of clean glasses to put on the bar, and we left the restaurant.
As we walked down the street, Erik motioned towards a Metro entrance and said, "If we weren't in such a hurry to get you back to the Fontaines, I'd get you started on a walking program right now!"
As we descended the steps to go into the station, I asked, "Erik, how did you know that I would have lunch with you today?"
He smiled wryly and said, "I didn't--but I was hoping you would. If you did, fine and good, but if you didn't--well, the Charpentiers would have gotten a sizable donation for their restaurant." After a pause, he added, "Am I forgiven?"
"Erik," I sighed and shook my head. Then I added, "I know it wasn't the smartest thing to do, trying to find your traps and all but I really was worried about you, especially after what happened to poor Joseph."
Erik nodded and then said, "Yes, I know that, now that I've had a chance to cool off and think about it. You're right. I should have let you know that I was all right. It's just that...well, I don't like the idea of putting yourself in danger like that. There's too many nooks and crannies in the basement that you could get lost in, or get into trouble, as you found out the hard way." His voice had ended on a firm note but then turned more gentle when he added, "I realize that you were concerned in light of Joseph but really, you should have no cause for concern. That poor man died of a heart attack, just as the death certificate says."
"How do you know for sure? Michel says that Joseph's body was dripping wet when he found it and Jacqueline says the same thing." Just then, the subway train arrived and we hurried to get on board. As we sat down on tow of the few remaining seats, Erik leaned back in his seat, closed his eyes, and exhaled slowly in a gesture with which I was becoming familiar. Careful, Roberta, or you'll get him angry again, and then you'll be right back where you started, I thought to myself as the train pulled away from the platform.
After a few moments, Erik slowly opened his eyes, turned to me and said evenly, "I know that Joseph died of a heart attack because I was the one who first found him."
"You? But..." I started to reply.
Erik quickly put his finger on my lips and said, "Shhh--let me explain. I was downstairs in the room by the lake, taking a short break from my traps before going on to my next client, when I heard a splash coming from the lake. I quickly got a flashlight and ran to the edge of the lake where I aimed the beam and finally found Joseph after a few seconds, face down and floating towards the center of the lake. I got into the gondola and managed to bring it up along side Joseph's body...I don't know how I did it but I got his body into the boat and got the boat back to the near side of the lake, got his body out of the boat, and brought it up to the workroom where I placed it next to the door." Seeing the look on my face, he added, "What else could I do? I couldn't just let him stay in the lake! He may have been strange, but he didn't deserve to rot in the basement!"
"But why didn't you go to the police?" I asked incredulously, not knowing how anybody could live with something like that on his conscience.
Erik sighed again and then said, "My dear, I have my reasons for not going to the police. Besides, I broke no laws and I followed the Good Samaritan Law to the best of my ability."
"But didn't you do any CPR on him?" I asked.
He nodded and said softly, "Yes, I did but it didn't do any good. My guess is that Joseph was gone even before he hit the water." Erik shook his head and said, "It's such a shame--he was a good worker and well-liked by nearly everybody at the opera house. Anyway, after I left his body by the workroom, I left the building, and indeed, I left Paris itself and stayed away for over a week. You have no idea just how unnerving finding a dead body really is!"
"Erik, you really should have gone to the police!" I replied sharply.
After a pause, Erik struggling to keep his voice low and even, said, "And tell them what! Something that they already know? No, my dear, I would only be wasting their time as well as mine!"
I looked at Erik's eyes and noticed that they were starting to turn dark, so I lowered my head and said contritely, "You're probably right, Erik. It won't make that much difference now anyway. I'm sorry I got so excited."
"I'm sorry too, Roberta. I had hoped we would have a better time than this," he replied, and then added, "This is our stop--the Sorbonne. We have to change lines here." He stood up when the train came to a complete halt, as did I, and we both left the train in silence.
We remained silent for the rest of the trip back to the Fontaines. Even though Erik's eyes returned to their incredibly blue color, he acted as if he were still angry with me. What more can I say? I thought as the train made its way through the tunnels underneath the city of Paris. And I still think he should have gone to the police after he found Joseph. He could still do it--it may not help but it won't hurt either! What's he so afraid of? When we got to the stop for the Fontaines, we got up and left the train and walked to the stairs that led to the sidewalk above. I turned to Erik and cautiously asked, "Will I still see you tonight after the performance?"
Erik smiled and said, "My dear, I've been an ass again--that's getting to be a nasty habit with me! Please forgive me for that and forgive me for not giving you a whole bouquet of white roses. My anger towards you has been completely misplaced if not actually unjustified." After he finished talking, he handed me the single long-stemmed white rose that he had been carrying with him since our encounter at the Tuileries.
This time, I smiled and asked, "Have you been carrying that thing around with you all day?"
Erik chuckled and said simply, "Yes."
I shook my head and said, "Erik, I don't know
what to make of you. Yes,