Courtship

The snow has stopped falling as Erik and Christine exit the Phantasma Hotel. The Polar Bear Club is gone, or at least have dressed in warmer clothing and have joined the few people walking along the beach. Although closed for the winter, a few shops and stalls are open for New Year's Day.

"Home?" Erik asks, tentatively, taking her hand.

Christine shakes her head. "I rather like just being with you. Only the two of us."

"I have no objection to that," he says, continuing to stroll on the sidewalk away from the beach area. "However, you did seem unwilling to leave the children for too long…"

"I am finding our courtship appealing."

"That is a relief," he says. "We never had much time alone. I often wonder if there are no distractions, you might become bored or appalled by my behavior."

"Appalled?"

"I do tend to…" he clears his throat "…initiate physical affection at most every opportunity when others are not present. I often find myself appalled at my desire for you – so can only imagine what you might think – especially since we have been married for twelve years now."

Pausing a moment, she turns to stare at him. "I never quite thought about that. We do tend to romp quite a bit – even at the most oddly timed moments," she says, a sparkle lighting her aquamarine eyes, "never, have I been appalled, though. Amused at times, you can be quite creative. Showering together, for example."

"It does cut down on the use of the hot water."

"Except the water is always cold by the time we have complete our, um, ablutions."

"Cook made me aware of that problem."

"Did she?

"Mister, please do not see this as a complaint…Ima only wishin' to do my job."

"What is it, Hannah?"

"Well, there is days when I am doin' the washin' up after breakfast and the water goes cold."

"Is that so? Any days in particular?"

Eyeing him up and down. "Not that I been keepin' track, mind you, but days when you and the missus go to the theater at the same time."

"And this interferes with your work?"

"Yessir, Ima need to wait on the water to heat again, then my other chores fall behind…well, like I said, I just wanted to explain, so there would be no fussin'."

"I thank you for making me aware of the problem. You must have your hot water."

"And?"

"I had new hot water heaters installed in all the bathrooms and the kitchen."

"Ah, so that was why all those workmen were all about the house?"

"Yes. No more complaints…at least about hot water."

"I wondered about that," Christine laughs. "Do you suppose she knew why there was a problem?"

"I felt certain she had some idea," he chuckles. "I felt almost sorry for her, having to tell me our little showers were preventing her from washing dishes."

"Hannah is an old married woman, I doubt she was embarrassed at all. If I were to guess, it was yours whose face was burning. Hannah must have gotten her own little chuckle out of that meeting."

"You are probably right – you are so often on these sorts of matters. I have no talent reading the hearts of everyday people," he muses. "So you think we are normal? Do you suppose our friends behave in kind?"

"You mean Alexander and Sorelli…or Nadir and Adele."

"Nadir and Adele?"

"Well, before she disappeared into herself. Or perhaps now that she appears to have lost her memory, she is less restrained, almost buoyant at times."

"Do you think she even knows who Nadir is? She seems to have quite forgotten the rest of us."

"My sense is, he is all she remembers or wants to remember."

"I had not considered that. He never speaks of her. But then, he never did, really. I should have to speak to him about that."

"Were I you, I would tread lightly in that area," Christine warns. "In any event, she seems quite content…even happy whenever our paths cross."

"Somehow I find it difficult to visualize the two of them…"

Their eyes meet. "Gustave and Julia," they say in unison, stopping dead in their tracks.

Christine's face flushes - she shakes her head and covers her mouth. "My son. My baby boy. Oh, my, dear."

"Well, he did get a lot of practice after he made off with the Kama Sutra and dozens of new linen handkerchiefs."

"Helen wondered how a young boy would have such a use," Christine laughs. "I told her he had allergies."

"I do not suppose she is finding too many handkerchiefs in her own laundry from Raoul for further insight into our son's earlier explorations into pleasuring himself."

Christine frowns.

"Did I misspeak…mentioning Raoul?" Erik asks. "I meant no disrespect."

Waving her hand, dismissing his concern – she sets about walking again. "As I recall, Raoul always seemed to be in need of handkerchiefs, now that I think about. It was not until this moment did I connect the man with the boy."

"I would say I was sorry, but I am actually relieved he needed to find certain pleasures beyond his wife's bed."

"Do not become smug, but I must admit, once I knew I loved you – there could be no other."

"Well, I am sorry for the haberdasher's loss of sales, but happy for the two men."

"So you do think they…well…share themselves with their wives?"

"Old McInerny certainly does…did."

Christine starts to giggle. "We are being very naughty – speaking so about others."

"I can only imagine what they say about us."

Christine stops again. "Pappa and Mamma. Oh, Erik, I used to hear noises at night – before Mamma got sick."

"My mother slept alone," he says. "While she could not blame me directly for his death, I am certain she missed my father. Marie said they were very much in love."

"So there was a time she loved you, most dearly. Both of them."

"I suppose so," he says, picking up the pace of their walk the Coney Island-Stillwell station in view. "I am making a New Year's Resolution. I believe that is what they are called."

"What might that be?"

"Not to turn every conversation into a recollection of my mother's behavior. As you say, she loved me for a time, I must focus on that."

"She would love you now, I am sure of it."

"You love me – which is what matters."

"I do and because I do I am asking why are we practically running? Be careful the sidewalk is rather slick."

Moderating their pace, he says, "It is getting late and we are going to the City to see a movie."

"It has been ages since we have seen a movie."

"There are a number of new films – Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde with Mr. John Barrymore or The Mark of Zorro with Mr. Douglas Fairbanks?"

"If those are the only choices, I think I should prefer Zorro," she says. "I was not fond of Mr. Stevenson's short story."

"Too much like me?"

"You do not change personalities at the drop of a hat," she retorts. "And you were never evil, nor are you entirely pure. I would prefer something more uplifting is all. Is there nothing else?"

"There is one you might like – a boy born in poverty is able to buy and play the violin – it changes his entire life. Humoresque," he says.

"Each movie is more like you than the next…Jekyll and Hyde with his opposite personalities…Zorro wears a mask. Now this – which sounds like the you I love the most."

"I thought you would like the story, I am certain you will cry, so brought extra handkerchiefs – leftovers from our son," he laughs.

"Would it not be ironic if someday a movie was made from that odious book about us?"

"It is French, I cannot imagine an American movie being made from a book, such as it was, published in France."

"You never know. Mr. Hugo has written some wonderful books that could be made into movies…just as the Jekyll story."

"I suppose," he says, pondering her words. "One can hope not, though." Taking her hand, he leads her to the entrance of the station. "The Subway runs on a schedule – I do not want to miss the next train."

"Not drive? You are sure?"

"Yes," he insists. "We have never taken the subway and I think it might be fun...recall the past."

"Oh, well, then by all means – under the ground again. We did create some memories then."

"This will be different," he says, paying their fares. "At least I hope so. Down once more," he sings under his breath."

Christine's giggles intensify. "He's here, the Phantom of the Opera."

The looks received from other passengers puts a stop to their silliness. Touching his hand to his watch cap as a doff to a couple perhaps the same age as Nadir and Adele, he finds them smiling in return. "Happy New Year."

"Happy New Year," the man of a similar height, but broader shoulders and a full white mustache with hints of the reddish blond it once was, replies. "It is a pleasure to see young people so happy."

"Hardly young, but that we are," Christine says, holding tightly to Erik's arm.

"May you be blessed with many more years together, like my missus and me," the man says turning to his wife, a woman of average height, with the same fine bone structure and clear skin as Christine despite their age difference. "Is that not so, kar*?"

Christine's eyes light up. "You are Swedish?"

"We are."

"I am originally from Sweden but left when I was but a child."

"I thought I heard a bit of the lilt in your voice with something else?"

"French," Erik says, "we met in Paris."

"What a wonderful coincidence, one does not meet many Swedes in New York – most of the people we traveled here with moved to the middle parts of America – farmers," the older man adjusts his wire-framed glasses taking a closer look at Erik and Christine.

"Oskar hoped to find work here as a musician – he plays the violin and I used to sing a bit," the woman continues, pressing her head against her husband's shoulder. "In fact, we are going to see that movie about an impoverished man who found his fortune playing."

"Humoresque," the man says.

"As are we," Erik exclaims. "I play violin as well…and my wife sings."

Christine nods enthusiastically. "Would it be all right if we were to join you?"

The couple exchanges a look. "Yes, we would love that. Our children are no longer in the city," the woman says.

"We would most definitely enjoy your company," agrees her husband.

"My treat," Erik says as they enter the toll booth. "We are Erik and Christine Saint-Rien."

"Oskar and Madeleine…"

"Maddie," the white-haired woman corrects her husband, slapping him lightly on the sleeve. "Oskar and Maddie Daae."

"Daae?" Christine whispers.

"A most unusual name, I know," Oskar says.

"Not unusual. Not unusual at all," Erik says, glancing down at Christine's beaming face. "I believe our meeting is fated."

*dear