Status: I try to be good to my readers but I'm lazy. I'm sorry in advance.
The Angel of Music
Prologue
The autumn leaves swirled around the carriage in tiny tornados, lifting the dust from the paved floors outside of the Opera house. It had once been a glorious, elegant place, full of talent and promise, but that faded away with age, just as everything does eventually. The aged woman sighed as the black vehicle came to a stop, her nurse rolling out her wheelchair, ready for her as soon as she opened the door. Or more it was opened for her, and she was placed inside the chair, her expensively embroidered slippers strapped into the foot rest and covered by a blanket. Looking up, she took in the neglected exterior, the smashed lamps, the children playing around the soot stained statues. She lowered her eyes to her lap as they went inside, the past already snapping at her ankles. As the nurse tapped her on the shoulder, she realised she had closed her eyes, and she looked up at the dim, cobwebbed opera house around her.
“Lot 664, a wooden pistol and three human skulls, from the 1831 production of Rebelle á Diablo.” She heard the auctioneer’s voice ring out and she looked up. “10 francs for this, thankyou.” She stole a glance at the other people present and saw a woman looking at her from across the floor, a gentle smile aimed from under her hat’s veil. No, no, it couldn’t be, but it was. It was a familiar face in the world of strangers she’d grown to get used to.
“Lot 665, ladies and gentlemen, a paper mache musical box, in the shape of a barrel organ.” Both of them looked away, eyeing the lot being displayed by the helper. “Attached, the figure of a monkey, in Persian robes, playing the cymbals. This item was discovered in the vaults of the theatre. Still in working order, ladies and gentlemen.” Suddenly, its song rang out, and silence fell. The Viscountess went still and signalled for the nurse to raise her hand at the first bet, 20 francs.
“20 francs from you Madame, thankyou.” The familiar woman raised her hand. “Madame Giry, 25. Thankyou Madame.” Ofcourse the younger Giry would want it. But she wasn’t about to give up. The nurse raised her hand again. “30. And 35?” The auctioneer looked to the other woman expectantly, but she shook her head, nodding the slightest to the Viscountess. She understood. “Selling at 30 francs, then. 30 once, 30 twice, sold for 30 francs to the Viscountess de Chagny. Thankyou Madame.” As the helper placed it in her hands, she lightly touched the feathered head of the monkey, remembering how it looked exactly as he’d said it would. She wondered whether it would continue to play when all of them were dead and gone. Her gloved hands started shaking and she dabbed away the tear that rolled onto her cheek, ignoring the ever-knowing look from Madame Giry.
“Lot 666, then, a chandelier in pieces.” The auctioneer’s thin voice pulled her out of her reverie. “Some of you may recall the strange affair of the Phantom of the Opera, a mystery never fully explained.” Her nurse wheeled her forward slightly, so they had a better view of where some men were busying themselves around a large, cloaked object. “We’re told, ladies and gentlemen, that this is the very chandelier which figures in the famous disaster. Our workers have repaired it, and wired parts of it for the new electric light. Perhaps we can frighten away the ghost of so many years ago with a little illumination.” A silence full of suspense followed, before, at the auctioneer’s command, the men lifted the tarp and pulled the ropes. With a loud crackle the lights flared up, and the birds flew haphazardly out of the room, the static noise frightening them. The Viscountess stole a glance at Giry, who was watching it being raised higher and higher. She wondered whether she was remarking on how different it had been with the fire, how different it had been without the dirt and the silence. As she turned back to the chandelier, she could imagine the wind wiping away the grime of many years, the floors polishing, the lights flaring up with fire, the seats turning back into their original shining red velvet.
Although she could never pretend it will stay like that forever in her mind, just like the woman opposite her could never pretend she didn’t see what she saw.
Like they both could never pretend they didn’t know what happened.
“Lot 664, a wooden pistol and three human skulls, from the 1831 production of Rebelle á Diablo.” She heard the auctioneer’s voice ring out and she looked up. “10 francs for this, thankyou.” She stole a glance at the other people present and saw a woman looking at her from across the floor, a gentle smile aimed from under her hat’s veil. No, no, it couldn’t be, but it was. It was a familiar face in the world of strangers she’d grown to get used to.
“Lot 665, ladies and gentlemen, a paper mache musical box, in the shape of a barrel organ.” Both of them looked away, eyeing the lot being displayed by the helper. “Attached, the figure of a monkey, in Persian robes, playing the cymbals. This item was discovered in the vaults of the theatre. Still in working order, ladies and gentlemen.” Suddenly, its song rang out, and silence fell. The Viscountess went still and signalled for the nurse to raise her hand at the first bet, 20 francs.
“20 francs from you Madame, thankyou.” The familiar woman raised her hand. “Madame Giry, 25. Thankyou Madame.” Ofcourse the younger Giry would want it. But she wasn’t about to give up. The nurse raised her hand again. “30. And 35?” The auctioneer looked to the other woman expectantly, but she shook her head, nodding the slightest to the Viscountess. She understood. “Selling at 30 francs, then. 30 once, 30 twice, sold for 30 francs to the Viscountess de Chagny. Thankyou Madame.” As the helper placed it in her hands, she lightly touched the feathered head of the monkey, remembering how it looked exactly as he’d said it would. She wondered whether it would continue to play when all of them were dead and gone. Her gloved hands started shaking and she dabbed away the tear that rolled onto her cheek, ignoring the ever-knowing look from Madame Giry.
“Lot 666, then, a chandelier in pieces.” The auctioneer’s thin voice pulled her out of her reverie. “Some of you may recall the strange affair of the Phantom of the Opera, a mystery never fully explained.” Her nurse wheeled her forward slightly, so they had a better view of where some men were busying themselves around a large, cloaked object. “We’re told, ladies and gentlemen, that this is the very chandelier which figures in the famous disaster. Our workers have repaired it, and wired parts of it for the new electric light. Perhaps we can frighten away the ghost of so many years ago with a little illumination.” A silence full of suspense followed, before, at the auctioneer’s command, the men lifted the tarp and pulled the ropes. With a loud crackle the lights flared up, and the birds flew haphazardly out of the room, the static noise frightening them. The Viscountess stole a glance at Giry, who was watching it being raised higher and higher. She wondered whether she was remarking on how different it had been with the fire, how different it had been without the dirt and the silence. As she turned back to the chandelier, she could imagine the wind wiping away the grime of many years, the floors polishing, the lights flaring up with fire, the seats turning back into their original shining red velvet.
Although she could never pretend it will stay like that forever in her mind, just like the woman opposite her could never pretend she didn’t see what she saw.
Like they both could never pretend they didn’t know what happened.
♠ ♠ ♠
So excited for this! x