A Light in the Dark

Chapter 2 (Gustave)

Chapter 2

My father was not a simple man. The more complexities he had in life, the more it showed in his music. Melodies that were beautiful and symphonic came when he was happy, but as soon as the "cheap vaudeville trash" (as Madame Giry called it) started coming, everyone that heard knew that he was in a bad mood.

I found it an issue in that first month to call him father. The simple fact was that I didn't know much about him. I knew what the rumors said. When I went exploring around the island, the crowd always muttered words of his strange mask and his accusations of being a murderer in France. Many said that he killed my mother, and every time I heard it, I would clench my fists tight ready to swing if they dared to say anything to me.

I didn't care much for roaming around the park. It was the places the crowd couldn't go or feared to tread that fascinated me, but I really told my father that I would spend the day with him so I could get to know him more. I will not hide the idea that I feared him. I did, but there was something about him that seemed almost down to earth. I knew my mother loved this strange yet beautiful man for some reason, and I was determined to know why.

He played a song over and over all night long. The lullaby caused me to drift off to sleep, but from time to time, I'd wake in the middle of the night to hear the same chords I had heard when I had fallen asleep just moments before. I recognized the tune. My mother used to hum it around the house when the man I thought to be my father, the Vicomte De Chagny, was not home. I did not know where she heard the song, but it always entranced me. It was almost as if every time she sang it, I felt as if there was no point in doing what I was doing. I felt that I should just drop everything and hear her sing. I knew as soon as my father's fingers hit the keys that he had composed the song. It was almost as if he knew the song better than he knew himself. It was beautiful the way he played.

The next morning, I stumbled out of bed and hobbled to the next room where my father kept his piano. Alarm clocks were a necessity for me because night or day, it was always dark in the lair. He had finally stopped playing, but he was not asleep. His head was rested on the keys, but his icy blue eyes were bright and alert. He sat up when he saw me and pulled me up onto the piano stool beside him.

"It looks like your pajamas are getting too small for you, my boy!" he observed. I rubbed my eyes and yawned. I had seen my father go a month without sleeping- at least not that I saw, and he almost never ate. I believe that he only saw his music as a necessity to life and really nothing else.

"Yes, it seems that they are," I replied.

He got up from the stool and commanded that I stayed there. He went into his room in which, I was not allowed into, and came back with some of his own button up shirts. "Here," he said, "I don't wear these any more. You are welcome to them." He set the shirts in my lap and went back to his room.

I heard water running through the pipes. I took a set of candles off of the piano and brought them over to the stove to fix myself some breakfast. I got a piece of ham out of the new ice box and fried it in a skillet which was a good enough breakfast in my opinion. Eating breakfast was more of a habit for me than a necessity, but my mother always made me eat. I couldn't bear to not eat just because she used to tell me to. In all of about ten minutes, my father came from his room in what he referred to his, "casual tux," and one of his unusual capes and, of course, his signature white mask. He always looked like a magician of some sort. He never wore anything but tuxes. Only once had I seen him without a full tuxedo on, and even then, he had the pants and accessories on. His jacket was just constricting him of playing the organ in his grand theatre, so he ripped it off and pulled his suspenders off of his shoulders. He stood there watching me as I finished my last bite. I wiped my mouth on my sleeve and looked up at him.

"I believe if we are to spend a day in my park, you should probably change into something more suitable for playing in," he said in an impatient yet nurturing tone.

"Yes, Papa," I replied. I swiftly made a turn to my room. I pulled a pair of knickers out of the top drawer and pulled a white button up top with a red bowtie and black suspenders. I looked in the half-lighted mirror that covered the entire right side of my face to make sure my cap and tie were fixed in perfect alignment. My father was very picky, and I did not want to upset him. When everything was adjusted to my liking, I came out of the room to find my father in the exact same place as he was before, but this time he was smiling in his own proud way.

"Are you ready...my...my son?" There was a reluctance to finish his sentence almost as if it were difficult to say. I imagined it was. It was difficult for me to call him papa, but I had to accept that this was my new way of life.

"Yes, Papa," I replied, "I am very happy to spend the day with you." With that, he wrapped his caped arm around my shoulders and we were off.