Limelight

Chapter Fifteen: The Persian

Chapter Fifteen: The Persian

November 2nd, 1910, 9:30pm

Faust finished without further hindrance from the Vicomte, or anyone else. As I walked backstage, to go to my room, I received stares and glares from the performers; mostly the chorus girls who spoke of the Vicomte's handsomeness. I hurried away from these girls and found myself in the dimly lit hallway which led to my dressing room; I sighed but as I turned to my dressing room I saw a shape sitting beside my door. The shape's legs were pulled to its chest but it's head sat at attention, following my every move; I stopped and watched as the shape stood and stepped forwards, towards me. I took a shaking step backwards and the shape reached out its arms for me; this caused me to run away from the shape.

 I turned my head to see behind me, only to discover the dark shape running after me; I rounded a corner and saw a set of stairs leading downwards, to the cellars of the Opera Populaire. The Opera Populaire had five cellars in number, each darker and more frightening than the last; I had only ventured to cellar number two, where I saw fire spewing from what looked like a head. I fainted and a fireman (who goes round the building, checking for fires) retrieved me, bringing me to Mamma Giry; I heard the footfall of the shape grow closer and fearing lest something bad would happen to me, I hurried down the stairs to cellar number one. The shape gained upon me, I felt its fingers graze my shoulder, this alarmed me; then, I considered something I hadn't in my panic. 'What if that's the Opera Ghost?'

I turned my head and looked for the Opera Ghost's wide brimmed, black hat or his cloak; neither I saw. This shape was wearing what looked like a tuxedo and a  hat sat upon it's head; I accidently slowed in order to observe the shape and whilst I did the shape grasped my shoulder and pulled me to it. The shape lifted its left hand (for, it held me with it's right) and unveiled a lamp with a narrow beam; the shape turned out to be a man, and a man I had never known. This man was tall (around the Opera Ghost's height), with eyes of jade, a black mustache, black hair, and upon his head he wore a black astrakhan hat; the man smiled and bowed his head."W-who are you?"

I asked the man in a whisper, the man let go of my shoulder and grasped my wrist instead. "You may call me the Persian, like most do, Elizabeth" the Persian said,Mamma Giry had said something to me once of a man that wanders backstage in an astrakhan hat;  no one knew his real name, so everyone just called him 'The Persian'. Few have actually spoken with this man, for, he keeps to himself; The Persian offered his arm to me, which I took, and we walked silently back to my dressing room. The Persian sat down in the golden fabric chair whilst I began to make tea; I sat down in a small, wooden chair across from the Persian. "Why did you run from me, Elizabeth?

I know the circumstances were unsolid, but, why would you run into the cellars instead of to your caretaker or to your friend, Megan?" Asked the Persian, sitting up in the chair; I shook my head and shrugged. 

"Why were you sitting beside my door, uh, Mr. Persian?" Asked I, standing again to check on the tea; the Persian chuckled.

"To make for certain that you were fine; I saw your struggle with the Vicomte on stage and the thought of him overpowering you backstage plagued my mind." The Persian paused and sighed "Elizabeth, do not go into the cellars alone; there are terrible things down there...things which should never see the light of day. You would certainly be killed, for, I almost was when I ventured down there all by my lonesome; and you are certainly the best Margarita this Opera has ever had...they would not like to lose you!" Said the Persian, taking a tea cup from me and stirring in two cubes of sugar.

"How did you escape? You said you ventured down, into the cellars, and your life was almost taken from you...how did you come away unscathed?" Asked I, sipping on the tea, the Persian smiled and sighed.

"Yes, Madam, I did escape; but I was by no means 'unscathed'. Down in the cellars...it is his world...his home...it is all his; I watched him, many times a day, and once I mirrored his movements. Gaining entry into his realm" The Persian paused again to sip his tea; I dare not interrupt the Persian to ask who 'he' was, I figured he would soon come to that. "In the cellars there is a house upon a lake, his house, I settled into his gondola, which is a very narrow, small boat; and I rowed until I sat in the middle of the large lake." The Persian set down his tea cup, leaned back, and joined his hands together "There was beautiful singing, a wonderful voice that I figured was not of this earth!

Being where I am from, and superstitious, I knew that it was a siren. I shook my head in an effort to escape that breath-taking voice...but in vain; the voice seemed to come from the water so I leaned over...over...and over until I almost tipped the gondola!" The Persian chuckled and I smiled, I placed my tea cup upon a small table and sat at the edge of my seat, fully interested in the story of 'him'. "I peeked down into the dark water, but I saw nothing, the signing continued...until two arms wrapped round my neck and dragged me into the water! I yelled a name that he knew me by; and instead of killing me, he swam with me to shore.

Where he chastised me for ever following him. The Persian grew very quiet and after a long pause, the Persian continued "as you may tell it was not a siren at all, but him, it was he who was singing in the lake; by a method of reeds he saw pirates execute. This reed enabled him to breathe, sing, and talk from underwater! I was so amazed, and he loved it; after he astonishes someone he loves to show them how that certain contraption works, which shows how cunningly ingenuitive he is." The Persian laughed "sometimes, just sometimes, I think him a child; a child who begs for praise and approval.

For, isn't that what children do?" The Persian asked and I nodded, I knew this from experience; having a sister seven years my junior. The Persian sighed and stood "I am sorry this interview couldn't last longer, Elizabeth, you really are a joy to speak with; but now, I must go, Adieu" Said he, walking towards my door; I called for the Persian and he slowly turned round to me.

"Who is the man you call 'he'?" Asked I, "and by what name does this 'he' know you by?" The Persian gave a weak smile.

" 'He' is the Trap Door Lover...and I am 'Daroga' to him; I remain to you, 'The Persian'" The Persian bowed, taking off his astrakhan hat and turning away from me; he silently opened the door and with one last bow to me, he disappeared into the dimly lit hallway in which this misadventure began.