A Light in the Dark

Chapter 21

Chapter 21 (Gustave's POV)

As I was getting ready for bed that night, something in the back of my mind kept bothering me. I had grown up going to church and learned about what it meant to forgive someone. I had forgiven my mother and father for their past. Why couldn't other people? I replayed in my mind over and over how the audience stared at Papa that night at the concert. It bothered me. So, yes, he was different. He had a haunting past, but that didn't make him a bad father or me a bad son. I decided that I was going to do something to clear his reputation. I wasn't quite sure what that would be yet, but I couldn't let my people think of my father as a villain.

I woke up early the next morning and headed out for the pier. Sure enough, Miss Giry was where she said she would be. I sat on the pier next to her and dangled my feet off the edge. She smiled at me.

"I didn't think you would come back," she said.

"Why wouldn't I? You're one of the few friends I actually have," I replied. I had stuck a couple of apples in my pocket before I left, and I tossed one to her.

"Do you really think of me as a friend?"

"Any friend of my mother's is a friend of mine."

She grinned. "So what are you up to today?"

"My father has got me helping him with some crazy project. I don't even know what it is yet. Right now it just looks like a bunch of wood and gears."

"Don't doubt your father. It's probably something spectacular. He never does anything that isn't impressive."

I nodded in agreement. "Miss Giry, can I ask you something?"

"Of course, Gustave, and please, if we're going to be friends, call me Meg."

"Alright well, Meg, have people always been scared of my father?"

Meg laughed so hard that she spit out a piece of the apple she was chewing. "Gustave, was that even a question?"

I looked down. I guess some part of me hoped that at some point he was adored by someone. "Yeah, sorry. That was a stupid question."

"Oh, Gustave," Meg said patting my back. "Don't be upset about that. Your father is a good man. As long as you know that, then no one else matters."

I smiled at her. She was right.

"When do you turn sixteen?" she asked.

"Next month," I answered.

"So you're an April baby huh?" she asked.

"April 17," I answered once more.

"Mine is April 25," she said. "It looks like we share birthdays."

"I wish I knew when Papa's birthday was," I said slightly annoyed as I thought about it. "I've always wanted to go out and buy him a birthday present, you know, like normal kids do, but he won't tell me when it is."

"You know, Gustave, I don't think that he really knows himself."

I looked at her confused.

She tried to answer my silent question. "His mother wasn't really the motherly type," she explained simply. I knew that, but I would have thought that his mother would have at least told him when his birthday was. "If it helps, Mother brought him to the opera house in late January. He first heard your mother's voice on a snowy day in early February. Mother always gave him something around that time because it was a special time for your father. It's not his real birthday, but it's as close as he's ever had to one."

I thought about that. It would be difficult not knowing when my birthday was. I felt sorry for my father. It made me mad to think that all of these years, he never had a birthday party or had friends to play with. He didn't deserve all of that.

I stood to leave. There was some business that I needed to tend to. "Thank you for the chat once again, Meg," I said. I shook her hand and went walking through the park.

I had to do something to prove to everyone that my father wasn't a bad man. I paced around a few of the rides and shops for a few minutes until something in a shop window caught my eye. It was a place that made masquerade masks. Of course that would be in the park. That answered my question on how my father kept masks considering that he had a tendency to drop and break them. The sign said it was closed, but most rules around the park didn't exactly apply to me. I twisted the handle and snuck my way inside.

An old man with long white hair was sitting on a stool behind a long desk. He was shaping a sheet of porcelain that was stained purple. He heard the bell twinkle as I opened the door a little wider.

"Can't you see we're closed?" he said without looking up from his work.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I'll just come back later."

He seemed to recognize my voice. Before I could slip out the door, he called me back in. "Why, Gustave Yousefi, what brings you here?" he asked as he wiped his hands on an old towel. "Has your father broken another mask?"

"No, monsieur," I answered. I was suddenly struck with an idea as I saw a mask identical to his setting in a glass case.

"Are you sure?" he asked. He pointed to the glass box. "I have one on back up just in case," he said chuckling.

"I'm sure," I answered, "but I was wondering if you could do me a favor."

He raised an eyebrow. "What's your proposition, lad?"

I began telling him what I needed from him, and he went to work.