The Violinist's Daughter

Chapter 2

Christine awoke from her nap, her heart fluttering. "Aunty! Aunty!"

Antoinette lifted her head, groaning. "Non! Non, c'est trop tôt!"

She looked out the window, too see the sky had turned gold with raspberry streaks swirling through it.

"Meurde! Come, Christine, we must go to your Papa's concert!" She cried out grabbing the young child's hand.

"But Aunty," Christine said, "I'm not dressed!"

It was true, neither of them wore the proper attire for an event such as a Gustave Daaé concert. Gustave's concert would be packed with people in their finest attire. Antoinette winced when she looked down at her own loose fitting shirt and leg warmers. It was ballerina's garb, for she had picked up Christine after training a quite bit herself. Christine had on a white cotton blouse and blue jeans. It was an adorable look for a three year old on any other occasion, but for this, absolutely not.

Antoinette groaned, picking Christine up. "Come, I know a way we can get to your Papa's concert without being seen."

She fingered around the mirror, looking for the release. She delicately opened the mirror, and carefully shut behind them. She hurried through the damp corridors and Christine's grip on her tightened.

"Aunty, I'm scared."

The young child's fear was understandable. The passageway was old and damp. The once sturdy bricks were eroding away and cobwebs decorated the ceiling.

It chilled Antoinette to the core as well, with it's creepy instability. Finally, the reached the end of the corridor, and Antoinette pushed the door open.  It led into a closet, full of intricate, colorful, costumes.

She neatly slid the door disguised as a wall shut and put Christine down. "Come, chérie, we will watch your Papa's performance from backstage."

She and the child walked to right stage, greeting Gustave.

"Oh, my beautiful daughter!" He put his violin down and picked up his daughter. "Papa!"

From above, in the rafters, stood the boy. He watched curiously as the Swedish violinist picked up the little girl from the Opera House. Her eyes were a chocolatly shade of brown and were framed by long dark lashes. She appeared much nicer now, but he didn't understand why the violinist liked her so much. The boy crept down the rafters to a spot where he was hidden by the costumes.

"Thank you, Antoinette, for watching her. I hope she wasn't any trouble, she is, after all, my daughter."

The boy's eyes widened and he stared at the girl through the costumes. Her back was to.him and her brown curls fell neatly to her shoulders. Perhaps she did know music. . .

He shook her from her head and continued to listen to the violinist. "Christine, I'll have someone get you a seat, älskling."

The girl, Christine, shook her head. "Naj, I like sitting on the floor!"

He chuckled, ruffling her hair. She ducked, hopping out of his arms.

The lights darkened and Gustave winked at Christine. He picked up his violin as the conducter walked out on stage. Then, flashing a smile at Christine, he strode on stage. Thunderous applause errupted and Gustave gave a deep bow. Then, he brought his violin to his chin. He placed a cloth on the chin rest. And, he played.

It was a Paganini Caprice, the 13th to be precise. It was the boy's favorite.

He watched closely as Gustave's fingers flew easily from string to string, reaching impossible notes. His bow danced across the strings and the boy looked closely at the way Gustave's right hand gripped the bow loosely, allowing the bow to bounce around the strings in a carefree way. The caprice was also known as Devil's laughter because its winding scales up and down sounded like evil laughter. Even the orchestra behind the violinist was watching with bated breath, absorbing the breathtaking performance.

"Who are you?"

The boy whirled around to see the girl, Christine, staring at him curiously. The boy looked at her, profoundly surprised. "How did find me?"

She giggled, pushing a stray curl behind her ears and looked at him through her long lashes, "You're just behind the costume rack! That's a silly place to hide!"

The boy looked away, slightly offended. "My name is Erik."The girl smiled, "Hallo, Erik, I am Christine."

He smiled at her accent, which was faint, but there. "Bonjour, Christine. Are you from Sweden?"

Christine nodded silently, and Erik felt his heart warm toward the younger child. "I'm from France."

She gasped, her eyes widening, "My Maman was from France! She was from Paris!"

Erik smiled at her enthusiasm, "I'm from Paris as well." Christine looked at him, "Why do you have on a mask?"

Erik's heart fell, "Never mind that, Christine."

Christine frowned, but Erik quickly responded, "Var inte ledsen, liten en."

Christine gazed, surprised at him. "You speak Swedish!"

Erik nodded, sitting down against the wall. "Oui." Christine slid down next to him, "Est-ce que tu joues au violon?"

He looked at her, smiling, "And you speak my language."

She smiled, "Maman taught it to me so that I can speak to my Grandparents. I haven't seen them since her funeral."

Erik's heart sank as he listened to Christine's words. "I'm sorry, little one."

She smiled, "Do not apologize! One day I will see my Maman in Heaven, and she will sing me to sleep like she did before.

Erik smiled at her innocent nature, petting her head. "You are a very sweet child, Christine."

She looked up at him, "You are a child too!"

It was true, Erik was about twelve years old, but the way he held himself and the way he spoke could've fooled anyone into thinking he was far older than he actually was.

"That is true, little one," He admitted, standing up,"But I have seen more than any adult has."

Christine stood up, looking towards the stage proudly. "That's my Papa!"

Erik followed her gaze towards Gustave, who was at the end of the Caprice. Applause flooded the hall and Christine beamed, "See!"

Erik nodded, "He's quite good."

Christine quirked her head, looking at him. "You never answered my question. Do you play violin?"

Erik nodded, "Yes."

Christine smiled, "Would you like to meet my Papa?"

Erik shook his head,"No, little one, I must go before then."

Christine turned back toward her Father, who had begun to play Carmen. "This is my favorite. . ."

She turned to look at her new friend, but he had disappeared. She looked around, but he was gone. And he would stay that way for a very long time.