Affliction

“Marie, wake up.”

I heard the words, spoken in a deep whisper, but could not fathom where they came from. I was dreaming, or so I thought.

A hand grabbed my shoulder and gave it a shake. “Wake up!” There was desperation behind the plea.

I rolled over and opened my eyes, squinting at once at the light from the candle held just by my face.

“Sir?” I struggled to sit up, regretting it at once. My head throbbed. Crying oneself to sleep often brought about a headache.

“You stay here until I call for you. Do not, under any circumstances come out.” He spoke quickly, his eyes darting back over his shoulder.

I nodded in understanding, rubbing my swollen lids with my fist. “Of course, sir.” I replied dutifully.

“I shall be very put out should you choose to disobey me,” he hissed harshly. I wondered at his animosity, I had never disobeyed him, why would he assume my disposition had changed?

“Yes, sir,” I whispered. He turned to leave then, holding the curtain back with one hand, the candle in the other. He stopped suddenly though, turned to look at me once more, a final warning to stay put, and then ducked his head and disappeared through the drape.

I sank back down with a sigh. It was the woman then, she was still here, had stayed the night. I pictured her, slender and beautiful with the face of an angel. She had a bone deep grace, finely built, exactly the type men adored. And her voice, it matched her outward beauty, a heavenly voice that could lull even the harshest of hearts. It was easy to see why he fancied her so.

In comparison I took stock of my own qualities. I was ‘solid’, or so my mother had said. I was barely five feet tall, and of substantial bone, though not heavy. I hadn’t had enough money to acquire the soft, fleshy figure that many wealthy women of my build flaunted. My body was firm, however plain. My face was no more noteworthy, brown eyes, a squared jaw, my father’s jaw. My dull, brown hair had always been baby fine, with a natural tendency to curl and stick out stubbornly. I kept it firmly pulled up in a bun, struggling only with the tiny wisps that managed to escape and float about my face. I was neither pretty nor homely. I just was. Men were never inclined to give me a second look.

I thought about Sir (for lack of a name). He had frightened me immensely the day I had first ventured down into this tomb of a place. Never had I seen such a disfigurement, such a horrible affliction of the flesh, as his poor face. In time, though, the shock of it wore off, and I found it was the man himself that struck fear into me. He was harsh, cold, completely withdrawn. His temper flared at the slightest hint of insubordinate behavior on my part, and so I crept carefully around his nerves, taking care not to upset them. He often grew wild and loud when I inadvertently antagonized him (to be sure I never meant to, and often never discovered just what I had done to set him off). I had learned to predict his nature, discovering signs of impending eruption. His jaw clenching, the way he paced, how he glanced at me with challenging looks. He often looked for a fight, and I knew it was out of necessity. How long he had lived down here alone? I did not know. But one was sure to have gone a little mad with no other to communicate with. Perhaps he knew no other way, and so, if it unburdened his tormented soul to roar and howl at me for dropping a teacup, then I would abide by it.

But in stark contrast, I had witnessed last night a man of such sweetness, such warm tenderness, that I could not believe it to be the same person. How could one be capable of possessing such opposing dispositions?

I sighed again. Perhaps it was not him, after all. Perhaps it was the company he kept. I seemed to enrage him at every turn, while the young woman from last night obviously filled his heart with joy and passion. I could hardly expect to have the same effect.

My thoughts were interrupted abruptly by a loud crash and then a scream.

“Damn you!”

Forgetting my promise and my fears, I leaped from my cot and threw the curtain wide open. He was there, near the organ, face covered in part by his hand. He looked furious, as he prowled about, upsetting a tall brass candlestick and spitting oaths. On the floor, shivering and cowering was the young woman. She looked terrified, taken quite by surprise from the outburst. The white mask lay just beside her on the floor.

What had she done? Foolish girl!

I was undetected as of yet, and so I stood very still, waiting to see what would unfold. Should he look up and discover me, I would be sorry, but somehow I could not tear myself away. He looked capable of murder.

Slowly his temper subsided though, even with hushed curses as he lowered himself beside the frightened woman. She, in return, held the mask out to him with a trembling hand. He took it, stood, turned his back discretely and replaced it. When he turned back to face her, his eyes scanned the area and alighted on me for a moment. I shrunk back, panic welling up in my chest, but he did not acknowledge my presence and instead spoke into the air.

“Come,” he spoke to the young woman without daring to look at her. “We must return. Those two fools who run my theater will be missing you.”

He helped her to her feet roughly and they crossed towards the waiting boat. I tried to melt into the folds of the curtain, but as they passed by, a pair of cold blue eyes cut in my direction, full of disapproval.

I swallowed hard, and staggered back to sit on my cot. I sincerely dreaded his return.