The Phantom

The First Performance

Three days later, at eight thrity in the evening, the Persian walked into the newly opened opera house. Inside, a celebration took place. The new owner, an old man who the Persian did not recognize, was giving a speech to the patrons of the show. When he finished, everyone applauded madly. The Persian took care to look the crowd up and down. He could hardly believe he had managed to get a private box, now that he looked at the filthy rich patrons. The women all wore long fine silks and the men wore polished suits with long tailed coats. The Persian almsot felt underdressed in his cheap suit and worn shoes.
The minutes ticked on, and soon enough it was time for the performance. Erik had not arrived, or he had he was keeping out of sight. As the patrons began to herd into the main hall, the Persian held back. Where was Erik? Admiring the stunning scenery of the foyers? Surely not. He was not one to be late.
The Persian was eventually forced into the hall. What Erik had described to him could not do it justice. The colors were rich burgundy and gold. There were statues of angels and cupids all along the walls. The tapestries were more detailed than the Persian had thought possible. The opare boxed above were all roomy and plush. How could anyone ever pull themselves away from such a sight! Erik's woe of never seeing it played in the Persian's mind.
"Sir, your box is up those stairs and to the right," And usher in a black vest said and directed the Persian to his opera box. The Persian found the box easily and took a seat. Erik was still not present. The curtains would rise soon. Surely Erik would not miss the first performance.
"Daroga, I would have thoguht you would dress a little better for this occasion." The voice was Erik's clearly enough, but from where. The Persian leapt to his feet.]
"Erik? Where are you?"
"I am here, but I will keep out of sight. I wish not to be seen."
"No one will see you if you come out."
"You lie. There are eyes everywhere. Do not force me to do soemthing, daroga. You know I don't like it when people give me orders. And I am fine here anyways."
The Persian did not have time to reply, fore the curtain flew up at the very moment Erik finsihed speaking. The stage was decorated for the performance, FAUST.  The music started right away, played from a small orchestra under the stage. As the introduction music played, the young diva Carlotta stepped onto stage. She began to sing, and Erik made a comment that the Persian did not care to repeat.

The performance ended after three hours and people started filing out. The Persian heard their approval. He spoke, facing where he had heard Erik's voice, "A success. The people love your opera house."
There was no reply.
"Erik? Are you still there?"
"Yes, I am here. I just do not share your opinion. I wanted greatness for this opera house and I have recieved a show not worthy of that title. Carlotta was dreadful. I did not want the first voice to sound to be that of a spanish toad. I wanted to hear the voice of an angel."
"Surely you can look past-"
"No, I cannot. Good evening, my friend."
The Persian wasn't entierly sure, but as far as he could tell, Erik ahd left through his secret pass. Slowly, the Persian left the hall and entered back into the main foyer. He left the opera house with a heart laden with saddness. It was not Erik's displeasure that saddened him. It was the fact of leaving the opera house. Before he left, the Persian bought a ticket to another performance later that week. When he stood on the street, waiting for a handsome, he looked up a tthe roof. it was adorned with a great statue of Apollo. The Persian could have sworn he saw a man atop the god's lire.